outer banks, rafe cameron x reader

summary. He only comes at night.

After the parties. After the drugs. After everything else falls apart.

Rafe doesn’t ask for love, he asks not to sink.

labels. she/her pronouns, reader with no physical description, Rafe Cameron, friends to something messier, emotional dependence, unhealthy coping, hidden relationship, late-night visits, addiction metaphors, vulnerability, intimacy without commitment, comfort over love, canon-typical behavior

author’s note. english isn’t my first language. This piece explores emotional dependence and unhealthy comfort.

You could hear the familiar knock on the window late at night.

It was always like this, always after parties, after getting high and drunk, he would come crawling back to you.

He climbed through the window clumsily, leaving it open behind him and heading straight for the bed. You didn’t look at him yet, but you could feel the other side of the mattress sink under his weight. No asking. No looking. Just taking space, warm arms wrapping around your waist, fingertips brushing the strip of skin where your shirt had ridden up.

You could feel how close he was, Rafe’s heat clashing with the cold sheets, the contact enough to make you shiver as the smell of cigarettes and alcohol filled your senses.

His touch was always confusing. Always hidden. Always when there was no one around to notice.

He whispered things about missing you at the party, asking why you hadn’t gone, inching closer until his lips met yours in a messy kiss, hungry for affection, for touch.

Enough to catch you off guard. Something you would probably never fully get used to.

You would rather lose someone than use them.

You pulled away to question him, to ask what the hell was going on, but he was already shaking his head no.

“Don’t do this to me.” He whispered, moving closer again as if he needed your lips the same way someone needs air to breathe.

Friendship seemed to dissolve with every touch, every caress, every pleading murmur as Rafe leaned in again.

“It’s just me…” he reassured, like a desperate excuse for you to give in.

It was one of the few moments he seemed to feel alive.

Affection, to him, was like one of the drugs he used: addictive.

The same doubts began to eat at your mind. Did he even know what he was doing? He wasn’t completely sober now, truthfully, he never was.

It was as if your lips hesitated to respond, as if your body took longer to react, while he was already breathless from so little.

Suddenly the bed felt too small for him, as if you were an anchor keeping him from drifting away. He wanted something that would stop him from sinking without asking him to swim.

Rafe avoided questions. Avoided any pause that might make you change your mind or say he was too high. That explained the desperate way he searched for your mouth, the way his hands held onto your skin like rafts keeping him afloat.

He wasn’t naive.

He chose the shortcut of the body to escape the conversation.

It was hard to breathe, or deny him, when he was this close, whispering pleas between your thighs, unconcerned about making noise or alerting his parents in the next room.

Rafe only needed you, in your most imperfect, raw form.

He needed you to accept him.

To hold him when his world felt like it was falling apart.

You were the balm he clung to.

He needed your warmth in a world that felt relentlessly cold.

Deep down, it was two broken people trying to fit into each other’s cracks, not to be fixed, but to hurt a little less for a few minutes.

Not love.

Not salvation.

outer banks, JJ Maybank x reader | wc: 631

summary. Rafe Cameron kissed you.

JJ pretended he didn’t care.

labels. she/her pronouns, reader with no physical description, jj maybank x reader, rafe cameron mention, angst, emotional tension, jealousy, unspoken feelings, friends to something else, garage scene, season one vibes.

author’s note. english isn’t my first language.

The metallic sound of the wrench hitting the engine cut through the silence of the garage. The smell of gasoline and rust hung thick in the air as JJ leaned over the bike, his shirt stained with grease, his jaw far too tense for someone who claimed not to care about anything.

He knew you were there.

He’d heard your footsteps before you even stepped inside, stopping just a few feet behind him. Still, he didn’t turn around. His body stayed rigid, focused on the bike.

Last night was still painfully fresh in his mind.

The laughter. The loud music. The crowd of drunk teenagers, some high, some just reckless. One of the few moments when Kooks and Pogues shared the same space. They knew Rafe Cameron was her friend, yet he touched you like he had the right.

