I'm Just A Girl

WARNINGS — controlling behaviors, possessiveness, family problems, light smut mdni

You weren’t expecting a detour.

Rafe had told you you’d be meeting your family for dinner, but instead of heading straight there, the car turned onto a long, tree-lined driveway, leading to an estate tucked away from the city.

Your brows knit together as you glance at him. "Where are we?"

Rafe doesn’t answer immediately. He simply steps out of the car and comes around to open your door. There’s something unreadable in his expression as he takes your hand, guiding you up the front steps.

The house is massive—far bigger than your penthouse, though just as sleek and expensive. But when you step inside, it’s different. You expect something cold and unfamiliar, but instead, the space already feels… lived in.

Your favorite flowers sit in a vase on the marble countertop. A book you once mentioned offhandedly rests on the nightstand in the master bedroom. A closet full of designer dresses in your size hangs neatly beside rows of shoes and handbags.

"You like it?" Rafe’s voice is casual, but there’s an edge of expectation beneath it.

You swallow. "This is… ours?"

"It’s ours," he confirms. "We’re moving in after the wedding."

You open your mouth to protest—to at least discuss this—but then something catches your eye. A door, slightly ajar, at the end of the hall.

Something about it makes your stomach twist.

You step forward hesitantly, your fingers trembling as you push it open.

The room is immaculate. Soft pastels, delicate lace curtains, a bassinet already in place. A nursery.

Your breath catches in your throat.

"Rafe."

He hums behind you, his hands settling on your waist. "Go ahead. Take a look."

Your heart pounds as you step inside, the air suddenly too thick. It’s not just a house. It’s a future. One you never planned.

"Rafe, I—"

His grip tightens, his breath warm against your ear. "This is ours, angel. You knew this was coming."

You swallow hard, a strange weight settling in your chest. It’s not like you hadn’t thought about it before, but seeing it—physically standing in the life he’s building around you—makes it real in a way you weren’t prepared for.

"You’re mine," he murmurs, turning you in his arms. His gaze is steady, unwavering. "We’re done pretending otherwise."

You’re not sure whether it’s comfort or control, but either way, it sinks in.

Because maybe you never really had a choice at all.

—

The drive to your parents’ house is even quieter now.

You stare out the window, fingers clenched in your lap.

Rafe notices. He always does.

"You nervous, angel?" he asks.

You shake your head. "No."

A lie.

He hums, unconvinced.

When you arrive, your mother greets you with a polite kiss on the cheek. Your father barely looks up from his phone.

It’s your brother who makes the biggest show of it—grinning as he pulls you into a one-armed hug, ruffling your hair.

"Look who it is!" he teases. "Still the baby of the family, huh?"

You laugh lightly, but it doesn’t reach your eyes.

You tug Rafe’s hand. "Come on. I’ll show you my room before dinner."

Your childhood bedroom is smaller than you remember.

Pink sheets still hug the bed. Books still line the shelves.

"Didn’t change much, huh?" Rafe muses.

"Guess not."

You kneel by the dresser, rummaging through an old jewelry box. You don’t notice the way Rafe moves, fingers grazing along your desk—pausing on a small, worn book.

Your diary.

He flips it open.

It only takes a few seconds for him to understand.

The words are shaky, written in a child's uneven scrawl. They tell a story of loneliness, of always being second place.

Of feeling forgotten.

His jaw clenches.

Rafe has always known you were his. But seeing this—seeing how long you’ve felt unwanted—does something to him.

He tucks the diary back into place just as you turn around.

"Found it," you say, holding up a trinket.

Rafe nods, gaze unreadable. "We should head down."*

You don’t notice how he holds you just a little tighter than before.

As predicted dinner is tense.

Your parents are polite, but distant, treating you like a guest rather than their daughter. Your brother, on the other hand, can’t resist slipping in jabs—mostly harmless, but enough to make you squirm.

"You remember how she used to follow me and my friends around?" he chuckles. "Swore she was one of us."

You laugh lightly, even though the memory stings. You were always on the outside, trying to fit in, never quite enough.

Your mother smiles dismissively. "She always was a bit… naive."

That’s when Rafe puts down his fork.

It’s subtle, but it makes the whole table pause.

"She’s not naive," Rafe says, his voice even but firm. His arm drapes over the back of your chair, a casual but unmistakable show of possession. "She just grew up with people who never listened to her."

Silence.

Your father clears his throat. Your mother gives a nervous chuckle, brushing off his words, but your brother looks like he’s actually considering them.

Rafe picks up his fork again, like nothing happened. But beneath the table, his hand slides to your thigh, squeezing gently.

You don’t say anything, but something warm blooms in your chest.

For once, someone stood up for you.

After dinner, as everyone lingers in the living room, you take a slow breath before turning to Rafe.

"Can you wait in the car for a minute?"

His brows furrow slightly, but he nods, pressing a kiss to your forehead before stepping outside.

Your family looks at you expectantly.

You hesitate for only a second before speaking. "I want you all at the wedding."

Your mother’s lips press together. "Sweetheart, of course we’ll be there—"

"But not if you’re going to treat me like a child." Your voice is steady, surprising even yourself. "I get it. I was always the little sister. The quiet one. The baby of the family. But that’s not who I am anymore."

Your father exhales, shifting in his seat. Your mother fidgets with her bracelet. Your brother watches you, expression unreadable.

