Last time you saw him you were at your job, in the clothing store at the better part of the town. He likes that place. He'll come in to check out the clothes. Also. Yet he scans the store for you. You think you always spot him first but let him decide when he comes over.
He always does somehow.
He'll greet you with a smile. Asking you how you are.
Last time he had a burning question that seemed to fade his ability to get through the small talk first. Which goes slow since, however nice you are to him, you let him talk the talk.
When Rafe's around it's hard to form sentences anyway.
The question came out rather awkwardly. A rather unusual sight for those who know him.
"You don't have to uhm- answer this if you don't want to -"
He looks at you. His eyes insecure. Looking for permission.
"Uhm, sure." You assure him with a friendly smile. Keeping your cool. "I don't think I would mind."
He quickly but subtly clears his throat.
"So, you and Topper are like really back together?"
See, you and Topper had gone through a rough patch. You'd been on and off. It's actually in this period Rafe had begun to visit you at work. Listening to your updates. Telling you how stupid Topper was and that 'if Topper ever bothers you, you should tell him' and that 'he'd take care of him'.
"Yeah, we've been good." You answer his question honestly. Topper was a good guy, a stable guy. You could talk through everything with him nowadays. The relationship had started to feel easy again.
Rafe is unable to get out an instant reply. His eyes go to the floor and his jaw clenching before his gaze comes back up to yours. It's kind of empty this time, but empty like the dark endlessness of looking into a well.
It makes your heart sink a little.
But you smile, again, awaiting his response. Ignoring the tension that you can't deny but feel.
"He's been good to me." You add. Not sure why.
He scoffs. A quick reply follows.
"I'm happy for you."
His attitude suddenly solemn.
"That's nice of you." You smile again.
It feels stiff. Looking away from him to focus on putting his purchase into a paper bag.
It stays silent.
You hand him over the bag.
You look at him as you do it.
He looks right back. He smiles, but it's just his mouth that tries to fake it.
"I'll guess I'll see u around."
That was it.
You nod.
"See u around for sure."
And just as random as he came in, he left again.
As another customer already walks up to your cash register, you need to stop all the questions raving through your mind.
Rafe who would never have thought he would fall for someone like you, who tries to push his feelings for you far away, yet, is so uncontrollably drawn to you, can't really keep his cool around you. When you're around, he so clearly ignores your presence, as long as possible, but Rafe betrays himself. He can't keep himself from staring. He reacts to you naturally. Albeit in a ridiculing tone.
**Rafe is in the same soccer team as ur boyfriend. Whenever you come by to watch a game, Rafe is confronted with you being loved and touched by another man. He's confronted with the love you give in return. Every time he sees you is a reminder of how he has failed to be honest and vulnerable in the past and of a desire that will never be fulfilled...**
knight!rafe takes princess!reader to bed after she had too much to drink at the feast
cw :: alcohol, making out, regret, idk if i’ll make a part two or not
the night had descended into revelry. within the golden halls of the royal palace, laughter rang loud beneath the vaulted ceilings, echoing off walls draped in velvet and silk. the scent of roasted meats, honeyed fruits, and spiced wine clung to the air, and the courtiers—swathed in silvers and scarlets—spun across the marble floors in a dizzying waltz of lace and jewels. goblets overflowed, cheeks were flushed, and for one rare night, the burdens of rule were drowned in merriment.
ser rafe stood along the farthest wall, unmoving, save for the slow shift of his gaze as it tracked the room. he had not touched a drop of wine. his posture remained rigid, one gloved hand resting against the hilt of his sword, the other clenched behind his back. his armor gleamed only faintly in the firelight, dulled by duty and dust, but the tension in his jaw was as sharp as ever. and then he saw her.
the princess—his charge, his torment—laughing far too freely near the head of the table, her delicate fingers curled around a goblet nearly as large as her hand. her cheeks were kissed pink with wine, and her golden curls, usually pinned with precise care, were beginning to fall loose from the combs at her temple. her smile was soft and dazed. her words, though too quiet to hear from where he was standing, were slurred with affection and warmth as she swayed in her chair. rafe exhaled slowly through his nose, already bracing himself.
