#sunsetmade

Bucky Barnes x Receptionist! Reader

Summary: Bucky Barnes— who is cold and curt with everyone— always lingers by the front desk smiling and flirting with the receptionist.

The Avengers Tower was a well-oiled machine—structured, efficient, humming with the quiet chaos of genius and responsibility. There was a rhythm to it all: debriefings in the morning, security rotations in the afternoon, and the occasional power surge from one of Tony’s questionable late-night experiments in the lab.

But nothing in the building ran more smoothly—more dependably—than the front desk.

She sat at the heart of it, tucked behind the sleek counter with a sharpened pencil between her fingers and a soft, welcoming smile on her lips. She was the calm in the middle of a storm of superheroes, double agents, and billionaire tech mishaps. She knew every name that walked through the lobby, every coded schedule shift, and exactly which agents tried to sneak in late without scanning their badges. She remembered who took their coffee black and who needed two sugars. She remembered birthdays. Allergies. Dog names.

And when the lobby was quiet, like it often was early in the morning, she pulled out a folded crossword from her bag. Always in pencil. Always neat. She’d sit with her brow furrowed and her lip tugged gently between her teeth, fully focused, as if solving those little squares could somehow bring order to everything else around her.

And every morning—every morning—Bucky Barnes walked by just to see her do it.

To the rest of the Tower, Bucky Barnes was an enigma wrapped in leather and combat boots.

He was cold. Quiet. Always two steps ahead and impossible to read, with a stare sharp enough to cut through glass and a silence that seemed louder than most voices. He moved through the halls like a ghost—efficient, intimidating, all coiled muscle and mission focus beneath that black leather jacket. He didn’t make small talk. He didn’t attend team dinners. He didn’t linger longer than necessary.

And he never smiled. Not at anyone.

Except at the front desk.

There—just there—he was different. Softer, somehow. Less winter soldier, more man. He’d slow his stride before he reached the counter, his posture easing, the tension around his eyes loosening the moment he spotted her behind the desk. Sometimes it was just a glance. Sometimes it was a subtle smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he caught her mid-crossword, her pencil tapping against the laminate as she chewed the end of it in thought.

But other times—on the mornings when the sun streamed through the tall lobby windows and she was already laughing at something under her breath—he’d stop. Lean one elbow against the desk. Say something in that low voice of his, rough with sleep and just the tiniest hint of amusement. And when she looked up at him, wide-eyed and smiling, something would flicker behind his carefully guarded expression. Something warm. Real.

No one else ever saw that version of him.

So when agents passed through and caught a glimpse—when they saw Bucky Barnes smiling, actually smiling, as he leaned in a little too close to the girl at the front desk—they usually did a double take. Whispered to each other in disbelief.

Because everyone knew Bucky Barnes didn’t flirt.

Bucky Barnes didn’t smile. He didn’t joke. He didn’t laugh, and he definitely didn’t smirk.

He was the kind of man who carried silence like armor—sharp, impenetrable, and constant. Most people in the Tower had never heard him say more than a few clipped words at a time, let alone seen him do something as human as chuckle.

But then there was her.

And somehow—impossibly—he was doing all of those things. Because of her.

Because of the way she’d look up from her crossword puzzle with that curious little tilt of her head. Because of how she smiled at him like he wasn’t a weapon in a jacket, but just a man passing through her morning. Because she didn’t flinch or force conversation—she just saw him, and he didn’t feel the need to disappear.

So yeah, Bucky Barnes was grinning at the front desk now. Letting out quiet laughs under his breath when she got frustrated retelling a story. Teasing her gently, just to see that spark of amusement in her eyes. The unshakable Winter Soldier—grinning like a fool because she told him he looked tired and then offered him a travel-sized coffee creamer from her purse like it was contraband.

To anyone else, it would’ve seemed impossible.

But to him, it felt like the most natural thing in the world when he was with her.

“Hey, doll.”

His voice was smooth, low, and unmistakably fond as it drifted across the lobby, cutting through the usual morning quiet like it belonged there.

She looked up from her crossword puzzle, already smiling without meaning to. Bucky Barnes was leaning both elbows onto the marble counter, sleeves pushed up just enough to show the edge of his metal forearm, posture relaxed like he had nowhere else to be. As if the world outside didn’t expect him to be a weapon.

“Good morning, Sergeant,” she teased, pencil still in hand.

He groaned, dragging a palm down his face in mock frustration. “I told you not to call me that.”

She shrugged, unfazed. “I like it. It suits you.”

He didn’t answer right away—just stared at her, trying not to smile. The way her eyes crinkled when she teased him, the softness in her voice… it undid him more than it should’ve. His stomach flipped like it always did around her, and he prayed it didn’t show on his face.

Then she laughed. That warm, honey-sweet sound that filled the wide, sterile lobby like sunlight through the glass-paneled windows. It wasn’t loud or dramatic—just easy. Natural. And it made something in his chest settle.

She twirled her pencil between her fingers before tapping the paper in front of her. “Stuck again,” she sighed. “Ten-down: ‘Hard exterior, soft center.’ Five letters.”

He didn’t miss a beat. “Me.”

She blinked at him, then let out a small chuckle. “That’s not you.”

He raised a brow. “It fits though.”

“It does fit,” she admitted with a hum. “But you’re more of a marshmallow all around.” He smiled liking the way she thought of him as.

He leaned in slightly, looking amused. “Told you I’m good at these.”

“I thought your specialty was knives, not wordplay.”

He dropped his voice conspiratorially. “I have layers.”

She gave him a playful look. “I’m starting to see that.”

He tried not to react, but the words struck a quiet chord. His gaze drifted to her hands—delicate, thoughtful, a little lead-smudged from the crossword—and he watched as she absently brought her nail to her mouth, chewing gently while focused.

His lips twitched, eyes fond. “You do that when you’re thinking.”

She looked up, surprised. “What?”

“That thing with your nail,” he said, tone casual. “You do it when you’re thinking too hard.”

Her mouth parted slightly. “You notice that?”

He shrugged, doing his best to play it cool even as warmth crept up his neck. “I notice a lot of things.”

She tilted her head, curious. “Like what?”

His voice dipped just a bit, low and steady. “Like how you hum under your breath when you think no one’s listening. Or how you always read the clues out loud, like you’re hoping someone’ll come help—even though you act like you want to solve it alone.”

Her cheeks flushed pink, and she ducked her head, smiling despite herself. “I might be,” she said quietly.

Bucky grinned, unguarded for a moment. “Well,” he said, voice teasing but soft, “keep waiting for me, doll.”

And she laughed again—just for him.

Unaware that moments like this didn’t happen with anyone else.

Unaware that Bucky Barnes didn’t flirt. Didn’t tease. Didn’t linger.

Except at the front desk.

Except with her.

Meanwhile, Sam Wilson had just stepped into the Tower lobby, sunglasses still on and a fresh coffee in hand. He wasn’t planning to stop—he rarely did on the way in—but something caught his eye.

Or rather, someone.

There, at the front desk, was Bucky Barnes.

Again.

For the third time this week, Sam slowed to a stop near the entrance, brows drawing together as he watched the interaction unfold from a distance. Bucky was leaning on the counter like it was his second home, posture casual, shoulders relaxed. He was smiling—an actual, real smile that reached his eyes—and laughing softly at something she said. He even nudged her pencil with the edge of his finger before giving her a lazy little wave, like he was any other guy.

Sam’s jaw was practically on the ground. Bucky Barnes—Mr. Scowl and Grunt—had waved. Waved.

“The hell…” Sam muttered to himself, lips pressing into a line as Bucky finally turned and strolled past, his usual cold stare meeting him. Classic.

But Sam didn’t let it slide.

He changed direction and walked straight to the desk, eyes narrowing in mock suspicion as he approached.

She looked up, bright and cheerful as always. “Morning, Sam! How’s it going?”

“Uh-huh,” he said, setting his coffee down with a thunk and eyeing her. “Don’t ‘morning’ me. What’s going on with you and Bucky?”

Her eyes widened slightly, innocent and confused. “What do you mean?”

Sam crossed his arms. “Don’t play coy. I just watched that man smile—smile—like he wasn’t a certified menace fifteen minutes ago.”

She laughed, the sound sweet and light. “He’s always like that.”

Sam’s brow shot up. “No, he’s not. Not with anyone. The man barely makes eye contact with the rest of us, and he just waved at you like y’all are in a damn Hallmark movie.”

She tilted her head, still looking genuinely puzzled. “Really? He’s never been anything but sweet with me.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “What does he even talk about?”

“Books. And puzzles. And snacks.”

Sam leaned in eyebrow raised. “Puzzles?”

She nodded looking at him as if he was going crazy— which may or may not be true.

Sam stood back like he’d just solved a case. “You’ve cracked the code. Bucky Barnes has a crush on you.”

“Sam.”

“I’m serious. I’ve known the guy for years. He’s glared at me more than he’s spoken to me. But you? You get crossword help and puzzle talk.”

Sam leaned in slightly, half-conspiratorial, half-stunned. “You realize you’re like… his favorite person in this building, right?”

Her cheeks warmed, and she gave a shy laugh. “I think he just likes the crossword banter.”

“Sure,” Sam drawled, grabbing his coffee. “That’s why he acts like a golden retriever who just found his favorite tennis ball every time he sees you.”

And with that, he turned on his heel, leaving her blinking after him—confused, smiling, and maybe, just maybe, starting to wonder what exactly Bucky Barnes saw when he looked at her.

⸻

Sam’s words stuck in her head.

She started paying closer attention—something she was usually great at. It came with the job. She noticed things. Like who avoided eye contact after a rough mission. Who needed to be buzzed in early on Mondays. Who always brought back an extra pastry for the agent next to them without ever saying why.

But now, she was noticing Bucky. (Way more than she usual did)

And he was… not like he was with her. At all.

With everyone else, Bucky was courteous, in that distant kind of way. Polite nods. Quiet acknowledgments. He spoke when necessary, nothing more. Even around the people he trusted—Natasha and Sam—he always held part of himself back. Like he was there, but not fully. Always watching, calculating. Like his presence was borrowed, temporary. Controlled.

But with her?

It was different. So noticeably different that almost everyone already picked up on it.

He lingered.

He’d drift by the front desk in the late afternoon, when the tower was quiet and the air felt still. Sometimes, he mumbled something about needing to double-check the mission schedule or update his clearance log—things she knew damn well he could’ve done from his tablet or comms.

But instead, he’d end up leaning on the counter with his forearms, half-facing her, voice softer than usual. He never seemed in a rush to leave. And on multiple occasions, he would laugh at something she said—not a breathy huff, but a real laugh. Low and warm and surprisingly easy. The kind of laugh that curled around her like a blanket, and made her freeze for half a second with flushed cheeks.

That sound stuck with her. It came back to her later, in the quiet of her apartment or in between elevator dings, like a little reminder she hadn’t imagined it.

And then there were the smaller things.

Like when he walked by two days after Sam’s visit.

She hadn’t even noticed him coming. One moment she was scrolling through reports, and the next, his knuckles tapped gently on the marble edge of the counter—soft enough not to startle, firm enough to pull her attention.

“Hey doll,” he said, his voice almost careful. Not shy, but not overly confident either—just… gentle. Thoughtful. “Brought you something to have with your crosswords.”

She blinked, gaze dropping to the small brown bag he set in front of her. A blueberry muffin peeked out the top.

Her favorite.

She stared. “How did you—?”

“You mentioned it,” he said, tone quiet, like it wasn’t a big deal. “Last week, when you said the banana ones ‘scarred you for life.’” He gave a slight grimace, mimicking her dramatic tone, and it made her smile.

“You remember that?” she asked, still a little caught off guard.

Bucky leaned forward just enough to rest his arms on the counter, head tilted, eyes steady on hers. “Told you,” he smiled. “I notice things.”

The air between them felt softer somehow. Still. Like it had narrowed to just that space—just them.

Her fingers brushed the edge of the bag without opening it, eyes still on his. Her heart fluttered. She wasn’t sure what to say, but it felt like she didn’t have to say anything at all.

Because in that quiet look he gave her, there was a kind of ease she hadn’t seen in him before. Not even with the people who knew him best.

A few days later, it happened again.

