Hi! Can you pleaseee write a Firefighter Rafe where he and his crew got called to a location and the address is readers house and he’s so worried otw there and when they got to the scene the fire is so so big and like he wants to rush in- then something inside the house blew up and rafe is just devastated and is trying to search for reader who is still inside the house, then they find her unconscious or trapped into something . I’M SORRY IF THIS IS TOO MUCH I WOKE UP AND WANTED ANGST WITH HAPPY ENDING 😭
THIS SOUNDS SO SAD & CUTE! I litterally am in love with fireman Rafe.
Firefighter! Rafe Cameron x Reader
The day had started like any other.
The sky was washed in pale blue, barely brushed with wisps of cloud. The salty breeze drifted in from the ocean just a few blocks down, seeping into the firehouse like a quiet reminder that they lived on the edge of something beautiful and dangerous.
The station was coming alive with the usual rhythm—distant chatter from the kitchen, the rhythmic clang of lockers opening, boots scuffing against concrete as the morning shift settled in. Through the garage windows, sunlight spilled in slow and soft, catching the edges of the fire trucks, painting gold over polished metal.
Rafe sat on the edge of the locker room bench with one foot up, looping his laces tight with practiced ease. His gear rested beside him, spotless and ready, just like every day. But his thoughts were miles away—home, with her.
He barely heard Kelce’s voice across the room, rambling on about some beach party happening that weekend, the kind with bonfires and keg stands and half the island showing up. Normally Rafe would’ve had something to say—he might’ve laughed, thrown a jab, or rolled his eyes.
He wasn’t there. Not fully.
His mind kept drifting back to the way her body had curled toward his in their sheets just an hour ago—warm, soft, so familiar it ached. She hadn’t even lifted her head when he leaned down to kiss her goodbye. She was half-asleep, face pressed into his pillow, still wrapped in his old shirt from the night before. One leg tangled in the blanket, the other flung lazily over his side of the bed like she was trying to keep him there.
She’d mumbled something barely coherent—“Drive safe… bring me the chocolate croissant, not the almond one”—and he remembered laughing under his breath as he pushed her hair back from her forehead, pressing a kiss there like it was instinct.
Loving her had become second nature.
He’d promised he’d stop by the bakery on the way home, grinning like an idiot when she smiled, even though her eyes never opened. That quiet smile—the kind she only gave him when she felt safe, when the world was still blurry with sleep—that image looped in his head like a movie scene stuck on repeat.
Then the call came through.
The sirens blared to life, and everyone moved like clockwork—boots thudding on the floor, lockers slamming shut, voices tightening with focus. Rafe stood automatically, reaching for his helmet like he had a thousand times before, slipping into routine, steady and controlled.
But then the address crackled through the comms.
“Structure fire. Residential. Heavy smoke. Possible entrapment.”
A second later—“One-six-eight-three Hatteras Lane.”
The air seemed to thin around him. The station’s noise—slamming doors, distant shouts, engines warming—dulled beneath a high-pitched ringing in his ears.
“Wait,” he barked into the comms, suddenly moving, eyes wide, the helmet nearly slipping from his hands. “Say that again.”
The chief turned from the truck bay, eyebrows lifted in surprise.
“Repeat the address,” Rafe snapped, his voice sharper now, panic barely contained.
“1683 Hatteras Lane,” the dispatcher confirmed again, voice crackling through the static.
It hit him like a gut punch.
His pulse spiked so violently he could feel it in his neck, pounding behind his eyes, heat and ice colliding in his bloodstream. His hands trembled, breath catching in his chest like his lungs couldn’t expand fast enough.
“Shit,” he whispered, the word catching on the edge of panic. His helmet clattered to the floor with a hollow clang. “That’s—That’s my—”
He didn’t even finish the sentence.
The thought crashed into him so violently he was already moving before his brain could catch up. He shoved past the others, body operating on pure adrenaline. His turnout jacket was only half-secured as he tore through the garage toward the truck.
