PAIRING. carpenter!rafe x reader
CONTENT. smut. minors dni. rafe's smug asf. breeding kink. car sex. rafe worked his ass off to get what he deserves.
you heard it before you saw it.
a low, purring engine you didn’t recognize pulling into the driveway— smooth, deep, new. not the familiar rattle of the old f150 you could hear from three blocks away. this was different.
you wiped your hands on a dish towel and peeked out the window, brows furrowing.
thats when you saw it.
a brand new chevy silverado— black as night, polished to a shine. the kind of truck that turned heads without even trying.
and stepping out of it, covered in sawdust and sweat from a long day on site, was rafe cameron. grinning like the cat who caught the damn canary.
you were already at the front door when he came around the front of the truck, keys dangling from his fingers like a trophy.
“well?” he said, trying to play it cool. “what do you think?”
you stepped out onto the porch and gave him a once over— your man. your hard working, stubborn, sunburnt man. standing there, next to something he’d dreamed about for years.
“i think,” you said slowly, arms crossing, “that i’ve never seen anyone look so smug in their life.”
he laughed, pulling you in by the waist. “i think i earned a little smug.”
you tipped your chin up, pretending to think for a moment. “how many years did that ford hold on?”
“too many,” he groaned. “i swear i was pushin’ it more than i was driving it in the end.”
“hey— that car is apart of our—”
“history, i know— i know,” he laughed, shaking his head for a moment, arms still wrapped around you. you just smiled, tucking your hands under the back of his shirt just to feel the warmth of his back.
“look at you now. new truck, owning your own business. big life.”
rafe’s eyes softened. “yeah, big life. all because of you.”
you rolled your eyes. “rafe—”
“i’m serious,” he said, voice quiet now. “you were there when i couldn’t even afford new work boots. when i was just some kid driving a beat up truck and borrowing tools.”
you kissed his jaw, soft and gentle. “and i’d still be proud of you if that’s all we ever had.”
he leaned his forehead against yours, exhaling slowly. “i know, and i’m forever grateful. but it ain’t anymore.”
then, with that familiar spark in his eye, he grabbed your hand and led you toward the truck. “come on, gotta give you the full tour.”
you laughed as he opened the passenger door, helping you in like it was the first date all over again, and climbed into the driver’s seat beside you.
he looked over, smiling. one of those soft, stupid, i’m so in love ones, and said: “fits us nice, huh?”
you reached across, laced your fingers through his and nodded.
“yeah,” you whispered. “real nice.”
by the time he had pulled back out of the driveway, he had one hand on the wheel, the other now resting comfortably on your thigh— thumb rubbing little circles just beneath the hem of your shorts. the windows were rolled down, and his favourite country playlist humming low through the speakers.
you were leaned back in the seat, watching him drive like he was king of the whole damn town, grinning to yourself at how good he looked. fresh home from work, still smelling like sawdust and wood varnish. his shirt stretched snuggly across his chest, arms golden from hours spent in the sun.
and smug. so smug.
“you know,” he said, flicking his turn signal on, “i could definitely fit a car seat back there.”
you turned your head slowly. “what?”
he glanced at you, all faux innocence, but the corners of his mouth twitched. “just saying. it’s got space. roomy, safe. suspension’s smooth, too.”
you raised a brow at him. “rafe, we’re going to get tacos. not picking out strollers.”
“yet,” he added, squeezing your thigh a little harder. “but, i mean, wouldn’t take much. would it?”
you snorted, shaking your head. “oh my god.”
he kept talking, eyes still on the road, voice dropping just enough to make your stomach twist.
“can picture it. little girl with your eyes, or a boy who gives me hell like you do. tiny boots. comin’ home to his mama after spending all day in the workshop with me.”
your breath caught, and he noticed— of course he noticed. he just smirked, turning onto the open stretch of dusty road just outside of town.
“you’d look good pregnant,” he murmured. “all round and soft and sweet. could keep you home, spoil you rotten, make sure you never lift a damn finger.”
you swallowed hard, but your tone stayed light. “you always this subtle when your horny, or is it a new truck thing?”
rafe laughed, full and warm, his hand sliding a little higher up your leg. “baby, i’ve been thinking about filling you up since i first picked you up in my old ford. now i've just got better shocks and more leg room.”
you nearly choked.