"If you can’t accept that," you continue, "then don’t bother coming."

Silence stretches between you all. It’s terrifying, but liberating.

Your mother is the first to speak, softer this time. "We’ll be there."

You don’t wait for more. You just turn and walk out the door.

—

The car ride home is quiet at first. You stare out the window, letting the weight of the night settle in.

Then, you feel it—Rafe’s fingers tracing slow circles on your bare thigh.

"You did good back there," he murmurs.

Your breath catches. His hand slides higher.

"Rafe," you whisper.

"Shh, angel." His palm presses against your core through your dress, the heat of him seeping into you. "I like seeing you like that. Strong. Knowing what’s yours."

Your thighs clench, a soft whimper escaping before you can stop it.

"You know what else is yours?" His voice is low, teasing, as his fingers slip beneath the fabric, barely brushing where you need him most.

You bite your lip, your pulse thrumming. "What?"

Rafe tilts his head, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.

"Me."

And just like that, any tension from the night melts away—replaced by something else entirely.

Your favorite flowers sit in a vase on the marble countertop. A book you once mentioned offhandedly rests on the nightstand in the master bedroom. A closet full of designer dresses in your size hangs neatly beside rows of shoes and handbags.

HELLO?? This is actually insane. You know how I said Rafe didn't really care about her or something?? Well I take it back because this man clearly listens to her!! I was expecting him to want things to be his way even in this new house of theirs. But I'm so glad to see him recognizing some level of individuality in reader. To be seen is to be heard, or how ever the quote goes. Like it's literally so sweet of him to remember her fav flowers and book?? (maybe the bar is on the floor but this is the same man who was a lil cold and uncaring just a few chapters before!!) Also, the closet full of designer clothes?? MEOWWWW. Can I pls live readers life??? Rafe could tell me to bark and I would if it meant I'd be getting a closet full of rich shit.

The words are shaky, written in a child's uneven scrawl. They tell a story of loneliness, of always being second place.

Can you hear me crying??? You did not have to break my heart like that babe 💔💔💔

"She’s not naive," Rafe says, his voice even but firm. His arm drapes over the back of your chair, a casual but unmistakable show of possession. "She just grew up with people who never listened to her."

I have never been more turned on in my life. I have to keep reminding myself that this man isn't real. I'm so glad he stood up for her like as he should honestly!! Fucking finally!! Its the way he was exerting dominance in this scene tho—like yes pop off king!! Him saying what needed to be said in one simple sentence—OOOFFF I AM DYING. We love a protective man💗💗Lets hope now his ass can also stand up to his friends smh.

For once, someone stood up for you.

I am CRYING. She's way too sweet for Rafe🥺. I feel soooo bad for her honestly, like poor baby🥺🥺Rafe better treat her right or else I hope reader drowns him (she probably won't cuz poor thing has no other option but to be his lmaoo)

Your father exhales, shifting in his seat. Your mother fidgets with her bracelet. Your brother watches you, expression unreadable. "If you can’t accept that," you continue, "then don’t bother coming."

Oh her family is annoying annoying. Like, why are they all acting so clueless?? First they isolate her, make her feel dumb and all, and then make fun of her right in front of her future husband? Istg, I'm so glad reader put them in their places!! She's learning (from Rafe, I'm afraid).

"Shh, angel." His palm presses against your core through your dress, the heat of him seeping into you. "I like seeing you like that. Strong. Knowing what’s yours." Your thighs clench, a soft whimper escaping before you can stop it. "You know what else is yours?" His voice is low, teasing, as his fingers slip beneath the fabric, barely brushing where you need him most. You bite your lip, your pulse thrumming. "What?" Rafe tilts his head, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. "Me." And just like that, any tension from the night melts away—replaced by something else entirely.

I just came in my pants. I think this is his first time acknowledging her as a person? Like acknowledging her individuality and actually appreciating it. I'm afraid all the bad things I said about him have to be taken back because he's actually so hot. Like so hot I wanna stay on my knees forever for him. Also, love the contrast from the previous chapters, where she's always 'his' but now he's "hers". Ahhh they're both so cute n hot together.

(Also, this might be super weird but for some reason the way you wrote Rafe sometimes would remind me of Mads Mikkelsen?? Maybe I'm dumb or reaching, but Rafe just gives me Mads Mikkelsen vibes, especially the coldness, the sugar daddy vibe.)

pairing . . . rafe cameron x routledge!reader in which . . . rafe cameron was a peculiar human being. he's grotesque, a kook, rude, but above all, he's your best friend, or at least he was. abruptly and without warning, he pushed you away, you'd love to understand why, since you were seventeen. but after many dead ends, you came to accept that maybe rafe didn't belong in your life, that he was just a thorn in your shoe and that he was just like all the kooks. or was he? ch warning .ᐟ . . . curse words

masterlist .ᐟ 𝜗𝜚 navigation .ᐟ

LOST AND FOUND. — 05 . 06 . 07

pairing . . . rafe cameron x routledge!reader in which . . . rafe cameron was a peculiar human being. he's grotesque, a kook, rude, but above all, he's your best friend, or at least he was. abruptly and without warning, he pushed you away, you'd love to understand why, since you were seventeen. but after many dead ends, you came to accept that maybe rafe didn't belong in your life, that he was just a thorn in your shoe and that he was just like all the kooks. or was he? ch warning .ᐟ . . . curse words, rafe being an ass, kook v.s pogue shenanigans

masterlist .ᐟ 𝜗𝜚 navigation .ᐟ

LOST AND FOUND. — 04 . 05 . 06

WARNINGS — angst, reader snaps at rafe, emotional neglect, more condescending rafe

It’s been days since London, but something is wrong.