She was seated at the desk, trying to pull herself together after a chaotic morning. Her hair was scooped into a rushed bun that wasn’t quite secure, strands already slipping loose. One sleeve of her cardigan was pushed up, the other still falling over her wrist. There were two half-finished coffees beside her keyboard, and she looked—by her own admission—a bit of a mess.

She didn’t even notice Bucky until he passed by, slowed, then took a step back like something had caught his eye. He leaned in close enough that she glanced up, startled.

“Hold still,” he said, his voice low and even.

Before she could respond, his hand reached out—delicate but sure—and tugged gently at a loose thread unraveling at the shoulder seam of her cardigan.

She froze.

Not because he touched her exactly, but because of the way he did it. So careful. So familiar. Like it wasn’t a big deal at all. Like fixing her sweater was second nature.

His fingers lingered for just a second longer than necessary, and then he let the thread fall into his palm.

“There,” he murmured, standing straight again, a small curve at the corner of his mouth. Not quite a smirk—something softer. “Didn’t want you walking around looking like a walking unraveling mystery.”

She blinked, still caught between the ghost of his touch and the way his eyes had flicked down so briefly, so purposefully.

“Is that a compliment?” she asked, an eyebrow raised.

He was already turning, already moving away down the hall in that unhurried way he always did. But he glanced over his shoulder, soft, a little smug and a knowing glint in his eye.

“Only if you want it to be.”

And then he was gone again.

She sat there for a long moment afterward, eyes on the empty hallway, lips parted slightly in surprise. He always did that—left her sitting there, a little breathless, a little confused, like she was still trying to catch up to whatever moment just passed between them.

It was maddening. And a little addictive.

⸻

But then came the moment that shifted everything.

She was kneeling near the cabinet by the elevator, half-crouched with a clipboard balanced on her thigh and a box of laminated visitor tags in her lap. Her hair had fallen over one shoulder, and she was quietly humming to herself, content in the calm of a late morning.

The ding of the elevator barely registered at first—just another routine sound in a day full of them—until the doors slid open and she glanced up.

Bucky stepped out, flanked by two unfamiliar agents.

She smiled without thinking, her automatic greeting already forming on her lips.

But something happened.

He didn’t spare so much as a glance at the others. Barely a grunt of acknowledgment as they moved past him, mid-conversation, unaware or maybe just used to his silence.

But Bucky—he looked straight at her.

And just like that, everything about him changed.

His shoulders relaxed, tension sliding off like he’d been holding his breath without realizing it. His expression softened, that faint edge in his jaw smoothing into something gentler. His eyes brightened—not wide or dramatic, but unmistakably warmer, like the sight of her tugged some invisible thread inside him loose.

“Hey, doll,” he said, low and fond, like she was the only person in the room.

She froze, lips parting as her breath caught for half a second. She was used to his visits, his little teasing comments, the quiet smiles he saved only for her—but this?

This was different.

He walked toward her without hesitation and crouched beside her, his long legs folding with casual ease. He didn’t ask what she was doing. Didn’t make it awkward. Just reached for a neat stack of folders beside her and handed them over, his sleeve brushing hers.

“You always do this stuff alone?” he asked, glancing briefly at the mess of papers and lanyards around them.

She nodded, adjusting the clipboard in her arms, still caught off guard. “Usually. It’s just part of the prep for tomorrow’s visitor batch.”

“Still,” he murmured, eyes flicking to hers. “You shouldn’t have to do it all alone.”

The words weren’t dramatic. There was no flourish, no deliberate charm.

But the way he said it—quietly, like a simple truth—made her chest go warm.

Their fingers brushed as he passed her the folders. Neither of them pulled away too quickly.

And then he hesitated—just for a beat. His gaze dropped to her hands, then lifted again, slower this time. She felt it before he even said anything, like the air shifted.

“Hey,” he said, licking over his bottom lip. “You got plans after your shift?”

She blinked. “Um… no, not really.”

Bucky gave a tiny nod, thumb grazing the edge of one folder like he needed something to fidget with. “There’s that little coffee place down the block,” he said, eyes still on hers. “I was thinking… maybe you and I could go. If you want.”

The way he said it—low and nervous—sent her heart into a full stumble. It wasn’t just coffee. It was a date.

Her mouth opened, then closed again, and when she finally managed a breath, she nodded—too fast, maybe, but smiling. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

He stood, the faintest tug of a smile playing on his lips—not cocky, not proud. Just quietly pleased.

“We can do your crossword while there.” He said smiling. She chuckled and rolled her eyes, “You’re such a dork.” He only smiled harder in response.

The two agents, now at the far end of the hall, had turned back to look.

They were staring.

And for once, she didn’t blame them.

Because in that moment, it clicked. He really was different with her.

Not just less guarded—but open. Gentle. Grounded in a way she hadn’t seen him be with anyone else.

And maybe—maybe Sam was right. Maybe this wasn’t just one-sided. Maybe it hadn’t been for a while.

Because the Bucky Barnes standing in front of her wasn’t the cold soldier everyone whispered about. He wasn’t sharp-edged or haunted or unreachable.

He was steady. He was thoughtful.

And he looked at her like she was something soft in a world that had never been kind to him.

Where is He?

Rafe Cameron x Reader

The bass thumped through the floor of the Figure Eight mansion like a second heartbeat, pulsing underfoot and rattling the chandelier above with every drop. Half-filled red solo cups teetered on coffee tables, forgotten in the chaos of the summer party unraveling around them. Laughter echoed from the backyard, where Kooks splashed recklessly in the pool, their shouts slurring into the heavy music as they danced barefoot in the grass, the air thick with smoke and salt.

But none of it mattered to her.

Not the party, not the heat, not even the glittering drinks being passed around like candy.

Not when Rafe wasn’t there.

She was curled up on the oversized couch in the living room, tucked like a secret between two embroidered throw pillows. Her sundress—a soft pastel thing he’d once said made her look like spring—was bunched around her folded legs, her bare knees peeking out as she cradled a lukewarm water bottle in her lap. Her mascara, once delicately brushed on, now rubbed off onto a tissue. Her lip gloss had smudged, the corners of her mouth trembling as fresh tears gathered in her lashes.

She looked like a broken doll—so soft, so heartbreakingly sweet—even while crying.

And Topper was absolutely losing it.

“Why is she crying?” he hissed, his voice low but frantic as he leaned toward Kelce, trying not to draw attention from the crowd spilling in and out of the house. “Dude, Rafe is going to kill us.”

Kelce glanced toward the couch, eyes widening at the sight of her sniffling. “I don’t fucking know! She was fine like—like ten minutes ago. I gave her water, I asked if she was good, she nodded!”

“Well, she’s not good now,” Topper snapped, running a hand through his hair like it might suddenly reveal an answer. “She’s crying, Kelce. That’s not good. That’s the opposite of good.”

“She just… started asking for him,” Kelce muttered, palms raised like he was surrendering to the disaster unfolding before him. “Started tearing up and whispering his name. What was I supposed to do? Tackle her with comfort?”

Topper groaned and crouched down beside her, placing a hesitant hand on the edge of the couch cushion.

“Hey,” he said gently, voice edged with panic. “Hey, sweetheart. You okay?”

She sniffled, wiping her nose on the back of her hand as her lip wobbled. Her big, tear-glossed eyes looked up at him with the kind of sorrow that made Topper want to hide behind a curtain and wait for Rafe to come deal with it.

“I miss my Rafe…” she whispered brokenly.

Oh, shit.

Topper shot Kelce a we’re-dead look.

“Okay, okay, that’s alright,” he said quickly, nodding like she might stop crying if he looked calm enough. “He’ll be back soon, alright? He just had to go, uh… handle something.”

“He didn’t say goodbye,” she mumbled, voice cracking on the last word. “He always says goodbye…”

Kelce winced like he’d been physically slapped. “Technically,” he said, inching closer, “technically, he did say ‘I’ll be back.’ Just, y’know. Not to her face.”

“Bro, that does not count,” Topper hissed. “She’s sitting here crying into some random ass cardigan and you’re playing legal loopholes. Rafe’s gonna fucking kill us.”

“He promised,” she whispered. “He said he’d stay close tonight…”

Topper sat back on his heels, running a hand over his mouth. Kelce looked at Topper. “He said to keep an eye on her. We are. Technically.”

“She’s crying, dude!” Topper whisper-yelled. “That’s not keeping an eye on her—that’s emotional damage. Rafe’s gonna flip.”

And they weren’t wrong.

Everyone knew Rafe Cameron for exactly what he was—ruthless when it came to business, cocky as hell on the golf course, and reckless enough behind the wheel to make even the most confident Kook flinch in the passenger seat. He was the golden boy of Figure Eight with a bad temper and a worse reputation.

But when it came to her?

He was a completely different person.

With her, Rafe was soft. Disarmingly gentle. He looked at her like she hung the stars and touched her like she was made of glass. He was patient, caring, and impossibly protective. The kind of protective that had Topper questioning whether his best friend had been possessed. The transformation gave him whiplash on a daily basis.

Because she wasn’t just Rafe’s girl.

She was his peace. His favorite person. The one thing in this world that calmed the storm in him. Which meant there was zero chance he’d tolerate his girlfriend crying at a party while they stood around like idiots.

“Call him,” Topper urged, nudging Kelce.

“No way. You call him. I don’t want to be the one that tells him.” Kelce said backing away with his hands raised.

Topper pulled out his phone— glaring at Kelce, already dialing. “We’re a team, man. If I go down, you’re coming with me.”

Topper hit the speaker button with a nervous thumb.

The line rang once.

Twice.

Then—

“Yeah?”

Rafe’s voice crackled through the phone, low and clipped, threaded with that dangerous kind of impatience that made both boys stiffen like they’d just heard a gun cock.

Topper hesitated. “Hey, bro. Uh… quick question. How much longer you think you’ll be?”

A pause. Then, sharper:

“Why?”

Kelce jumped in too quickly. “No reason! Just wondering. You know. Curious. Haha.”

Silence.

Just a few seconds, but it felt like a full minute. The kind of silence where you knew Rafe was already piecing things together, not saying anything because he didn’t need to. He could feel it—something was off.

“What happened?” he asked finally, voice low and cold.

Topper winced like he’d been slapped. “Nothing happened! I swear—nothing bad.”

“Topper.”

One word. That was all it took.

Kelce cracked. “She’s crying, man!” he burst out, eyes wide and panicked. “She’s been crying for like ten minutes straight and she keeps asking where you are—like over and over—and we tried everything, man, we tried to distract her, we got her water, we played music, we even brought her your sweatshirt but—she’s just… she’s not stopping. She keeps saying you didn’t say goodbye and that she misses you and—”

“Jesus Christ.” Rafe’s voice came through again, tight and harsh. “Is she drunk?”

“Yes,” they said in unison, almost like a reflex.

There was another beat of silence, heavier this time.

Then:

“Keep her inside. Don’t let anyone near her. If anyone even looks at her the wrong way, I’ll find out. I’m leaving now.”

The call ended with a final click, sharp and final.

⸻

Fifteen minutes later, the front door burst open with a loud slam, the sharp crack echoing through the house like a warning shot.

Rafe stormed inside, jaw clenched, eyes blazing.

Topper and Kelce scrambled out of the hallway like guilty kids caught sneaking out—pressing themselves against the wall as if proximity alone would spare them from the inevitable fallout.

But Rafe didn’t even glance at them.

His eyes scanned the living room in a single breathless sweep—then locked onto her.

Curled into the corner of the couch, she looked heartbreakingly small. Her legs were tucked under her, shoulders hunched and shaking slightly as she dabbed at her puffy eyes with a crumpled tissue. Her free hand gripping his sweatshirt beside her. One sandal dangled loosely from her foot, the other lying discarded near the coffee table. Someone had draped a blanket over her lap, but it did little to hide how fragile she looked.

Rafe’s entire body shifted. The tension in his shoulders melted. The rage in his chest folded in on itself.

His voice dropped an octave—gentle, warm, and laced with guilt.

“Hey, baby…”

He crossed the room in a few quick steps, crouching in front of her with his hands reaching instinctively for her knees.

“What’s going on, huh?”

Her head snapped up at the sound of his voice, eyes wide and glossy with tears.