“rafe—”
“just lettin’ you know,” he shrugged. “i built us a life. just need you to let me make it bigger.” he finally glanced over at you, saw your flushed cheeks, and bit back a grin. “we can still get tacos first,” he offered, clearly enjoying your reaction. “but after that… maybe you let me put the truck to work.”
you didn’t even make it to the taco place.
at least, not first.
because ten minutes down that dusty back road with the sun dipping low in the sky, rafe had pulled over just outside the tree line— right where the pines got thick and the air smelled like summer and dust and honeysuckle.
the truck idled in park, engine still humming low beneath you as he turned in his seat, hand trailing up your bare thigh.
“you alright?” he asked, voice low, thumb brushing the hem of your shorts with just enough pressure to make you shift in your seat.
you nodded, already breathless, squirming underneath his touch. “mhm.”
“good,” he said, leaning over the console to press his mouth to yours, slow and steady and confident. that familiar weight of him, all hard muscle and warm skin, sinking into you like he belonged there. “been thinkin’ about this since i signed the damn papers.”
you gasped softly when his hand slid higher, fingers curling under the waistband of your shorts, teasing— testing.
“rafe— someone could drive by,” you whispered, thought it came out more like a whine, even as your knees parted slightly beneath his palm.
he chuckled against your mouth, cocky and breathless, lips dragging down your jaw. “baby,” he murmured. “ain’t no one coming out here but deers and ghosts. and neither of them give a damn if i’ve got you whining in the front seat of my brand new truck.”
you couldn’t help it— you tugged at his shirt, dragging him closer, heart thudding in your chest.
“i want you,” you whispered, already breathless and dizzy. “i want you so bad.”
that’s all it took.
he groaned, deep in his throat, and pulled you across the console in one quick, practiced motion, settling you into his lap like he’d been thinking about this exact moment for days. your thighs straddled his, hands clutching at his shoulders as he kissed you harder, deeper— his fingers fumbling with the button of your shorts.
“been dreamin’ about this,” he murmured against your neck. “my girl ridin’ me in my truck. always said it’d be you, didn’t i?”
you nodded, head thrown back, hips already rolling against the growing bulge in his jeans.
“tell me you want my baby,” he rasped suddenly, the words hitting you like a freight train. “tell me you want me to fill you up. right here. in this truck i worked my goddamn ass off to buy for us.”
you could feel the way rafe's hands moved to unbutton his own jeans, pulling his cock from its confines, thick and heavy against his stomach. and that had you whining.
“i want it, rafe. i want your baby. i want all of it.”
that’s when he lifted you, pushing inside of you— hot, deep, perfect —and you swore the whole truck shook from the force of your moan.
his head fell back against the seat, jaw clenched, hands bruising your hips as he thrust up into you, slow and hard. the windows fogged fast, air filling with the sounds of skin and breath and soft curses. the leather creaking softly beneath you.
and rafe— god, rafe —was everywhere. mouth on your shoulder, voice rasping mine over and over again, whispering promises about forever and family and filling you up until it sticks.
it was hot, it was messy, and it was real.
and when you finally came— writhing in his lap, breath caught on his name like a prayer, he wasn’t far behind, burying his face into your neck with a strangled groan as he followed you over the edge.
silence fell heavy afterward; thick and warm and full of something golden.
you collapsed against him, still straddling his lap, both of you slick with sweat and panting like you had just ran for miles.
he smoothed a hand down your spine, kissing your temple.
“so, tacos?” he asked, voice hoarse and smug.
you smacked his chest, but you were already smiling.
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PAIRING. carpenter!rafe x reader
CONTENT. fluff. carpenter!rafe being cocky and obsessed w his girl. ring flexing. a little suggestive teasing. domestic romance. carpenter!rafe working class king behaviour. suggestive content at the end.
it catches the light every time you move. the ring. his ring. that stupidly oversized, sparking thing on your finger that feels heavier than it should— but only because of how much it means.
you’re at the bar with a couple of your friends, just chatting, sipping drinks, when rafe walks in covered in sawdust and plaster dust, his shirt slightly damp around the collar, the sleeves around his biceps looking like they might tear any minute.
he sees you instantly. of course he does. and he grins— that grin. the one that says ‘mine’, without saying a single word.
“god, he’s obsessed with you,” your best friend whispers with a giggle as he makes his way over, while you try to hold yourself together and not melt under his gaze.
“she’s got my whole fuckin’ paycheck on her finger,” rafe says, loud enough for your entire table to hear as he slides in behind you, his arms looking around your waist. “damn right i’m obsessed.”
you roll your eyes.”you picked this bar just so you could show it off again, didn’t you?”
