It was one of those lazy Saturday afternoons where the sun was peeking out just enough to make the whole world feel warm and golden, but the heat of the day hadn't quite kicked in yet. You and Rafe were at his house, lounging on the couch, surrounded by half-empty pizza boxes and soda cans, just enjoying each other's company.
Rafe, as usual, was sprawled out on his back, his head resting on a pile of pillows, with one arm lazily hanging off the edge. You were sitting beside him, tucked into the crook of his arm, scrolling through your phone. You'd been here for hours, but neither of you were in a hurry to go anywhere. The simplicity of it all felt perfect—just the two of you and the soft hum of music playing in the background.
"Are you ever going to get up?" you asked, glancing at him with a raised eyebrow. He hadn't moved in at least an hour.
Rafe stretched, a dramatic groan escaping his lips. "Why would I get up? You're right here. Life is good."
You chuckled, rolling your eyes. "You're ridiculous."
"I know," he said with a grin, pulling you closer so that you were lying flat against him. "But you love it."
"Sometimes," you teased, "I'm not sure about you."
He pretended to look hurt, dramatically placing a hand over his chest. "Ouch. That one stings."
You giggled and nudged him playfully. "You know I'm kidding."
"I know," he said, brushing a strand of hair from your face. His expression softened as his fingers traced the line of your jaw. "But for real, I'm really glad it's you I'm stuck with."
You smiled, the warmth in your chest spreading. "I'm glad it's you too."
Rafe grinned, suddenly lifting his head from the pillows. "Hey, you want to do something fun?"
You glanced at him, mildly curious. "What do you have in mind?"
"How about we make a mess of the kitchen?" he suggested, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Like, a real mess."
You raised an eyebrow, intrigued but skeptical. "What kind of mess?"
"The kind where we attempt to bake something and end up with frosting everywhere," he said, his grin widening. "Sound good?"
"I mean, I don't think we could make a bigger mess than we already have," you said, gesturing to the pizza boxes and snack wrappers scattered across the room.
Rafe shrugged, his mischievous smile never leaving his face. "True, but baking could be... fun."
"Fine," you said, laughing. "But I'm warning you, if you get frosting on me, I'm throwing the flour at you."
"Oh, I'm counting on it," he replied, jumping up and heading for the kitchen, leaving you no choice but to follow him.
The kitchen was quiet at first as you both rummaged through the cabinets, pulling out random ingredients that probably weren't supposed to go together. You both debated whether it was a good idea to even make cookies, but it was too late to turn back now. You grabbed the flour, while Rafe was busy reaching for the sugar with an exaggerated stretch.
"You know," you said, leaning against the counter, "if we somehow manage to bake something edible, I'm going to call it a miracle."
Rafe shot you a sidelong glance as he poured sugar into the bowl. "I've got this under control, don't worry. You're looking at a professional baker right here."
"Uh-huh. Right," you said, fighting a grin. "You've baked... what, once in your life?"
"More like five times," he said, winking. "But each time, the results were delicious."
"Oh really? And I suppose that time you made cookies and forgot the sugar was a 'masterpiece'?" You raised an eyebrow.
Rafe laughed, playfully pushing you aside. "That was an experimental batch, okay? You can't expect genius every time."
"Right, of course," you said, barely containing your laughter. You grabbed the chocolate chips, eyeing them suspiciously. "These better be the saving grace of this recipe."
"Trust me, they will be," Rafe said, confidently pulling the butter from the fridge and tossing it into the bowl with the flour. "Just wait."
Before you knew it, flour was everywhere—on the counters, in your hair, and even scattered across the floor like a white dust storm. You both were in the zone, trying to follow the recipe while simultaneously making jokes and laughing at the chaos you were causing.
"Alright," you said, catching your breath in between fits of laughter. "What's next?"
Rafe looked at the instructions and nodded. "We need eggs, but they're not in the fridge."
You sighed dramatically. "Seriously? What's next, you're going to make me run to the store for this?"
"No, no," he said quickly. "I'll get them. You stay here and protect the flour mountain from falling over."
You rolled your eyes but couldn't help but smile. "Fine. But hurry up, I'm getting frosting-hungry."
Rafe rushed off to the fridge, and you took the opportunity to mix everything in the bowl, making sure the batter wasn't too thick. When he returned, he looked proud of himself as he handed you the eggs.
"See? I told you, I got this." He was grinning from ear to ear, clearly proud of his efforts.
The two of you continued mixing, cracking eggs with ridiculous precision, both of you sharing occasional playful glances. After a few more attempts, the dough was finally ready. The next step was shaping it into cookies, which—of course—turned into an all-out battle.
"You've got frosting on your cheek," you pointed out, eyeing him as you tried to form the cookies. "And I swear, if you get it on my shirt..."
Rafe ignored you, slowly reaching for the frosting container and smearing a little bit of it on his finger. "What?" he asked innocently, raising an eyebrow. "It's not like I'm getting it on your shirt."
Before you could protest, he dipped his finger in the frosting again, this time bringing it dangerously close to your face.
"Oh no, you don't," you said, grabbing the frosting tub out of his hand and quickly covering his hand with a thick layer of frosting instead.
His eyes widened in mock horror. "Hey, that wasn't part of the plan!"
"Sure it was," you said with a smirk. "You started it."
You both burst into laughter, completely covered in frosting and flour at this point. There were cookie dough lumps on the counters, a frosting explosion on the floor, and no sign of any cookies actually in the oven yet. But somehow, none of it mattered.
Eventually, you both managed to bake a batch of cookies—though they weren't exactly perfect. The dough had spread out into a large, gooey mess, but you both dug into them anyway, because they were yours. And they were delicious.
"Okay, I admit it," Rafe said, wiping a smear of frosting from your cheek. "This was worth the disaster."
"Uh-huh," you said, eyeing the kitchen with mock horror. "And I think we're going to be cleaning this up for the next week."
He laughed, pulling you closer again, as if the mess didn't matter. "We'll just pretend it's part of the charm."
You laughed, wrapping your arms around his neck as you leaned in for a kiss. "Only you would think this is charming."
"Only because it's you," he said, his smile softening. "You make everything better."
The kitchen was a disaster, but in that moment, it felt like the world was perfect. Even with frosting on your fingers and flour in your hair, you couldn't imagine a better way to spend the day. With Rafe, there was never a dull moment, and you wouldn't have it any other way.

YOU ARE READING
Rafe Cameron Imagines
FanfictionThe title says it all. started: 10/20/24 ended: 4/16/25