His crew followed, barely keeping up, watching the usually unshakeable Rafe Cameron unravel at the seams.
He was known for being sharp under pressure. Cold, sometimes. Focused, intense, unflinching.
Now, he looked like a man unraveling in real-time.
The truck doors slammed shut, the engine growling to life beneath them. Lights flashed. Sirens wailed. The neighborhood blurred past the windshield, and every twist of the road felt like it took too long—every red light, every car in the way, every breath that passed without knowing.
Kelce sat beside him, tense, hands strained on his knees as he glanced at his best friend. Rafe’s jaw was clenched so tightly it looked painful. His leg bounced, his shoulders taut and straining with every passing second.
“Don’t.” His voice was low. Dangerous. His eyes stayed locked out the windshield, unblinking. “Don’t say anything.”
Kelce swallowed hard, nodding silently.
Rafe’s grip on the doorframe tightened until his knuckles blanched. His heart was pounding so hard it felt like it might crack his ribs open. Visions swirled—flames crawling up the hallway, smoke curling under the bedroom door, her tiny coughs, her terrified voice calling out for him.
He squeezed his eyes shut for half a second, just to not see it.
Please, God. Please be outside. Please have gotten out.
The truck picked up speed.
But for Rafe, it still wasn’t fast enough.
Not when it was her life on the line.
The closer they got, the worse the smoke became.
It wasn’t just a haze on the horizon anymore—it was thick, black, and monstrous, curling up into the sky in heavy plumes like an omen. It stretched high above the rooftops, a suffocating column of destruction, visible from blocks away. The acrid stench of burning wood and melted plastic hit them before they even turned the final corner, thick in the back of Rafe’s throat.
His boot tapped rapidly against the truck floor. Every nerve in his body was firing. His hands shook in his lap, and his breath had gone shallow, clipped and uneven, as his heart slammed violently against his ribcage.
He couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t sit still.
She’s supposed to be home today.
He was supposed to come home early today. They had made plans—just the two of them, no distractions, no interruptions. They were going to grab a couple of drinks, maybe take the truck down to the beach, watch the tide roll in while the sky turned gold. She’d even joked that he better not be late again.
Now, that promise felt like a cruel joke.
His chest ached with every breath, like something was sitting on him, heavy and suffocating. The air barely reached his lungs. Panic tightened around his ribs like a vice, and it didn’t loosen, not even when he tried to slow his breathing. His heart slammed against his sternum in a frenzied rhythm, each beat screaming one desperate plea over and over: Please let her be okay.
He hadn’t even realized how much he was shaking until his hands clenched into fists. The thought of her being hurt—being inside—was too much. It was like his body already knew something his mind refused to accept.
And all he could think was: I should’ve been there. I’m suppose to protect her.
He remembered her soft laugh from that morning, the way she mumbled into his pillow, the way her hand clutched his shirt like she didn’t want to let him go. He remembered the curve of her lips when he kissed her forehead, promising to be back soon. She was supposed to be curled up under the blankets right now—safe, warm, untouched by all of this.
But if she was still inside—
His throat closed. The thought was too awful to complete.
And then, they turned the corner—and Rafe saw it.
Their house. Or what was left of it.
It was completely engulfed.
Flames danced violently from the shattered windows, licking toward the sky, bright and furious. The roof was already curling inward, parts of it sagging, dark smoke pumping from the attic like a chimney gone berserk. One wall had begun to melt, the siding dripping down like wax from a burning candle. The front porch—where he’d kissed her goodnight so many times—was gone, swallowed by flames and collapsing embers.
The heat hit them before the truck even stopped.
The front yard was chaos. Neighbors and strangers crowded the sidewalk, their faces twisted in horror, some holding phones, others yelling at the responding crew. People screamed her name—her name—and Rafe’s heart nearly gave out hearing it in someone else’s mouth.