Rafe has been distant—colder, more withdrawn. He spends hours locked in his office, his voice clipped and controlled as he takes call after call, the door shut between you like a physical barrier.

At night, he slips into bed late, smelling like whiskey and expensive cologne, pressing against you without a word. His hands are familiar, his weight sinking into the mattress the same way it always does, but there’s no tenderness behind it. No whispered “goodnight, angel,” no absentminded kisses against your shoulder before sleep claims him. Just routine. Just expectation.

And the worst part? He doesn’t even seem to notice the shift.

Or maybe he does, and he just doesn’t care.

The penthouse, once a dream wrapped in silk and gold, now feels like a cage. You’ve been nowhere since you returned—no fresh air, no errands, nothing beyond these walls. You try to talk to him during the day, just something simple to bridge the widening gap, but he waves you off with the same dismissive tone.

"Not now, angel. I’m busy."

The loneliness festers.

It builds inside you like pressure behind a dam, straining under the weight of everything left unsaid.

And eventually, it cracks.

You don’t plan to argue.

You just want something—a little piece of normalcy, something beyond these walls, beyond him.

"I was thinking of going out today," you say over breakfast, keeping your voice light, careful. "Just for coffee, maybe a walk—"

Rafe barely looks up from his laptop. “Why?” His voice is flat, uninterested. “Everything you need is here.”

It’s not just the words—it’s the way he says them, like the idea of you wanting anything outside of him is absurd. Like you’re a kept thing, and he sees nothing wrong with that.

And that’s when it clicks.

He doesn’t see you as someone who needs freedom.
He sees you as his.

Normally, you’d let it go. You’d smooth things over, wait for his attention to shift back to you.

But not this time.

"You don’t even see me, Rafe," the frustration spills out before you can stop it. "I’m just—just something you keep locked away while you’re off playing businessman.”

Silence.

Then—the slow, deliberate shut of his laptop.

When he finally looks at you, his blue eyes are unreadable, but you feel the shift in the air. Something sharp, something dangerous, lurking just beneath the surface.

He doesn’t yell. He never has to.

"Careful, angel," he murmurs, voice soft, almost affectionate. But it sends a shiver down your spine. "You’re upset, so I’ll let that slide. But I don’t like that tone.”

It’s a warning. A quiet promise.

Normally, this is where you’d shrink back. Lower your gaze. Let him win.

But not this time.

"That’s the problem, Rafe." You meet his stare, even though your pulse is racing. "You don’t like anything that isn’t me agreeing with you.”

Something flickers in his expression—annoyance? Amusement? You can’t tell.

"That’s not true.” His voice is measured, his fingers drumming lazily against the desk. “I like plenty of things.”

"Like what?"

Rafe leans back in his chair, watching you like he’s figuring out a puzzle. Then—he stands.

Before you can react, his fingers are gripping your chin, tilting your face up to his.

"I like it when you’re soft.” His thumb strokes your bottom lip, gaze heavy-lidded. “Obedient.”

Your breath hitches.

"And I really, really like it when you remember who you belong to."

You should pull away. You should tell him he’s proving your point.

But you don’t.

Because even now, with anger burning in your veins, you’re still his.

And he knows it.

Instead of responding, you do something you’ve never done before.

You pull away first.

His hand falls from your face, and for the first time, Rafe doesn’t chase after you immediately.

Maybe because he knows if he does, he’ll do something he regrets. Maybe because he’s realizing that for the first time, he’s losing his grip.

As you walk away—heart pounding, breath uneven—you don’t look back.

And neither does he.

But you both know this isn’t over.

The tension lingers long after you leave the room. You don’t know what reaction you expected from Rafe—anger? A fight?

But instead, when you finally gather your courage and tell him, “I’m staying at my friend’s place tonight,”—

He just smirks.

Not in the teasing way he sometimes does. No, this one is calculated, like he knows something you don’t.

"Yeah?" He leans against his desk, arms crossed, studying you. “And how’s that supposed to work, angel?”

"I’ll pack a bag and call an Uber." Your voice is shaky, but you force yourself to hold his gaze.

Rafe just exhales a quiet, almost bored laugh. "Go ahead, then.” His blue eyes glint with something dark. “We’ll see how long that lasts.”

That should’ve been your warning.

But you go anyway.

—

Your friend welcomes you in without question. No prying, no judgment. Just a blanket, a warm cup of tea, the comfort of someone who sees you.

You should feel relieved.

But instead, the moment you’re away from Rafe, the moment his presence isn’t suffocating every inch of your world, it hits you.

You love him.

It’s twisted and unfair, and it makes no sense because you should be happy to have this space. But you aren’t.

Instead, you spend the night curled up, silent tears slipping down your cheeks, gripping your phone even though you know he won’t text you first.

He doesn’t have to.

Because no matter how much you try to run, you know you’ll always come back.

—

You barely sleep.

Every hour drags. Every time your phone lights up, your fingers twitch—only to see it’s not him.