a moment later, a firm hand landed on his shoulder. he turned to find his majesty the king, face flushed from drinking but eyes sharp with the edge of paternal irritation. the monarch leaned close, lowering his voice just enough that only rafe would hear. “she’s had far too much,” the king said plainly, nodding once toward his daughter. “the duchess insisted she try that blasted apricot brandy, and she’s had at least three cups. i won’t have her making a fool of herself. take her to her chambers immediately. and do not leave her side until she’s asleep. understood?”
rafe bowed his head immediately, his voice low and even. “yes, your majesty.”
the king turned away without another word, returning to his guests with a forced chuckle and a raise of his goblet, leaving rafe standing in the shadows once more—only now with a weight in his chest heavier than his chainmail. because taking her to bed was a task he had imagined far too often… and never like this.
after he took a deep breath, he stalked up beside you like a phantom of iron and shadows, towering and stern, his voice low enough only you could hear. “my lady,” he said tightly. “it’s time for rest. i’ll see you to your chambers.”
you blinked up at him, eyes glassy and lips pouty. “what? already?”
“It’s well past midnight,” he said. “and you’ve had nearly too much.”
“what—no! i feel fine,” you insisted, drawing out the word with a little sway. “besides, i’m just—” you hiccuped softly, “—happy!”
his jaw twitched. “now, please. t’was your fathers orders.”
you huffed softly but allowed him to take the goblet from your hand. you made a show of rising slowly, fingers brushing against his vambrace as you tried to steady yourself. he stepped closer immediately, his hand ghosting behind your back without touching. you turned to look at him once more, eyes soft, cheeks flushed. “you’re awfully bossy when you want to be, ser rafe.” he said nothing. just offered his arm, silent and patient. you looped yours through it with a soft little smile and leaned in as you whispered, “but i’ll be good. just for you.”
his muscles tensed beneath the leather as he stared into your eyes for a moment too long. he forced his gaze back to the corridor, and with that, he guided you from the hall—your heels clicking on the cold stone, his armor echoing with every step—toward the one place he shouldn’t want to take you, and the one place you’d been dreaming of bringing him since the day he first stood at your side—your bedroom.
you were clinging to his arm with barely a shred of decorum left. you had looped one ungloved hand into the leather strap of ser rafe’s breastplate, your fingers curling into it with far too much familiarity for what should’ve been a simple escort to bed. your eyes, normally so shy and downcast, were now wide and glassy, fixed on him like he were the only man who had ever existed. “why do you always scowl so much?” you asked, voice lilting as you stumbled slightly. “is it because your armor’s so dreadfully heavy? or because you’re afraid you’ll smile and i might think you’re handsome?”
rafe didn’t answer. he didn’t so much as look down at you. his eyes remained forward, jaw set like stone. his hand twitched once at his side, but he said nothing. you smiled to yourself—mischievously, foolishly—at the silence.
but then your ankle gave out on the uneven rug, and before your hand could even slip from his chest, he had moved. swiftly, controlled, and infuriatingly efficient. without a word, ser rafe caught you against him and swept you up into his arms, cradling you high against his chest like you weighed nothing at all.
“oh!” you gasped softly, startled—but then you laughed. “ser rafe… you mustn’t… don’t you know they’ll talk if they see…the o’ noble knight getting a bit too fancy with the kings precious princess?” you mocked-gasped, unable to hide your intoxicated giggle.
“you’re tumbling over your own feet, miss. i’m just helping you.” he muttered, low and dangerous.
the corridor was quiet now, save for the low thud of his boots on stone and the gentle clink of armor with every measured step. you curled into him without thinking, your cheek brushing the stiff fabric of the linen draped beneath his chainmail. his scent—something clean and earthen, like pine and worn leather—was already dizzying.
by the time he reached the grand oak doors of your chambers, he was breathing heavier—not from the weight of you, but from the unbearable awareness of your body nestled into his. your warm breath fanned against the skin of his neck as he pushed open the door with one arm and carried you inside. the fire in your hearth had been stoked to a gentle glow, casting flickers of gold across your silken bedspread, your dressing screen, the delicate perfume bottles that lined your vanity. everything about the room was soft and lovely—except the tension that now pressed thick between you.
he lowered you slowly to the bed, careful, almost reverent, his gloved hands supporting your back as he helped you lie among the cushions. but when he moved to straighten, your hand reached for him again—fingers curling into the strap at his shoulder, just as they had earlier. this time, you didn’t giggle. you just looked up at him with wide, vulnerable eyes. “stay,” you whispered.
“princess—” he began, voice rough, low, almost strangled.