The moment the truck slowed, he was out—door thrown open, boots hitting pavement hard. He took off at a full sprint, gear weighing heavy on his back but not slowing him down. He didn’t care that his uniform was thick or his helmet was still in the rig. The heat was blistering across his skin, but he didn’t even feel it.
“Rafe—Rafe!” Kelce shouted after him, still trying to grab his gear, but it was useless.
He barreled toward the front yard, weaving through people and debris, eyes wild as they scanned the crowd.
“Is she inside?!” he shouted, voice raw and panicked. “Did anyone see her?! Did she get out?!”
Faces turned, but no one had an answer.
No one said a goddamn word.
Just blank stares. Wide eyes. Shaking heads.
The silence sent ice through his chest.
His body twisted toward the porch—toward the flames—and he launched forward without thinking. But before he could even reach the front steps, a hard arm slammed across his chest, stopping him like a wall of brick.
“Cameron, you’re not going in.”
Rafe’s chest heaved. “Get out of my way—”
“It’s not stable,” the chief barked, voice sharp and unrelenting. “The roof is ready to collapse. You go in there now and that’s two bodies instead of one.”
“I don’t give a shit!” Rafe snarled, trying to shove past him.
The chief didn’t budge. “We do this by the book, Cameron! If she’s in there, we get her out smart, not in pieces.”
Rafe’s face twisted. His breath was coming in ragged, broken gasps. Smoke stung his eyes and his cheeks were already streaked with ash, but the tears gathering in his lashes had nothing to do with the fire.
“Please,” he choked out, his voice cracking—barely a whisper now, desperation leaking through. “Please… she’s in there. I know she is. I left her this morning. I—I kissed her goodbye and she was still in bed. She didn’t have anywhere to be—she was still in bed—”
The chief’s jaw flexed, his expression unreadable.
He turned to one of the crew. “Back perimeter sweep. Look for any signs of escape. Check the tree line, behind the shed, everywhere. GO.”
Rafe stood there, paralyzed, fists clenched at his sides. His body was vibrating with helpless rage and grief, every instinct screaming at him to run headfirst into the inferno. To do something.
A sound tore through the air like a cannon blast.
It was deep and filled with heat.
The explosion shook the ground beneath their feet.
Rafe stumbled back as a fireball burst from the left side of the house, blowing out windows and walls in a spray of flame, wood, and glass. The heat slammed into them like a tidal wave. Shards of debris flew through the air, some catching nearby bushes, others embedding in the grass.
Flames exploded upward, clawing higher into the sky.
The crowd screamed. Firefighters shouted over one another, calling for hoses, shields, backup.
But Rafe didn’t hear any of it.
His knees hit the ground hard. His helmet finally slipped from his fingers. He stared at the burning house, now split open and gasping smoke like a dying beast, and felt the world collapse beneath him.
“No—” he whispered, his voice cracking into a sob. “No, no, no…”
His hands trembled violently. His chest heaved as he fought to breathe.
He couldn’t hear. Couldn’t think. Could barely see through the smoke and the tears.
Kelce caught up to him seconds later, panting hard, helmet tucked under one arm now, the other dragging sweat down the back of his neck as if he couldn’t cool down fast enough.
“Rafe…” he said, breathless, his voice soft but uncertain—like he didn’t know how to step into a moment this enormous. “Man—”
Rafe didn’t even turn toward him.
“I can’t—” he growled through clenched teeth, ripping his mask down with trembling fingers, eyes locked on the second floor—their bedroom. Or at least what used to be. The flames had already gutted it, smoke pouring out like a demon’s breath. “I can’t just stand here while she’s in there. If she’s still inside—if she’s—fuck!”
His voice cracked like something inside him finally snapped.
His fists clenched so hard his knuckles went white under the ash. His entire body shook, a brutal cocktail of panic, fury, and helplessness tightening every muscle like a noose.
“RAFE!” a voice bellowed from behind the house, rough and breathless. “WE GOT HER!”
The air around him fell away.
Rafe didn’t wait for confirmation. Or orders. Or even a second heartbeat.
