dark!rafe cameron x reader
summary: you thought you'd seen the last of Rafe after that night at the gala, but it seems like Rafe isn't done just yet.
content warning: non-con/dub-con, unprotected piv, sexual coercion, blackmail, stalking, baby trapping 18+ MDNI
previous part: masked lust
a/n: finally got this out! that being said, I think this is the last time I'll write for dark!Rafe out of respect for all the other incredible dark!Rafe writers out there 😭
Looking in the mirror, it seemed like the person looking back was you, but you could barely recognize your own reflection. It’d been a few months since the gala happened, since you’d unknowingly followed the masked man into his car for a quickie just to find out it was your best friend’s ex, since he’d silenced you into never telling her. It hurt to be next to her, knowing that you’d been dishonest with her the moment you got back with her at the gala.
“Where’d you go?” she asked, wriggling her eyebrows at you as you approached your group, “More importantly, who’d you do?”
You swallowed your guilt, the lie settling heavy on your tongue before you forced a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes.
“Some touron,” you said, rolling your eyes like it was barely worth mentioning. “Didn’t catch his name, wasn’t that good of a fuck anyways.” Her laugh came quick and bright, making you choke up a fake one to mask the shame you felt settling on your skin.
“Of course you didn’t enjoy it.” She grinned, nudging your arm. “Bet he was hot though.”
You shrugged, forcing a nonchalance that burned in your chest. “Masked. Could’ve been anyone.”
She hummed, satisfied, already losing interest. “Well, at least you didn’t hook up with someone you’d regret.”
The words landed wrong—too sharp, too close. You lifted your glass to your lips to hide the way your mouth went dry, the champagne suddenly sour on your tongue.
“Yeah,” you said quietly. “Just a tourist.”
Here you were, three months later, still trying to come to terms with the fact that you’d completely broken the one thing you could never do to your friend, and worse, you’d actually enjoyed it. It was terrifying to know how easy it was to rewrite the truth, how simple it was to let someone else believe the version that cost you nothing to say.
It was worse that after the gala, Rafe had magically started to appear in your life everywhere you went, almost as if he was trying to taunt you about the night you’d spent together. You couldn’t understand how someone you’d almost never seen was now someone who was in the background in every step you took. Taking one last breath, you grabbed your purse and headed to the country club for dinner with someone you’d met through a dating app.
You arrived early, a little too early, and spent the first five minutes pretending to read the cocktail menu while your stomach twisted itself into knots. Your date showed up right on time. He was clean cut, safe, funny, kind-the type of man anyone you knew everyone would’ve approved of without hesitation. Also, a stark 180° from everything Rafe was.
“This place is… fancy,” he said with a quiet laugh as he slid into the seat across from you, “Kinda scared to see the damage it’ll do on my bank account.”
“Yeah,” you softly chuckled, “It’ll grow on you.”
You were halfway through your drink when the familiar weight settled between your shoulder blades. The awareness you’d learned not to ignore was pressing into you as you felt a certain pair of eyes focused on you from a figure behind your date’s seat.
You didn’t need to look to know. Still, you did.
Rafe Cameron stood near the bar, jacket slung lazily over one shoulder, drink already in hand like he owned the place. He wasn’t looking at you at first—he never did, not right away at least. Rafe always let you notice him before he acknowledged you back. Your chest tightened.
“Everything okay?” Your date asked.
“Yeah,” you said too quickly for your liking. “Just thought I saw someone I knew.”
Almost as if he’d heard you, Rafe’s gaze finally lifted to meet yours, giving you the same knowing look he always gave you. His lips curved into a sly smirk that sent chills down your spine. He raised his glass, not enough for anyone else to notice, but just enough for you. Your fingers curled tighter around your own drink.
Giving an apologetic smile, you said, “Sorry, you were mentioning your backpacking trip in Thailand?”
The rest of the night felt like you were putting on the show of your life, nodding when you were supposed to, laughing at all of your date’s jokes, answering questions about your hobbies and where you’d grown up. But you could barely feel yourself say the words as they were muffled beneath the thud of your heartbeat when you could feel him there the whole time.
Feeling suffocated enough, you stood to excuse yourself to the restroom, nearly running straight into him.
“Careful,” Rafe murmured, steadying you by the elbow. His touch was brief, but it felt like his fingertips were burning you, branding you in a way that only you knew. It didn’t help that your heart slightly skipped a beat in excitement and fear. “Wouldn’t want your date thinking you’re a trainwreck.”
“Get your-” you swatted his hand off of you, “Get your hands off of me. What are you doing here?”
“Having dinner, same as you.”
You were seething as you saw his smirk, “Cut the bullshit, Rafe. And stop following me for Christ’s sake.”