“maybe.” he smirks against your cheek. “not my fault everyone in this town needs to see who you belong to.”
and yeah, people notice. they always do. you’ve caught the stares when you walk by, the curious looks at your hand, the murmurs like; is that rafe cameron’s girl? is that thing real?
he lives for it.
he brags about how he built your ring box himself. custom cut the slot. velvet lined. engraved the inside. he proposed in the workshop, sawdust still on his palms and his whole body trembling, like she might actually say yes.
and now?
now he taps your hand every time someone new walks up. holds it when your out in public. turns your palm up and presses a kiss to your knuckles, then to the diamond.
“just makin’ sure it’s still there,” he’ll say. “can’t have my fiancee walkin’ around lookin’ like she’s single.”
tonight’s no different.
you’re talking to some guy you used to know from school— harmless, friendly —when rafe reappears behind you, his beer and your vodka soda in hand and a stare that could level a building.
“hey,” he says cooly, handing you your drink. then his hand slides to your hip. then lower. “you show him your ring yet?”
your jaw nearly hits the floor. “rafe.”
he shrugs. “what? just bein’ friendly.”
you glance at the guy, who suddenly has somewhere else to be, and turn back to glare at your fiance. “you’re insane.”
“insanely in love with my wife-to-be.” he kisses your shoulder, smug as hell. “and what’s the point of workin sixteen hour days, building half this damn town with my own hands, if i can’t put a big ‘fuck you’ rock on your finger.
you try not to smile. you fail.
later, when you’re home— when his shirt’s off, and yours is gone too, and your ring catches the light again while your nails scratch down his back —he says it again, breath hot against your skin.
“you think i’m done showin’ you off?” he growls. “nah, baby. i’m just gettin’ started.”
PAIRING. carpenter!rafe x reader
CONTENT. young!carpenter!rafe. just a man with a dream. supportive girlfriend!reader. rafe doubting himself. rafe & his progress. this man had an idea and ROLLED with it.
the shop wasn’t much.
a beat up unit behind an old hardware store, equipped with a leaky roof and one flickering light over head. it smelt like dust and pine shavings, and the walls were so thin that you could hear the freight trains pass three blocks away.
but it was his.
cameron’s carpentry and cabinetry.
he hand painted the sign himself. no frills; just block letters, a phone number, and the tagline he’d thought of in the middle of the night at 2am, hastily scribbled down on a napkin.
built to last. made for home.
you were there when he flipped the light on for the first time.
he didn’t say much, just stood in the doorway for a second with his dirty work shirt still on, and a bruise on his thumb from a misfired hammer. his jaw clenched, brow furrowed— like he was bracing himself for disappointment before it even had the chance to come.
you slid your arms around his waist and kissed his shoulder. “it’s perfect.”
he let out a breath. shaky, quiet. but when he kissed your hair, he smiled.
day one.
the first few months were rough.
he worked jobs other people passed on— deck repairs in the rain, fence rebuilds in hundred degree heat, tiny projects that barely covered gas. some clients lowballed him. some didn’t pay on time. some didn’t call back at all.
he’d come home with blisters, cuts from tape measures, and a truck that coughed more than it ran.
but he never complained.
never asked why this wasn’t working.
just kept showing up, full of pure determination. kept sketching blueprints at midnight, practicing tongue and groove joints until they were seamless. you’d bring him coffee in the mornings and kiss the scars forming on his knuckles from sanding too hard, too fast.
“this is gonna work,” he’d say, more to himself than to you.
and you’d nod every time. “i know it is.”
it started with a table.
custom built, dark walnut, hand carved details. a woman down the street posted about it online, mentioned him by name— by number.
then came a dresser. a matching crib. a porch swing that went viral for how ‘intimate’ and ‘handmade’ it looked.
suddenly, the phone didn’t stop ringing.
people wanted his touch. his name. his work.
“i heard you’re the one to call.”
“saw what you did for the thompsons— think you could do something similar?”
“i know your waitlist is long, but im happy to wait. worth it, right?”
you’d catch him at the shop sometimes, staring at his calendar, once empty, now full of penciled in jobs, material orders, client meetings.
“you did it,” you’d say, smile big and voice proud.
and rafe; dusty, tired, arms always sore, would lean over and kiss you slow.