Tearing through the side yard, boots pounding the dirt, shoving past thick smoke and debris. His heart felt like it exploded in his chest, his lungs squeezing down to nothing. He couldn’t think. Couldn’t feel anything but the raw, primal need to see her.
He didn’t stop until he saw the shape in the grass.
There. Near the back fence—collapsed against the ground like she’d fallen mid-crawl.
His entire body convulsed with panic at the sight.
She was sprawled across the dirt, half-hidden by smoke and shadow, her body limp and streaked with soot. Her legs were scraped raw, her arms covered in dirt, blood, ash. Her lips were gray. Her skin—what wasn’t blackened by smoke—looked too pale.
She looked wrong. Still. Too still.
But he saw it—the slow rise and fall of her chest.
He dropped to his knees so hard he skidded through the mud and debris, gravel biting through his pants. His gloves were off in seconds, tossed somewhere behind him, forgotten. His fingers shook as he reached for her, barely able to make contact without breaking.
He pressed two fingers to her throat.
Then—there. Barely. A flutter. Fragile and thready, like a whisper under skin.
His lungs finally remembered how to breathe. His vision blurred instantly.
“Hey… hey, baby,” he rasped, the words cracking in his throat like dry earth. He cupped her face, brushing dirt and soot from her cheeks, from her hairline, his touch reverent and frantic all at once. “I got you. You’re okay. I got you. I’m here.”
Her brow was furrowed, like she’d fought with everything she had to survive—like her body was still trying to find him even in unconsciousness. Her hand was curled tight against her chest, clutching herself like it was the only thing keeping her together. She was still wearing his shirt. The same one he kissed her in this morning.
He didn’t mean to. It just broke out of him, one sharp cry into her hair as he folded down, pressing his forehead to hers, grounding himself in the fact that she was still breathing.
“Stay with me,” he whispered. “Please, baby, don’t let go. You’re safe. I’m here. I’m here.”
Voices surged around him—footsteps crashing through the grass. Paramedics. Gear. Oxygen tanks. A stretcher being hauled in.
He didn’t move. Didn’t register anything until someone touched his shoulder, trying to guide him back.
He jerked around, eyes wide, feral. “Don’t fuckin’ touch me!” he snapped, raw with panic. “Let me stay—just let me stay!”
Kelce was suddenly there again, stepping between him and the medics, hands raised in peace.
“Rafe,” he said gently, his voice lower now. More human. “Let them work. Let them help her.”
Rafe looked down at her again. Her lips were chapped. Her lashes clumped together with soot and tears. Her chest rose again—barely.
His hand clung to hers like a lifeline. Like if he let go, she might disappear.
And he only let go when they lifted her gently, sliding the oxygen mask over her face, her limbs limp against the stretcher’s rails. His hand was the last thing to leave hers, his fingers grazing the tips of hers like he could still anchor her somehow.
Not even when they wheeled her away. Not when he whispered her name again.
But her chest kept rising.
And that was the only thing keeping Rafe standing.
Three Hours Later, Rafe sat slouched on a plastic chair in the hospital hallway, still wearing half of his turnout gear like he didn’t know what to do without it. His fire-resistant pants were streaked with soot and grass stains, knees torn from when he dropped beside her. His boots were caked with ash and mud, leaving black footprints wherever he walked. He’d peeled off his jacket and dropped it somewhere behind him hours ago, forgotten. His t-shirt clung to his skin with sweat, smoke, and blood that wasn’t his.
He hadn’t moved in nearly an hour.
His elbows rested on his thighs, hands hanging useless between his knees, fingertips still trembling with leftover adrenaline. His leg bounced like it had a mind of its own, and no matter how many times he tried to stop it, it wouldn’t still. His head hung low, eyes fixed on the off-white tile beneath him like it held the answer to some impossible question.
The hallway smelled like antiseptic and fresh linen. Bright, buzzing overhead lights cast long shadows. Every time a door opened, his head snapped up. Every time a pair of footsteps passed without stopping, his chest ached just a little more.
