hannah

26 welcome to my shit blog.

[slvtforrafe]

Masterlist

Rafe Cameron

Series:

Tide Between Us

Saltwater Ruin

[slvtforrafe]

The Girl on the Beach

Series.

You arrive on the island and meet Sarah Cameron. The Pogues welcome you easily, but across the beach someone else notices you first — Rafe.

The first thing you notice about the island is the heat.

it clings to your skin like it owns you.

Your mom had called it a fresh start when she accepted the nursing job in the Outer Banks.

You called it moving somewhere you knew absolutely no one.

Until Sarah.

You'd met Sarah Cameron three days after arriving. She'd been walking down the beach when your dog ran straight at her.

Instead of getting mad, she laughed.

And somehow that had turned into beach days, late night swims, and meeting the rest of her friends.

Which is how you end up sitting in the sand with the Pouges.

“Okay but seriously,” JJ Maybank sys, tossing a bottle cap toward the water, “you moved here willingly?”

You shrug. “My mom did.”

“Fair,” John B Routledge laughs.

Across from you, Kiara Carrera smiles. “You'll like it here,” she says. “Summer's the best.”

“Yeah,” Pope Heyward adds. “If you avoid the Kooks.”

You raise a brow. “The what?”

They all start talking at once. Kooks. Pouges. The island divide. 

You're still trying to piece it together when Sarah suddenly goes quiet.

Your eyes follow hers.

Up the beach, three guys are walking from the dunes. 

They're clearly Kooks.

Expensive clothes. Boat shoes. The effortless confidence people with money seem to carry.

The one in the middle stands out immediately. Tall. Sharp jaw. Messy blonde hair falling over dark eyes. Something about him feels wrong. Not loud wrong. Quiet wrong. Predatory.

“Great,” JJ mutters under his breath.

You glance back. “What?”

John B sighs. “Sarah's brother.”

Your gaze driffts back to him.

Rafe Cameron.

He hasn't looked at anyone else on the beach. 

Just you.

His eyes narrow slightly, like he's trying to figure something out.

“Don't mind him,” Sarah says quickly. Too quickly. 

You look at her. “Why?”

She hesitated. Which tells you enough. 

________________________________________________________________

Rafe stops a little further up the sand, talking to his friends. But every few seconds his gaze flicks back toward you. You pretend not to notice. But the strange feeling in your chest refuses to go away. Like you've just stepped into something. And you don't even know it yet. 

Up the beach, Rafe lights a cigarette. Kelcey says something beside him but he barely hears it. His eyes stay locked on the girl sitting with Sarah.

New girl.

He knows everyone on this island. But not her.

“Who's that?” he asks. 

His friend glances down. “No idea.”

Rafe exhales the smoke slowly. The girl laughs at something JJ says. It's quiet. Genuine. Not fake like most girls around here. 

He watches the way Sarah leans toward her like they've been friends for years. Which means Sarah knows her. Which means Rafe will too. Eventually. 

A slow smile creeps onto his face. 

“Hey!” he calls. 

Sarah looks up immediately. Annoyance flashes across her face. “What do you want, Rafe?”

His eyes flick back to you. Still pretending not to look at him. Interesting. 

He flicks ash into the sand. “Who's your friend?” 

Sarah hesitates for a second. Then, she sighs. “None of your business.” 

Rafe's smile widens slightly.

Oh.

Now he's definitely interested.

And you don't realise it yet. But that was the moment. 

The exact moment Rafe Cameron noticed you. And on this island, that kind of attention rarely ends well.

The conversation on the beach tries to move on.

It doesn't really work.

You can feel it now. That subtle shift in the air that happens when someone unwanted shows up. The Pouges are still talking, but it's distracted. Edges sharper. Glances drifting up the sand. And every time your eyes accidently wander toward the dunes, he's still there. 

Rafe Cameron leans against the hood of a black truck, cigarette between his fingers again, watching the water like he doesn't care about anything happening on the beach. Except every one in a while, his eyes drift back to you.

You pretend you don't notice. You're not stupid. You can feel when someone's looking at you. You just don't understand why.

“So,” JJ says suddenly, clapping his hands together. “Boat day tomorrow.”

That pulls your attention back. “Boat day?”

“The best day,” John B says, grinning. “You in?”

You glance at Sarah, she nods encouragingly. 

You shrug. “Sure.”

JJ points at you like you've just made the smartest decision of your life. 

“See? She gets it.”

Kiara laughs softly. “You'll regret encouraging him.”

“Hey!” JJ protests.

Pope snorts beside him. “Statistically speaking, she will.”

You laugh, a real laugh this time, and for a moment you forget about the heavy feeling sitting somewhere between your shoulders. Until Sarah's phone buzzes, she glances at it and sighs. “Oh my god.”

“What?” Kiara asks. 

Sarah flips the phone around so they can see the screen. 

JJ groans. “Seriously?”

“What?” you ask again. 

Sarah rubs her temple. “My dad wants me home.”

“Shocker.” John B mutters.

“Apparently there's some dinner thing.”

You watch her type out a quick reply before stuffing the phone back into her bag. “I should go before he sends a search party.” She stands, brushing sand from her shorts. 

Your eyes drift back up the beach, Rafe is already looking. Like he knew she was leaving before she even stood up. 

You swallow slightly. 

“You walking with me?” Sarah asks you.

You blink. “Oh, uh, sure.”

The Pogues wave you off as you stand.

“Boat tomrrow!” JJ calls. 

“Don't forget!” John B adds. 

You and Sarah start heading up the sand. The closer you get to the dunes, the more you become aware of the small group of guys waiting there. Two of them are laughing about something.

But Rafe isn't. His attention is locked completely on Sarah. Until it shifts, to you. Sarah notices too, you can tell from the way her shoulders tense.

“Just ignore him,” she mutters quietly. 

“Your brother?” You glance sideways at her. “You two not close?”

She gives a humourless laugh. “That's one way to put it.”

By the time you reach them, the other two guys have moved toward the truck. But Rafe stays where he is, blocking the path slightly. 

Sarah sighs. “Rafe.”

He pushes off the truck slowly. Up close, he's  even more intimidating. Taller than you expected, broad shoulders, something restless in the way he moves, like his energy is always slightly out of control. 

“You're leaving already?” His voice is calm. Too calm.

“Dad wants me home.”

“Yeah,” he says, like he already knew that. Then his gaze slides to you, it's not a casual glance. It's slow, deliberate. Like he's studying you. You suddenly feel very aware of yourself standing there. Sand on your legs, hair messy from the wind. He tilts his head slightly. “You new?” The question is directed at you. You hesitate. 

Sarah answers. “She just moved here.”

Rafe doesn't look away from you. “Didn't ask you.”

Sarah rolls her eyes.

You clear your throat quietly. “Yeah,” you say. “Just moved.”

His gaze sharpens slightly. “From where?”

“North Carolina originally. Just, a differen't town.”

“Mhm.” He flicks the cigarette into the sand and crushes it under his shoe. Up close you notice the faint smell of smoke clinging to him. And something else, alcohol maybe. “Name?” he asks.There's something strangely intense about the way he says it. Like it matters.

You hesitate just long enough for Sarah to notice.

Then you answer. “Y/N.”

Rafe repeats it under his breath. “Y/N.” Like he's testing how it sounds. 

Sarah crosses her arms. “Okay, interrogation over.” 

Rafe ignores her completely, his eyes stay on you. “You hanging out with them now?” he asks, nodding down the beach toward the Pouges.

You glance back. “They seem nice.”

He huffs a quiet laugh. “Yeah. Sure.”

Sarah steps between you slightly. “Rafe.”

“What?”

“Stop being weird.”

He finally looks at her again. “Relax, Sarah.” Then his attention drifts back to you. “You like it here so far?”

The question catches you off gaurd. “Um, yeah.”

“Good.” He nods once, like that's settled. Then he reaches past Sarah and opens the truck door, the motion bringing him a little closer. Close enough that your stomach tightens unexpectedly. “You'll see me around.” he says casually. The words shouldn't sound threatening, but something about the way he says them makes it feel like a promise. 

Sarah grabs your arm gently. “Come on.” You let her pull you past him, but as you climb into her jeep, you glance back once. Rafe is still standing by the truck, watching, and even as the jeep pulls away, his eyes follow.

Inside the jeep, Sarah exhales slowly. “Sorry about that.”

“It's fine.” You stare out the window at the road passing by. “Is he always like that?”

Sarah doesn't answer right away. Instead she grips the steering wheel a little tighter. “Just, don't get involved with him.”

You blink. “I wan't planning on it.”

“Good.” Her tone is serious. “He's… complicated.”

You think about the way he looked at you. The way he said your name. The quiet intensity in his eyes. “Complicated how?”

Sarah glances at you briefly, then back at the road. “You'' hear stories,” she says. “Most of them are probably true.”

Sarah's phone buzzes in the jeep. She glances at the screen and groans. 

You notice immediately. “What?”

She flips the phone over. “Rafe.”

“What did he say?”

Sarah exhales. “He wants to know about you.”

Your stomach tightens slightly. “What are you telling him?”

She types quickly, then tosses the phone back into the colsole. “Nothing.”

You nod slowly, but for some reason, the uneasy feeling doesn't go away. 

[slvtforrafe]

Saltwater Ruin

Everyone on the island warned you about Rafe Cameron.

No one warned you he'd decide you belonged to him.

You've just moved to the island with your mum, a nurse working long shifts at the hospital. New house. New town. New rumours.

And one name everyone seems to say with the same uneasy look.

Rafe Cameron.

One

[slvtforrafe]

Final Decision

Series

Part Thirty-Four Here

Sometimes survival isn't about escaping. It's about choosing the ending that hurts the least.

Running stopped feeling like freedom a long time ago.

It felt like exhaustion.

Like borrowed time.

Like waiting for the moment his patience finally snapped, and wondering wether that would be the moment he killed you.

So when Rafe stood in your apartment days later, calm again, watchful, hand resting possesively at your lower back as if you might dissapear if he let go, you didn't argue when he told you they were going home. 

You didn't ask when.

You didn't ask how long.

You already knew the answer to both.

__________________________________________________

The cafe smelled like burnt coffee and sugar that morning. The same smell it always had, comofrting, familar, yours. The bell above the door chimed when you stepped inside, and for a second, just one second, you imagined staying. Letting the day play out like any other.

Marley was behind the counter. Luna sat at their usual corner table, legs tucked under her, scrolling on her phone.

They looked up at the same time.

One look at your face and they both knew.

“No,” Marley said immediately, stepping around the counter. “No, no. Don't tell me that look means what I think it does.”

Luna stood, chair scraping loudly against the floor. “He found you.”

You nooded. Once. That was all you could manage.

“He's here,” you said quietly. “I have to go.”