And maybe that’s what bothers you the most.

Not even a single attempt to chase you.

Because he doesn’t have to, does he?

He knows. He always knows.

Knows you miss him. Knows you’re curled up, aching for him, even after the fight.

And it makes you furious—but more than that, it makes you lonely.

You hold out until just after three a.m.

Then, like clockwork, your resolve cracks.

You slip on your shoes, grab your bag, and slip out the door. You don’t even text him to say you’re coming back—you just go.

You expect silence. Expect to slip into bed like this never happened.

But when you push open the door to the penthouse—

He’s awake.

Waiting.

Rafe is sitting on the couch, legs spread, one arm resting on the back of it, watching you. Like he knew exactly when you’d show up.

The air is thick as you step inside, shutting the door behind you.

And then, he smirks.

"Took you long enough, angel."

Your breath catches.

You should have known.

Rafe doesn’t chase. He waits. He always waits.

The room is dim, the city skyline bleeding in through the massive windows behind him. He’s still in the same clothes from earlier—dress shirt unbuttoned at the top, sleeves pushed up, veins flexing against his forearms. His jaw is tense, but his smirk? That’s the part that makes your stomach twist.

He’s not angry.

He’s pleased.

"What?" Your voice comes out hoarse, exhaustion thick in your throat.

"I just knew you wouldn’t last the night." He tilts his head, studying you like a puzzle he already solved. "Figured you’d put up a little more of a fight, though.”

You don’t respond. You can’t.

Because he’s right.

And the worst part? He knew you’d come back before you did.

"Was it worth it?" His voice is softer now, but no less dangerous. "Your little rebellion?"

Your fingers tighten around the strap of your bag.

"I just needed space, Rafe."

His jaw tics.

"Space?" The word rolls off his tongue like it’s foreign. "You have everything here. Everything you could possibly need. But you still ran, didn’t you?"

He stands, slow and deliberate, every inch of him exuding control.

You should step back. You don’t.

"I didn’t run—"

"No?" He’s in front of you now, close enough that the scent of him—cologne, whiskey, something distinctly him—clouds your thoughts. His fingers reach for the strap of your bag, tugging it off your shoulder effortlessly. "Then what do you call it?"

You swallow hard.

You don’t have an answer.

And he knows it.

Rafe exhales slowly, rolling his shoulders like he’s reining something in.

"You think leaving proves something, angel?" He reaches up, his fingers brushing your jaw, tilting your chin up just enough to make you meet his eyes.

Your pulse pounds.

"You can go. Anytime you want." His thumb strokes over your bottom lip, the touch deceptively gentle. "But we both know you won’t."

It’s not a question. It’s a fact.

And fuck, he’s right.

You should still be angry. Maybe you are. But the exhaustion, the loneliness, the sheer relief of being back in his space—it’s overwhelming.

"Say it," he murmurs. "Tell me you belong to me."

Your lips part, but the words don’t come.

Because part of you wants to fight it. You should fight it.

But then his grip tightens, just enough to send a shiver down your spine.

"Say it, angel."

And you do.

Because you always do.

"I belong to you."

His smirk returns, slow and triumphant.

"That’s my girl."

You expect him to kiss you. To drag you into bed and take what’s his, erase any thought of running.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he steps back, grabs your wrist, and pulls you toward the bedroom.

"You’re exhausted," he mutters, like he’s decided this for you. "You need sleep."

You blink up at him, thrown off by the shift. "Rafe—"

"Shh." He presses a finger against your lips. "We’ll deal with this tomorrow."

There’s something unsettling about that.

Not because he’s letting it go—but because you know he isn’t.

Not really.

Tomorrow, you’ll wake up in his bed. You’ll wear the clothes he likes. You’ll be wrapped in the safety of his world again.

And tomorrow, you’ll have to face what this means.

That you’ll always come back.

And Rafe will always be waiting.

WARNINGS — rafe is a bit controlling, possessiveness, fingering, they take a bath together — mdni 18+

You wake to the soft pressure of Rafe’s hand on your shoulder, gently shaking you awake. His voice, low and firm, pulls you from your sleep.

"Time to get up," he says. "We’re going shopping."

You blink at him, still drowsy, trying to make sense of the words. But before you can say anything,

Rafe drops a neatly folded outfit onto your bed: a delicate white camisole top, a soft pink cardigan, a polka dot skirt with a high waist, and ballet flats to match. The soft, girly fabrics stare up at you, and your chest tightens slightly.

“Put it on,” Rafe orders, his voice low, like it’s a command, not a suggestion.

You slide out of bed, the clothes feeling foreign against your skin, but somehow, you feel more delicate in them. Maybe it’s the softness of the fabrics or the way they fit perfectly. As you get dressed, you can’t help but admire yourself for a second in the mirror. The outfit’s a little out of your comfort zone, but it fits, and you kind of like it.

You’re still adjusting to the feeling when Rafe glances at you with approval.

"Good," he murmurs, though you can’t read his tone. "Let’s go."

—

As you get into Rafe’s Rolls Royce, you feel almost like you’re stepping into a different world. The leather seats are cool, and the car feels massive compared to your own tiny one. Rafe slides into the driver’s seat, starting the engine, and immediately his hand finds your thigh. It’s possessive, heavy, and you can’t help but feel his control over everything—the way he drives, the way he talks, the way he touches you.