She was somewhere down that hallway, behind closed doors, under fluorescent lights, in a bed that wasn’t hers, surrounded by machines and wires. He hated it. Hated all of it.
He kept seeing her face—how it looked when he found her. Pale. Anguished. Barely breathing.
He saw the way her fingers had curled, just slightly, when his hand found hers. That little sign of life that cracked him open. He saw the smear of blood across her temple. The dirt pressed into her hairline. Her lashes, crusted with ash and tears. Her lips cracked and blue-tinged.
And worst of all—she hadn’t moved. Not when the sirens blared, not when he whispered her name over and over again.
What if he’d gotten there ten minutes later?
What if that explosion had gone off while she was still in the house?
Rafe pressed both palms to his face, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes until his vision pulsed black. His jaw clenched so tight it ached. He refused to cry again. Not here. Not until he saw her awake. Not until he could hear her voice.
She was the strongest person he knew. Fierce in ways most people never saw. But that image—of her so still, so helpless—it was carved into his skull now. Branded into him.
Please, he thought, for the hundredth time. Please come back to me. I can’t live without you.
The waiting was slow torture. It gnawed at him with every second that ticked by. Every passing nurse. Every unseen doctor. Every beep from machines in the rooms nearby.
He shot upright like someone had yanked him from the inside. His eyes snapped to the voice.
A nurse stood at the end of the hallway, clipboard in hand, her expression kind but steady. “She’s stable,” she said. “Still a little groggy, but awake. You can see her.”
He didn’t wait for directions. He barely heard the rest of what the nurse was saying.
His legs carried him before his mind could catch up, fast-walking down the corridor until he found her room number—like his body had known the way all along.
He pushed the door open and froze.
Propped up slightly in the bed, IV in her arm, oxygen tube resting beneath her nose, hair matted and skin pale—but alive. Eyes half-lidded, blinking slow, like she was still halfway between dream and waking.
Her gaze fluttered toward the door.
And Rafe nearly lost it all over again.
He had to brace himself on the doorframe, swallowing hard as emotion surged like a wave up his throat. His chest ached from holding it in.
She was there. She was breathing. She was looking at him.
Her voice was barely audible—so soft it almost disappeared beneath the gentle beeping of the monitors. But he heard it. Of course he did.
He looked at her and felt like the ground slipped out from under him.
Her face crumpled the moment their eyes met. Her lips were trembling, lower one jutted in that familiar pout she made when she was trying not to fall apart. Her eyes were red-rimmed and glassy, cheeks streaked with dried tears and smoke smudges. There was a sadness in her expression that broke him deeper than the fire ever could.
He took a step forward, breath caught in his throat. “Hey, sweet girl,” he said softly, voice rough with emotion.
Tears slipped down her cheeks, silent and constant, and she raised her arms toward him as much as the IVs and monitors would allow. That small gesture shattered what was left of his composure.
He didn’t hesitate. He crossed the room in seconds and bent over her, folding himself into the curve of her body as gently as he could, careful of the tubes, the bandages, the bruises—but desperate to hold her.
He hugged her like he was afraid the world might steal her from him again. Like if he let go, even for a second, he’d wake up and be back at the house, back in the smoke, back in the moment where he thought she was gone. His arms wrapped around her tightly, almost shaking, his face buried in the crook of her neck.
Her body trembled beneath him, small sobs escaping her lips as she clung to him just as fiercely.
“I was so scared, Rafe,” she whispered through the tears, her voice broken and raw. “So scared.”
His heart cracked open all over again.
“I wish I was there with you,” he murmured, pulling back just enough to look at her, his thumb gently swiping away a tear from her cheek. “Fuck, I should’ve been there.”
She shook her head, though the motion was weak and unsteady, her crying still strong and uncontrollable. Her lips parted like she wanted to argue, but the words got caught in her throat.