Marley's eyes filled instantly. “You don't have to do anything. You can stay. We can call the police. We can-”

“He'll hurt you,” you interrupted, voice breaking. “I can't let that happen. He won't stop. He never does.”

Luna grabbed your hands, squeezing them tight. “You don't belong to him.”

“I know,” you whispered. “But he thinks I do. And that's worse.”

They begged. They cried. Marley told you she could hide you in her spare room. Luna offered money, her car, anything. But it didn't matter. Nothing they offered could outrun a man who had already proven distance meant nothing to him.

When you hugged them goodbye, it felt like tearing something living out of your chest.

Rafe waited outside. Leaning against his truck. Watching the cafe windows like he was counting your breaths.

The moment you stepped out, his arm slide around your shoulders, casual. Claiming. His thumb brushed your collarbone, a silent reminder.

“Good girl.” he murmured, lips near your ear.

You didn't respond.

__________________________________________________

Outer Banks felt exactly the same.

That was the cruelest part.

The salt in the air. The sun bouncing off the water. The sound of laughter drifting down from somewhere along the beach. It felt like you'd stepped backwards in time. Except now, everything was sharper. Heavier.

Sarah was the first to see you.

She froze mid-step, disbelief flashing across her face before she ran forward, pulling you into a hug so tight it stole the breath from your lungs. 

“Oh my god,” Sarah whispered. “I thought-”

“I know,” you said softly. “I'm sorry.”

The others followed. John B, JJ, Pope, Kiara. Each reaction different. Shock. Anger. Confusion. JJ didn't even try to hide the fury burning behind his eyes when he saw Rafe standing just behind you, hand planted firmly at your waist.

They sat together later, away from him. On the edge of the dock, feet dangling above the water.

You told them everything. Not the worse parts, not all of them, but enough.

You told them why you left.

Why you ran.

Why you came back.

“I'm not happy,” you said, staring at the rippling water. “But I'm tired. And if I don't go with him… he'll destroy everything in his path until there's nothing left. At least this way, I can keep it contained.”

“And the baby?” Kiara asked gently.

You swallowed. “He can provide. He already is. And he won't let me dissapear.”

Rafe watched from a distance, satisfied. Victorious. He kept you close after that. An arm always around you, fingers always touching. Like you might remember you once escaped if he let you forget him for even a second.

He smiled more.

Laughed louder.

Acted like he'd won something that was always his.

_______________________________________________________________

Epilogue

Their house sat back from the road, tucked behind trees and tall fencing. Private. Safe, depending on who you asked.

They married quietly.

No spectacle. No crowd. Immediate family. Sarah stood beside you, eyes shining but worried. Rafe squeezed your hand during the vows, grounding. Claiming.

You said ‘I do’ because not saying it felt more dangerous.

The baby came a few months later.

A boy.

You named him James. After no one in particular. Rafe cried when he held him the first time. Real tears. Soft voice. Promises whispered against the tiny head.

For a while, it almost felt normal.

You learned the rhythms of your life again. Morning light through the kitchen windows. Rafe's arm heavy across your waist at night. A baby monitor humming softly beside the bed.

You were… content.

Not happy.

Not free.

But breathing.

You never fully trusted him, not really. You still watched his moods. Counted his silences. Memorised the way his jaw tightened before anger bloomed.

But you stayed.

Because running was worse.

Because loving him had consequences.

Because sometimes survival looks like surrender dressed up as stability.

And because, standing in the quiet of your home, baby asleep on your chest, Rafe's presence looming behind you like a shadow you'd learned to live with. 

You knew the truth you'd been avoiding since the beginning.

He would always find you.

And maybe, some part of you had stopped wanting to be lost.

@jscasmth @gutlesscatherine @dabishou @naurcodedjunebug

[harryspet]

rough hands, soft chains [masterlist] r.cameron

[warnings] dark!rancher!rafe x bimbo!cowgirl!reader, arranged marriage, rancher au, manipulation, size difference, DUBCON/NONCON, virgin!reader, rafe is HUGE, breeding kink READ AT YOUR OWN RISK 18+

Summary: In which your dying father struck a deal with Ward Cameron, he promised the family land in exchange for your safety. But protection comes with a price, and that price is Rafe Cameron.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Epilogue

Extras:

chapter 3 ending: reader's pov

rafe cameron masterlist

[cherienymphe]

all of my writing explores dark themes such as non-consent, dubious-consent, and a/b/o subjects. if any of this offends you, this has been your warning!

Keep reading

[rvfecamerons]

》 LEAVING TONIGHT — rafe cameron x reader

{ part 2 }

word count — 5.7k

warnings — MDNI, dark!rafe (he’s very much unhinged in this one), reader can be kook or pogue tbh, abusive relationship/DV + mentions of, no actual smut but mentions of, swearing, confinement, restraints, kidnapping (?? could be considered ig), drug use + mentions of, victim blaming, lmk if i’m missing anything!

summary — based off of this ask! ty for the request and for saving me from this writer’s block 😭💕

a/n — OKKK MISSED U GUYS SM. i’ve been struggling w writing lately and just in general tbh LMAO so i would be extra appreciative (if thats even possible) for any feedback and love on this one <3 anyway this is my 500th post 🤭 didn’t expect it to be this long but here we are!! leaving tonight by the neighbourhood is a good one to listen to while u read btw! ty to everyone who sent requests yesterday, i’ll be getting to them! happy thanksgiving loves 🤍🤎

Things with Rafe started off great, but the honeymoon phase lasted a strikingly short amount of time.

The oldest Cameron could only mask his true colors for so long.

Date nights and surprise gifts, kisses and love making quickly turned into arguing, witholding affection, criticizing you for every little thing.

You felt like you were constantly walking on eggshells, always worrying that you would say or do the wrong thing and cause your boyfriend to snap on you.

And it didn’t take much to set Rafe off.

But your resilience was one of the things Rafe admired about you.

You could take whatever he dished out to you, whatever insults or profanities he spat, whatever blows or shoves he dealt, and move on.

He didn’t even have to say sorry anymore, you were the one apologizing to him when he lashed out.

You didn’t complain, didn’t try to make the problems Rafe subjected to you anyone else’s problem. You knew better.

You’d stopped fighting back, both physically and verbally, long ago.

You were conditioned at this point, trained to take Rafe’s rath in stride and still go on about your day afterwards.

The amount of assaults and verbal lashings you’d been subjected to didn’t necessarily align with Rafe’s true stance.

The boy wasn’t too fond of his correctional methods.

He didn’t like putting his hands on you. He hated yelling at you, calling you names, ridiculing you, but he didn’t have a choice.

Rafe had a temper. He had anger issues, among a slew of other unsolved mental and emotional issues. Anything could piss him off, anyone could set him off, and click on the voices in his head.

His actions were always fueled by those incessant voices in his head.

They were loud. So loud, so overwhelming, so persistant.

They told him when he needed to correct your behavior, and the voices lacked a moral compass, too.

He would go until the voices finally whispered ‘enough, enough, enough’, and it was only then that he’d decide to spare you from any further mistreatment.

Rafe just couldn’t control his anger, and you just happened to be the most accessible outlet to channel it through every time.

Plus, you were great at bouncing back afterwards.

There were plenty of times Rafe was sure he’d overdone it, went too hard on you, hit you too harshly or choked you for too long. But somehow, you managed to get up and redeem yourself without any further issue, every single time.

You were strong, strong enough to deal with him on his worst days and his good ones.

Today in particular was a hard day for Rafe. His dad had laid into him all morning about some numbers he’d messed up in the company books.

Truthfully, Rafe could’ve done everything right by his dad and still be subjected to his violent tendencies. He was never good enough for the Cameron patriarch, and the feeling of inadequecy was eating him alive.

Safe to say, Rafe needed to be alone when he got home that afternoon.

So, he fixed your palm with a few blue notes and sent you on your way. You’d kill some time shopping in the city, while he took advantage of his alone time.

According to you, Rafe had stopped using cocaine completely, ditched the bad habit months ago.

But you only knew what you could see, what Rafe fed you to be true.

And in truth, the boy did try to stop using.

He managed to make it almost a full 24 hours without a fix the day after he informed you of the lifestyle change, but again, the voices in his head directed his actions.

He was at Barry’s the very next morning, you thought he was at work while Rafe was really buying enough coke to make sure he didn’t need to travel back to the Cut anytime soon.

He’d never admit that he was too weak to kick the habit all together, so he’d send you away instead, keeping his affair with the forbidden drug private.

Rafe kept his bag stashed under the mattress in your room. It might have seemed like an obvious hiding spot, but he knew you had no reason to be peering under there anyway.

He fished for the bag blindly, hand manuevering between the mattress and bed frame in search of his stash.

He both felt and heard the sound of a plastic baggie rustling beneath his fingertips, and sighed in relief when he tugged on it, eager to knock down a couple lines after the day he had.

But the bag he pulled out would do nothing to get him high in that moment.

Because the bag Rafe brandished was full of paper.

Cash.

A large amount, from the looks of it.

Some bills were wadded up, some folded different ways and directions, but all corraled into one Ziploc bag.

Your initials were scribbled in Sharpie at the bottom of the bag, and Rafe felt the voices awakening as he stared at the two letters.

The wad of cash stashed under the mattress in your shared bedroom was more than enough to elicit a fit of rage in the kook.

Because Rafe just couldn’t understand.

You had it so easy.

Most women only dream of being able to stay at home, live rent and bill free while the man handles the career, the finances, the planning.

The only thing you had to worry about was making it to your sunset yoga classes or your spa sessions on time.

You didn’t have to desire for anything.

Whatever you wanted, Rafe made it his mission to get it for you, and then some. 

Modestly, you never asked for much. Ever. He would offer to take you shopping, refresh your wardrobe, buy you nice bags, any monetary gesture he could conjure to make up for whatever abusive behaviors he exerted that week. 

He funded every aspect of your life, made everything easy and seamless for you.

All Rafe asked for in return was your unconditional love. You’d promised to stay with him, to see him through his drug addiction and anger issues, to help him and support him as he worked to be a better man for you, for his family, for himself.

But you just couldn’t do that, could you?

Something in your brain must have short circuited, convinced you that trying to leave in the middle of the night was a smart idea.

When in reality, it was probably the stupidest decision you could’ve made.

Rafe should’ve known.

You always declined his offers more often than you accepted, so he should’ve known something was up when you started making more requests, seemingly out of nowhere.

You usually didn’t care to get your nails done, but you’d been frequenting the nail shops in recent months. Your hair was typically styled one of a few ways, but you’d randomly started asking for money for hair appointments too.

Rafe didn’t mind it. He was glad you were asking for more money from him; he loved the fact that you depended on him for it. It allowed him more leverage, more things to hold over your head or bribe you with in the future.