His fingers rest on your leg, never squeezing, but enough to remind you of his presence.

"How do you feel about today?" he asks, his eyes focused on the road. His voice is casual, but you can feel the weight behind it.

“I’m excited,” you admit, glancing out the window.

You’ve never really been into shopping like this, but the idea of a day in his world—surrounded by luxury and designer everything—makes your heart race. It feels like you’re stepping into a life you’ve only seen in movies.

He glances at you for a second, his lips curling slightly as he makes a turn. "You should be."

Rafe pulls up to the first boutique, a high-end designer store you’ve only heard of in passing. You can feel the butterflies flutter in your stomach as you step out of the car and onto the sidewalk. This is it. This is what it means to be in his world.

He leads you inside without saying a word, his hand still holding yours as he guides you through the racks of clothing. The fabrics are expensive, delicate, and everything about the store screams money. You feel like you don’t belong here, but Rafe doesn’t seem to care.

He’s already picking things out—luxurious dresses in soft pastels, silk blouses that shimmer under the lights, perfectly tailored skirts. There’s no hesitation in his movements, no doubt about what he wants you to wear. And as you try on each piece, you can’t help but feel more like a doll being dressed for his amusement.

"Try these on," he says, handing you a delicate Chanel dress, the kind you’ve seen on red carpets but never thought you’d touch.

Your fingers tremble as you slip into the fitting room, the dress soft and luxurious against your skin. When you step out, Rafe’s eyes flicker with approval, but there’s something in his gaze that sends a shiver down your spine.

"Perfect," he says, and just like that, the dress is his. You don’t get a say in it.

But as the day wears on, you start to lose yourself in the experience. The jewelry—Van Cleef bracelets that sparkle like stars, rings that feel too heavy on your fingers, a Chanel bag that you can’t help but love even though it’s way out of your league. Rafe insists on buying it all for you, and you can’t bring yourself to argue.

When he drapes the jewelry around your neck, his fingers linger just a second too long, and you feel a rush of heat in your chest. It’s like you’re part of something larger than yourself, something you don’t quite understand, but something that feels... right. Rafe’s world is brimming with wealth, with control, and in this moment, you’re his—whether you like it or not.

—

By the time you return to his penthouse, you’re exhausted from the shopping, but there’s still a sense of excitement bubbling in your chest. Rafe’s eyes are colder than usual, but there's something almost possessive about the way he looks at you as you get out of the car.

When you step into the house, you notice a familiar voice echoing from the living room. One of Rafe’s business partners is there, sitting on the couch, clearly engaged in a conversation. Rafe doesn’t seem to care that he’s there, and he waves you off with a casual gesture.

You finish putting everything away, your mind racing as you glance around the room at the piles of bags, the dresses hanging in the closet, and the sparkling jewelry scattered across the vanity. It all feels surreal, like a dream you’re not quite sure you belong in. But despite the unease bubbling in your chest, there’s a small part of you that can’t help but feel grateful—grateful for the way Rafe’s been spoiling you, even if you don’t fully understand why.

As you sit on the edge of the bed, you try to shake off the nervous energy. That’s when you hear the sound of his voice downstairs, muffled by the closed door, talking about something you’re not quite able to hear. You bite your lip, unsure of what to do with yourself. But then an idea sparks.

You glance at the lingerie set you had tried on earlier in the day, the delicate fabric hanging in the bag. Rafe had insisted on picking it out himself—just one more thing he’d claimed for you. You hesitate for a moment before making up your mind.

You slip out of your clothes and into the soft, intricate lingerie—a lace bralette and matching panties in a soft shade of pink that make your skin glow. You stand in front of the mirror for a moment, smoothing the fabric over your skin, and your heart races.

You don’t know why, but there’s something about the idea of thanking him—of doing something for him to show how much you appreciate everything he’s done—that makes you feel a strange mix of excitement and nerves. You stare at yourself in the mirror, wondering if you’re even doing this right.

Taking a deep breath, you walk over to his bed and sit on the edge, trying to steady your nerves. You tuck your legs beneath you, heart hammering in your chest as you wait for him.

Minutes pass, and every sound seems to make your skin prickle with anticipation. You can hear Rafe’s voice getting closer, and then the sound of his footsteps on the stairs makes your heart race faster.

The door to your room creaks open, and he steps inside. His eyes immediately fall on you, sitting there nervously, dressed in the lingerie he had picked out. For a moment, he doesn’t say anything—he just stands there, eyes dark and unreadable.

You can feel the tension in the air, thick and heavy, as Rafe walks slowly toward you. He doesn’t speak until he’s standing right in front of you, his gaze flickering over every inch of you. There’s something in his expression—something deep and hungry—that makes your breath catch.

“You really want to thank me, huh?” he murmurs, his voice low and thick with something unspoken.

You swallow, your throat dry. “I just... I want to show you how much I appreciate everything.”

His lips curl slightly, a slow, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Then, without a word, he reaches for your hand, gently pulling you up from the bed. He brushes a strand of hair from your face, his fingers trailing down to your jaw as he holds your gaze, and for a brief moment, everything else fades away.

"You’re mine," he says, his voice soft, but the command in it is undeniable. "You don’t have to thank me, doll. I already know."

And just like that, everything between you feels charged. His fingers find your waist, guiding you closer, and as his lips meet yours, you feel the weight of his touch grounding you, pulling you into something deeper than you expected.