His eyes flicked past you, toward the booth. “He seem nice?”
You pulled your arm free. “This isn’t funny.”
“I’m not laughing.” His voice dropped, just enough. “Relax. I won’t say a word about how I had you screaming in the back of my car.”
You pushed past him, walking to the bathroom as you felt the awful realization that no matter where you went or who you tried to replace him with, Rafe Cameron was always going to be right there, carving out a space for himself in your life until he was satisfied.
Back at the table, your date asked why you looked pale, but all you could do was smile and lie, “I think I might’ve eaten something bad. I think it might be better if I go home before anything else happens.”
Except, you didn’t go home once you’d gotten into your car. You barely even knew where you’d driven yourself to until you found yourself pulling into the police station’s parking lot, hands shaking. It made sense to try to report that Rafe had been stalking you and that you were scared about what he could do to you in the future. As you walked up to the entrance, you felt your phone vibrate twice.
Unknown contact: How are you gonna report something you wanted?
The air in your lungs suddenly left as you saw the video’s thumbnail. It was undeniably you, except you hadn’t realized that Rafe had recorded it in the first place. Your heart dropped to your stomach as you watched yourself in the video, clearly proving Rafe’s point of how much you enjoyed being fucked by him. The parking lot looked empty, though, as you inspected it to see if Rafe was there. Your hands went numb as you locked the screen, the lie you’d told months ago collapsing in on itself all at once.
The steam in your bathroom added to the fog built up in your mind as you tried to scrub off everything from the night, especially where Rafe had touched you. As you got into bed, you turned to grab your book from the bedside table when you noticed Rafe in the corner, slowly approaching you. Before you could even scream, Rafe covered your mouth with his hand, his eyes wide, almost as if it were a warning.
“Don’t,” he whispered, his voice low. “We wouldn’t want your parents knowing you snuck a boy into your room.” Your body was frozen beneath his hand, heart hammering so hard that you were sure he could feel it. Rafe slowly removed his hand from your mouth, instead moving it to cradle the back of your head.
“H-how did you-” Your voice broke, “How did you get in?”
He glanced toward the door, then back at you, unimpressed. “You still don’t lock your window. She told me once or twice when she’d talk about you.”
Even with your mind running at a thousand kilometres a minute, the words couldn’t get past your lips.
“So why did you go to the police? Date not go too well?” You stared at him, still too stunned.
“Y’know, going to the police would’ve never worked for you.” Rafe reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, tilting the screen just enough for you to see it - the same video, paused on a frame you couldn’t bring yourself to look at for longer than a second, ready to be sent to your best friend. “You see,” he said calmly, “this’ll only make things complicated for you. For me? Not so much.”
Your hands clenched into the sheets. “You can’t do this.”
Rafe smiled, small and sharp. “I already did.”
He leaned closer, his voice dropping even further. “All I have to do is hit send. To her. To anyone. And suddenly, you’re not the good friend anymore—you’re the girl who lied to her face for months.”
The silence stretched, thick and suffocating.
“Why are you doing this to me, Rafe?” You whispered, “We never met before. I barely even know you.”
You saw a gloss of something sinister paint over his eyes as he looked at you.
“Barely know me? But you knew me enough to give her enough ‘courage’ to leave me, right?”
“Don’t act dumb,” Rafe groaned your name, clearly agitated with your lack of awareness, “You told her to ‘leave him because life is too short to be tied to a psycho.’ Does that ring a bell now?”
His grip on your head tightened, slightly pulling at your hair to force you to look at him.
It was as if the world stopped spinning. You hadn’t realized he knew that you were the one who had heard all of the complaints your friend had about him and what he’d put her through during their relationship, which ultimately led you to talk her into leaving for her own good.
“You’re genuinely insane, Rafe,” you spat back, “why the fuck would you care about that?”
“What I care about is that you stuck your nose into something that doesn’t concern you. And people who do that don’t get to walk away as if nothing happened.” He breathed out, “You had no business tellin’ her what to do when it came to us, and now I gotta see you smile all the fuckin’ time like you didn’t do anything.”
Rafe held your gaze for a moment longer, like he was waiting for something—anger, denial, a promise. When none of it came, he straightened, already bored with the silence he’d created.
“I’ll see you around,” he chuckled darkly. Rafe stepped back toward the window, pausing only to glance over his shoulder to look at you one last time. Then he was gone, the curtain barely shifting as the window slid shut behind him.
Minutes passed, perhaps even longer, but it all felt like hours at this point. Your phone lay facedown on the mattress, heavy with the knowledge of what it held. Somewhere down the hall, the house creaked, familiar and safe in a way that felt almost mocking now.