Rafe cursed himself for missing such an obvious clue that something was up. You’d been pocketing the money, or most of it anyway, and stashing it away under the mattress.

On the bed the two of you shared. The bed he laid his head every single night, right beside yours. The boy clenched his fists, eyes falling shut as he started to think of all of the nights he’d laid his head on top of your little escape fund.

The stack of paper was a blantant act of bretrayal. Rafe felt double-crossed, and it burned, just like a papercut.

Blue eyes couldn’t peel away from the money, staring at his palm in disbelief. Rafe’s mind combed over any reason you would’ve hidden his money under the bed other than what he knew was the obvious truth.

The one person that was a part of his life by choice, who chose to stick around despite his flaws, wanted to leave him. The only person who stayed because they wanted to, not because they were teathered through blood or familial ties, had planned to leave him.

It was a miracle he found the stash when he had; who knows which day you’d planned to sneak off?

It could’ve been tonight, for all he knew.

All Rafe could think about was how much of your relationship had been a scam.

How much of his time and money invested into you was wasted?

How many of your words, your promises had been nothing but lies?

When you told him you loved him no matter what, how far were you stretching the truth?

When he left you alone to go take care of business outside of the house, how much time did you spend planning your escape? How many days had passed where you planned to walk out of the door and never return, but waited another day instead?

Then he thought about every time he’d come home to find you in the garage or heading out of the door… had you been ready to leave each time, only for him to soil your plan?

Rafe could no longer decipher what was true from false, and it pissed him off.

You weren’t supposed to be a liar like Sarah.

You weren’t supposed to fake concern and love towards him like his dad.

You were supposed to be different…but the Cameron blood must have worn off on you by association.

Which would be unfortunate, since Rafe had big plans for the two of you.

He wanted nothing more than to replace the promise ring he’d gifted you with a realone.

You stayed with him, loved him no matter how harsh he was with you, how often he treated you like anything less than a human, and that’s why Rafe knew he was going to marry you.

You’d be his wife, he was sure of it…

Until now.

Rafe’s first instinct was to march down to the department store to throw the money at you, if you were even really there, he thought. You were a liar, clearly you couldn’t be trusted. Rafe was sure if he’d found the bag later on that night after you returned back home, it probably would’ve had at least one more blue hundred dollar bill tucked right on top.

Confronting you in the store would be the first act of aggression before the voices in his head inevitably pushed him to take things farther.

Rafe had to simmer the boiling pot, had to settle his thoughts. He had to let you think your little plan was still in motion.

So, he gave the bag one last bone-crushing squeeze within his palm before he shoved it back under the mattress, right where he’d found it.

He fished further to find what he’d been looking for in the first place, except now he needed more than just a couple of lines to satiate his nerves, the fury he felt at your act of treason.

The burn was overwhelming as the powder funneled through his nostril, straight to his brain, which was racked with dark thoughts about how he should handle your defiance, your secrecy.

He could only wonder how long you’d been planning to leave him…

—

It definitely was not a spur of the moment decision.

You’d been saving up the money for months, planning your escape. Anytime Rafe offered you money, you’d ask for more than you really needed, pocketing the extra cash in your secret hiding spot.

You figured Rafe had no reason to be rummaging under the bed, so you kept the money hidden under your mattress, the same place Rafe used to keep his coke stashes, back when he still used. 

You’d hoped to have $5,000 saved before having to use the money.

You weren’t sure how much you had currently, but you didn’t have it in you to care.

After Rafe threatened your life during an argument last week, you decided enough was enough. 

The more you listened to true crime podcasters telling stories of relationships gone wrong, the more you realized Rafe was exactly like the men they described, abusing their partners until they finally snap, and end up killing them. And a lot of the girls didn’t even get a clear, verbal warning like the one Rafe had given you.

You didn’t want to end up like the girls on the other end of the crime, but that’s exactly where you feared you were headed.

So you would’ve ran for the hills with just $20 if that was your only option.

Your bag was packed, stowed away in the trunk of your car in the garage, ready for your departure.

All you needed was the key from the foyer, and you’d be on your way.

You silently prayed that it would be as easy as it sounded on paper.

If only you had a way of knowing that Rafe had already found your bag earlier that day…

You held your breath as you tiptoed through the home, nearing the front door where the key holder was bolted to the wall.

The house was just as quiet as it was dark, so you didn’t recognize the empty spot where you were sure you’d left your keys until you got close enough to reach, only for your fingers to find a bare hook.

Your eyes grew wide, but you tried to mask your panic, tried to steady your breathing even as your hands shook.

Did you move them and forget to put them back?

Did they fall off of the hook? 

You glanced down at your feet, eyes met with nothing but hardwood before they darted back up to the bare spot where your key should be.

“Looking for these?”

The voice made you flinch harshly before it then rendered you frozen in place, every hair standing on end as the question filled the silence in what you thought was an empty living room.

You didn’t dare turn around, even as heavy footsteps gradually grew louder and closer.

Rafe didn’t rush over to you, he didn’t need a sense of urgency. He knew you wouldn’t run.

You had no choice but to admit defeat when a harsh grip on your upper arm yanked your body around, giving you no option but to come face to face with your boyfriend.

His large hand wrapped around your throat before you even had a chance to speak, scream, plead for forgiveness, anything.

Rafe used the hold on your column to push you backwards, feet tangling together in the process.

The only thing that stopped you from tripping over your own two feet and landing on the hardwood floor was the front door that you fell back against instead.

Rafe held you there as he pressed his body into yours, the gateway to freedom ripped from your fingertips and used as a barrier instead, locking you in the house with the one person you were hoping to rid yourself of.

He didn’t say anything as he drew a hand up beside you.

You screwed your eyes shut tightly, waiting for the blow you knew you were in for.

But his palm never connected with your face.

Instead, a light jingling sound had your eyes slowly fluttering open, landing on the car keys Rafe was dangling in front of your face.

Tears sprang to your eyes as you shifted against the door.

Rafe picked up on the movement, quick to shove his knee inbetween your legs, making it almost impossible to try to flee from the uncomfortable position.

You’d seen Rafe at his worst. You’d seen him completely strung out, been there for him when he was a sobbing, emotional wreck, when he was an angry, rageful monster bulldozing over you completely.

He’d scared you before, and there had been plenty of times you were sure the man standing in front of you couldn’t possibly be Rafe.

This was much worse, though.

His eyes were no longer blue, but a dark hue as he forced the entirety of his strength onto you.

His face was twisted into a sinister sneer, lip curled inward as his fingers curled tighter around your throat.

Wild eyes darted across your entire face, Rafe unable to focus his gaze on just your eyes as his mind ran wild.

He couldn’t help the small smirk that tugged at his lips as he drank in your startled, trembling, terrified state. He knew he’d caught you off guard, knew he’d scared you beyond belief, and Rafe thrived off of your fear.

“What? What’s a matter?”

The question was rhetorical. Not just because the tight grip on your throat was robbing you of air and your ability to speak, but because Rafe already knew the answer.

“What? Did I spoil your little plan? Hmm?” His voice was so low, so condescending as it cut through the tension in the air.

His grip on your throat didn’t relent until he finally grew tired of your silence. Even though he was stealing your ability to talk, the voices told him you were ignoring him on purpose.

Blantantly disrespecting him, like you had been each time you lied to steal his money, saving it to run off without him.

Your hands flew to your throat, instantly gasping and choking on what little oxygen managed to squeeze through your constricted airways.

Tearful eyes were glued to the floor in the process, avoiding the harsh glare you could still feel burning into your skin.

Rafe fixed that though, roughly grabbing at the hair at the back of your head, scratching your tender scalp in the process. He yanked your head up, leaving you no choice but to face him directly.

You were still coughing, struggling to breathe again when he spat out, “tell me what you planned to do tonight.”

“Rafe,” you somehow managed to choke out his name, hardly above a whisper, “please-!”

His grip on your hair only tightened, and you winced in pain.

“I said tell me what you fucking planned to do tonight.”

You were a sobbing, sniffling mess in Rafe’s hold, and it only provoked him to press harder.

You gasped when his free hand moved to your jaw, fingers squeezing harshly, pressing the skin of your cheek into your teeth until you couldn’t take the pain anymore, forced to drop your jaw and allow his fingers to squeeze further without the restrictions the hardness of your teeth warranted.

“Use your fucking words, Y/N. What were you going to do tonight?”

“I-I…” You started shaking your head, unable to accomodate Rafe’s confrontation.

Even though it was clear he knew what the truth was, you were still scared to admit it, scared to say it out loud and confirm his suspicions.

“You what?” You shifted your weight to the pads of your toes, trying to stand on them to alleviate some of the pain stemming from your scalp.

“You were stealing from me? Lying to me so you could make some-some fucking rainy day fund?” He was so close to your face as he seethed at you, you could see the saliva flying off of his lips as he laid out your plan for you.

“Thought you could sneak off and leave me in the middle of the night?”

You shook your head vigorously, one hand still gripping Rafe’s wrist near your head while the other moved to push at his chest that was pressed flat against yours.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” he spat, shoving your arm away. He relinquished his hold on you, and you were quick to scramble further down the wall, chest heaving as sobs racked through your body.

“Aww, don’t cry now, baby,” his tone had switched in an instant, now softer and mimicking a faux concern as he stepped towards your trembling frame.

You shivered when his large hand cupped your face, the touch so gentle and soft, a conflicting contrast to the harsh tone and grip he’d had on you just moments ago.

You dared to lift your gaze, but your eyes trailed up to his anyway.

“You wanna leave me?” He asked, eyes wide and glued to yours.

You couldn’t find the words to say.

Rafe’s question totally threw you off guard.

“Answer me when I’m talking to you, Y/N.” He spoke slower this time, spacing his words out as if he was speaking to a child, “do you want to leave me?”

You couldn’t speak, too afraid that both a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’ would set him off either way.

Rafe took a step back, giving you more space to think over your next move. He hoped you’d choose wisely.

“There’s the door.” He said matter-of-factly, “no need to fucking sneak around me like I’m some-some idiot or something,” Rafe tapped the side of his head a couple of times for emphasis. 

The offer to leave freely through the door would have calmed you, if you could only take Rafe seriously.

The sudden change in his demeanor scared you. Just seconds ago, he was throwing you against the same door he now was telling you to use to leave.

“Just go. Walk out the door.” He gestured to the door, but your eyes didn’t leave his.

You were sure Rafe was going to snatch you up when you took a cautious step forward, but the harsh grip never came.

So, you took a couple more slow steps. The door was so close, it was hard for you to believe Rafe was going to let you walk out that easily….

And rightfully so.

Because as soon as your fingertips so much as grazed the cold metal knob, a hand was at the back of your head, Rafe yanking you back into his hard chest by your hair.