Maybe it was the alcohol, blurring everyone’s judgment. Maybe it confused the signals, especially for Rafe. Either way, the image of that damn kiss played on a loop in Maybank’s head.

When you finally spoke “JJ… can we talk?.” He only tightened his grip on the part he was working on.

The silence wasn’t indifference.

It was restraint.

“Go ahead…” He muttered, still not looking at you, like he couldn’t.

“…Not like today wasn’t already a mess anyway.”

The wrench slipped from his hand and hit the concrete floor with a sharp clang. His shoulders were stiff, his whole body tense.

JJ exhaled slowly through his nose, like he was trying to keep himself together.

“What do you wanna talk about?.” He asked at last, as if he’d finally gathered the courage, still facing the bike.

“Last night?.” The words tasted bitter.

He wiped his hands on an already ruined rag, grease smearing his fingers like it didn’t matter anymore. He couldn’t focus with you there, not physically, not in his head.

“You don’t owe me an explanation.” The words came out flat. Rehearsed. Too dry to be true.

He knew he shouldn’t care.

He knew that wasn’t how it worked.

But knowing was never enough to stop what he felt, the discomfort burned in his chest like he had a right he never actually had.

Silence stretched between you, thick and uncomfortable.

The garage suddenly felt smaller, like the walls were closing in, the air heavier, almost suffocating.

“I saw you…” He added, quieter now.

Only then did he straighten up. When he turned, it was slow and deliberate, his eyes meeting yours for half a second before drifting away again.

“Rafe Cameron.” He muttered, like the name left a bitter taste in his mouth, like he couldn’t hold back what was really on his mind.

“He always acts like he owns everything he touches.”

The only sounds left were your heavy breathing and the soft rustle of leaves outside, stirred by the afternoon breeze.

JJ let out a short, humorless laugh.

“Guess I should’ve known it wouldn’t be any different with you.”

He finally stepped closer, close enough for you to smell oil, salt, and something sharp underneath, frustration, maybe.

His jaw clenched, his fingers flexing at his sides like he was stopping himself from doing something stupid.

He stayed silent for a few seconds, jaw locked, hands opening and closing like he didn’t know what to do with them, or with what he was feeling.

“So don’t do that.” He murmured at last.

Still, he didn’t look at you.

“Don’t come here like nothing happened. Like it didn’t mean anything.”

It felt like he could lose what little control he had at any second.

He stayed there, trying to swallow everything he didn’t know how to say, and failing.

Because feeling too much had always been his biggest flaw.

outer banks, rafe cameron x reader | wc: 1155

summary. You left the party for a reason. Rafe knows exactly why. And for who.

labels. she/her pronouns, reader with no physical description, emotional tension, jealousy, season one Rafe, toxic behavior, gaslighting, possessive behavior.

author’s note. english isn’t my first language.

The sound of laughter was as loud as the music echoing throughout the mansion. Most people were drunk or under the influence of some illicit substance, common at any Kook-side party on the island, whether for status, appearance, or simply the warped way they enjoyed their youth.

You had been away from the party for some time, too absorbed in the fact that JJ had risked coming there just to see you. The encounter on the pier had been quick, almost innocent, accompanied by subtle touches, a shared silly laugh, a brief moment before anyone could catch it.

The previously blaring music now sounded muffled by the distance, replaced by the low murmur of the ocean and the uneven sound of your own breathing as JJ left the property.

Everything seemed to have gone right, but he would notice your absence. Of course he would.

Rafe seemed to sense it shortly after you vanished into the crowd of young partygoers.

And when you turned, he was there. As if he had watched every second. As if he had tortured himself witnessing the slightest interaction between you and JJ.

Something was off about him that night, very different from his usual oddness. As if the noise, the people, the glances, and the mix of alcohol with drugs had opened an old wound that never healed, now evident in an erratic unease. And you had been the final push.

His eyes were fixed on you, the look made it clear: you weren’t the problem.

You were the trigger. Always had been.