“Rafe…”

“I’m here,” he murmured, already brushing her hair back from her damp cheeks. “I’m right here, angel.”

Without hesitation, she flung her arms around his neck, clinging to him like a lifeline as she buried her face in his shoulder. A fresh wave of sobs shuddered through her, her breath hitching in little gasps against his collarbone.

“I missed you,” she whispered, voice cracking. “You left and you didn’t say goodbye…”

Rafe exhaled slowly, like the weight of her sadness physically hurt him. He pressed a soft kiss to the side of her head, arms tightening around her waist as he pulled her closer.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, voice thick with remorse. “I didn’t mean to do that. I should’ve kissed you goodbye—I should’ve told you where I was going.”

“You always kiss me goodbye…” she whimpered, sounding so heartbreakingly sincere that it made his throat tighten.

“I know, baby.” He cupped the back of her head gently. “That was my mistake. I rushed out without thinking. I was stupid.”

Behind them, Topper and Kelce were frozen like statues in the doorway, still watching—but trying very hard not to exist.

Rafe didn’t even acknowledge them. Not a glance. Not a word.

His entire world had shrunk to the girl in his arms.

He leaned back just enough to see her face, thumbs brushing over her flushed cheeks.

“How much have you had to drink?”

She blinked blearily, sniffling. “I had the pink one. The punch. It tasted like gummy bears.”

He let out a soft chuckle, the first hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah, that sounds about right.”

Her lip wobbled again. “I felt so dumb for crying. I just—I didn’t know where you were. And it got loud. And then I started thinking that maybe you were mad at me or—something happened and—”

“Oh, baby…” he murmured, pulling her effortlessly into his lap. She didn’t resist, curling into his chest like she belonged there. “You’re not dumb. Not even close.”

He kissed the crown of her head, rocking her slightly.

“You just missed me, huh?”

She nodded against him, still sniffling. “A lot.”

“I missed you too.” He smoothed a hand down her back, protective and tender all at once.

“I’ll always come back to you,” he murmured, voice warm and low against her hair. “Always. You hear me?”

She gave a little sniffle, her nose scrunching as she tilted her head up. “You smell like gasoline.”

He let out a quiet laugh, the kind only she ever got to hear.

“Yeah, well… that’s the price of doing business, baby.” He pressed a kiss to her temple. “Let’s get you home, alright? You need to rest.”

But her arms tightened around him suddenly, her voice small and desperate.

“No. Don’t go anywhere. I want to cuddle…”

Rafe stilled. His heart cracked a little at the way she clung to him—at how afraid she seemed that he’d disappear again. All her sweetness, all that softness wrapped up in trembling hands and teary eyes.

God, he didn’t deserve her.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered, brushing his nose against her cheek. “You’ve got me all night, pretty girl. Right here.”

Gradually, her breathing began to slow. Her body relaxed, her little sniffles turning into soft hiccups as the tension melted from her shoulders. She nuzzled deeper into the crook of his neck, her voice barely a whisper.

“I love you, Rafe…”

His eyes fluttered shut as he smiled against her hair, heart swelling in his chest.

“I love you more,” he murmured. “So much more, baby.”

There was a pause—sweet, peaceful, and quiet.

Then—

Ahem.

Topper cleared his throat awkwardly from across the room.

“So, uh… are we good?”

Rafe’s head turned slowly, eyes sharp as they settled on him. His expression didn’t match the softness he’d shown seconds ago—his features sharpened like a switch had flipped.

“Would you be good,” he said coolly, “if your girl was crying for ten minutes while your boys stood around looking like deer in headlights?”

Topper winced, guilt flashing across his face.

“Okay—fair.”

“I’ll deal with you both later,” Rafe added without looking away, voice calm but edged in steel.

Kelce visibly paled.

But Rafe didn’t give them another second. He turned his focus right back to her, his features softening the moment he looked down. She’d gone quiet again, eyes heavy, her cheek still pressed against his collarbone.

With a gentle hand, he brushed his thumb across her cheek, wiping away a lingering tear. Then he tucked her hair behind her ear with the kind of care no one else ever saw from him.

“Let’s get you home, sweetheart,” he whispered, like a promise.

⸻

By the time they pulled into the driveway of Rafe’s house, she had gone quiet again. Not the sad, trembling kind of quiet from earlier—just sleepy. Content. The kind of silence that came from finally feeling safe.

Her fingers stayed laced with his as he helped her out of the car, her head resting against his shoulder as they walked up the front steps. She swayed slightly with each step, and Rafe held her a little tighter, like he always did when she was tired or tipsy or both.

The front door creaked open, and the familiar scent of his cologne and laundry detergent wrapped around her like a blanket.

He guided her straight to his room, flicking on the soft lamp beside the bed. The warm light bathed the space in a honeyed glow. She looked so small in it—like she belonged.

With gentle hands, Rafe helped her sit on the edge of the bed. He knelt in front of her, fingers easily finding the delicate strap of her one remaining sandal.

“You’re such a good boy,” she mumbled sleepily, watching him through half-lidded eyes.

Rafe huffed out a quiet laugh as he slipped the shoe off and set it aside.

“Yeah?”

She nodded with exaggerated sincerity, flopping back dramatically onto the mattress.

“You take such good care of me,” she said, arms splayed out like a starfish. “You’re my boy.”

A grin tugged at his lips.

“You’re damn right I am.”

He stood and pulled off his hoodie, then carefully slipped it over her head, helping her arms through the sleeves. The oversized fabric swallowed her dress completely, making her look even smaller—soft and warm and his.

She sat up with a sleepy smile, tugging the cuffs down over her hands.

“Cozy?” he asked, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

She nodded. “So cozy.”

Her arms reached out, wordlessly asking for him—and he didn’t hesitate for a second. Rafe climbed into bed beside her and pulled her into his arms like it was instinct, like he needed to feel her just as badly as she needed him. Her body melted against his, her cheek finding the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath his shirt.

“I really missed you,” she whispered after a few moments, voice small but honest.

“I know, baby,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her hair. “I’m sorry I left like that. I’ll never do it again. I promise.”

She traced the fabric of his shirt with her fingers, quiet for a beat before saying, “I feel so silly for crying…”

Rafe leaned back just enough to look down at her, his expression soft but serious.

“Don’t feel bad for feeling things. Especially not when it comes to me.” He tucked her hair behind her ear, thumb brushing her cheek. “I want to know when you miss me.” He smiled mischievously.

She let out a chuckle and lightly hit his chest. She tilted her head, looking up at him with glassy, adoring eyes.

“Even if I’m crying in front of everyone?”

He chuckled low in his throat with a smirk, squeezing her waist gently.

“Fuck, especially then,” he said. “That way I’ve got an excuse to scoop you up and hold you like this.”

She sighed, a content little hum escaping her lips as she curled further into his chest, fingers twisting in the fabric of his shirt.

“You’re my favorite person,” she murmured, her voice thick with sleep and love.

Rafe kissed the top of her head and closed his eyes, holding her tighter.

“You’re mine.”

And just like that, everything inside her settled.

The party. The tears. The spiral of overthinking.

None of it mattered now.

Because she was in Rafe’s arms—safe, warm, and wrapped in the comfort of the one person who never made her feel too much.

And for the first time that night, she felt okay again.

Because she had her Rafe.

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The One He Reaches For

Rafe Cameron x Shy! Reader

The sun danced across the water like scattered diamonds, casting golden ripples that shimmered as the boat drifted along the marshy creeks of the Outer Banks. The steady hum of the engine faded into the background, replaced by the quiet rhythm of waves and the distant cry of gulls overhead. Rafe’s arm rested behind her along the cushioned bench, fingers brushing softly over the back of her shoulder, then down, until they tugged her body subtly into his side.

He was warm. Always warm. His touch, the breeze that spiked his buzzed hair, even the casual tone of his voice when he leaned in to say something low just for her. It felt like a day that didn’t need anything special—just sunlight, the sway of the boat, and Rafe’s hand slipping over her bare knee.

It was peaceful.

It was perfect.

Until Ruthie climbed aboard.

Ruthie’s voice arrived before she did, shrill and sugary. “God! I thought y’all were gonna leave without us.”

She stepped on with practiced ease, her white bikini catching the sun and showing more than it covered. Her oversized sunglasses slid halfway down her nose, and Topper, laughing behind her, steadied her with a hand on her back. They were already tipsy, cheeks flushed pink from sun and alcohol, speaking in a playful kind of bicker that made it hard to tell whether they were flirting or fighting.

Ruthie plopped herself down directly across from them, stretching her legs out and adjusting her top like she was on a runway, not a boat. “God, Rafe,” she groaned dramatically, shielding her eyes with her hand. “You always drive this thing like you’re the prince of the island.”

Rafe smirked, one hand steady on the throttle. “I am, aren’t I?”

His tone was lazy, teasing—but not at all flirty. Still, Ruthie laughed like it was the best joke she’d heard in weeks, her voice too loud and too sweet.

“You are,” she purred. “But like, it’s hot. Like, really hot. How are you not dying in this sun? Who even taught you how to steer? Your dad?”

His girl—shy and quiet by nature—gave a polite, muted smile. She tugged at the hem of her towel, fingers looping through the same little thread again and again. She didn’t say anything. Didn’t usually. Not when Ruthie was around. Her voice always seemed to get lost, too soft to cut through the noise Ruthie brought with her.

Rafe’s hand shifted from the throttle to her leg again, his thumb tracing gentle patterns on her thigh like he could sense the way she was retreating inward. He dipped his head toward her ear.

“You okay, baby?”

His voice was soft—just for her. The way he always was when it was just them.

She nodded, barely.

She was okay. Mostly. It wasn’t anything big, not really. Just a slow, creeping pressure in her chest. The kind that made it a little harder to keep her shoulders straight, a little harder to breathe deep around people like Ruthie.

Because Ruthie didn’t stop.

“Oh my god, remember prom night?” she said suddenly, turning toward Rafe with her cheek in her palm, her tone dreamy. “When we all took the boat out afterward? You looked so good that night. Like—your hair was longer or something. I had the biggest crush on you back then.”

Ruthie’s voice was full of nostalgia, like she was inviting him into a shared memory just for the two of them.

And for a split second, the world slowed.

She didn’t move, didn’t flinch. Her face stayed soft, unreadable. But her stomach sank in a way that was hard to ignore. She hadn’t meant to react. She wasn’t jealous—not exactly. She trusted Rafe. But something about the way Ruthie looked at him, all smug smiles and casual touches, stirred something sharp inside her.

She could feel it settle in her throat like a stone.

Rafe didn’t answer.

He didn’t laugh. Definitely didn’t flirt back.

His fingers stayed on her thigh, firm now, grounding. His eyebrows slightly furrowed.

He looked ahead, guiding the boat through the curves of the waterway like Ruthie hadn’t said anything at all. But his thumb tapped twice against her skin—his little way of checking in. A wordless gesture only she would notice.

Ruthie let out a laugh, brushing her damp hair over one shoulder as if waiting for a reaction that never came.

And her?

She kept quiet. Like most of the times when Ruthie was around.

But her heart thudded a little harder than before.

She hated that she was the kind of girl who didn’t know how to compete with girls like Ruthie. Loud, bold, magnetic. Girls who spoke without thinking and drew every eye in the room—or on the boat. She wasn’t like that. She never had been.

But Rafe…

He looked over suddenly, catching her eye.

He smiled.

Not the cocky one he wore for show. Not the smirk he gave Topper, or the ones he used when bluffing through Ward’s fake business meetings. This one was real—warm, a little crooked at the corner, his eyes soft as they lingered on her face.

“You’re thinking too loud again,” Rafe murmured, his breath warm against the shell of her ear.

The words wrapped around her like silk—light, teasing, and full of that calm confidence only he had. Her lips parted in a small, startled breath of laughter, barely audible over the hum of the boat engine. She dropped her gaze to her lap, flustered, brushing invisible creases from her towel with nervous fingers.

He always knew.

Somehow, without her saying a word, he could read every flicker of unease behind her quiet smiles. The thoughts she never voiced, the little shifts in her posture, the way her fingers curled tighter when she felt out of place—he saw it all. And he never made her feel silly for any of it.