“Jesus Christ, baby,” he breathed, hands cupping both sides of her face now, thumbs brushing her tear-streaked cheeks with trembling care. “You scared the hell out of me.”
“I tried…” she said, her voice barely more than air. Her lashes fluttered, fresh tears clinging to them. “I tried to get out. It was so fast, Rafe. The smoke—everything—” Her voice cracked. “It was everywhere.”
“I know,” he whispered, his chest tightening painfully. “I know. You did everything right.”
His hand slid up the side of her head, smoothing gently over her tangled, ash-covered hair. “You’re here now. That’s all I care about. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”
She nodded, barely, but her lips trembled again.
“I heard something… explode,” she murmured, eyes wide and distant, like the memory was clawing its way back up. “I thought I was gonna die.”
Rafe closed his eyes, jaw clenched so tightly it hurt. He leaned in and kissed her cheek, a fierce, desperate kiss that trembled against her skin.
“It doesn’t matter now,” he said, voice ragged. “You’re alive. You’re here with me. That’s all that matters.”
She stared up at him for a long moment—eyes glassy, searching his face like she still couldn’t believe this was real. Then, without a word, she reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck again, pulling him close until his weight was against her, careful but present, solid.
He held her with everything he had. His arms curled under her, one hand tangled in her hair, the other gripping the side of the bed like it could anchor them both. His lips pressed against her neck, warm and shaking.
“I’m so sorry I wasn’t there,” he whispered into her skin, voice cracked and full of guilt. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
She didn’t answer right away. She just held him tighter. And for the first time since the flames began, Rafe felt like he could finally breathe again.
“I love you, Rafe,” she whispered, her voice fragile but certain.
He stilled, just for a second. The words hit him like warmth in a freezing storm—soft but overwhelming. When she said it, it wasn’t just a declaration. It was a lifeline. A promise. A desperate thank you for finding me and don’t ever let me go again, all wrapped into three small words.
Her hand came up to his jaw, fingers gentle as they brushed against the stubble there, and then she pulled him down.
Their lips met in a kiss that wasn’t rushed or perfect or practiced—but it meant something. Everything.
It was sad and raw and quiet, but comforting. Like they were trying to seal a wound between them with nothing but closeness. The kiss said what words couldn’t—how terrified she’d been, how shattered he still was, how lucky they were to have this moment at all. It was shaky, tear-stained, and full of unspeakable emotion.
Rafe kissed her back, hands cradling her face like she was something fragile and holy. His mouth trembled against hers. He couldn’t breathe through the ache in his chest, but he whispered anyway—his lips barely brushing hers.
“I love you too, baby,” he breathed, voice cracked and low. “So fucking much.”
He kissed her again, slower this time, like he needed her to feel it all the way down to her bones.
Then he pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against hers, closing his eyes as a tear finally slipped down his cheek.
“You’re everything,” he whispered. “Everything I’ve got.”
They laid there in the quiet hum of the hospital room, wrapped in each other’s presence like it was the only thing keeping the world together. Machines beeped softly in the background, a slow and steady rhythm that no longer felt terrifying—but reassuring. She was here. Breathing. Alive. And for Rafe, that was more than enough. He stayed close, one hand brushing gentle circles over her back, as if grounding her meant grounding himself, too.
They didn’t speak for a while after that. They didn’t need to. Rafe stayed curled close beside her, his fingers lightly tangled in hers, his forehead still resting against hers like he could absorb her warmth, keep her tethered to him. The silence wasn’t heavy anymore. It wasn’t filled with panic or fear or unanswered questions. It was just them. Breathing in the same space. Alive. Together.
The fire was over, but its weight would linger. In memories. In shadows. In dreams they’d flinch awake from. But right now, none of that mattered. She was safe. He was here. And that was enough—for now. Rafe closed his eyes for a brief moment, brushing his lips against her temple as she drifted back into sleep. He whispered it again, softer this time, like a vow only for her to hear.
“I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere.”
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