“i know i’m drunk,” you said softly, fingertips tracing a path along the edge of his gorget, “but i know what i’m saying. and i know how i’ve looked at you every day since they assigned you to guard me. you pretend not to see it… but you do, don’t you?”
his breath stuttered. the lines of his face were sharper in the firelight, his brow shadowed, lips parted. still he said nothing. you sat up slowly, your bodice whispering against the sheets, and reached for him again. this time, your hand slid beneath the strap—curling behind his neck—and you pulled him down. the moment his knees hit the edge of your bed and your fingers slid behind his neck, weaving through the curls at his nape, ser rafe knew he’d made a grave mistake. his heart thundered beneath his armor, loud enough he swore you could hear it through the polished steel. your breath was sweet and warm against his lips, your eyes soft with wine and something deeper—something that made his restraint unravel by the second. “just kiss me,” you whispered again, but this time, your lips brushed his as you said it, like a promise. or a curse. and gods help him… he obeyed.
the kiss was not slow nor hesitant. it was hungry and desperate. years of self-control shattered in a heartbeat as his mouth crashed into yours, his hand bracing the side of your face while the other gripped your hip hard enough to bruise. you whimpered into him—softer than silk, sweeter than sin—and he swallowed the sound like a starving man.
your body melted beneath him, silk and warmth and aching need. your fingers clawed at the buckles of his armor, fumbling uselessly, whining softly against his mouth, “i hate this stupid thing—get it off, please—”
“you’re drunk, you don’t know what you’re asking,” he muttered between kisses, but he didn’t stop. he couldn’t. he was still sitting at the edge of the bed, and you suddenly i crawled into his lap, your skirts gathered in your fists as you straddled his thighs without a second thought. he groaned low in his throat as your hips shifted against his, your mouth parting wider for him as his tongue slid against yours. he tasted like smoke, steel, and fevered dreams. and when he bit your lip—not hard, just enough to make your heart skip a beat—your fingers curled around the back of his hair and pulled. he grunted and you gasped softly he barely heard it over his heavy breaths. he kissed you again, rougher this time, like he needed to memorize every inch of your mouth before his sanity returned.
“say you’ll stay,” you whispered into the space between kisses, voice trembling. “just tonight. just—please, rafe—” your voice broke on his name and he lost it.
he kissed down your throat—open-mouthed, burning—until his teeth grazed your collarbone. one hand clutched your waist to keep you steady, the other slid up your spine and buried in your hair, holding you in place as your chest heaved against his. you were trembling, but so was he.
and then—just as suddenly—he froze.
it was like the weight of what was happening hit him all at once. the tiara on your head, the armor on his chest, the fucking oath he’d sworn to your father. the wine. the bed. you, horny and breathless in his lap.
he pulled back, harshly. you whimpered at the loss, hands reaching for him, but he gripped your wrists—gently, but firmly—and set them down in your lap before moving you off of his lap and standing, breath ragged. “i shouldn’t have…” he rasped, not even finishing the thought. he took a staggering step back, his hands shaking.
“rafe—”
“no,” he said, more forcefully this time, though it cracked at the edges. “i—i’m sorry.”
ou blinked up at him from the bed—cheeks flushed, lips kiss-swollen, the silk of your gown fallen off one shoulder. you looked ruined. you looked perfect.
and he turned away. “i’m sorry, my lady…please forgive me, i’ve overstepped, ” he muttered hoarsely, barely more than a breath. “goodnight, princess.” and then he left—slamming the door behind him with such force that your candles flickered, and your heart shattered a little with the sound.
to me rafe strikes me more as the type who defaults to rough, dominant, possessive—because that’s what he knows. it’s how he stays in control, how he keeps people at a distance emotionally, even when he's physically close. but if he actually cares about you? if you’re his girl? that may be when those softer moments sneak in.
he might not even realize it at first—like, one night, he’s slower than usual, holding your face like it’s something fragile, and afterward he’s just laying there like:
“fuck. that was… different.”
and you’re like, “different how?”
and he grumbles, “don’t worry about it,” while pulling you closer and kissing the top of your head like he didn’t just make love to you instead of fucking you.
he’d only be soft when he’s feeling something he doesn’t know how to say. it’d be rare—but real. and probably followed by a few nights of him being extra rough again just to compensate for letting it slip.
Possible prequel....This is kinda lame and rushed.
You don’t belong here.