“Don’t hide, pretty girl,” he whispered, the endearment curling low and intimate between them. “I like looking at you.”

Her breath hitched.

That did it.

The heat that flushed her cheeks came like a wave, flooding her face with warmth she couldn’t hide even if she tried. Her lashes fluttered as she looked down, biting the inside of her cheek, too shy to meet his eyes. Her smile tugged at the corners of her lips anyway—small, soft, impossible to hold back.

“Rafe.” She breathed out looking into his blue eyes.

Rafe leaned in closer.

His nose brushed hers, slow and deliberate, and then his mouth pressed to hers in a kiss so gentle it made her chest ache. Once—light, like a question. Then again, firmer this time, like he already knew her answer.

Her hand instinctively clutched the edge of his shirt.

His arm slipped around her back, broad and steady, anchoring her to him with ease. She didn’t have to move, didn’t have to speak—he just held her there, tucked against his side like she belonged, like there was nowhere else she should be. Nowhere else he wanted her.

And for a moment, it really did feel like no one else was on the boat.

Ruthie could’ve been talking still, or flirting, or tossing her hair around like a commercial—but Rafe wasn’t looking at her. He wasn’t laughing at her jokes, wasn’t giving her anything at all. His focus was entirely on the girl curled up beside him, the quiet one who barely spoke and always kept her hands folded neatly in her lap.

She didn’t say much for the rest of the ride—still shy, still soft-spoken. Her voice barely rose above the warm hush of wind and waves. But inside, something settled. Something that had twisted earlier in her stomach loosened its grip, like a knot finally coming undone.

Because this—Rafe, his touch, the way he looked at her like she was the only thing that mattered—this was his answer.

The boat rocked gently, now anchored in the middle of the marsh, the water still and golden beneath the late afternoon sun. Cicadas hummed somewhere along the reeds, and the salty breeze tugged lazily at hair and towels and loose shirt hems.

Ruthie had been uncharacteristically quiet for the last ten minutes—quiet, but not unnoticed. She kept stretching out those long, tan limbs of hers, subtly repositioning herself like a cat in a sunbeam, glancing every so often at Rafe from beneath her lashes.

But as soon as the engine cut and the hum of the motor faded into the warm air, she started up again.

Topper was too busy fiddling with the Bluetooth speaker, cycling through his beach playlist to notice the way Ruthie shifted forward, propping herself dramatically across the bow of the boat like she was in some catalog shoot.

Rafe stood to peel off his shirt, tossing it casually beside his girl curled up with her knees tucked in and towel resting over her warm thighs.

And Ruthie pounced.

“You know, Rafe,” she said loudly, her voice lilting with forced casualness, “you should be shirtless more often. Honestly, you could model for those boat ads or whatever.”

Topper barked a laugh without looking up. “Damn, Ruthie. Dial it back. I’m right here.”

Ruthie just shrugged, not even trying to hide the smile curling on her glossed lips. “What? It’s a compliment. Don’t be so uptight.”

Her stomach twisted.

She didn’t lift her gaze. Didn’t look at Rafe, or Ruthie, or anyone. Just stared at the towel in her lap, fingers worrying the terrycloth like it might unravel in her hands. Her cheeks burned with something too hot to be just the sun. The tight feeling in her chest was uncomfortable—sharp.

But Rafe didn’t laugh.

Didn’t even flinch.

Instead, his gaze drifted instantly—intentionally—to her.

Only her.

Rafe’s hand, which had been resting idly on her thigh—casual, grounding—shifted with gentle intention. His fingers slipped from her skin and moved to her hand, wrapping around it slowly, deliberately, like he was asking permission in the silence.

His palm was warm. Familiar. Steady in a way nothing else felt right now.

Maybe it was instinct. Or maybe it was the subtle way her shoulders had stiffened, the barely-there tension in her spine, or the crease between her brows she didn’t even know she wore. She hadn’t said a word, hadn’t moved much, but he noticed anyway—like he always did.

Without saying anything, he brought her hand to his lips and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to her knuckles. His thumb traced a gentle line along her wrist as he held it there for a beat longer than necessary, like he needed her to feel how serious he was without having to say it.

And just like that, the ache behind her ribs softened. The pressure in her chest loosened. Not completely. But enough to breathe again.

“You hungry, baby?” Rafe asked, voice low and smooth, curling at the edges like smoke. He leaned toward her, dipping his head until the only thing in her field of view was him.

She blinked, pulled from the blur of her own thoughts. “Huh?”

His lips tugged into a faint smile—the kind only she ever got. The one that didn’t try to charm or impress, but said I’m here and I see you.

He reached up and brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear, fingers grazing her cheek like a whisper. “You haven’t eaten anything,” he said. “You want me to grab something from the cooler?”

She hesitated, “Please, Ray.” A quiet smile ghosted over her lips.

He gave her hand one more squeeze, eyes never leaving hers, and stood. When he stepped around Ruthie, he didn’t even glance her way—his focus was fixed, unwavering, like Ruthie was part of the scenery, not part of his world.

When Rafe returned, he crouched down in front of her instead of just handing the food off like it was a chore. He held out a small foil-wrapped sandwich like it was something precious, like it mattered.

“Turkey and cheese,” he said with a crooked little smile, glancing up at her.

She took it with both hands, her fingers brushing his. “Thank you,” she said, soft enough that it almost got lost in the breeze.

“You okay?” he asked, even quieter. His voice dropped so low it didn’t stand a chance of reaching anyone else on the boat. Just her.

She gave him a soft smile. It held for a second before faltering. “I’m good,” she whispered. Then added, more honestly, “I like being with you.”

He didn’t respond right away. Just looked at her—really looked at her. His expression softened, brows relaxed, but there was something deeper there too. Like he was memorizing her face, her voice, the way she looked at him even when she was trying not to.

Then, with that familiar tilt of his head and a flicker of mischief in his eyes, he smirked. “You sure?” he murmured. “Because you’ve been looking at Ruthie like you’re about to push her overboard.”

Her eyes widened, caught completely off guard, and before she could stop herself, a small laugh escaped. Surprised, real, and just a little bit sheepish.

It wasn’t much. Barely louder than the water lapping against the side of the boat.

But it was hers. And it was enough.

Rafe’s grin widened, pleased—like her laugh was something he’d been chasing and finally caught. He leaned in again, thumb brushing the edge of her cheek in a slow, familiar sweep.

There was no audience. No performative charm. Just him, and her, and the unspoken promise he always kept without needing to say it out loud.

He saw her.

And he always would.

⸻

The sun was still dipping below the horizon when they pulled up to the dock, streaks of gold and burnt orange stretching across the sky like a fading painting. The boat rocked gently beneath them, the sound of water lapping against the wood echoing in the stillness. Topper and Ruthie had taken off five minutes ago—storming off mid-argument, voices raised and tension thick. Ruthie had made sure to leave with a dramatic flair, tossing her hair and shooting one last look Rafe’s way that didn’t go unnoticed.

Rafe let out a long sigh and dropped down beside her on the cushioned bench, his thigh brushing against hers. He looked tired—but peaceful in a way that only seemed to happen when the chaos settled.

She leaned her head against his shoulder, a soft smile tugging at her lips.

“Today was nice,” she said quietly, her voice half-lost in the sound of waves.

He let out a low laugh and glanced down at her. “Was it?”

She laughed under her breath, shaking her head. “Not really. More awkward than anything, honestly.”

He hummed, amused, and slung an arm around her shoulders, pulling her into his side like it was second nature. His fingers began tracing gentle lines up and down her bare arm, slow and steady, like he had all the time in the world.

“I like it better when it’s just us,” she added after a moment, voice soft.

He nodded, pressing his cheek against the top of her head. “Yeah. Me too.”

A pause stretched between them, comfortable and full of quiet affection. Then, with a smirk tugging at his mouth, he teased, “You were extra cute today. All that jealousy going on.”

Her head lifted as she looked at him, eyes wide in mock offense. “I was not jealous,” she said with a dramatic gasp, swatting at his arm.

He chuckled, the sound deep and full of mischief. “Sure you weren’t, baby.”

She narrowed her eyes, but the warmth in his gaze made it impossible to hold the glare.

Rafe reached up and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, his knuckles brushing her cheek with a tenderness that made her stomach flip. “It’s okay,” he murmured. “I loved it.”

Her face flushed at the honesty in his voice, and she rolled her eyes, trying to play it off even as her heart raced. Rafe Cameron could be smooth when he wanted to be—and right now, he was lethal.

“I’m serious,” he said, his tone suddenly softer. He leaned in, hand tilting her chin up gently until their eyes met. “You’re cute when you’re annoyed. All quiet and pouty and giving me those little glares.”

She couldn’t help the small smile that slipped through as she let her hands rest on his legs, grounding herself in the closeness.

“You’re mine, you know that right?” he said, voice low—like it was the most obvious, sacred truth.

She met his eyes and nodded without hesitation. “Yeah. I know.” Her voice was barely above a whisper, but it carried enough weight to make his heart tug.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Rafe’s smile softened as he looked at her, his thumb brushing lightly along her jaw. The air between them seemed to still, heavy with the kind of quiet that only came when everything felt right. His fingers gently tilted her chin up, coaxing her eyes to meet his—eyes that were already watching her like she was the only thing he saw.

Then, slowly, he leaned in.

Their lips met in a kiss that was nothing rushed or fleeting. It was slow—deliberate. The kind of kiss that didn’t need to prove anything, because it already knew exactly what it was. His mouth moved against hers with a tenderness that sent shivers down her spine, warm and all-consuming, like a silent promise passed between them.

It was a kiss that spoke volumes.

That said I love you without ever needing the words.

That said you’re mine and I’ll take care of you and I’m not going anywhere—all in the way his hand cradled her cheek and his lips lingered against hers like he didn’t want to let go.

When he finally pulled back just enough to look at her, his forehead rested gently against hers, their breaths mingling in the golden hush of evening.

His voice was quiet, but sure.

“You feel that?” he murmured. “That’s all for you.”

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Breakin’ in the Bed

Rafe Cameron x Reader

The air in Rafe’s bedroom felt heavy, thick with heat and the faint hum of the ceiling fan overhead. His sheets were tangled around their legs, evidence of how long they’d been lost in each other. Her breath hitched against his lips as his hands moved along her body like he knew every inch of her by heart —because by now, he did.

It wasn’t rushed, not like the first few times when everything burned too fast to think. Tonight was different. It was slow, deep, deliberate— like he had something to prove, like every movement had to remind her that she was his.

Her soft little whimper had him groaning low in his chest, the sound vibrating against her mouth as he kissed her. God, he couldn’t get enough of her. The way she arched up into him, the way her fingers curled into the sheets like she needed him closer even when there was no space left between them.

“Rafe…” Her voice was a breathy plea against his lips, and that was all it took for him to lose whatever thread of patience he had left.

“Yeah, baby,” he rasped, his forehead pressing to hers as his hips moved slow and deep, making her gasp as his cock went deeper within her. “I got you.”

And he did— completely. He felt her trembling under his touch, her nails pressing into his back as if to anchor herself. His hands cradled her hips like she was something fragile, something precious. His thrusts were slow and at her own pace making the whole experience way more enhanced. The contrast between his strength and how gentle he was with her made her heart squeeze.

She looked up at him through heavy lashes, and for a second, everything slowed even more. His blue eyes were blown out, but there was softness there too —something only she ever got to see. It made her chest ache in the sweetest way.

“I love you,” she whispered before she could stop herself. It tumbled out like it had been waiting there for weeks, and for a moment, she worried it was too soon, too much—

But Rafe froze only long enough to drop his lips to hers in a kiss that was more like a vow. “Say it again,” he murmured against her mouth, his voice rough.

“I—” she gasped when his hips shifted just right— “I love you.”

“Good,” he said, smirking against her lips before kissing her again, his hips continued their thrusts only faster this time, like he could seal the words between them.

Everything blurred after that— skin on skin, heat curling in her stomach, his name spilling from her lips over and over until—

Crack

The world seemed to tilt for a second, and suddenly, the bed dipped hard on one side with a groan of splintering wood.

“Oh—my God,” she squeaked, clutching onto his arms like the mattress might swallow them whole. Rafe caught himself with one arm braced on the headboard, chest heaving, as they both froze in shock.