The next few weeks weren’t any different from before Rafe’s confrontation, but if anything, you’d felt your guard rise higher, settling into your bones. Seeing Rafe in every setting you were in was becoming a norm for you, even if it scared you, almost as if you had to see him to see if he was still there. You made sure your windows were locked at night, the locks on your doors bolted, but sometimes you had an intrusive thought here and there if he’d ever seen you during the intimate moments of your nights.
Rafe had even managed to start seeping into your social life as well, becoming a topic of discussion during your Sunday brunch dates with your girl friends.
“Rafe literally texted me out of nowhere last night,” she said, shaking her head. “Said he missed me or something, and that I’m being lied to?” She scoffed. “Men are so fucking weird.”
You could barely keep your food down after hearing that.
Your date had suddenly ghosted you out of nowhere after having gone on two more dates with him, which would’ve been disappointing if it didn’t feel so familiar. Rafe had a way of reappearing whenever you tried to move on, like he could sense it.
It became overbearing, not being able to escape his presence to truly live out your day-to-day life. Which is why you’d decided to move out to Atlanta with your cousins, disguising it as a vacation to your friends and a job opportunity to your family.
“Atlanta?” your friend repeated, blinking at you over her martini. “Since when?”
You forced a shrug, strrring the straw around the glass of your own drink to give your hands something to do. “I don’t know, I just realized I need a break.”
“A break from what?” another friend of yours asked. “You barely go out anymore.”
You smiled, tight and rehearsed. “Exactly.”
She studied you for a moment longer than you liked. “You good?”
“Yeah,” you lied easily. Too easily. “Just burned out. And my cousin said I could crash with her for a bit, maybe line up something work-wise.”
Your best friend lit up at that, instantly supportive. “Honestly? Good for you. You’ve been… off lately.”
“Maybe this’ll bring me back on track.” You gave a tightlipped smile, knowing it’d be a while before you decide to come back. If you even could.
“You better not go radio silent on us,” she added, nudging your kneed. “You can’t just disappear.”
“Of course I will,” you said quickly. “I’m not moving forever. Just—resetting.”
She laughed. “God, must be nice. A soft launch into a new life.”
If only she knew how calculated every step was.
Later, as you hugged them goodbye, one of them frowned slightly. “You’re not running from something, are you?”
“No, just running toward something. Maybe to find whatever I’m missing in my life.”
They’d accepted your answer, even if you struggled to keep the lie up in your mind. You felt yourself tear up as you hugged them one last time, only partially because you were leaving them, but moreso the guilt you’d had felt for sleeping with Rafe all those months ago.
You stepped out of your room to grab the last of your things from the kitchen, moving quietly, already halfway gone in your head. When you came back, zip-ties in hand, something felt off before you even crossed the threshold.
Your suitcase sat open on the bed, the clothes you’d neatly folded now undone as if someone had rummaged through them. And leaning against the dresser, with his arms crossed and an expression you could read, was Rafe. The air in your lungs left.
“So, Atlanta, huh?” He straightened slowly, eyes tracking every step you tok backward like he expected you to bolt. Rafe let out a dark chuckle, making you clench your thighs together as you felt sick to your stomach at the confrontation “You really thought you could get away,” he said calmly, almost amused, “and I wouldn’t find out?”
“Get out,” you whispered, heart slamming against your ribs, “you don’t get to be here.”
Rafe glanced around your room like it belonged to him. “Packin’ like you’re a sorority girl off to college. What’s the rush?”
You took another step back until your calves hit the bed. “Why do you care so much?”
That made his jaw tighten. A dark expression washed over his face as he took a step forward towards you.
“Because you don’t get to disappear after everything,” he said, voice low now. “After you stuck your nose into my relationship. After you smiled in my face like you didn’t ruin anything.”
“I didn’t ruin anything. She left because of you.”
“And yet, here you are. Lying to everyone like you didn’t sleep with your best friend’s ex, packing in secret, acting like the victim. At least have a little pride that you slept with me.”
You swallowed hard. “I just want to leave.”
Rafe stopped right in front of you.
“I know,” he said. “That’s why I’m here.”
The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, his presence pressing in from every direction. You realized then that this wasn’t about finding you. It was about making sure you couldn’t go anywhere without him knowing first.
Before you could process his words, Rafe moved. It wasn't fast, not a rush, but a deliberate, predatory shift that closed the distance between you in a single heartbeat. His hands shot out, one wrapping around your bicep, the other gripping the back of your neck, and brought you in, his lips finding yours. Despite Rafe’s actions, his lips were soft, moving against yours with urgency, making you hate yourself even more for reciprocating his kiss.
He laid you down on your bed, caging you in as he got on top of you, still not breaking away once. Rafe left his grip on your bicep and trailed his hands past the waistband of your sweatpants, inching closer to your core. His fingers soon slipped between your folds as he collected the arousal that’d accumulated between tem.