The fucking audacity, he thought as he corraled you against him.

The mere steps you’d taken when he offered the ultimatum only served to piss him off even further.

Your hands flew up to his own, trying to pry his fingers off of you to no avail.

Rafe leaned down, lips brushing against your ear as he ridiculed, “God, you really are fucking stupid, Y/N,” 

“Rafe!” You struggled against him, legs flailing and nails scratching at any exposed skin you could get your hands on.

One of your longer nails eventually dug deep enough into his arm to draw blood.

The stinging pain and the sight of the crimson droplets had Rafe clenching his jaw together, and he was quick to shove you away.

“Fucking bitch,” he mumbled as he examined the scratch.

That was all Rafe said before furious eyes met yours. He cleared the gap between you, reared back and delivered a swift, brutal slap clean across your face.

You cried out as your head whipped to the side, no time to recover before Rafe grabbed you up, forcing your back against his chest once again.

The boy dragged you backwards against your will, back through the house you’d summoned all of your courage to try to leave.

Your head was still spinning from the slap, combined with the oxygen you lacked while Rafe was choking you out against the door.

You continuously tripped over your feet, legs weak and wobbly, and each time your body tried to slump onto the floor, Rafe would only tighten his grip and yank you back up harshly.

He was growing more and more frustrated by the second, the voices in his head growing louder with each step he took.

“Fucking walk!” He spat, “You can walk, don’t fucking act like you can’t,” his lips brushed against your ear as he spoke, “You were about to walk outta that front door just fine, hmm?”

You squeezed your eyes shut, only opening them again when you felt the surface below your feet soften.

It felt like he’d been digging his nails into your scalp for ages by the time he made it to a stopping point.

Light flooded your eyes, they had to adjust to take in your new surroundings.

Rafe wouldn’t allow you to turn around at first, holding you firmly in place, fingers moving to dig into the flesh of your neck and shoulder.

So your eyes fell to the floor, and you noticed you were standing on a rug now.

You recognized the pattern even through your blurred vision. You were looking at it upside down, but the grapes and wine bottles were clear on the rug residing just outside of the only door you’d never been through in Tannyhill.

The wine cellar was strictly off limits to all of the Cameron kids, even the oldest, so you couldn’t figure out why Rafe had dragged you to this part of the mansion at first.

You wanted to ask, but you didn’t say a word when Rafe turned you around by your shoulders before slinging an arm across your chest to push you back and hold you against the cold wall.

Again, you tried, “Rafe-!”

“Shut up,” he spat, “I don’t wanna hear you talk.”

You listened, screwing your lips shut tight.

If staying silent would avoid another slap, another tug of your hair, you wouldn’t open your mouth to say anything. Not even a ‘sorry’.

“I do everything for you…” He sniffled, narrowing his gaze at you.

“I make your life so easy, all you gotta do is ask and you know its yours. Correct?”

You swallowed hard.

“Y-Yes…”

“Correct?” He repeated himself, tone more stern this time.

“Correct...” You amended your word choice quietly.

“All you have to do is-is sit in this house and obey. You have no responsibilities other than doing what the fuck I tell you to do,”

“I’m-,”

He ignored you, continuing on with his scolding, “All I ask for in return is your love, and the fucking truth.”

You choked on your sobs, head pounding, eyes puffy and red now.

You felt like you’d disappointed him, and you hated the feeling.

But you also couldn’t understand why you even cared. Rafe did nothing but disappoint you, 24/7.

“So tell me then, Y/N, why the fuck would you try some stupid shit like that?”

You finally found your words when he shook you violently, the back of your head bouncing off of the wall a number of times.

“I’m sorry! I’m s-so sorry! I-I didn’t think-!”

“Yeah, yeah that’s right. You didn’t fucking think.”

“I’m sorry,” you tried again, softly.

Rafe tilted his head at you.

“No, no, don’t be sorry baby,” His face mimicked a look of confusion and concern, though you knew both were fake.

“You just don’t think, like you said.”

You shook your head with what minimal movement Rafe’s tight grip would allow for.

“But that’s okay though,” he said, though you both knew everything was far from okay.

Rafe kept you against the wall while his free hand moved to turn the knob.

“Wha-?” Your question was cut off when you were yanked away from the surface, your frame crashing into the taller one before Rafe positioned you just in front of the now open doorway.

You were surprised to see a long set of stairs leading to had to be the famous Cameron wine cellar, based on the smell that hit your nose when you drew in a sharp breath.

“You’ll have plenty of time to think in here.”

There was no chance to register the weight of his words before Rafe was tugging at you harshly.

What little fight you had left was reinstated when he started lugging your weak frame down the staircase.

You pried at his arms while your feet stumbled over one another continuously, Rafe purposely robbing you of the chance to catch your footing.

He held you a bit higher, just too high for your feet to plant securely on the steps. If Rafe wasn’t going to throw you down, then he would be the one to walk you down the steps. He would decide what happens to you now, since you demonstrably needed to be reprimanded.

And his previous methods clearly weren’t cutting it.

Several times during the descent, you would have collasped down the rest of the staircase if it wasn’t for the burning hold at the back of your head.

When you finally reached the bottom of the stairs, you were out of breath, as was Rafe. He forced all of his strength onto you, pulling you further into the unfamiliar room.

The first thing you noticed was the never ending collection of wine bottles. Surely, there had to be thousands of dollars funneled into the fancy glass bottles plastering the many shelves in the cellar.

Rafe forced you to avert your gaze when he rounded a corner, and that’s when your eyes fell upon the only two things housed on this side of the room: a dingy air mattress, and what appeared to be a makeshift chain of some sort, bolted into the wall at the head of the inflatable bed.

Panic immediately ensued, and your adrenaline allowed for more strength than you would’ve had otherwise.

You struggled against him, but you were no match for Rafe, the inevitable victor time and time again.

“Relax, baby,” Rafe cooed in your ear, shushing you softly as your cries and pleads increased, growing more frantic with each step you were forced to take towards the disturbing set up.

“It’s just temporary.” But the clarification didn’t put your mind anymore at ease.

Was he seriously going to lock you down here?

As if he read your mind, Rafe continued, “Just until I feel like you’ve learned your lesson.”

With that, he shoved you forward at point-blank range, leaving you no choice but to collapse dramatically onto the bed below you.

You discovered the mattress lacked a good amount of air when the plastic dented in as your frame landed on it, offering you some of the impact of the hard tile floor underneath.

You were quick to try to scramble away from him, but Rafe was quicker, grabbing your ankle and yanking your body towards his with a tug so harsh, you thought your ankle might have popped out of it’s socket at first.

“Rafe, please-,” you breathed as his free hand pulled at the chain attached to the wall.

“Be quiet,” he instructed, a nicer way of warning you to shut the fuck up.

Rafe held your foot in place despite your attempts to kick and flail, while he wrapped the metal ring around it, locking the restraint with a loud click.

The cold metal sent chills up your spine.

Tugging at the shackle proved to be pointless, all you got in return was the clanking of the chain against the cold floor. You were sure that if you kicked the wrong way or tried too hard to move, you’d break your ankle.

You blinked up at your captor, tearful, bloodshot eyes following his movements as he kneeled down at your side, sighing loudly while taking in the sight before him.

Rafe wiped over his face multiple times, almost like he was trying to come to terms with what he was doing to you.

You thought maybe he might have a rare change of heart, realize that this was undoubtedly the biggest felony he’d committed against you.

The biggest, but nowhere near the first.

His eyes left your teary ones in favor of your legs, and he didn’t miss the bruises that littered them already from the harsh descent down the stairs.

He rubbed a large palm over the dark spots, attempting to sooth the wounds he’d created.

You melted into the touch, shaky hands clinging onto his arm, unsure if you were trying to ground yourself or him.

“Rafe, I am so, so sorry... please, you have to believe me! I-!” Your voice was so loud, so distressed, compared to the stoic tone he boasted. It served to make you feel like you were the crazy one, like you did do something stupid and he was right for correcting you in such an inhumane manner.

“I know you’re sorry, baby,” He nodded his head, and you found yourself nodding with him, hoping he was flipping his pages to the same one as you.

“I know you’re real sorry,” he brought a hand to the top of your head, softly brushing your hair back. His knuckles then trailed down the side of your face, which leaned into the gesture.

“You know I love you, baby.”

You nodded again, “I love you, Rafe.” You felt pathetic directing the words of affection towards the man who’d just chained you to a wall in his basement, but you were desperate.

At first you were desperate to escape Rafe, now you just didn’t want him to leave you down here all alone.

His lips rolled inward as he shook his head, “I hate that it had to come to this…”

The words sent any sliver of hope you might’ve had right out of the door you were restrained from reaching.

“You did it to yourself, though, baby…”

He took a glance behind him at the stairs, then back to you, once again rubbing over the bruises on your leg.

“Just be grateful I didn’t throw you down them.”

Your lips parted, brows furrowed together in shock. A chaste kiss was planted on your forehead, and you reached out for Rafe as he rose to his full height.

“No, Rafe please don’t leave me down here alone!”

He only sighed again, hands on his hips as he glared down his nose at you.

The look on his face could be mistaken for one of pity, sympathy, but it faded just as quickly as it appeared.

You currently lacked the mental capacity to think about the fact that Rafe had clearlyplanned this.

You had no idea if he’d found out about your plans to leave just recently, and strung this space together to hold you captive after he figured it out.

…But there was also a chance that maybe he’d had this all along, the makeshift prisonjust waiting for you to overstep, to do something to upset Rafe that would require more than just a simple beating or verbal lashing.

He started to turn around, and you made a last ditch effort to tug at his heartstrings, if he had any.

“Rafe, please! I’m sorry!” You couldn’t get the words out fast enough,” I-I don’t wanna leave you, I promise! Please, don’t leave me down here by myself!”

Your voice was hoarse now from all of your crying, cracking embarassingly with almost every other word you managed to choke out.

“You made this decision, not me.” His back was now fully turned to you as he spoke, he wouldn’t even afford you to decency to make eye contact with him as you humiliatingly pleaded for mercy.

“Now you’ll think next time you wanna try something so ignorant like this.”

Rafe didn’t even spare so much as a look back at you before his hand reached up to flick off the lights, leaving you chained to the wall in the dark.

Only an air mattress and the overwhelming stench of alcohol were left to keep you company through your sobs, with no idea how soon Rafe would grant you the light of day again.