He held a cup with unnecessary force, his free hand running through his hair in a nervous gesture you knew well, his head tilting slightly in disapproval as if frustrated in some way.

The scene was still fresh in his mind like an endless loop.

“You shouldn’t be here.” he finally said, his voice rough and low. The low tone wasn’t to hide from anyone who might pass by, it was low for you to hear.

Rafe stepped closer, the pier creaking beneath each step, his jaw tense.

Your body instinctively recoiled even before you realized it, a natural response to his behavior, especially when JJ was involved.

“Funny… I thought we already talked about this.” He spoke as if more disappointed than angry, as if expecting more from you, from a version of you he had created in his own head. There was no room for defense. This time his gaze wasn’t on the woman in front of him, it was passing judgment on the situation in his mind.

What prevented you from retreating further was the edge of the pier, where there was no more physical or argumentative space, just the distorted version of his perception hanging in the air. The shiver running through your body was maybe from the cold night breeze, or his proximity, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from him and his scent mixing with the ocean air.

The problem wasn’t what you had done, but what he believed you had done.

“You disappear for fifteen minutes.” he said, almost casually, though it was possible to sense the raw emotion beneath. His voice remained controlled, far too controlled for someone agitated.

“And come back with that guy.” He concluded, this time watching you as the silence took over, only the sound of the waves crashing against the boats filling the space.

“I’m not accusing you of anything.” A crooked half-smile appeared but vanished just as quickly.

“Just trying to understand why…” He tilted his head, studying you as if you were a mistake he needed to analyze.

“You know what that looks like, right?” He didn’t wait for an answer. Never did, never would.

“Like you think I’m an idiot.” His hand rose to rest on your shoulder, brushing your hair behind your ear. The gentle touch contrasted with the way he acted, now that the space between you was gone.

“And maybe that’s what bothers me the most.”

Another silence. The kind that forces someone to explain themselves even when they owe nothing, though there was no stopping the need to do so at least not before he said everything, never before.

“I don’t care about JJ.” He let out a short, dry laugh, as if the name made him sick.

“Really. He’s predictable.” His eyes darkened but remained fixed on you, both illuminated by the faint lights of the pier and the moonlight.

“But you…” He didn’t finish, as if unsure whether to say it, letting out a deep sigh before drinking the rest of his cup as if he needed it to calm down, then letting the cup fall to the pier floor and lifting both hands to your face, enough to prevent you from looking away, your gaze locked on his lips.

His behavior was unpredictable not chaotic, but controlled enough to be dangerous.

“You get nervous when I talk about him.” he observed, almost curious.

His thumb traced slowly along your jawline before brushing your lips, still under his evaluation.

“Always like this when things slip out of control…” he murmured. “When you think you’ve done something wrong.”

He leaned in slightly, bringing your faces close enough that his breath nearly touched yours, something that might have been comforting in any other moment. But not now.

“And the worst part?” A second of silence.

“That I didn’t even have to accuse you.”

He noticed the change before you even did, the way your breathing shortened, lips parting, your body giving just a centimeter that seemed insignificant, but not to Rafe. Every hesitation, every slight tremor, was visible.

His thumb glided along your jawline, sending a shiver through your entire body. The fingers of his other hand traced the curve of your waist over your clothes, almost imperceptible, yet enough to make your heart race. The tip of his nose touched yours, the heat of his body contrasting with the cold sea breeze.

The brush of his lips was too brief to be a kiss, too long to be accidental. Every micro-touch seemed deliberate, his scent mingling with the salt of the sea, filling the space, making every centimeter feel too small to contain the tension. Your body leaned slightly, instinctively, and he noticed, liked it, but didn’t move. He just stayed, observing every reaction before stepping back.

When he finally moved away, it took a moment for you to realize that nothing would happen beyond what he allowed.

Every second of silence was a reminder: he had control, he decided, and yet you stayed.

He murmured, almost to himself, but loud enough for you to hear:

“And you’re still here… even knowing everything that could happen.”

His eyes pierced through you, measuring every reaction, and he knew. He knew you wouldn’t run.