The room went dead silent except for the sound of their ragged breathing.

And then—

She laughed.

It started as a tiny giggle, the kind she tried to hold back but couldn’t, and then it rolled into full-on laughter until tears prickled at the corners of her eyes. She clapped a hand over her mouth, but it was useless—she was shaking with it, cheeks pink and glowing.

“Oh my God—Rafe—” she managed between laughs, her voice muffled against her hand. “We—we broke your bed.”

Rafe just stared at her for a second, like he couldn’t believe this was happening, and then the corner of his mouth tugged up into that smug, lazy smirk that made her stomach flip every single time.

“You think that’s funny?” he drawled, still catching his breath, eyes raking over her flushed face, her messy hair, the way her naked body was almost glistening with sweat. God, she was the cutest damn thing he’d ever seen.

“Yes,” she said through another giggle, her body trembling under him as she tried to calm down. “We—oh my God—we actually—”

He cut her off with a kiss, soft and sweet this time, his lips brushing over her mouth like he couldn’t stop touching her even for a second. Her laughter melted into a breathy sigh against his lips, and when he finally pulled back, he was grinning.

“Not my fault,” he murmured against her skin as he peppered kisses along her jaw, her cheeks, her nose— everywhere he could reach. “You’re the one who told me not to hold back.”

She hid her face in her hands, still laughing softly, and he just smirked, pressing one last kiss to her temple before pulling away.

The bed groaned again under his weight as he sat back, and she squeaked, grabbing his arm. “Don’t move! You’re gonna make it worse!”

Rafe chuckled, running a hand through his messy hair as he climbed off the bed like it was nothing. “It’s already broken, baby.”

She sat up carefully, grabbing her clothes from the floor before hugging her knees to her chest as she watched him pull on a pair of gray sweatpants on the couch across the room. Her sleep shirt hung loose on her frame, and when he turned back to look at her, sitting there all soft and pink-cheeked with her hair a mess, something in his chest tightened.

“Stay right there,” he said firmly, pointing at her like she might argue.

“What? I can help—”

“Nope,” he cut her off, already crouching down to inspect the damage with that determined set to his jaw. “You’ve done enough tonight.”

Her cheeks burned at the implication, and she buried her face in her knees with a little groan. “You’re mean.”

“Mm-hm,” he hummed, smirking as he shoved the frame back into place with his bare hands like it was nothing. She could hear the wood scraping against the floor, the low grunts of effort that made her bite back a smile.

So she just sat there, legs crossed, watching him work like it was the most entertaining thing she’d ever seen. Her little pajama-clad figure on the edge of the mattress, hands tucked under her chin, eyes soft and full of something Rafe wasn’t sure he deserved but couldn’t stop craving.

He glanced up at her after a minute, catching the way she was looking at him, and his smirk softened into something else. “What?”

“Nothing,” she said quickly, but her smile gave her away.

He shook his head, chuckling as he tightened the last screw. “You’re trouble, you know that?”

“Me? You’re the one who broke the bed,” she teased, and he shot her a look over his shoulder that made her laugh all over again.

“Pretty sure we both know how that happened,” he said, standing up and dusting his hands off. “Bed’s fixed.”

She tilted her head, eyes dancing. “You sure? Or should I, like, not sit on it?”

He smirked, walking back toward her with that lazy confidence that always made her heart race. “Oh, you’re sitting on it. Just not the way you think.”

Her face went hot, and he laughed, leaning down to kiss her forehead before pulling her against his chest.

“C’mere,” he murmured, tucking her under his chin like she belonged there—which, honestly, she did.

And just like that, the night went quiet again, except for the sound of his heartbeat under her ear and the occasional soft laugh that bubbled out of her when she remembered the crash.

Rafe didn’t mind. Not even a little.

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Pd: i love ur writing sunny! <3

Thank you so much lovely!! I’m so sorry it took me a while to get to this. Enjoy! 💌

The “Dad” Jitters

Rafe Cameron x Single mom! Reader

The morning sunlight spilled through the kitchen window in soft, golden beams, dancing across the countertops where Rafe Cameron stood barefoot in sweatpants and a white t-shirt. He was focused, carefully cracking an egg into the skillet when a tiny voice from behind him spoke with pure determination.

“I wanna do that,” Everette announced, his voice still high and slightly raspy from sleep. He stood on his tiptoes, tiny fingers gripping the edge of a cabinet door as he peeked up at the sizzling pan.

Rafe turned around with an amused smirk. The little boy’s messy brown curls stuck up in all directions, and his Spiderman pajamas were slightly crooked. The sight of him—of this—never failed to make something warm and unfamiliar swell in Rafe’s chest.

“You wanna do what, buddy?” Rafe crouched down so he was eye-level with Everette.

“Cwack an egg,” Everett said with absolute certainty, like it was the most important task of the day.

Rafe let out a low laugh, running a hand through his slightly messy blond hair. “Big responsibility, little man. You sure you’re ready for it?”

Everette nodded, curls bouncing, eyes wide and shining. Rafe glanced toward the hallway where she—his girl—was still asleep, and then looked back at Everette, grinning. “Alright. But we gotta do it carefully. Deal?”

“Deal!” Everett held out his tiny pinky, and Rafe hooked his own around it without hesitation.

Moments later, Rafe guided his small hands around the cold shell of the egg. “Okay, just tap it—lightly,” he instructed, voice soft but firm, the same way he did everything when it came to Everett.

The egg hit the bowl with a loud crack, splintering in a messy split. Most of it landed inside, but the yolk dripped down Everett’s fingers and onto the counter.

Everette gasped dramatically. “Uh-oh.”

Rafe chuckled, grabbing a paper towel and wiping his hands clean. “No ‘uh-oh.’ That was great. We’ll just clean this up before your mom sees and thinks I made a mess.” He winked, and Everette giggled like it was a secret between just them.

And in a way, it was.

By the time she wandered into the kitchen, her hair in a messy bun, wearing one of Rafe’s shirts that hung to her thighs—the two of them were sitting at the island, plates in front of them. Everett’s had pancakes stacked high with blueberries on top (placed in the shape of a smiley face, because Ev whined), and Rafe’s hand was resting casually on the boy’s back as he took a bite.

“Well, well,” she teased softly, voice still husky from sleep. “Breakfast is already done? Who are you and what have you done with Rafe Cameron?”

Rafe smirked and leaned back in his chair. “Guess I’m just full of surprises.”

Everette grinned wide, mouth stuffed with pancake. “I helwped,” he said proudly, crumbs falling as he spoke.

“Did you now?” she smiled, bending to kiss the top of his curly head before moving to kiss Rafe’s cheek. “You two are trouble when you team up.”

“Best team ever,” Rafe said with mock seriousness, tapping his fist gently against Everett’s tiny one making her roll her eyes.

⸻

Later that day, they drove to the beach. Rafe had his arm draped casually over the back of the driver’s seat while she sat in the passenger side, soft music playing through the speakers. In the back, Everett was humming to himself, clutching his favorite dinosaur toy.

The second they parked, Everett bolted toward the sand with all the energy only a four-year-old could have. Rafe followed at an easy pace, carrying the cooler in one hand and the umbrella in the other, glancing over his shoulder with a smile that she couldn’t help but notice.

She’d seen that smile before—at her, when they first started dating. But now it was different. It was softer, fuller and happier.

When they reached the shoreline, Rafe set everything down and turned to where Everett was crouched, already digging a hole with his hands.

“You building a castle?” Rafe called out.

Everette looked up, face smudged with sand, and nodded. “The bestest castle ever. But…” he paused, eyes narrowing thoughtfully, “I need a pwath.”

“A path, huh?” Rafe walked over and knelt beside him, scooping sand with his large hands like it was second nature. “Lucky for you, I’m a moat-building expert.”

She sat on a towel a few feet away, knees pulled to her chest, watching them. Watching him. This was Rafe Cameron—the guy everyone whispered about, the one who carried a reputation heavy enough to crush most people. Yet here he was, on his knees in the sand, helping her four-year-old build the perfect moat with more patience than she’d ever seen from anyone else in her entire life.

And when Everett climbed onto Rafe’s shoulders a little later, tiny arms wrapped tightly around his forehead as Rafe carried him down the beach like it was the easiest thing in the world, her heart felt like it could burst.

⸻

That night, back at home, Everett’s eyelids were drooping before he even finished his bedtime story. Rafe was lying on the bed beside him, voice low as he read The Very Hungry Caterpillar with a surprising amount of animation, making Everett giggle when he mimicked the sounds of the caterpillar munching through the food.

She stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame, silently taking it all in. The sight of Rafe stretched out on the bed, one arm propping his head up while the other gently turned the pages, made her throat tighten in the best way.

By the time the story ended, Everett was fighting to keep his eyes open. Rafe closed the book and set it aside, brushing a hand lightly over the boy’s curls.

“Alright, little man,” Rafe murmured softly. “Time to crash.”

Everette blinked up at him, voice sleepy. “’Kay… Night, Daddy.”

The words slipped out like nothing—natural, easy, like they’d been sitting there all along just waiting to fall.

Rafe froze. For a second, his brain didn’t fully register it. Then, when it did, his chest tightened so hard it almost hurt. He felt it everywhere—warmth, pride, something deeper he didn’t even have a name for.

“What, bud?” His voice was barely above a whisper, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

Everette yawned, tiny hand curling against Rafe’s arm. “Night, Daddy…” he mumbled, already half-asleep.

Rafe just sat there for a moment, staring at him, heart pounding in a way it never had before. This wasn’t adrenaline, wasn’t the rush of a fight or the thrill of danger. This was different. This was… everything.

He bent down and pressed a soft kiss to Everett’s forehead, his voice thick when he whispered, “Night, buddy. Sweet dreams.”

When he stood and turned toward the doorway, she was still there—eyes shining, a hand covering her mouth like she’d seen the whole thing (she had).

“Rafe…” her voice cracked slightly, and that was all it took for him to cross the room in two long strides, pulling her against his chest.

“He called me dad,” Rafe murmured against her hair, voice almost disbelieving, like saying it out loud might make it real. “He called me dad.”

Her arms wrapped around him tighter, and when she tilted her head back, he was grinning—big, bright, the kind of grin she’d never seen on him before.

“You are his dad, Rafe,” she whispered. “You’ve been his dad for a while now.”

Something in him broke then—in the best way. He kissed her like he couldn’t not, like his entire world had just shifted and she was the center of it all.

When they finally pulled back, Rafe glanced toward the little boy sleeping peacefully in the bed and then back at her, his blue eyes blazing with something fierce and certain.

“I’m never letting either of you go,” he said, voice low but steady. “Ever.”

She smiled, “I know.”

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Her Unexpected Protector

Rafe Cameron x Pouge! Reader

The night air was humidly thick, carrying the faint scent of salt and driftwood smoke. The bonfire burned tall on the beach, crackling as people circled it in loose groups. Beer bottles clinked, music hummed low from someone’s massive speaker, and the whole stretch of sand seemed alive with voices and laughter.

She lingered near the edge of the circle, her toes buried in the cool sand, a red Solo cup in her hands that was more for keeping her occupied than anything else. She wasn’t much of a drinker— the Pogues understood it—and usually no one minded. But when you were the soft-spoken one in a crowd that thrived on banter and big personalities, you learned how to blend into the background pretty well.

Except Rafe Cameron didn’t seem to let her stay there.

He was leaning against a piece of driftwood a few feet away, laughing at something Topper had said. Even from here, she could tell he wasn’t fully listening. His gaze kept flicking her way, like he was checking she was still where he’d last seen her. It wasn’t unusual at this point; it had been happening for a couple weeks now. The others had noticed too. JJ had smirked about it once, muttering under his breath to Kiara about “Cameron’s Pogue exception.”

It was strange enough for a Kook to hang around a Pogue party without looking for trouble, stranger still for it to be Rafe, whose reputation on the Cut was… complicated. But he’d been different with her from the start.

She’d first noticed it in small things—like how he never tossed a biting comment her way when he was ripping into JJ or Pope, how he’d offer her his hoodie without her asking when the wind picked up, how his voice went softer when he spoke to her. Even now, while Kelce was teasing someone about tripping over the cooler earlier, Rafe’s eyes skipped right over her like she was exempt from the joke.