[itneverendshere]

BROTHER BSF!RAFE

pairing - kelce's sister x hockey!rafe

҉　 lucky strike ┊need your confession (+18) ⋆˚┊⋆˚ read between the lines ⋆˚┊wake up in the mornin' and to your smell (+18) ⋆˚┊in the alley, in the back, in the center of this room (+18) ⋆˚ ┊⋆˚ some fights you're never gon' win, just keep your eyes off him (+18)┊⋆˚ want your two hands on me like my life needs savin' (+18)┊⋆˚ is it cool if i hold your hand?┊⋆˚ it's my right to be hellish (+18) ┊⋆gimme a blonde that's six feet two┊⋆˚pleasure's a place only we know (+18) ┊⋆˚ break my heart and start a fire (+18)

¡!shorter works¡! - ⋆ the families (+18)┊⋆ safest in your arms ⋆˚┊soft skin & i perfumed it for ya (+18) ⋆˚┊good ol' nights ┊⋆ overachiever┊⋆ er visits ┊⋆ breakfast in bed (+18) ┊⋆ fogged windows (+18)˚┊ halloween˚ (+18)┊anxiety ┊⋆ warm me up buttercup ┊⋆ twins beds (+18) ˚┊⋆first christmas┊⋆ date night (+18)

[slvtforrafe]

Where You Were Always Meant to End Up

Series

Part Thirty-Three Here

He didn't need to chase her forever. She was always his ending.

You don't move.

You just stand there, frozen in the doorway, staring at him like your body has forgotten how to respond to danger.

Rafe Cameron.

Really seeing him, taking him in, is worse than any nightmare you've had in the last three weeks.

He's leaning casually against the hallway wall, one shoulder dipped, hands loose at his sides like he's waiting for you to invite him in. Dark jeans. A plain black shirt. Nothing flashy. Nothing threatening at first glance. His hair is slightly longer than the buzzcut he had months ago, grown out just enough to curl at the edges. His eyes, those impossible blue eyes, are locked on you with unnerving focus.

And that smile.

Not sharp.

Not cruel.

Warm.

Genuine.

Like he's relieved to finally see you.

Time slows down in a way that makes your chest ache. Your mind detaches, cataloguing details it shouldn't, how broad he looks in the doorway, how calm he is, how familiar his presence feels even now. Especially now.

You don't speak.

You don't  breathe properly.

You don't step back.

He shifts his weight, taking a single step toward you.

That's all it takes.

Reality crashes back into your body like ice water.

You swing the door shut on instinct, panic overtaking thought, but it doesn't close. His foot wedges into the gap effortlessly. 

“Hey,” he says softly, almost amused.

You shove harder, heart hammering, but it's useless. He pushes back with controlled strength, the door moving inward as if your stance is nothing more than a suggestion.

You stumble backward.

Rafe steps inside.

He closes the door behind him with guiet precision. No rush. No slam. Just the deliberate click of the lock sliding into place.

Your apartment feels smaller instantly.

He turns to face you.

“I missed you,” he says, voice low and sincere. “God, you have no idea how crazy I've been without you.”

Your throat tightens.

“I actually owe Sarah,” he continues, tilting his head slightly. “That facetime? Best thing that's happened to me in weeks.” He chuckles softly. “Didn't take long after that. Four, maybe five days to track you down.”

Your stomach drops.

“But then,” he sighs, glancing around the room like he's admiring decor, “I saw you again. And I thought, why rush?”

Your pulse roars in your ears.

“You've made some nice friends,” he adds lightly. “What were their names again?” He taps his temple. “Ah, Marley and Luna. You met them at the cafe. Cute girls. Protective. I get it.”

Your mouth opens, but no sound comes out.

He starts talking.

And he doesn't stop.

He tells you about your mornings, what time you leave for work, which days you take the longer route. He mentions which regulars you linger with, which days you order delivery instead of cooking. He knows when you stopped facetiming Sarah. When you started turning your light off earlier. When you began checking the locks twice.

Detail after detail. Perfect. Percise.

Never wrong.

“How long…” Your voice finally works, fragile and thin. “How long have you been here?”

Rafe laughs quietly, shaking his head like you've asked something endearing.

“You never were good at watching your surroundings.” He shrugs. “Almost three weeks.”

Your knees threaten to give out.

“I would've knocked sooner tonight,” he adds casually, “but your friends showing up unplanned really fucked with my timing.”

You feel sick.

He closes the distance between you slowly, deliberately. His hands come up, cupping your face with terrifying gentleness. His thumbs brush beneath your eyes, wiping tears you didn't realise were falling.

“God,” he murmurs, eyes searching yours. “You look amazing.”

His gaze drifts down your body, your clothes, your posture, the subtle curve of your stomach. His mouth softens.

“Really suits you,” he says, nodding toward it. There's relief in his expression. Satisfaction.

“Please,” you whisper, voice breaking. “Please don't do this.”

He looks genuinely confused. “Do what?”

“This,” you sob. “Please just… leave me alone, Rafe.”

His brows furrow slightly, like you've said something unreasonable.

“I'm not doing anything wrong,” he replies calmly. “You ran out on me. With my child. I'm just bringing my family back together.”

His hand slides from your cheek to your hair, fingers combing through it slowly, possessively. His other palm settles over your stomach, warm and firm.

“This is all I ever wanted, Y/N,” he says gently. “Us. Kids. A life together. Why would you try to ruin that?”

You shake your head, tears spilling freely now.

“This isn't okay,” you plead. “We don't work. You scare me. This-this isn't love.”

He denies it all with soft certainty. Tells you you're confused. Tells you fear doesn't mean wrong. Tells you this life is yours because you chose it the moment you went back to him. 

Hours pass.

Talking. Crying. Him soothing. Him reframing. Him reminding you of memories that still ache sweetly in your chest.

Then,

“Where is it?”

You blink. “What?”

“Your ring.”

Your breath catches. 

“I-I don't know-”

He tilts his head, eyes sharpening. “You've lying. Go get it. Now.”

Your legs move before your mind agrees. You walk into your bedroom, Rafe right behind you. You open the drawer with shaking hands, fingers brushing past familiar things before finding it.

The ring.

Cold. Heavy.

You turn, holding it out to him weakly. “Here.”

Rafe shakes his head once. “Put it on.”

You freeze.

“I can't,” you whisper. You know what it means. Ownership. Finality.

“Y/N,” he snaps, irritation bleeding through his calm. “I'm not fucking around. Put it on. Now.”

Your hands tremble as you slide it back onto your finger. 

The moment it settles, you break.

Sobs tear out of you, raw and uncontrollable. 

Rafe closes the distance in two strides, wrapping his arms around you. One hand rubs slow circles into your lower back. The other cradles the back of your head, firm but not cruel.

“That's it,” he murmurs. “Let it out. I'm here now. I forgive you.”

You cling to him, gripping his shirt like it's the only solid thing left in the world.

When the sobs finally quiet, when all that's left are hiccups and exhaustion, he presses his lips to your hair.

“I'm your end, baby.” he whispers. “Don't forget that. You don't need anyone else. And I can't live without you.”

His hold tightens just slightly.

“Don't you ever make me go through that again.”

You stand there in his arms, hollow and overwhelmed, knowing with terrifying clarity.

This is your reality now.

And somewhere deep inside, beneath the fear and grief and resignation, a part of you accepts it. 

Because standing here, held by Rafe Cameron, feels like the only place you've ever truly belonged.

@jscasmth @gutlesscatherine @dabishou

[cherienymphe]

When The Party’s Over Masterlist (Rafe Cameron x Reader)

summary: Manipulated into a secret relationship with Rafe Cameron, you’re finding it much easier said than done to do the right thing and walk away…especially when he refuses to let you.

➥ Warnings: NON-CON, DUB-CON, abusive relationship, forbidden relationship, violence, public sex, jealousy, underage drinking, drug use, manipulation, corruption, loss of virginity, forced pregnancy, innocent reader, Heyward!reader, dad!Rafe

Keep reading

[slvtforrafe]

He Was Always Coming

Series

Part Thirty-Two Here

Freedom was fragile. And he was never far away.

Three weeks pass, but time doesn't soften anything.

It sharpens it.

Every morning you wake with your heart already racing, hand pressed to your chest as if you can physically hold it still. You check the locks before you even brush your teeth. Twice. Sometimes three times. You peer through the blinds before stepping outside, scanning the street like you're looking for something already there.

You don't feel safe anymore. 

You feel watched.

Work is the only place you still go without hesitation. Routine carries you through the doors of the cafe like muscle memory, apron on, hair tied back, smile rehearsed. You still remember the regulars' orders. You still laugh at the right moments. But Marley notices you jump when the bell above the door rings too sharply. Luna notices how you keep positioning yourself with your back to the wall. 

“You okay?” Luna asks one afternoon, handing you a mug you didn't rememer ordering.

“Yeah,” you say automatically. Too fast. Too clipped.

Marley watched you from across the room, eyes narrowing. She doesn't push. Not yet.

Outside of work, you shrink.

You stop lingering in town. You stop browsing the shops. You stop sitting by the windows at home. Your apartment, once comforting, now feels exposed, like a glass box someone could peer into at any moment. You keep the lights dim at night. The TV stays on low, more for company than entertainment.

Sarah keeps texting.

Did you eat today?

I miss you.

Please call me when you can.

You answer, but barely.

Yeah.

I'm fine.

Busy today, sorry.

You don't facetime. You don't call. You're terrified it'll happen again. That his face will fill the screen, that his voice will reach through the phone and pull you apart all over again. You hate yourself for it. You miss her more than you can put into words. But fear wins every time.

At night, you lie awake staring at the ceiling, hand resting over your stomach. The baby moves more now, tiny flutters that remind you that no matter what happens, you're not alone in your body.

You think about running again.

Then you think about how tired you are.

How many times can someone rebuild before they're just… empty?

You start accepting something you never say out loud. It's only a matter of time before he shows up.

So you stop planning escape routes. You stop imagining the future. 

Instead, you start trying to enjoy what you have now.

Like it's borrowed time.

One evening, there's a knock at your door.

You freeze. 

Your breath stalls in your chest as you listen. Another knock, lighter this time. Familiar.

“Open up,” Marley's voice calls. “We brought food.”

You hesitate before unlocking the door.

Marley and Luna stand there with paper bags, the smell of soy sauce and fried rice spilling into the hallway. Luna lifts the bag slightly. “We're not leaving until you eat.”

You sigh. “You didn't have to-”

“We did,” Marley interrupts, already stepping inside. “You've been disappearing.”

You don't argue. You don't have the energy.

You sit on the floor with them, takeout containers spread across the coffee table. A movie plays in the background, something loud and mindless, but none of you are really watching it.

You poke at your food, appetite weak.

Marley finally speaks. “Okay. Enough.”

You tense.

“What's wrong?” Luna asks softly. “And don't say ‘nothing.'”

The dam breaks without warning.

Your throat tightens. Your vision blurs. And suddenly everything you've been holding back spills out, messy, fractured, desperate.

You tell them everything.

Rafe.