“we did.”
these days?
hes built half the town.
his trucks are all over the island. his crew wears his logo like armour. real estate agents brag when a house features a “rafe cameron custom built deck.”
but you?
you still remember day one; when it was just him and a dream no one took seriously. when his hands shook unlocking that busted door for the first time. when he whispered, “please work,” to a silent room and kissed your knuckles like a promise.
and now?
he still comes home with sawdust in his hair, pulls you into his arms like you’re the reason he made it— and maybe you are.
because for every long night, every slow month, every short paycheck, every splinter and rejection and empty voicemail.
you were there.
and now, so is everything he ever built.
requests are open !
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PAIRING. carpenter!rafe x reader
CONTENT. sundress szn ! mutual obsession. rafe once again (always will be) obsessed with his girl. requested !
it was a warm summer afternoon when you pulled up into the gravel lot just outside the workshop, a paper bag of takeout in one hand and your sundress fluttering in the breeze. the kind of sundress rafe liked— white, thin straps, the hem skimming your thigh and moving with each step you took. you’d thrown your hair up and slipped on your sandals, figuring the heat would have him half done in, and maybe, just maybe, he could use a break.
you didn’t even get halfway across the lot before you felt eyes on you.
the banging of hammers and buzz of saws slowed a little, not enough to stop, but just enough to notice. a few of the guys nudged each other as you passed, not in a gross way, but definitely impressed.
“yo, cameron,” one of them called out, a smirk in his voice, “your girl is here and she brought food, and a goddam runway show with her.”
you caught sight of rafe through the open bay doors, standing at the centre of it all, arms crossed, sawdust clinging to his shirt. his head turned towards the sound of his name, and then his whole expression changed like someone knocked the wind right out of him.
you smiled. “hey, handsome. thought you might be hungry.”
he blinked once, then again. then grinned.
“fuckin’ hell,” he muttered, tossing the rag he was holding over his shoulder and made a beeline straight for you. “you tryin’ to kill me?”
you held the bag out innocently. “just thought i’d surprise you.”
rafe didn’t even take the food first— went straight for your waist instead, pulling you in, his hands a little rough and dusty but warm against your skin. “jesus, baby,” he murmured, eyes trailing down your figure, “you really came in here looking like that?”
“like what?” you teased, giggling.
he just laughed, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe his luck. “like you wanna give the whole crew a heart attack.”
you leaned up to kiss his cheek, then handed him the bag. “then i’ll sit in your office while you eat.”
“nah,” he said, already grabbing you by the hand. “you’re stayin’ right here.”
rafe dragged you to a spot in the shade, sitting you down on a crate before settling in besides you. the other guys tried not to stare— they really did —but every few minutes you’d catch them sneaking glances, and rafe would smirk proudly every time.
“let ‘em look,” he said under his breath, taking a bite of his sandwich. “they already know i hit the fuckin’ jackpot.”
you laughed, nudging his boot with your foot. “you’re so cocky.”
“damn right,” he grinned. “look at you. look at me. we both know you could do better, but lucky for me… you’re obsessed.”
and okay, maybe you were a little obsessed.
but the way he kept brushing his fingers over your knee, eyes on you instead of his food, cheeks flushed from the heat and the way you made him feel?
yeah— it was mutual.
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CONTENT. nsfw 18+ minors dni. soft obsession. domestic fluff. mildly possessive!rafe. mild smut. praise kink. oral [f!receiving]. body worship. lowkey breeding kink if u squint.
he doesnt say much when he gets home. just lets the screen door creak shut behind him, kicks off his boots, and leans against the doorframe like he might collapse if he doesn’t. his shirt is soaked through at the collar, sleeves rolled halfway up thick forearms that ache with the kind of tired only real work brings, and there’s sawdust in his hair. again.
you don’t say anything either. just meet him at the door with soft hands and that look he loves so much, the one that says you don’t have to do anything right now except exist.
“i’m gonna start lockin’ the front door,” he mutters, voice rough, like he hasn’t used it in hours. “one of these days you’re gonna be too sweet to resist and someone’s gonna walk right in and steal you.”
you smile and press your fingers to the back of his neck, feeling how tense he is, how wound up. “they’d have to get through you first.”
he hums. damn right.
the house smells like rosemary chicken and warm bread. the lights are soft. the dishes are already done, the table already set, laundry folded and tucked away. you’ve been busy all day, but he still looks at you like you’re the one who deserves to be taken care of.