You melt into him, your heart racing as his hands move to your back, pulling you closer, like he’s claiming you all over again. You can’t help but give into the feeling—the way his presence overwhelms you, the way he makes you feel more his with every passing second.

As the kiss deepens, you forget everything but the warmth of his embrace and the way he makes you feel.

You find yourself melting into Rafe's strong embrace, your body molding perfectly against his muscular frame as the kiss intensifies. His lips move demandingly against yours, stoking the flames of desire that have been building since you first arrived here. You can't help but surrender to his dominance, your own hands coming up to clutch at his broad shoulders.

Rafe's fingers tangle in your hair, gripping it lightly as he tilts your head to deepen the angle of the kiss. His tongue delves past your lips, claiming every inch of your mouth, leaving you breathless and wanting. The taste of him is intoxicating, and you feel your head spinning with the force of it.

Your heart pounds wildly against your ribs as Rafe's hands begin to wander over your curves, mapping out the swell of your breasts through the thin lace of the bralette. His touch ignites sparks of pleasure that race through your veins, making you ache for more.

Lost in the haze of sensation, you barely register the sound of fabric tearing. The cool air against your newly exposed skin makes you gasp, breaking the kiss momentarily. Rafe takes the opportunity to trail his mouth down to your neck, his lips and teeth grazing the sensitive flesh.

"Fuck, baby," he growls against your skin, his voice rough with desire. "You're so fucking gorgeous. I can't keep my hands off you."

You can only whimper in response, tilting your head to give him better access to the column of your throat. Rafe takes advantage, sucking and biting at the delicate skin, marking you as his own.

His hands slide down to your ass, squeezing the globes roughly as he presses your body flush against the hard length of his arousal. You can feel every thick inch of him through the confines of his slacks, making your core throb with need.

Rafe's fingers hook in the waistband of your panties, and in one swift motion, he tears them away, baring your most intimate place to his hungry gaze. The cool air against your heated flesh makes you gasp, your thighs clenching together instinctively.

But Rafe is relentless in his pursuit, his hand delving between your legs to cup your sex. His fingers find your slick folds, slipping easily through the dampness gathered there. You cry out at the sudden contact, your hips bucking into his touch.

"Fuck...you're so wet already," Rafe rasps, his fingers stroking through your slick folds, teasing your entrance.

You can only moan in answer, your body trembling with need as Rafe's fingers circle your clit, applying just the right amount of pressure to make you see stars. Your hips grind down against his hand, seeking more of that delicious friction.

Rafe's other hand slides up your side, cupping your breast and kneading the soft flesh. His thumb and forefinger find your nipple, pinching and rolling the hardened peak, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core.

"Tell me what you want, sweetheart," Rafe commands, his voice low and rough with lust. "Tell me how badly you need me."

You're panting now, your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. "Please, Rafe... I need you inside me. I need to feel you...“

Rafe growls in approval, his fingers plunging deep inside your tight heat. "Fuck, you're so tight... so perfect. I can feel you squeezing my fingers... can't wait to feel you squeezing my cock."

He pumps his fingers in and out of you, curling them to hit that special spot inside that makes you scream. Your inner walls clench down around the invading digits, trying to draw them deeper.

Rafe's thumb finds your clit again, rubbing hard circles around the sensitive nub. The dual stimulation has you teetering on the edge, your body drawing taut like a bowstring ready to snap.

"Come for me, baby," Rafe orders, his voice a dark command. "Let me feel you come apart on my fingers...“

—

After everything, Rafe’s touch was still electrifying, even as he carried you gently toward the bathroom. You barely noticed how he moved with ease, his strong arms holding you close as he navigated through the grand space, your head resting against his chest. The luxury of his bathroom felt almost too much—too much for someone like you, but it was his world, and now it felt like yours too.

He set you down softly by the tub, the water already running, steam rising in slow curls from the surface. You watched in awe as he adjusted the temperature, glancing back at you with a soft smile that didn’t quite match the intensity you had just shared.

Rafe turned to the tub, pouring a touch of body wash into the water. It swirled, the scent of something deep and musky mixing with the floral undertones of the bath, but before you could even gather your thoughts, he was right there again, rubbing a gentle hand across your back.

He guided you into the water, the heat surrounding you, as his fingers skimmed over your skin, and you couldn’t help but lean into his touch, feeling his strength in the softness of it. It was comforting in a way that made your chest tighten, as though you were being held together again after falling apart.

“You’re not asking enough questions tonight,” he teased, his voice low as he reached for the body wash again. You giggled nervously, unsure what to say.

“I—like what kind of questions?” you stammered, unsure of what he meant.

He chuckled, rubbing the body wash in circles on your back, his fingertips just grazing the edge of your spine. “The kind of questions you’d ask a man who’s just claimed you, sweetheart,” he said, his breath warm against the back of your neck.

You shivered slightly, unsure of where to go with this, but feeling the connection between you deepen as he rinsed the soap from your skin. Your mind was racing with the simple and silly things you wanted to ask, but the words caught in your throat.

“Are you always this gentle?” you asked, the words slipping out before you could stop them. You could hear the smile in his voice when he answered.

“Not always,” he said, his hands roaming down to your legs, washing them slowly. “But with you? I can’t resist.” He paused, his voice turning softer. “You like it, don’t you?”