The manipulation.

The engagement.

The pregnancy.

The fear.

The running.

The threats.

The way he always made you feel like leaving was impossible and staying was survival.

You don't spare the details. You don't protect him. By the end, you're sobbing into your hands, body folding in on itself.

“I did this,” you whisper. “I begged him to take me back. I went back. I let him-”

“Stop.” Marley says sharply, crossing the room to kneel in front of you. She grips your wrists gently, forcing you to look at her. “No. You were manipulated. That doesn't make this your fault.”

Luna nods, eyes glassy. “Abuse messes with your head. Of course you thought you loved him. Of course you went back.”

You shake your head. “I don't know if I can save myself anymore.”

The words hang in the air, terrifying in their honestly.

Marley's face softens. “You don't have to decide that tonight. But you can be saved.”

They stay longer than planned, sitting with you, asking questions, listening. When it gets late, Marley asks, “Do you want us to stay?”

You swallow. “No. You both have lives. I'll be okay.”

They hesitate, then hug you tight before leaving.

The apartment feels too quiet once the door closes.

Fifteen minutes pass.

Knock. Knock.

You frown, standing up. “What did you forget this time?” you call as you open the door.

And freeze.

Rafe stands in the hallway like he's always belonged there.

Hair darker. Eyes sharper. Presence filling every inch of space like gravity snapping back into place.

Your heart slams violently against your ribs.

He smiles.

“Missed me?”

[slvtforrafe]

The Week Everything Unravels

Series

Part Thirty-One Here

Safety shatters in a single moment, because monsters don't stay gone.

Monday

The morning starts with the clatter of the old radiator in your apartment waking you up. You sit up slowly, brushing a hand over your bump. Small, but definetly there now, rounding out beneath your shirt. You still aren't used to the sight of it, the reality of it. But you no longer feel the stabbing panic you did six weeks ago. Just, a softer ache.

Work at the cafe is busy, which you like. It keeps you from thinking too much. Luna comes in on her day off. Brunette, freckled skin, painted nails the colour of lavander. She always smells of vanilla and carries a tote bag stuffed with half written poems and snacks,

“Lunch, later?” Luna asks, leaning on the counter. 

“Yeah,” you smile. “I'll text you when I'm off.”

After work you sit eating sandwiches at the picnic tables behind the cafe, talking about everything except the things you're running from.

That night, you facetime Sarah. You talk about nonsense, about Kira's latest fight with JJ, about Pope's new internship, about John B growing a mustache “as a joke” but he ends up keeping it.

Your mum texts afterwrads, checking in like always. “How are you feeling, sweetheart? Are you eating enough? Are you safe?”

You answer each question honestly but lightly, protecting her.

By the time you crawl into bed, you feel steady. Tired in a way that's good.

Tuesday

Work again. Regulars greet you by name now.

“Morning, sweetheart.”

“The usual, right?”

“You're glowing today. Pregnancy looks good on you.”

You laugh awkwardly at that last one, brushing it off. They don't know the truth. They don't need to.

Marisol approaches you at the till. Tall, thick curls, eyes sharp with muscheif but shoulder weighed down with too much sympathy. The kind of friend who notices everything without being told anything. 

“You good?” Marisol asks, leaning in close.

“Yeah. Just tired.”

“That;s every day for us now.” She taps her own coffe. “We survive on this stuff.”

You spend the evening in Marisol's apartment, watching a bad rom-com on a cracked TV. You laugh for real, for the first time in days.

Wednesday

You wake up from a dream you don't want to remember. Rafe's hands around your wrist, his breath on your neck, his voice saying your name like a warning. 

Work helps distract you. You wipe down tables, fill orders, reposition pastries in the case. The usual customers. The usual rain tapping the windows. The usual ache in your back. 

Dinner with the girls. Facetime with your mum. Bed early.

A normal day. A good day.

Thursday

Halfway through breakfast prep at the cafe, you feel your chest tighten. Not panic, just something heavy and sharp. You ignore it.

After your shift, you and Luna go to the bookstore. You buy a thriller you probably won't read but want to.

That evening Sarah calls you. Hair messy, face bare, sitting cross-legged on her bed. 

“I miss you.” Sarah says gently.

“I miss you more."

“You'' come home one day?” Sarah asks genty?

You don't respond to that.

You talk until you dinner gets cold. You eat it anyway, one forkful at a time.

Friday

This is the day everything breaks. 

You get off work early, buy groceries, take a long shower. You feel peaceful. Rare, gentle, precious.

At nine, you facetime Sarah again, propping your phone on your pillow.

Sarah grins at her instantly. “You look cute today.”

“Shut up.” you laugh.

You talk about nothing, baby names, the rain, Sarah's failed attempt at making chicken alfredo. The conversation is soft, warm, almost normal.

And then,

The door behind Sarah slams open.

She jumps. 

Sarah whirls around. “What the, Rafe! Get out! I'm busy-”

You hear it before you see him.

That voice.

That rage.

That familiarity hits you like a punch. 

Rafe storms into Sarah's room, eyes wild, hair slightly longer than you remember. “What the hell are you hiding in here?” he snaps. Then he sees the screen.

Your face.

Your room,

You.

His expression detonates.

Rafe snatches the phone out of Sarah's hands so violently that Sarah yelps.

“YOU-” he roars, filling the screen, too close, too loud. “You think you can run from me?”

Your whole body goes cold. 

“Give the phone back to Sarah,” you say, voice shaking.

“The fuck I will.”

“Rafe-”

“Don't,” he snarls. “Don't say my name like that. Like I don't get to hear it anymore.”

“Because you DON'T!” you snap.

Rafe laughs, a broken, breathless sound.

“You're real funny for someone who disappeared in the middle of the night.”

You swallow. “I left because I had to. Because you-”

“Shut up.” His jaw flexes. “Just tell me. Did you keep it?”

Your stomach twists. 

You don't answer.

You don't have to.

Your eyes flicker down for half a second.

Rafe sees.

His whole expression changes.

“You kept my baby.” His chest heaves. “You kept my fucking baby.”

Silence. Electric. Unbreathable.

“It's not your baby,” you force out. “It's mine. And you don't get to be a part of this.”

“Oh, the hell I don't.” Rafe's voice drops low, lethal. “You don't get to keep my kid from me. You don't get to run from me. Not my girl. Not my fiance.”

“I'm NOT your fiance.”

“You ARE!” he spits. “Until I say you're not.”

Your breath shakes. “You're never going to find me.”

Rafe's lips curl into a smile that turns you inside out. 

“What if I already have?”

You freeze.

No.

No, he's bluffing.

He has to be. Otherwise, he'd already have you back in Outer Banks. 

“Rafe-”

“Don't hang up,” he growls. “We're going to talk about this. You and me. You fucked up badly, and you're gonna fix it.”

“Fix?” You choke on a laugh. “I'm done fixing anything for you.”

You hit end call before he can say another word. 

The silence that follows feels like a scream.

You stare at the black screen, heart hammering, hands trembling so violently you drop the phone onto the bed. 

Cold sweeps over you. Ice. Numbness. Fear.

Your new life, your calm, your job, your friends, your apartment. Shatters instantly.

He saw you.

He saw your room.

He saw enough.

He might've seen everything.

Your breath quickens. 

You grab the edge of the bed, grounding yourself.

But the truth hits you anyway.

You might have to run again.

Just when you finally felt safe.

Just when you finally felt like yourself again.

You curl forward, hands in your hair, tears hot and silent. 

He found you.

He found you.

He found you.

And this time, you're not alone.

You press a hand to your stomach, feeling the baby move faintly beneath your palm.

“I'll protect you.” you whisper, voice cracking. “Even if it means disappearing again, for good.”

You don't sleep that night.

You just sit in the dark, waiting for morning, waiting for the next move.

Knowing Rafe Cameron will make one. 

And soon.

[slvtforrafe]

Six Weeks of Quiet

Series

Part Thirty Here

Healing is slow. But for the first time, it feels possible. Sixs weeks since she ran and she’s starting to become someone she almost recognises.

Six weeks. 

Six whole weeks since you stepped off that ferry shaking and terrified. Six weeks since you shoved your old phone in the bottom of your bag like it might explode. Six weeks since you let yourself hope that maybe, just maybe, life could belong to you again.

It surprised you how quickly human beings adapt. At first, every noise outside your motel door made you jump. Every car engine in the parking lot made your heart shoot into your throat. Every time a tall blonde man walked by your window, your body locked up, ready to run.

But slowly, almost without you realising, the fear dulled. Softened. Became something you could tuck away instead of drown in.

The job came through on a Wednesday morning. You'd only stepped into The Dockside Cafe on a whim, expecting nothing. But the manager, Meave, an older woman with a sharp bun and an even sharper sense of humour, called you two days later.

Your first week was nerve wracking. Lost orders, shaky hands, forgetting which regular wanted oat milk instead of almond. But by week three, you had a rhythm. A routine. A purpose.

Now, six weeks in, you practically glide behind the counter. You know exactly when Mr. Harmon will walk in for his black coffee, 7:35AM, always. You know that Tammy, with her bright red curls, wants her chai latte “extra spicy because life is too bland.” You know that the teenage boy who comes after school only orders hot chocolate because he has a crush on your coworker.

People know you by name here. They smile when they see you. They say see you tomorrow like it's a promise instead of an expectation.

Sometimes, while wiping down counters or taking an order, you feel… normal. It's a feeling you'd almost forgotten.

The motel was temporary. A stopgap.

Two weeks after arriving, you found a listing taped to a lamppost. 2 bedroom apartment. Affordable rent. Quiet building. You called before you could talk yourself out of it.

The place was small, just a narrow kitchen, a cozy living room and two bedrooms barely big enough for more than a bed and dresser. But it had sunlight. Real sunlight. Warm and golde, spilling across the floors in a way that made your chest ache.

You signed the lease the same day.

At first, the apartment felt empty. Too quiet. Too new. But little by little, you filled it. Throw blankets. Secondhand furniture. Plants from the corner market. Soft lights. A framed print from a local artist that reminded you of the ocean.

Your favourite part is the second bedroom. You keep the door closed most of the time, but sometimes you stand in the doorway, hand resting on your stomach, imagining what it could become.

A nursery.

A safe space.

A future you never thought you'd be building alone.

It took you two weeks to decide. Two weeks of back and forth, of staring at the ceiling at night, of feeling an ache inside you that wasn't just fear.

You chose to keep the baby.

Not because it was Rafe's. Not because of obligation. Because it felt like the first thing that was yours, not shaped by his control, his temper, his intensity.

You're nearly ten weeks now. Showing just a little. Enough for your jeans to fight back when you try to pull them up. Enough for your symptoms to come and go like unpredictable storms.

Your little routine has formed around your tiny new reality.