Kiara wandered up beside her, bumping her shoulder. “You good? You’ve been standing here like a scarecrow for ten minutes.”

She laughed, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m fine. Just tired, I guess.”

Kiara’s eyes flicked past her to where Rafe was, and one brow lifted knowingly. “Mm-hmm. Tired.”

Before she could ask what that meant, Rafe pushed away from the driftwood and headed toward them. The bonfire light painted his features in gold and shadow, his expression unreadable to anyone who didn’t know how to look past it.

“You need anything?” His voice was casual, but there was something in his gaze—searching, as if he was looking for any sign she wasn’t okay.

“I’m fine,” she said, a little too quickly. “Thanks, though.”

Rafe nodded, but didn’t move away. His hands were resting by his sides, his stance relaxed, but his attention was still anchored to her.

“Alright,” he said slowly, then tipped his head toward the fire. “Don’t stand back here all night. The wind’s colder by the water.”

Kiara bit back a grin, watching him walk back to Topper. “You seriously don’t see it, do you?”

“See what?”

Kie just shook her head, like explaining would ruin the fun.

The night stretched on —someone started passing around marshmallows, John B tried and failed to play guitar, and laughter carried out over the waves. By the time the crowd began to thin, she realized she’d have to walk home. Her place wasn’t far, maybe ten minutes tops, but she hated walking alone at night. Still, she didn’t want to bother anyone for a ride.

She slipped away quietly, figuring no one would notice anyway.

The streets were quieter off the beach, the sound of the party fading behind her. Streetlamps threw pale circles of light onto the sidewalk, and her footsteps seemed too loud in the stillness. She was halfway home when she heard it—the steady crunch of footsteps behind her.

At first she told herself it was nothing. Just someone else heading in the same direction. But when she turned down a narrower street and the steps quickened to match her pace, her heart started thudding. She didn’t recognize the man when she glanced back. He was taller, wearing a baseball cap low, his eyes shadowed, but the way he kept his distance while still following made her skin crawl. It was like she was some sort of prey.

She fumbled for her phone, her mind racing through who she could call. JJ? He’d take forever to get here. Kiara? She was probably still at the bonfire. Pope? He would probably make it into some grand learning moment.

Her thumb hovered before she realized the only person she wanted to hear on the other end was Rafe.

She hit his name without thinking.

He answered on the first ring. “Y/n?” His voice was sharp, alert, like he’d already stood up from wherever he was looking to see if she was still at the bonfire.

“Hey, um— I’m so sorry to bug you—”

“You’re not bugging me.” His voice came quick, steady. “Where are you?” She could tell he’d noticed she wasn’t in her usual spot anymore.

The firmness in his tone made her blink, nearly knocking the words right out of her. “I’m walking home, and there’s this guy—he’s been following me for a few blocks, and—”

“Stay on the phone.” There was a sudden shuffle on his end, the sound of a door slamming hard in the background. “Tell me exactly where you are.”

Her grip on the phone tightened as she gave him the street name, glancing over her shoulder to find the man still trailing her, still watching. Her pulse hammered in her ears, and she realized her hands were shaking.

“Two minutes,” Rafe said, his voice low but absolute. “You hear me? Two minutes.”

She nodded instinctively, even though he couldn’t see her, holding the phone like it was the only thing tethering her to safety. “Okay.”

The longest two minutes of her life crawled by before a set of headlights sliced through the dark, a familiar truck pulling up fast to the curb. It stopped hard, and Rafe was out before the engine had even settled, his expression carved into something cold, dangerous, and deadly focused as he closed the distance to her.

“You good?” His eyes swept over her, quick but thorough, before locking on the man who’d slowed to a stop a few yards back.

“I—yeah. I think so.”

Rafe stepped closer, the edge in his presence softening just enough for his hand to brush between her shoulder blades, soothing her. “Get in the truck.”

She hesitated, glancing past him toward the stranger. “Rafe—”

“Now, Y/n.”

The way he said it left no space for argument. She slipped into the passenger seat, heart still pounding, watching through the glass as Rafe took a measured step toward the man. His shoulders squared, and though she couldn’t hear the words, the low, sharp tone was enough to send the stranger turning on his heel and disappearing into the shadows.

When Rafe climbed back in, his jaw was still tight, his grip on the wheel white-knuckled. “You should’ve called me sooner.”

“I didn’t want to bother you,” she admitted quietly, her fingers twisting in her lap.

His eyes flicked to hers, the hardness melting into something much gentler. “You think you’re bothering me? I want to be the first person you call when something’s wrong. Always.” He reached over, his hand settling warm and solid on her thigh. Her breath caught, the heat of his touch cutting through the chill that had been clinging to her. “Okay, sweet girl?”

She swallowed, nodding. The last thing she should be thinking about right now is how that name made her feel things, but she was. “Okay.” She softly said.

Her “okay” seemed to loosen something in him, but only just. Rafe eased the truck forward, one hand on the wheel, the other still resting on her leg like he wasn’t willing to let her go just yet. Streetlights streaked across his face, highlighting the muscle ticking in his jaw.

“Did he touch you?” His tone was sharper now, like he was afraid of the answer.

She shook her head quickly. “No. He just… followed me. I didn’t know what he wanted, and I—”

“And you called me.” His lips twitched—not quite a smile, but there was relief in it. “Good.”

Silence filled the cab for a beat, thick and warm, before she glanced at him. “What did you say to him?”

Rafe smirked faintly, eyes still on the road. “Doesn’t matter. He won’t come near you again.” The way he said it sent a shiver down her spine—equal parts reassurance and promise.

By the time they pulled into her driveway, her nerves had settled, replaced with something heavier in her chest—gratitude, yes, but also the realization that Rafe Cameron had dropped everything for her without hesitation.

He killed the engine and turned toward her, finally meeting her gaze. “You’re not walking alone at night anymore. I’m not gonna let that happen.”

She bit her lip. “Rafe—”

“I’m serious. You need a ride, you call me. You’re out late, I’ll come get you. I don’t care what time it is.” His voice dipped, softer now. “You’re mine. You’re mine to look after, sweet girl. Got it?”

Her breath caught, and all she could do was nod again. “Got it.”

Satisfied, he leaned over, brushing his hand over her cheek in a touch so gentle it was almost jarring compared to the cold, dangerous edge he’d shown earlier. “Good. Now go inside. I’ll wait until you’re in.”

She reluctantly slid out of the truck, the night air cool against her flushed skin. As she reached her door, she glanced back to find him still watching, one arm draped casually over the steering wheel—but his eyes, sharp and unblinking, scanned the street like he was daring anyone to come near her again. She gave him a small wave to which he returned with a smile he only ever gave to her.

When she stepped inside and closed the door, she pressed her back against it, her heart pounding for an entirely different reason than it had ten minutes ago.

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Rafe Cameron x Reader

Summary: Sofia decides its the perfect time to make her move on Rafe even when he’s there you— his loving girlfriend.

Sunny’s Notes: This has been siting in my queue for a good while… I hope it’s decent.

The late afternoon sun dipped low, casting a golden haze over the coastline, where the surf kissed the sand and reggae music floated lazily from the open-air beach bar. She was stretched out on a lounger nearby, her sunglasses perched low on her nose, a chilled bottle of water resting on her sun-warmed stomach. The breeze blew her hair as she turned her head just slightly, eyes tracking Rafe as he walked barefoot through the sand toward the bar.

He looked every bit the summer fantasy—sun-tanned skin, his chest bare and toned, and his swim trunks slung low on his hips. She watched as he ran a hand through his buzzed hair, a little damp from the ocean, and leaned casually against the bamboo counter.

He glanced over his shoulder in her direction, a playful glint in his eye as he shot her a wink. The gesture made her laugh softly, a warmth blooming in her chest. Her smile lingered as she tilted her head back against the lounge chair, the sun taking in her skin while the sound of waves and music blended in the background. There was something about the way he looked at her—like she was the only one who existed in that moment—that made her heart flutter.

“Hi! What can I get you?” Sofia chirped, her voice bright and laced with enthusiasm as she stepped up to the counter. She flashed a wide, practiced smile, but the rush of adrenaline coursing through her veins wasn’t just from the usual pace of her shift—it was from him.

Rafe Cameron stood on the other side of the bar, casually leaning against the weathered wood with one hand braced on the counter. The golden sun caught in his short blond hair, casting warm highlights across his sharp features. His presence made the air feel thicker somehow, like the entire beach bar had shrunk down to just this moment between them.

Sofia’s heart thudded violently against her ribs, and she prayed he couldn’t hear it over the music and chatter. She’d noticed him the second he walked in, eyes trailing after him whenever she wasn’t busy shaking cocktails or running tabs. Not in a stalkerish way—at least, that’s what she told herself. It was more like admiration… appreciation… okay, maybe obsession-adjacent. But could you blame her? He was the kind of guy that looked like he belonged on the cover of a surf magazine, all tan and effortlessly cool.

But Rafe?

His attention wasn’t on her.

His girlfriend was stretched out on a lounge chair just beyond the bar, soaking up the sun like she was born for it. Her sunglasses rested low on her nose, and her skin glowed under the warm rays. The curve of her smile, the carefree toss of her hair in the breeze, her small bikini that she teased him with—it all had him captivated.

She was in her element, and Rafe couldn’t tear his eyes away.

“Rafe?” Sofia’s voice broke through the haze of his thoughts, pulling his eyes away from his girl stretched out under the sun.

He blinked, as if just remembering where he was, and turned toward her. His expression was unreadable, his jaw tight as he let out a low sigh and glanced up at the chalkboard menu hanging above the bar.

“Yeah… I’ll take two margaritas,” he muttered, voice low and gravelly, already shifting his attention back to where it had been.

Sofia followed his line of sight, and the ache in her chest deepened. Of course. That was who he was here with. That was the girl who had all of his attention without even trying. She was the girl who lived the life Sofia could only dream of.

Still, she turned away to start the drinks, trying to ignore the sting in her stomach. The shaker clinked in her hands as she scooped in ice, squeezing fresh lime and reaching for the tequila.

“So…” she tried again, hoping her voice sounded more casual than it felt, “how’s your beach day going?”

He turned slowly this time, just his head, and when his eyes met hers, her breath caught for a second.

He was beautiful in a raw, untouchable kind of way—messy sun-bleached hair, sharp jawline dusted with a unnoticeable stubble. But it wasn’t his looks that stopped her—it was the complete lack of interest behind his expression. His face was unreadable, almost bored.

“Great,” he said flatly, dragging a hand down his face and then running his fingers over his hair in one slow motion before looking away again.

The word dropped heavy between them. No emotion. No warmth.

Just… great.

Sofia gave a quick nod and turned back to her work, willing the heat rising in her cheeks to go unnoticed. She knew he wasn’t being rude—not exactly. But he wasn’t inviting anything either. She could feel it in the way his words dropped like stones.

Still, some part of her—the bold, foolish part—spoke up again.

“Are you and your girlfriend still together?” she asked suddenly, barely looking up as she poured the first margarita into a salt-rimmed glass.

The question hung awkwardly in the air, heavier than it had sounded in her head. She bit the inside of her cheek the second it escaped, pretending to concentrate on mixing the second drink.

Rafe didn’t answer right away.

His gaze had drifted again, back to the girl in the chair. She shifted slightly, rolling onto her side, arm draping over her stomach. The curve of her body, the relaxed lines of her pose, the way the light caught her—he couldn’t look away.

He nodded, eyes never leaving her.

“Yeah,” he said simply. “She’s right over there.”

Sofia followed his gaze— even though she already knew— and then nodded slowly, the bitter taste of regret already settling on her tongue.

“Right,” she mumbled, forcing a smile even though her heart was aching.

Sofia turned back to the bar, hands moving automatically as she began preparing the second margarita. She didn’t need to ask who it was for—of course it was for her.

Sofia tried not to grit her teeth as she measured the tequila, the sharp scent rising up and mingling with the salt-kissed breeze. She was usually good at letting things slide—at reading signals, backing off. But something about the way he kept looking at his girlfriend… the softness in his eyes… it gnawed at her.

Still, her heart kicked in her chest.