The words echo through your head the second you walk through the entrance of the Cameron’s estate. Too many pastel polos, smug smiles, and the weight of every eye landing on your second hand dress like it had no right to be here.
You cling to your purse like a lifeline. Sarah told you it would be ‘lowkey’. She said “It will just be a few people.”
Sarah lied.
There’s music. Loud conversations. Beer bottles and boat shoes. And standing by the stairs like he owns the place, because he kinda does, is Rafe Cameron.
He spots you immediately. Of course he does.
You try not to look, but you feel his gaze, sharp and unrelenting, like the hot sun on already burning skin.
And then he moves.
You’re halfway to the living room, having spotted Sarah, eyes on the floor, when his voice cuts through the noise like a blade.
“Well, well. Didn’t know Sarah was taking in charity cases now.”
Your whole body stiffens.
You turn slowly. You shouldn’t, you know you shouldn’t, but you do. Because it’s him. Because he’s always been like this with you, always so mean, cruel, and yet interested. And you don’t know which part is worse.
“Hi, Rafe,” you say softly, looking up at him through your eyelashes.
He raises an eyebrow. Saunters closer.
“Didn’t know you could speak. Usually just see you hiding behind your friends like their little lap dog.”
You flinch.
He notices and smirks.
That cruel, perfect mouth of his quirks up like he’s just won a game you didn't know you were playing.
“I didn’t mean to intrude,” you mumble. “I’ll go.”
You try to walk past him, but his hand shoots out, catching your wrist. His palm is warm and soft.
“Go where?” he asks, voice low now. “You just got here.”
You look up at him, bad move.
He’s tall—so much taller up close. His blonde hair is pushed back like he’s run his hands through it, but a single strand has escaped, curled across his forehead. His eyes are a piercing glacial blue, and that smile is wolfish and wild, like he knows you’re intimidated and loves it.
“I just… I don’t want to bother anyone.”
“You’re not bothering me.”
That surprises you.
Your brows knit. He sees the confusion. His hand tightens on your wrist just a little, like he knows you’re about to bolt.
“You think I came over here because I was bothered?” he asks, tilting his head. “Sweetheart, if I didn’t want you here, you’d be gone already.”
There’s something dangerous in his tone. Not just cocky, something threatening. But you’ve never been the kind of girl to stand her ground in the face of danger. You ran.
Your eyes flick to the front door again.
He notices that, too.
“You’re scared of me,” he says, not as a question.
You swallow.
“I…” you trail off. Because lying to Rafe feels stupid. But telling the truth? That’s feels even worse.
And suddenly, something shifts.
His grip loosens.
His smirk fades, just barely.
And when he speaks again, his voice is quieter. Lower. Like it’s just for you.
“I didn’t mean to scare you.”
You blink up at him.
That doesn’t sound like Rafe. That sounds…human.
He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. Not at you, but at himself.
“Fuck,” he mutters. “You’re just so—”
He doesn’t finish the sentence.
He looks at your dress, the white cotton hem brushing against your thighs. At the way your fingers tremble just slightly around your purse.
“You’re not like them,” he says.
You shake your head slowly. “No. I’m not.”
He nods once. “That’s why I notice you.”
That admission sits between you. Heavy. Dangerous.
You don’t know what to say. You should walk away. But your feet stay rooted. And he steps closer. So close you can feel the heat radiating from his body. A part of you wanted to lean into the warmth.
“You’re Sarah’s friend,” he says. “That means you come around. Which means I see you.”
His voice drops even lower. "A lot of people see you." He pauses, eyes scanning your face, “And I don’t like the way the other guys look at you.”
Your breath catches.
Is he jealous?
“Why?” you whisper.
He shrugs, but it’s forced.
“Because they don’t know what to do with a girl like you. You’re soft. Quiet. Not made for people like us.”
“Then why are you still talking to me?”
That gets him.
His eyes flash with something hungry. Possessive.
He leans in until his mouth is right next to your ear.
“Because I want to see what happens when I stop pretending I don’t want you.”
Your pulse skitters. Goosebumps travel down your arms.
“I’m not scared of you,” you lie.
His breath brushes your neck.
“Yeah, you are.”
Then he lets go.
Takes a full step back. Runs a hand over his jaw, almost regretful.
“Go find Sarah,” he says, voice rough.
And with that, he walks away.
You’re left staring after him, heart in your throat, hands shaking.