Prenatal vitamins every morning.

Crackers in your bag for nausea.

Hand resting on your stomach without thinking whenever you sit still for too long.

You don't know if you're ready. But you're trying.

You never expected to make new friends, not real ones. But the universe handed you two.

Lena, a brunette with freckles dusting her cheeks and a habit of laughing at her own jokes before she finishes them. She works mornings with you and always smells like vanilla and coffee grounds.

And Marisol, who has thick dark curls, a silver nose ring and eyes that see right through people. She works nights, but sometimes comes in early just to sit at the counter and talk.

You never told them about Rafe. Not really. When the topic of the baby's father came up, you just said “He didn't want anything to do with us.”

Lena squeezed your hand. Marisol said “Then you're better off.” And both meant it.

They've become anchors. They bring you soup when you're nauseous. They rub your back when you're exhausted. They tell you jokes when you look like you might cry at work. 

They don't know the real story.

But they care anyway.

Sarah has remained your lifeline.

You and Sarah text all day.

You call every night.

You facetime when you're too anxious to sleep.

She never pressures you. Never asks things you're not ready to answer. She updates you on everything. Kiara's latest rant about John B forgetting to do the dishes, Pope's new scholarship opportunity, JJ nearly breaking his arm trying to show off on a skateboard.

Sometimes hearing about them makes your chest ache, a deep, twisting longing for them. For the comfort, the laughter, the feeling of belonging.

You miss them more than you ever thought possible.

Sometimes you ask Sarah, “Has he… asked about me?”

And she always hesitates. 

Always keeps it vauge.

She's protecting you. You can tell.

You don't push.

You talk to your mom often, too. She tries to hide her worry, but you hear it anyway. The tightness in her voice, the way she asks “Are you eating enough?” or “Are you getting any sleep?” every few minutes.

She asked to visit multiple times. Each time, you told her no.

“It's too risky,” you whispered. “Rafe might be watching you.”

She didn't argue. 

She never argues anymore.

She just sighs softly and says, “Whatever you need, sweetheart. I'm here.”

Your old phone sits in the back of your dresser drawer, wrapped in a sweater you never wear. You still haven't turned it on. Sometimes you think about plugging it in, your hand hovering, thumb brushing the power button as your heart thunders in your ears.

But you never press.

Because you're afraid of what you'll see.

What he sent.

What he said.

What he threatened.

Sometimes, in the middle of the night, you imagine the notifications. 

Fifty messages.

Voicemails.

Missed calls.

Rage.

Begging.

Warnings.

You don't know which could be worse.

It's strange, being okay. Kind of okay. Not completely, but enough to breathe. Enough that you've learned the sounds of your new street. The neighbour's wind chimes, the rumble of distant trucks, the stray cat that scratches at your door for food every night at 9PM.

Enough that you don't always sleep with the lamp on anymore. Enough that you've started listening to music again. Enough that sometimes you catch yourself smiling at nothing.

You're learning how to exist without someone's shadow over you.

You're learning to be someone other than the terrified girl who ran.

And for the first time in a long time, you feel like you might survive.

[maybejj]

masterlist

WHEN THE SILENCE ENDS

firefighter!rafe cameron x female!reader

strangers/friends/lovers

social media au, 18+ mdni

summary: You and your 6 year old son, Jamie, just moved to Outer Banks, North Carolina looking for a quieter life- at least that’s what you tell everyone. The truth? You’re running. As far and as fast as you can so you try to blend in with the locals, really make this place a true home for your son who barely speaks a word these days. On top of constantly looking over your shoulder and a full time job, the house you moved into is a fixer upper and needs all the work it can get. But when Jamie’s first grade teacher, Mrs. Routledge, holds a career day, things start to change. Jamie becomes obsessed with fire trucks and firemen, specifically a certain fireman whose name is Rafe Cameron. And it just so happens that Mr. Cameron is a jack of all trades and uses every single one to break down your walls.

Part 1 𖦹 Part 2 𖦹 Part 3 𖦹

Part 4 𖦹 Part 5 𖦹 Part 6

[rafeslvbug]

KINKTOBER’S ONLY FIC… STALKER!SERIALKILLER!RAFE

WARNINGS (!) : mention of murder, axe as a murder weapon, allusion to blood, HEAVY SMUT, p in v, breast play, creampie, blood being mentioned/described during sex, brief description of oral (just the beginning), rough handling, implying of stalking, implying of future murder, dom!rafe

WORD COUNT : 2.5K

Blood dripped off his fingertips, collecting in a puddle of water, dying the murky water deep red. Rain soaked his face and hands of the red, but the stains on his clothes don’t go anywhere. White button up shirt splattered, trouser cuffs dipped in the liquid.

“Nice outfit,” you giggled, wiping a wet piece of hair from your forehead.

The man in front of you chuckled, though the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. He twirled the axe in his hand, letting the metal tip be rinsed of the ‘blood’. “Thanks,” he said in return, voice low and smooth like silk.

In comparison to him, your outfit wasn’t very scary. In fact, a bumblebee against what you believed was Patrick Bateman was like a child’s outfit. And he’d really gone for it too- red paint everywhere, even dying his clothes. Although it was a shame the rain was wiping all that hard work off now.

The drops hit against your fake antennae, so they sagged; nothing like the bright smile you wore. “I’m Y/n,” you chirped, introducing yourself to the stranger you’d happened across.

The Halloween block party had cleared out- you hadn’t really known when. You’d disappeared into a house to use their bathroom, and when you came out most of the area was quiet- but the next road along could be heard against the rain and quietness of the one you stood on.

Now it was just you and-

“Rafe,” he introduced in return, extending his hand- washed of the painted blood now. You laughed, finding the gentlemanly act rather endearing, so shook his hand despite the uncommonality.

“Nice to meet you, Rafe.”

“You too.” His words were accompanied with a smirk, dangerously seductive even though his hair was wet, and his outfit ruined. He still looked all too charming.

“This place really cleared out, huh?” You muse, glancing down the empty roads. The house lights were on, and doors locked whereas they’d previously been opened, so you figured everyone had retreated indoors because of the rain.

Bummers.

The other roads were still lively- at least they knew how to party.

“Yeah..yeah it did..” Rafe agrees, following your gaze as it flitters around. “Guess they must have got scared.”

“Scared?” You echo. “What of- the rain?” It all sounds so amusing to you that another giggle escapes between your lips.

His lips twitch into yet another half-smile, though this time his eyes look piercing- dark, even. “Rain..Halloween’s s’posed to be a terrifying time y’know,” he says, shifting his weight from one foot to the next, axe swinging beside him.

“Well I guess so..but I dunno, someone probably started a rumour to scare all the kids.”

“Yeah,” he snorts. “Something dumb like a ghost going around..”

“Oh! Like ghost face!” You excitedly make the link, laughing at the matter of it all.

“Yeah..a serial killer..” Rafe says, smiling at you. “Funny, huh?”

“Ridiculous, more like,” you say, legs beginning to get shivers across them with your skirt being so short. Your arms are prickled too, up to your neck.

Rafe tilts his head at you, curiously. Then nods back to the noise. “You gonna go over?”

“Uhh..” you take in your own state. Wet, and cold. “Probably not. It’s kinda cold..”

“Better get home then..” he gestures vaguely down the road, leading out to the wider network of big houses across kildare’s richer side.

“Yeah..better..” you murmured, shifting your weight across your feet. Your hair clung to your neck, and as you stepped forwards your boots splashed in a shallow puddle of water. “Well..bye Rafe,” you called over your shoulder.

“Bye y/n,” he smiled, half-waving.

You’d walked along the pavement, boots clicking against the stone, for quite a few minutes now. All the houses were separated by perfectly manicured hedges, and you were yet to stumble across your own.

The breeze brushed the back of your neck, pricking up more hairs. But when the chill ran down you..it felt more than just wind.

It felt like a pair of eyes.

Flicking up and down you.

Someone whispering on the back of your neck and—

“Rafe?” You called out once you’d stopped, eyes focusing through the rain on the man in a drenched suit, walking a little behind you.

His head lifted. Blue eyes met yours.

“Y/N,” he smiled.

“Rafe- are you- why are you..?”

“I’m not following you,” he chuckled, strange gleam in his eye. “Figured I’d go home too, y’know?”

In a few easy strides, he’s already alongside you, forcing you to take up walking again just to keep up. “Oh..didn’t know you lived this way,” you mused, tilting your head curiously up at him.

“Hm, well I do,” he murmurs.

The walk down the pavement had turned from a little gap, to shoulders brushing, to persistent teasing, to nudges, to full on pushes. Laughter echoing, and giggles bursting out of you as you nearly slip across stone in your attempts to get away from Rafe’s antics. Blood red paint was smeared across your stomach. Over your arms, rain washing it away, and Rafe lathering more. All until you reached your front door, panting and still giggling softly.

“You gonna go in?” He asked, stepping back slightly. His hair was tousled, now, his outfit even more of a mess. “Uhh..” you sighed out, turning your head to see your parent’s house. You wiped away stuck hair to your face, and then looked back to Rafe. “Yeah- yeah.”

“Alright,” he said slowly, but the way his eyes lowered seemed like he knew something you didn’t. Something you’d find out soon enough though.

“Alright,” you echo, chest heaving as you trudge up the path to your house.

His hands can be felt all over your body. The paint is evidence enough even as it washes off your skin, and despite yourself you find yourself wanting more…

“Hey Y/N?” He calls out, stopping you in your already slow movements.

“Yeah?” You ask, cautious, peering over your shoulder.

“Anyone in there?” He points to the house.

You shake your head.

Your back hit the front door, hard enough to have your fake antennas slipping down your face. Rafe had discarded the axe in the corner, and now his hands were gripping your hips. At first he pushed them into the door, red fingertips over your latex skirt, then he lifted them up, spinning you around and letting you both stumble back further into the wide landing of the house.

His mouth was bruising against yours. Fierce, and sloppy. All teeth and tongue, like he might be trying to devour you. But it was unmistakably the best make out of your life, his hand moving to cover under the curve of your ass, as his other hand moved to grip your hair. He pulled, harsh, and you hardly had time to gasp before it turned into a moan when his lips latched onto your neck.

You didn’t make it up all the stairs. Only halfway up, until you’d both stumbled at the mid-way point on the large gap between the flights. Your back arched against the railing, both hands dug into Rafe’s shoulder blades. He, meanwhile, had one hand braced on the railing beside you, and the other pressed into your side.

Kissing down your chest, he was doing everything at once. His fingers were working at the skirt, finding the zip with so much ease you’d wondered if he’d been studying it beforehand. Maybe he had. It tugged down with what should have been difficulty, but was just brutish ease with Rafe. The latex dragged over the plush of your thighs, and fell to your ankles, leaving you in the black lace underneath.