You nodded, though words were hard to come by as you relaxed into his touch, the warmth of the bath and his presence making everything else fade away. His hands continued to work over your skin, tender but strong.

"You're so innocent," Rafe muttered, more to himself than to you, before he turned your face toward his and kissed you, his lips soft against yours for a moment before his touch deepened again.

The bath continued in a quiet intimacy, the tension between you both easing. His care was unspoken, but it was there in the way he kept you close, in the way he made sure you felt safe, even when everything about him—everything about you—felt a little bit reckless.

He gently rinsed your hair, his fingers massaging the shampoo into your scalp with care, making your head spin in a different way than before. You were lost in it, in the calm, in the feeling of being cared for. Maybe you didn’t fully understand everything about him yet, but in moments like this, you didn’t need to. You just needed to let yourself be with him.

When he finished, he helped you out of the bath, his hands steady as he wrapped a plush towel around you. His gaze lingered on you, as though memorizing the way you looked after everything—still soft, still innocent, and yet now, in his arms, belonging to him more than ever.

"Rest, sweetheart," he said, voice still low, but full of that same intensity. He led you back to the bedroom, carefully settling you into the sheets, as though he was claiming you in every way, not just in body, but in heart.

WARNINGS — rafe is again very much a jerk, crying, angst, kinda a happy ish ending.

You woke up to silence.

For a second, you thought maybe Rafe was still there. That you’d find him sitting at the edge of your bed, watching you with that unreadable look, waiting for you to apologize without saying a word.

But he was gone.

The only proof he had even been there was the weight of something new on her nightstand. A sleek black box, the kind that came from somewhere expensive, somewhere you would have been giddy to receive a gift from before.

Your stomach twisted as you reached for it. Inside was a bracelet, delicate and glittering—diamonds, of course. Rafe never did anything halfway.

It was beautiful, but it was thoughtless.

You shut the box with a snap and set it aside, curling back under the blankets.

—

You ignored his texts. Then his calls.

It wasn’t an active choice at first. You just… didn’t know what to say. What could you say? Hey, it’s okay that you let them talk about me like that. It’s okay that you laughed. It’s okay that I let you make me feel stupid.

Eventually, the silence became intentional. Maybe you wanted to see if he’d chase you, if he’d care.

He didn’t.

At least not in the way you wanted him to. No messages asking if you were okay. No showing up to make things right.

Just one text: Come over.

Like nothing had happened.

You didn’t respond.

—

“You’re spiraling.”

Your best friend eyed you over the rim of her coffee cup, unimpressed, unsympathetic.

“I’m not spiraling.”

You absolutely were.

You had spent the last twenty minutes picking at the sleeve of your sweater, barely able to look up as you recounted what happened at the dinner.

The way Rafe had smirked at his friends’ comments, the way he ordered for you like usual—but instead of it feeling safe and exciting, it just felt wrong.

The way you had snuck off to the bathroom, only to hear the women whispering about you, laughing about you, like you were some silly little girl playing house with a man too big for her world.

Your friend just raised an eyebrow. “So what, are you gonna end things?”

The words felt heavy, impossible.

You shook your head. “I don’t know.”

“Babe.” A sigh. “You knew what this was.”

That stung the most.

Because you did know. You had known from the beginning that Rafe wasn’t soft, that his affection came with condescension, that every time he put his hands on you, it was more about control than love.

But that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

Your friend reached across the table, giving your hand a squeeze. “If you don’t like it, you need to leave.”

You swallowed hard, blinking down at your hands.

You could feel the words rising in your throat, the desperate, childish part of you that wanted to say, But I do like it. I just don’t like how it makes me feel.

—

You still didn’t respond to Rafe.

That night, you stayed in bed, scrolling mindlessly, half-waiting for another call, another text, something.

Instead, there was a knock at her door.

Your heart lurched. You knew who it was before you even checked the peephole.

Rafe.

Standing outside in slacks and a button-up, looking every bit the polished, untouchable man he was—so out of place against the softness of your apartment.

You hesitated before opening the door.

His eyes flicked over you, taking in your floral nightgown, the way your hair was still messy from sleep. He let out a quiet scoff, like you were something pathetic.

“Seriously?” His voice was low, unimpressed. “You’re still sulking?”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out.

Rafe just sighed, stepping inside without waiting for permission. His eyes dragged over your apartment—the pastel bedding, the stuffed animals, the Sonny Angels still neatly lined up on your dresser.

He smirked. “No wonder they think you’re a kid.”

Your stomach twisted.

You turned away, hugging yourself. “I don’t want to do this right now.”

“You don’t want to do what?” Rafe scoffed.

“You’ve been ignoring me all day over that? I told you not to take it personally.”

You inhaled sharply, your throat tightening.

“I didn’t like it,” you admitted softly. “I didn’t like what they were saying.”

“They weren’t serious.” His voice was lazy, dismissive.

“You laughed.”

Rafe tensed for half a second, but it passed as quickly as it came. “Yeah? So what?”

That did it.

The tears hit all at once, spilling over before you could stop them. You clenched her fists, your breath coming short, your words tumbling out in choked little sobs.

“I don’t want to feel like this.” Your voice was small, breaking. “Like I’m stupid, or silly, or—”

“Jesus,” Rafe muttered, running a hand down his face.