Maybe it was the warmth of the afternoon, or maybe it was the way his knuckles brushed the bar top like he was seconds away from turning to leave—but something reckless surged inside her.

“Listen, Rafe,” she said suddenly, her voice a touch shakier than she wanted it to be. She paused, steadying herself with a deep breath. “I know you’re dating someone, but…”

She hesitated. There it was—that pause where she could’ve pulled back. Let it go. Pretend it never crossed her mind. But the words pushed forward, a whisper of hope buried in her chest, naive and stubborn.

“…but I can’t help noticing you. You’ve been in here a few times now and… I guess I just thought maybe…” She trailed off, biting down on the inside of her cheek. “Maybe there was something.”

Still, Rafe didn’t look at her. His eyes were on the girl reclining a few yards away, the one with sun-warmed skin and hair spilling across the towel like it belonged there. She wasn’t laughing or even doing anything remarkable—just lying there peacefully, like she knew she didn’t have to try to keep his attention.

Because she didn’t. She already had it.

Sofia forced a breath and pressed on, softly. “If I’m wrong, I’m sorry. I just—had to say it.”

For a beat, Rafe said nothing. His hand tapped once against the bar, a quiet, absent motion. Then he turned—slow, annoyed, but sure—and looked her in the eyes.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is… if things ever change,” she said, setting the second glass down gently on the bar, “I’d be interested. That’s all.”

She offered a small, tentative smile, masking the knot of anxiety building in her chest.

“You are,” he said dryly. “Wrong.”

“She’s not going anywhere and neither am I,” he said with a look that only said that he was uninterested. “She’s everything to me.”

Sofia dropped her gaze to the weathered wooden planks beneath her feet, the weight of rejection settling heavy in her chest. Her cheeks burned despite the cool coastal breeze, and her fingers fidgeted uselessly with the bar towel in her hand.

Of course he wouldn’t like me, she thought bitterly, the words ringing loud in her mind even as the noise of the beach surrounded her. She’d known it before she even spoke—had felt it in the way his eyes tracked only her, how everything else faded for him when his girlfriend was in view. She just hadn’t wanted to believe it.

But now, there was no denying it.

What stung the most wasn’t that he didn’t look at her the way he looked at his girlfriend.

It was seeing—really seeing—how in love he was with her.

And it wasn’t flashy, or loud, or obvious. It wasn’t anything Sofia could pretend to compete with. It was quiet. Steady. The kind of love that didn’t need words or explanations. The way he moved around her. The way his shoulders relaxed when he was near her. The softness in his voice when he said, She’s everything.

Sofia wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly feeling out of place, like an outsider peeking through a window at something she’d never touched. She’d been so sure there had been a crack—some small, invisible fracture she might’ve slipped through. But there wasn’t. Not even close.

“On the house,” she added, voice small, almost drowned out by the buzz of beachgoers behind them.

But Rafe was already reaching for his wallet, eyes still flicking back to the lounge chair, as if needing constant reassurance she was still there.

“She doesn’t like freebies,” he muttered coldly as he set down a twenty, then grabbed the drinks and turned to leave.

Sofia stood there in the sudden stillness, hands resting on the bar, her heart sinking with every step he took back toward the girl who never had to say a word to keep him.

⸻

She stirred slightly when a shadow stretched across her body, dimming the golden sunlight that had been warming her skin. Her eyelashes fluttered as her eyes opened, adjusting to the light—and when she saw him standing there, the corners of her mouth lifted into a soft, glowing smile.

“Yay, you’re back,” she said, voice gentle and full of affection, like just seeing him again was enough to brighten her entire day.

Rafe let out a low chuckle, the sound vibrating from deep in his chest. He set the two margaritas carefully on the small side table beside her, but his eyes were already back on her—drawn in, like they always were. She looked completely at ease with that look in her eyes that made his heart flip every single time.

All love. No doubt. No game.

Just her.

Looking at him like he was home.

The way she always did.

And before he even realized he was doing it, he was climbing onto the chair with her, lowering himself gently on top of her, one forearm braced so he wouldn’t crush her under his weight.

She giggled, wrapping her arms around his neck without hesitation, her body instantly curling into his like it had done it a thousand times before. Her fingertips brushed the back of his neck, and he dipped his face into the curve of her throat, breathing her in like he needed her just to stay grounded.

“I missed you,” she whispered, her voice muffled slightly against his shoulder.

Rafe smiled against her skin, his lips pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the crook of her neck. “I was gone for like five minutes, baby” he murmured, grinning.

She shrugged playfully, her fingers tracing lazy circles against his back. “Still too long.”

He kissed her neck again, slower this time, letting his lips linger against her sun-warmed skin. The world around them—waves crashing, people laughing, music playing—faded to a dull hum. Nothing else mattered when he was wrapped up in her like this.

She was his everything.

“Guess what the bartender said to me,” Rafe huffed as he pulled back slightly, sitting upright and moving to settle into his chair beside her.

She whined softly at the sudden loss of his warmth, the sun no longer enough to make up for it. Without thinking twice, she shifted onto her knees and crawled over into his lap, settling sideways across him like it was the most natural thing in the world. Her legs draped lazily over the arm of the chair, her bare skin pressed against his, and the breeze chilling her bikini-covered skin as she curled into him.

He chuckled under his breath, arms instinctively wrapping around her waist. His fingers spread wide across her hot skin, pulling her just a little closer, like he couldn’t stand even an inch between them. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to her cheek—slow, deliberate, affectionate—before resting his chin lightly on her shoulder.

She hummed at the gesture, eyes fluttering closed for a moment before she glanced at him with curiosity, a small smile tugging at her lips.

“Sofia?” she asked, knowingly. “What did she say?”

Her voice was calm, unbothered—genuinely curious. She’d noticed Sofia watching him earlier, sure. It was hard not to. But it hadn’t phased her. She knew Rafe. She knew what they had. And more importantly, she knew the way he looked at her—like she hung the moon and stars just by existing.

Rafe let out a short laugh, somewhere between disbelief and amusement, rubbing his thumb in slow circles against her side.

“She told me I should hit her up,” he said, shaking his head slightly. “After watching me order two drinks for us, watching me stare at you the entire time—then she decides to shoot her shot.”

Her brows lifted, more amused than anything. “Bold of her.”

“Right?” he muttered, rolling his eyes. “I mean… you were literally twenty feet away.”

She grinned, her fingers toying with the edge of his trunks. “So what did you say?”

Rafe tilted his head, looking her dead in the eyes, his expression softening. “Told her I was taken. Fully,” he said, echoing the word like a vow. “Said you were right over there—and that you’re everything.”

Her heart swelled instantly, cheeks flushing in that way they always did when he said something so honest it left her speechless. She pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth, lingering there for a second.

“I mean… obviously,” she teased gently, smiling against his skin.

He laughed again, pulling her closer into his chest, arms wrapping around her like he never wanted to let go.

“She looked embarrassed,” he added after a pause, voice lower now, like he didn’t really care but still wanted her to know. “Not mean or anything. Just… disappointed.”

Her fingers laced gently at the nape of his neck. “Well. Can’t blame her for having good taste.”

He smirked. “You’re not even jealous.”

“Nope,” she said easily, leaning back just enough to meet his eyes. “I’ve got you. She doesn’t.”

And the way he looked at her right then—completely undone, totally in love—left no room for doubt.

Not in her.

Not in him.

Slipping Through

Rafe Cameron x Reader

Rafe had been distant lately.

And not in the casual, “just busy” kind of way. Not the kind of distant that came with late nights or long days. This was different. This was bone-deep, soul-quiet kind of distant. Cold in a way that made her shiver even when he was sitting right next to her. The air around him had shifted—grown heavier, sharper—until it filled every room they shared with something unspoken and stifling.

He’d been quieter. Shorter. His texts less frequent, his touches more fleeting. He stared at his phone like it held more answers than she ever could, disappearing without warning and returning without explanation. And when he was around, he wasn’t really there. His body was in the room, sure—but his mind? His eyes? They were somewhere far away, and she didn’t know how to follow.

At first, she tried not to overthink it. Rafe carried a lot—expectations from Ward, the weight of the Cameron name, and whatever war raged inside his own head. He wasn’t the best at handling it, never had been. She told herself it would pass, that he just needed space. Time. Quiet. But the more days slipped by like this, the more she felt herself shrinking, folding in on herself, reaching for pieces of him that kept slipping through her fingers.

She missed him.

Missed the curve of his mouth when he smirked at her like she was the only one who mattered. Missed the way he’d hook his pinky around hers when they walked through a crowd. Missed his hand on her knee when they watched movies—warm, possessive, grounding.

Missed being his peace.

So she tried to bring him back. Little by little.

She cleaned his apartment—wiped down every surface, folded his laundry, even scrubbed the stovetop he always forgot about. She picked up his favorite snacks without asking, tucked his favorite gum into the console of his truck so he’d find it the next time he got in. She wore the hoodie he loved—soft and slouchy and sliding off one shoulder—and showed up with a coffee in hand, made just how he liked it. She didn’t push. She didn’t beg. She just… tried.

And tonight, she cooked.

Steak and mashed potatoes, buttery and rich and made with the kind of care you could taste. She lit candles even though she felt a little silly doing it. Put on music—nothing too much, just soft background hums to fill the silence she hated so much. She didn’t let herself hope too hard, but her heart still fluttered in her chest like it hadn’t gotten the memo to be cautious.

He was late.

Thirty minutes, then forty.

She kept the food warm and tried to keep her hands from wringing. By the time the door opened, the candles had burned low and the music was looping for the second time.

Rafe stepped inside, rubbing a hand over his face like he was already exhausted. His eyes flicked toward the table, but he didn’t react. No smile. No acknowledgment of the effort. Just a tired, annoyed breath.

“Didn’t know we were doing some big thing tonight.”

She blinked, caught off guard. “It’s not a big thing. I just… I thought you had a rough week, and I wanted to do something nice. That’s all.”

He didn’t sit. Didn’t take off his jacket. Just stood near the island, shoulders tense, eyes darting toward the floor.

“I’ve got a lot on my plate right now, okay?” His tone was clipped, edged with something sharp.

“I know. That’s why I—”

“Yeah, I got it,” he snapped, cutting her off. “You’re always trying to do something. Always right there, up under me, hovering like I’m gonna fall apart if you’re not holding my damn hand.”

Her breath caught.

He wasn’t yelling, but the words hit like a shout. Her stomach turned.

“It’s just too much,” he muttered, not even looking at her.

Too much.

The words echoed in her head like a bell, loud and hollow and final. Her lips parted, but nothing came out. She stood frozen in the soft glow of the candles, surrounded by a meal gone cold and silence gone sharp.

“I was just trying to help,” she said, barely above a whisper.

Rafe let out a bitter sigh, like she was the burden. “Sometimes it feels like you’re just… clingy, you know? Like I can’t even think with you always needing something from me.”

Clingy.

It landed in her chest like a stone.

She didn’t cry. Not yet. But something inside her pulled taut, like a thread stretched too far. She felt it—that aching shift from warmth to shame. Her heart had been so full of hope, and now it just hurt.

She nodded.

Once.

Then again, slower.

Again, like it was the only thing she knew how to do.

He watched her, some of the tension starting to drain from his posture, but it was too late. The words were already out. The damage already done.

Her voice, when it came again, was flat. Hollow. “I should go.”

She didn’t meet his eyes. Didn’t ask if he wanted her to stay. She just turned away, hands moving on their own as she gathered her things. The hoodie he loved. Her keys. Her purse. The quiet clink of silverware as she brushed past the table was the only sound in the room.

“I didn’t mean to overwhelm you,” she added, softer now. Like maybe she could still take up less space.

She didn’t wait for him to answer.

The front door clicked shut behind her.

⸻

The next day, the silence was deafening.

No “good morning” text waiting on his phone.

No heart emojis.

No blurry snapshots of her coffee mug sitting beside one of his hoodies.

Nothing.

Rafe unlocked his phone before he even sat up in bed, thumb hovering over her name in his messages. The thread was right where he left it—her last message a heart-eyed emoji she’d sent the day before, after she told him she was making his favorite for dinner.

He hadn’t responded.

He stared at it for a beat too long before switching apps. Instagram. No story updates. No little circle around her profile picture. He refreshed once, then again, as if that would magically change something.