“you don’t gotta do all this,” he says, rubbing a hand over his face, but you know he doesn’t mean it. you see the way his shoulders drop, the way his jaw unclenches when he smells dinner on the stove, sees your little sticky notes around the kitchen— leftovers in the fridge. drink water. i love you —knows he doesn’t have to think about a damn thing the second he walks through that door.
“i like doing it,” you say honestly, running your hands under the hem of his shirt. “it makes you happy.”
“still.” his voice is lower now, leaning into your touch. “i don’t want you workin’. not ever.”
you’ve heard this before. the same stubborn warmth in his voice. rafe, who builds houses but wants to build you a kingdom. rafe, who works twelve hour days because he wants you to have everything. who can’t stop thinking about the day he’ll come home to you barefoot in the kitche, one baby on your hip, another colouring on the floor.
“you make the house a home,” he murmurs. “and i— i’ll do everything else.”
you don’t argue, not tonight. you press a kiss to his shoulder and whisper, “go sit down. i’ll fix your plate.”
he doesn’t move at first, just holds you a little tighter, breathes you in like you’re the only thing keeping him standing.
“i don’t deserve you,” he says under his breath.
“you built this life,” you whisper back. “of course you do.”
and for once, he believes you.
dinner was quiet— like it always was after a long day. just the two of you, knees brushing under the table, his hand on your thigh more than his fork. he barely said a word, but his eyes never left you. not once.
now he’s behind you, chest pressed to your back while you finish putting away the last plate. his rough hands flatten against your stomach, warm and steady, and you feel him exhale slow against your neck.
“y’know what i was thinkin’ about all day?” he murmurs, voice thick, hips already pressing into yours.
you swallow, already breathless. “what?”
he hums, nose trailing against your jaw. “comin’ home to you. just like this. you, in my kitchen, smellin’ like soap and dinner and lookin’ like you belong to me.”
“i do belong to you.”
that sets something off in him. he groans against your skin and spins you around, gripping your thighs and hoisting you up onto the counter like it’s nothing. like he built these damn cabinets just to hold you.
“say it again,” he mutters, spreading your legs so he can stand between them.”
“i belong to you, rafe.”
his jaw clenches. “that’s right. you’re mine to come home to. mine to take care of.”
he kisses you slow, dirty, with his hands under your shirt, fingers dragging up your sides like he needs to feel every inch of skin he’s earned. when he drops to his knees, it’s not rushed. it’s reverent. like he’s praying at the altar of the life he’s built.
“you do everything for me,” he says, slipping your shorts down your legs. “you think i’m not gonna worship you?”
and he does; tongue slow and patient, fingers gripping your thighs like he can’t stand the thought of you pulling away. he hums when you gasp, when you cry out his name, when your hands thread through his hair. like he’s starved for it. like your pleasure is the only thing that gets him through the week.
“look at you,” he murmurs, pulling back just enough to speak. his mouth is slick, chin shining. “this is all i need. right here. a warm house. a full belly. and my girl comin’ undone for me.”
you don’t last long— he doesn’t let you. and when he finally stands, big hands catching you as you melt forward into his chest, he kisses the top of your head like it’s a promise.
“you ain’t ever goin’ back to work,” he breathes. “gonna keep you here, all soft ‘nd sweet ‘nd mine.”
you laugh, still shaking, but you don’t argue. not when he looks at you like that. not when he picks you up bridal style and carries you straight to bed.
he’s already making plans. a life for two. maybe three.
but first, he’s going to make sure you can’t walk in the morning.
requests are open !
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carpenter!rafe lowkey has a breeding kink and he's so desperate (in a non icky way) to get reader pregnant.
but yes, they do eventually have kids; one little boy and and one little girl— in that order. their son is a spitting image of rafe; bright blue eyes, blond hair that's curly at first but as he gets older it straightens out. he takes after his daddy in lots of things, and eventually grows up to work (and take over) cameron's carpentry and cabinetry. he does his apprenticeship through his father, puts the hard work in, the whole nine yards. he admires his father deeply, and they have an amazing relationship.
his daughter, on the other hand, is his little princess. she's 100% a daddy's girl through and through. she takes after her mother. she's kind, polite, smart, loves animals, and knows her worth. she'll call her daddy for everything— no matter how old she gets. she loves to help her mom in the kitchen, begs rafe for a horse, lowkey would become a veterinarian or even a veterinarian nurse when she's older.
rafe even taught them both to drive his old ford when they were kids, just around their plot of land, because in his words; "everyone should know how to drive a stick."