Then he grinded himself against you. Tight bulge against your aching, clothed hole. Slow, deliberate, torturing.

And you were grappling with his zip.

His hands roamed over your ass, fingers squeezing every now and again and slipping under the lace. Then tugging, and letting the fabric snap back against your skin with a sharp thwack!

Growing tired with your fumbling of the zipper, Rafe’s hand leaves your thigh to wrench yours from his trousers, and he undoes it himself.

You don’t have time to look down, or to see him adjust himself before you feel it.

The length of him, the thickness, pushed into you. The blinding pain- pleasure- coursing through you as you stretch around him, forced against the railing, but his body flush against yours.

He grins at your face- frozen in the mingling emotion. Then, almost sadistically, he pulls out inch by inch, leaving you soaked and wanting- craving- more.

And he’s not reluctant to give.

He’s moving into you, and out, brutally. His tip hitting the top of your cervix again, and again, it’s bound to be bruised. Your thigh’s hitched over his hip, back arched over the railing, head thrown back.

Rafe loves it.

He’s imagined this a few ways. He’s imagined it in more public places, more intimate places- he didn’t quite picture this. He never pictured having you in his hands on a staircase, but..

Well, he wasn’t complaining.

“Fuck,” he groaned. “You’re as tight as I thought,” he mutters, consuming your lips once more in his.

“Hm?” You whimper, unsure if you heard that right. But between his grunts and your moans you don’t have time to register much- you probably heard it wrong anyways.

He hits that same spot again, and it has you leaning even further back over the wooden beam, top riding up just below the edges of your bra. Rafe hooks your leg comfortably around his hip so his hand can leave the underside of your thigh, then it moves to the tank top, and pulls it up. His fingers find the clasp, and undo it, pulling the bra off which you hardly register until the piece of clothing is pulled off you and thrown somewhere down the steps.

Now this sight he enjoys.

The look of your chest bared out to him as you bend over backwards on the railing, perfect for his hands to roll over and cup. His lips find your stomach, as far as he can dip his head down while still moving inside you. Then they travel up. In between your breasts and then across, over the peaks, until he’s taken one into his mouth just because he can, while his other hand moves to grab your other breast, remnants of red paint smearing all over it like a brand.

Your moans echo through the landing, wildly gripping at the buzzed hair, and then falling for his neck instead.

Thank God for the empty house.

If anyone saw this, they’d be positively scarred. You were a trembling mess, bending entirely over the railing like you might fall over any second. But Rafe was relentless in pace, and the way his tongue moved over your nipples and his hands roamed your body.

It’s like he was chasing you as your body arched away from him.

“Rafe- oh my!” You gasped as your pleasure built, and he begun to kiss up your neck. He made no move of slowing, if anything picking up as you neared your edge. The rail dug into your back, and it nearly hurt, but you registered nothing but your blinding pleasure.

It came shattering around you. He was still snug inside your hole, still moving, even as you trembled and whimpered. “Just a couple more,” he murmured, still thrusting in and out until finally he was spilling inside you.

You gasped at the hotness filling inside you, and then the sudden loss of his length. But as you tried to recover, pulling yourself straight over the rail, Rafe grinned wolfishly, then let his fingers glide down between your bare chest, to your stomach, then inside you again, stuffing the leaking cum back in.

“Fuckin’ gorgeous,” he muttered, pulling his face back just to see you properly. “Fucked dumb in just one round,” he says lowly, almost amused.

He didn’t give you time to shimmy your skirt back up, or pull your top down. No, he’d spent too long watching you from afar, that Rafe couldn’t resist this sight up close. He wouldn’t even let you walk up the remainder of the steps.

Instead, he pulled you down by your hips so you were sat on the step. “Rafe what are you-” you asked, breathless, but going down willingly.

“Havin’ fun- trust me?” He looked up at you as he sunk down too, hands finding your knees. You nodded, stupidly. “That’s a mistake,” he mutters.

“A mistake?” You echo, letting your thighs part when he pushes them.

Rafe looks down at your pussy, slick with his and yours cum, glistening. “Yeah..you never should have let me in your house,” he mumbles, but with the words spoke against your swollen clit, you don’t even hear.

You’re marked in red, and still trembling against the steps. Rafe’s body’s in between your legs and he kisses up your sensitive skin, hands worshipping your bare thighs. He sucks against your collarbone, and up your throat until he’s hovering over your lips.

“Your parents gonna be home anytime soon?” Rafe rasps, gripping your chin a little harshly as your head’s fallen back. Dumbed out, you simply shake your head, mouth parting ever so slightly alongside your breathlessness. “Good..that’s good..I’ll deal with ‘em when they do come back,” he mutters, more to himself, and kisses you roughly when you open your mouth to question what that means.

“Get yourself cleaned up, hm?” He coos, moving down and out of betwee your thighs, pressing a lingering kiss to your stomach, dangerously close to the spot that has you arching your back into him.

“Where are you–”

“Just..gonna take care of somethin’ first- I’ll be back though so make sure to unlock that door,” he grins, then hurries down the steps.

Rafe grabs the axe by the front door on his way out, and his shoes splash into the rain that hasn’t yet subsided. He can taste both you and the blood he got smeared over you on his tongue, and it only makes him walk faster- crave more.

You just about make it up the stairs, your skirt now in your hands, and your underwear uncomfortable with how wet you are. But you decide to shower, turning the TV on to the news while you undress.

The woman on the screen is solemn, and draws your attention-

“Just now three bodies were found of teenagers near a neighbourhood in Kildare, North Carolina. The killer is unknown, and many of the others heard the screams and fled the scene so law enforcement is encouraging all people nearby to stay indoors while the killer could potentially be at large…”

[slvtforrafe]

The Quiet After the Storm

Series

Part Twenty Nine Here

The bus ride from the ferry terminal is long and silent, the kind of silence that feels heavy enough to crush your chest. Every time the driver breaks too sharply or a stranger glances your way, you flinch. You keep your hood up, hands burried deep in your sleeves, eyes fixed on the window as the unfamilliar landscape rolls past.

When you finally step off, the world feels too open. You drag your bag along cracked pavement until you find the first motel with a flickering neon VACANCY sign. The woman at the front desk doesn't ask questions, just slides a key across the counter, barely looking up. That suits you fine.

The room smells faintly of bleach and cigarette smoke. There's a small bed pressed against one wall, a dresser with a television bolted on top, and curtains that don't meet in the middle. You drop your bag by the door and just stand there for a while, staring at the space that's supposed to be safe.

You don't unpack. You can't. Every time you try, it feels wrong. Like staying too long will make you visable again. Instead, you take out what you need. A toothbrush, pajamas, your wallet. When you're done, you put everything neatly back in the bag and zip it shut. Ready to run, just incase.

The first day stretches endlessly. You sit on the bed, scrolling through the motel's service menu, deciding it's safer than stepping outside. When the food arrives, a plain burger and fries, you open the door just wide enough to grab the tray before locking it again. You barely eat half.

Your phone stays off. It's been off since the docks, and it feels like the only barrier between you and him. Every few hours, you glance at it on the nightstand, half-expecting it to light up on it's own.

When night falls, you crawl into bed and pull the think blanket up to your chin. The silence feels too wide, the mattress too empty. You turn on the TV for noise, but the sound of strangers' voices only makes the loneliness louder. You roll onto your side, hugging a pillow to your chest, trying to fill the space where he used to be.

It's strange. How the absence of someone so toxic can still ache. You tell yourself it's habit. You tell yourself it's just the quiet. But the truth lingers somewhere deeper, something you're not ready to name yet.

The days blend together after that. You don't go far. Just from bed to bathroom, bathroom to window, window back to bed. You watch people through the curtain slits, couples checking in, delivery drivers dropping off orders, kids laughing in the parking lot. You envy how normal they look. How unafraid.

A week passes like that. The air grows warmer, the days longer. One morning, you wake up and can't stand the sight of the same four walls anymore. You shower, get dressed, and step outside for the first time since you arrived.

The sunlight stings your eyes. The street is busier than you expected, shops, a diner, a small market. You wander aimlessly, scanning windows for Help Wanted signs. You find one in a small cafe tucked between a laundromat and a bookstore. You walk in before you can talk yourself out of it. 

The manager looks you over, asks if you've got experience. You lie and say yes. He nods, says they'll call if they need you. You leave your name and a number you don't even have yet.

So, your next stop is a phone store. You buy a cheap smartphone and a pay-as-you-go SIM card. It feels strange, like buying a new identity.

When you get back to the motel, you sit cross-legged on the bed, unboxing it carefully. For the first time in days, you turn a phone on. The brightness makes you blink. You enter Sarah's number, your hands trembling slightly as you type. 

Hey. It's me. Got a new number. I'm okay, I made it. Safe.

You stare at the screen, waiting. It doesn't take long for the bubbles to appear. 

Oh my god, thank you for texting. We were all so worried. Are you okay? Where are you?

You don't tell her where. You can't. But you reassure her you're safe. You talk for almost and hour, about how weird it feels to be alone, how you can't sleep, how she shouldn't blame herself for anything. Sarah sends hearts, reassurances, a gundred tiny ways to say you're not alone anymore.

When you finally end the conversation, the room feels quieter again, but not in the same way. There's still fear, yes, but there's also something else creeping in. Something like peace.

You set the phone on the nightstand, curl under the blanket, and let yourself breathe.

You fall asleep without crying.

[papercranesandinkstains]

🎃Worse Games to Play Masterlist🎃

Summary: All you had wanted was for your life to go back to normal after the disaster that was your college experience. Freshly graduated and trying to figure out how to start your life over in your hometown seemed like a great idea at the time, but everything is not what it seems when you return. A serial killer is on the loose and all evidence points to you. Who killed your ex-boyfriend? Who killed your former best friend? Well, that’s for you to figure out before it’s too late…

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Reader/ Past!Topper Thornton x Reader

Warnings: Murder, violence, harsh language, dark themes, angst (updating as the story progresses)

AN: This is my first written series, so please be nice!!! Theories are welcome!!

My Masterlists

Word Count: 24.6k (and counting)

Lights Out- [Posted 9/21/25] wc: 3k

Possession- [Posted 9/28/25] wc: 4.3k

The Haunting of Tannyhill [Posted 9/29/25] wc: 5.5k

Dawn of the Dead [Posted 10/3/25] wc: 6.8k

Cabin in the Woods [Posted 10/11/25] wc: 5k

The Heyward Maybank Massacre [Posting 10/19/25]

Ready or Not [Posting 10/26/25]

The Warden [Posting 10/27/25]

Goosebumps [Posting 10/28/25]

Dead Man Walking [Posting 10/29/25]

Final Girl [Posting 10/30/25]

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