It didn’t.

And maybe—maybe—he should’ve felt relieved. After all, wasn’t this what he said he wanted? Space? Quiet? No constant check-ins. No sticky notes on his dashboard reminding him to eat lunch. No texts at 2 a.m. asking if he made it home okay. No sweet little nudges that said I’m thinking about you, even when he didn’t deserve them.

But he didn’t feel relieved.

He felt empty.

Worse—he felt wrong. Like something inside him had been ripped loose, and now the space it left behind was echoing.

His stomach twisted as her face came back to him in sharp, unwanted clarity—eyes wide with hurt, mouth parted in shock, that slow, stunned nod that said okay even though her heart was breaking. She hadn’t fought back. Hadn’t yelled. She just… shrunk, like he’d drained the light out of her.

And he had.

Rafe raked a hand through his hair, jaw clenching hard. He hadn’t meant it like that. God, he hadn’t meant it at all. He was just overwhelmed—Ward had been on his back about everything lately, snapping at every little thing. The pressure in his chest hadn’t let up for weeks. He felt like he was one wrong move away from collapsing.

But she hadn’t been part of the pressure. She was supposed to be the opposite. She had always been the calm after the storm, not the storm itself. Her love came soft and steady, with warm hands and sweet gestures and the kind of quiet devotion he didn’t know what to do with—but damn it, he needed it. Even if he pretended he didn’t.

And what did he do with that softness?

He crushed it.

He snapped at her. Brushed off her care like it was a burden. Called her clingy—clingy, like she hadn’t been the only thing keeping him from drowning most days.

And now she was silent.

Rafe couldn’t sit still. Couldn’t think straight. The walls of his room felt like they were closing in on him, so he grabbed his keys and left without a plan. His truck roared to life, and before he knew it, he was halfway across town, hands tight on the wheel, knuckles white.

He didn’t even think about where he was going—his instincts were stronger than his guilt.

And then he was there.

Her place.

The street was quiet, sunlight filtering through the trees in soft golden patches, as if the world didn’t know he was on the verge of unraveling. He parked across the street, heart beating like a war drum. He didn’t know if she’d be home. Didn’t know if she’d want to see him if she was.

But then he saw her.

Through the window.

Curled up on the couch, knees drawn up beneath her, arms wrapped around herself like she was trying to hold in all the pieces. She was wearing a hoodie—not his—and staring off into space like whatever show was playing barely registered. Her face looked… blank. Not angry. Not crying anymore. Just tired in a way that scared him.

Because he did that.

He made her retreat into herself. Pulled the light right out of her.

He sat there for a second longer, hands gripping the steering wheel. Then he got out of the truck.

Walked up the steps.

And knocked.

The door opened after a long pause.

She stood there, backlit by the soft glow of a nearby lamp, dressed in sleep shorts and socks. Her arms were crossed protectively over her stomach like she was holding herself together from the inside out. And she looked… smaller. Not physically—but emotionally.

Her cheeks were flushed, not from warmth, but from crying. Her eyes were glossy, tired, rimmed with the kind of red that came from quiet sobs and too much thinking. But even so, they were blank. Not angry. Not resentful. Just… tired.

Rafe’s breath caught.

“Hey,” he said softly, voice unusually tentative, like he wasn’t sure he deserved to be speaking to her at all.

She didn’t respond.

No smile. No questions. Just a step back, wordless, allowing him in with the smallest motion of her head.

He hesitated in the doorway, guilt sitting heavy in his chest like lead. The silence between them wasn’t sharp—it was hollow. Like everything warm had been scooped out and replaced with nothing at all. He watched her retreat back to the couch, small and quiet as she tucked her legs up beneath her and wrapped her arms around her knees.

She didn’t look at him.

Didn’t ask why he came.

Didn’t try to fill the silence.

And somehow, that silence hurt more than if she’d screamed.

Rafe shut the door gently behind him. The soft click echoed through the room.

“I messed up,” he said, his voice rougher this time.

She nodded once, but it was slow. Empty. Like her body was on autopilot, giving him the bare minimum.

“Like—really messed up,” he added quickly, desperate for her to hear the weight behind it.

Another nod.

Still no words.

His stomach twisted.

She wasn’t shutting him out—she wasn’t even guarded. She was just… absent. Disconnected in a way that made his skin crawl. Like she’d already started building a wall to protect herself from him, brick by painful brick.

“Baby,” he said, voice cracking as he crossed the room. He knelt in front of her, his hands bracing the edge of the couch cushion like he needed the anchor. “I didn’t mean that shit. I swear, I didn’t. I was stressed and pissed off and I took it out on you, and that’s—God, that’s on me. That’s all on me.”

She didn’t pull away.

But she didn’t lean in either.

When she finally spoke, her voice was soft. Small. Like she was trying not to cry again. “You called me clingy.”

Rafe flinched like she’d struck him. His jaw tightened. “I know. I shouldn’t have. That was—fuck—it was cruel. And wrong. You’re not clingy. You’re good—too good to me. You care. You love me in a way I don’t even know how to deserve yet, and I threw it in your face.”

Her eyes finally lifted to meet his.

They were wet, but not spilling over. Rimmed in hurt. Dim in a way he had never seen on her before.

“I didn’t know I was too much for you,” she whispered. “I just wanted to make you happy.”

“You do,” he said instantly, leaning closer. “You make me so fucking happy. You’re the only thing that feels good when everything else is chaos. I’ve just… I’ve been stuck in my own head. And instead of leaning on you like I should’ve, I pushed you away.”

She looked down at her lap, fingers fidgeting with the sleeves of her hoodie—twisting the fabric like she needed something to hold onto.

“I kept trying to be enough for you,” she said, barely audible. “Trying to make everything perfect. I thought if I just did more… if I loved you harder… you’d come back. You wouldn’t feel so far away.”

Rafe’s heart cracked wide open. His throat tightened, the air catching somewhere between apology and regret. He reached for her hand slowly—gently—and when she didn’t pull away, he wrapped his fingers around hers, thumb brushing across the back of her hand.

“I’m already yours,” she said after a moment, voice so quiet it barely reached him. “You didn’t have to shove me away to get space. You could’ve just told me.”

He swallowed hard, staring at her hand in his, overwhelmed by how fragile it felt—like she might let go at any second.

“I’m sorry I made you feel like you had to fight for a place in my life,” he murmured. “You already have one. You always have. I just… I get in my own way. I let everything pile up and instead of talking to you, I shut down. And you paid for it.”

She finally looked at him—really looked. And it wrecked him.

Her eyes were glassy, rimmed with unshed tears, but they didn’t fall. There was no dramatic outburst. No trembling lower lip. Just that quiet kind of heartbreak that lives in the silence between people who love each other deeply but are still learning how to handle it.

“Why did you say it?” she asked softly, her voice a careful whisper, like she was afraid the answer might hurt more than the question.

Rafe let out a slow, unsteady breath. It was the kind of question that cracked something open in him.

“Because I was scared,” he admitted, voice rough with guilt. “Everything’s been piling up—my dad, expectations, all of it—and I’ve been drowning. And instead of reaching for you—the one person who actually makes me feel like I can breathe—I pushed you away.”

He swallowed hard. His voice lowered. “I guess… I thought if I let you get too close, if you saw all the cracks, all the mess, I’d fall apart in front of you. And I didn’t want you to see me like that.”

She was quiet for a moment. Then her gaze softened, something raw and honest settling into her expression. “You already have fallen apart in front of me,” she whispered. “And I stayed.”

The words hit him square in the chest, almost knocking the breath out of him.

Rafe’s throat tightened, eyes burning. “And I’ll never forget that. I swear to God, I’ll never take that for granted again.”

He shifted closer until he was kneeling at the edge of the couch again, then leaned forward, resting his head gently against her knee like he was surrendering—like he was placing his heart there and asking her to take him back.

“I miss you,” he murmured. “I missed you even when you were standing right in front of me last night. You were trying so hard to love me, and I was too far in my own shit to appreciate it. To appreciate you.”

Her fingers twitched in her lap, like she was debating whether or not to reach for him. Slowly—hesitantly—she brought her hand to his hair, fingertips brushing through it. Testing the waters.

When he leaned into her touch, eyes fluttering shut, something in her chest loosened.

“You make me feel safe, Rafe,” she said quietly. “Even when you don’t know what you’re doing. Even when you’re a mess. But last night…” She trailed off, breath hitching faintly. “Last night, I didn’t feel safe. I felt like I was annoying you just by existing. Like being near you was the last thing you wanted.”

Rafe flinched like her words physically hurt. He lifted his head, eyes red and glassy now too, and looked up at her like she was the only thing anchoring him to this earth.

“Fuck,” he whispered. “I hate that I made you feel that way. I hate myself for it.”

Her brows pulled together, the tiniest crease forming. “Don’t say that.”

“I mean it,” he said, his voice raw. “But if you don’t want me to, then… let me show you. Let me show you how much I regret it. How much I love you.”

There was a long pause. Not because she was unsure—but because she needed a second. A moment to let his words settle, to let her heart steady itself.

Then, finally, she nodded.

Not dramatic. Not rushed.

Just a soft, slow movement that felt like hope.

“You’re already trying,” she said quietly.

Rafe rose to his feet, hands reaching for her with reverence. He pulled her up into his arms and held her like something precious. Like something fragile that he’d nearly shattered.

Her cheek pressed to his chest, and she let herself melt into him with a shaky breath, clinging just a little tighter than usual.

And this time—he didn’t pull away.

He cradled her like she was home.

“I love you,” he murmured into her hair, voice thick with emotion. “I didn’t say it last night. I should have. I love you so much it scares me.”

She tilted her face up to look at him, her lips trembling with the ghost of a smile. “Even if I’m clingy?”

He gave a soft, breathy laugh, pressing a kiss to her forehead. His arms tightened around her like he’d never let go again.

“You’re not clingy,” he whispered. “You’re mine.”

⸻

The next day, he showed up at her door just after noon—nervous, fidgety, and holding far more than just an apology.

In one arm, he cradled a bouquet of her favorite flowers—sun-warmed peonies and blush-pink ranunculus, wrapped in brown paper and tied with a navy ribbon. In the other, a canvas tote bag stuffed full with comfort: her favorite snacks (the obscure chocolate bars she loved, the salty chips he used to tease her for), a mason jar of homemade sweet tea, and a hoodie—soft, oversized, the color of a summer sky, with his name stitched in white thread along the sleeve like a promise.

She opened the door slowly, brows lifting in surprise.

“I know flowers won’t fix it,” he said, offering a tentative smile. “But I wanted to start somewhere.”

He handed over the tote bag, brushing her fingers with his own. “There’s something inside,” he added, voice lower now. “Something… I needed you to read.”

Tucked between the folded hoodie and a sleeve of cookies was a note. Not typed. Not copied and pasted from something impersonal. This was handwritten—slightly messy, the ink smudged in the corner like maybe he’d hesitated halfway through.

It read:

You’re not too much. You’ve always been exactly what I needed—even when I didn’t deserve you. Thank you for loving me anyway. I promise I’ll love you better now.

- R. C

Her fingers trembled slightly as she folded the note back up, eyes wet but clear. She didn’t say much—just reached out and hugged him. No words. Just arms around his waist, cheek pressed to his chest, and a soft, shaky breath that told him she believed him.

And after that, he made good on every word.

He showed up—not just once, but every day after. Not with grand gestures, but with quiet consistency.

He took up space on her couch, close enough to touch. Sat beside her while she worked, brushing his knee against hers every now and then just to feel her there. He rubbed gentle circles into her back when she couldn’t sleep and rested his hand on her thigh like it was instinct, like she was home.

He kissed her forehead when she was stressed. Her knuckles when she doubted herself. Her shoulders when she curled in on herself, too unsure to speak.

He took pictures of her when she wasn’t looking—curled up with a book, dancing barefoot in the kitchen, laughing at something dumb he said—and made them his lock screen, his wallpaper, his everything.

And when she got quiet—too quiet—he didn’t pull away anymore. He held her tighter. Kissed her temple. Told her she didn’t have to say anything for him to understand her.

Because he did.

She wasn’t too much. She never was.

She was soft. And steady. And his.

And he would never let his own chaos drown her again.