You knew you sounded ridiculous, knew you probably looked even worse—barefoot, in your floral nightgown, crying over nothing.

But you couldn’t stop.

Rafe let out a sharp sigh before reaching for you.

You barely had time to react before he was pulling you in, dragging you into his chest, forcing you into his arms.

You hiccupped, your breath catching as he pressed your head against his shoulder.

“Enough,” he murmured, his voice a little softer now.

You shook your head against him, your fists weakly pushing against his chest.

“I mean it,” he said, shushing you as he slid a hand into your hair. “You’re being a baby.”

You felt like a baby. Sobbing into his chest, sniffling like a child while he held you in place.

And the worst part?

It felt good.

Even though he had caused this—this awful, twisting feeling in your chest—he was the only thing that made it go away.

Rafe pulled back just enough to wipe a tear off your cheek with his thumb, sighing like you were exhausting him.

You hiccupped, still curled into his chest, your fingers weakly gripping his shirt like you weren’t ready to let him go. Like, despite everything, despite knowing better, you still wanted him close.

Rafe’s hand moved to the back of your head, fingers threading lazily through your hair. “You done crying now?” His voice was quieter, almost resigned.

You sniffled, nodding against him.

“Good.” His palm slid down to your jaw, tilting your face up. “Then stop sulking and come here.”

You didn’t even think. You just let him pull you into his lap, your legs draping over his like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like you belonged there.

He leaned back against the pillows, one arm around your waist, the other resting lazily on his stomach. His grip was firm—possessive, almost. Like he was letting you cling to him, but it was still on his terms.

You chewed your lip, glancing up at him hesitantly. “Can we… can we watch a movie?”

Rafe exhaled through his nose, like you were impossible. “A movie?”

You nodded, already reaching for the remote.

He groaned but didn’t argue, just adjusted you against him as you scrolled through the options.

It didn’t take long for you to settle on something pastel and silly, something familiar, something that made your stomach twist with something childish and warm.

Rafe took one look at the screen and scoffed. “A princess movie? Jesus.”

You grinned, cuddling deeper into him. “It’s a classic.”

He didn’t fight you on it. Didn’t push you away, didn’t leave like he probably should have.

He just sighed, letting his fingers drag lazily up and down your spine as the opening credits rolled.

And you?

You let yourself pretend, just for a little while, that this was enough.

pairing . . . boxer!rafe cameron x ballerina!reader in which . . . a clean slate is what you needed, to get away from a past you're not proud of and start over, focusing on what you were most passionate about, ballet. outer banks seemed like the best option, a breath of fresh air, new people. what you didn’t expect was that someone just as broken as you would stand in your way, staking your heart on a single name— rafe cameron. ch warning .ᐟ . . . none

masterlist .ᐟ 𝜗𝜚 navigation .ᐟ

BROKEN RIBBONS & PERFECT FISTS. — 04 . 05 . 06

YOUR HEART WAS IN YOUR THROAT IF THAT was even possible. When the words— We're having dinner with my family, to introduce you and all— came out of Sarah's mouth, you felt your legs go weak instantly. And now, as you sat in front of Ward's judging gaze, you couldn't even feel them. The sound of cutlery clanging against expensive-looking plates was the only thing you could hear in the room, and that made you even more nervous.

"Honey... Rafe...?" you heard Ward's raspy voice, who looks up so he could look at her, asking Sarah.

Sarah swallows the piece of food from her mouth, bringing her gaze to her dad's. "He told me he was leaving Alicia's house" she answers.

i love my graphics and i take my time doing them, but i also want something "easy" that i can do throughout the day and have a more consistent update given that i'm in my academic weapon era.

thoughts appreciated! i'll give u guys the synopsis of the plot!

MASTERLIST (Oneshot)

Pairing – Rafe x Mermaid!Female Reader

Summary — Rafe invites you out to the Druthers for a sunrise event with Sarah and his friends.

Word Count — 2.3K

Content — fluff, protective!Rafe, Sarah being a good sister (and considerate to you!), you being clingy and possessive of Rafe, and suggestive scenes. A continuum of this and this and this!

“She can’t be a mermaid,” Sarah announces unexpectedly.

Rafe stops what he’s doing to turn to his sister, “What?”

pairing . . . rafe cameron x pogue!reader in which . . . being a secret is hard, and even more when prince kook himself is the one hiding you. a bittersweet wheel of emotions comes to you when you decide to put an end to a situationship that is hurting you, not taking into account how difficult it would be to get away from the oldest of the cameron siblings. ch warning .ᐟ . . . curse words, angst (maybe)

masterlist .ᐟ 𝜗𝜚 navigation .ᐟ

LOVE YOU GOODBYE. — 13 . 14 . 15

x FEM!KOOK!reader - MASTERLIST

SUMMARY: a note gets left behind when you’re standing in front of rafe’s locker

WORD COUNT: + 1k

GENRE: fluff

CONTENT WARNING: /

you’re sitting in the back row of your english class, doodling absentmindedly on the edge of your notebook. it’s not like you weren’t paying attention to the lecture—well, maybe you weren’t. it’s just that he, sitting three rows in front of you, had completely stolen your focus.

his back is to you, but it doesn’t matter. even with just the back of his head to look at, it’s like he’s the only person in the room.

“are you even listening?” your friend, laura leans over from the seat beside you, her voice pulling you back to reality.