“No,” you breathed into his mouth, even as your fingers curled into his shirt, even as you leaned into him like muscle memory had already decided for you. The word felt thin, useless, swallowed by the way he pressed closer, the way his presence crowded out every exit.
Rafe pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes dark, searching your face like he was cataloguing every flicker of doubt, every fracture.
“You feel that?” he murmured. “That’s you wanting me. You can’t fight what your mind and body want.”
Shame burned hot under your skin. You turned your face away, but he followed, his forehead resting against yours, his grip never loosening. The pad of his middle finger started to circle your clit which made you let out a shaky moan.
“This doesn’t mean anything,” you said, more to yourself than to him.
Rafe’s chuckle was a low, predatory rumble against your ear. "Doesn't mean anything?" He slid his finger lower, dipping it into your slick, abused folds, gathering the mixture of your arousal and his own release before dragging it back up to your clit. He pressed the sensitive nub, circling it with a maddening, expert pressure that made your toes curl. "Your body's screaming the opposite, baby. It's begging me for more. Admit it, you like it."
Your hips betrayed you, arching slightly into his touch. A choked sob escaped your lips, a sound of pure humiliation. "Stop it," you whispered, the words barely audible.
"Stop what?" he murmured, his voice a silken poison. He added a second finger, the rough pad of his thumb joining the rhythm on your clit. "Stop making you feel good? Stop showing you that you're mine?" He curled his fingers inside you, finding that spot again with unerring accuracy, and a jolt of pure, undeniable pleasure shot up your spine. "You can lie to your friends. You can lie to your family. But you can't lie to me when you're dripping all over my hand."
The coil in your stomach tightened, an undeniable, terrifying pressure building with every deliberate circle of his thumb. Your breath hitched, your body trembling on the edge of a precipice you didn't want to fall from. "Please," you begged, not sure if you were asking him to stop or to finish.
"Please what?" he demanded, his voice hardening. "Look at me." When you hesitated, he pinched your clit, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make you gasp and your eyes fly open to meet his. They were black with lust and ownership. "Tell me what you want. Say you want me to make you come."
Tears streamed down the sides of your face, into your hair. "I... I can't."
"You will," he said, his promise a dark vow. He increased the pressure, the friction, his fingers pumping into you in a slick, obscene rhythm. Rafe hummed your name, “C’mon, tell me what you want.”
“I-I need your cock in me, Rafe.”
Rafe smirked at your confession. He shifted, settling his weight more firmly between your legs, and you felt him, thick and hard and pressing insistently at your entrance. He didn’t thrust in, not yet. He just rocked his hips, grinding the head of his cock against your clit, a slow, torturous rhythm that had your breath hitching. Your hands, which had been pushing against his chest, slowly uncurled, your fingers resting limply on the hard muscle.
“Tell me you want me to go,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your ear. “Tell me you don’t want this, and I’ll go.” He paused his movements, the sudden lack of pressure making you ache. “Say the words, and this is over.”
Your mind screamed at you to say something, to tell him to leave. But the words wouldn't come. They were trapped behind a lump in your throat, suffocated by the raw, primal need pulsing through you. Your body, the treacherous thing, wanted this. It wanted the punishment, the possession, the overwhelming force of him. The silence stretched, thick and heavy, broken only by your ragged breathing.
A slow, triumphant smirk spread across his face. He knew. He’d given you an out, and you were too weak to take it.
“That’s what I thought,” he murmured. And then he pushed inside.
The stretch was a burning, overwhelming ache, but this time, beneath the pain, there was a sick thrill of satisfaction. He filled you completely, and you couldn't stop the cry that escaped your lips—a sound that was half pain, half pure relief. He stilled for a moment, buried deep, letting you adjust to the intrusion, his gaze locked on yours as if memorizing the moment he broke you for good.
Then he began to move. His strokes were deep and deliberate, a punishing rhythm that stole the air from your lungs. He wasn't just fucking you; he was claiming every inch of you, erasing the line between pain and pleasure until they were one and the same. Your hands, once pushing, were now clutching at his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin, holding him to you.
“Look at you,” he grunted, his voice strained with exertion. “Taking my cock so good. You were made for this.” He shifted his angle, hitting that spot deep inside that made your vision white out.
“Say it. Tell me you want it.”
You shook your head, a tear escaping and tracing a path down your temple.
“Say it,” he commanded, his hand snaking between your bodies to find your clit. He rubbed it in time with his thrusts, and the dual sensation was too much. The dam broke.
“I want it,” you sobbed, the words ripped from your soul. “God, Rafe, I want it.”
That was all he needed. His control shattered. He fucked into you with a wild, abandon, chasing his own release. “Gonna fill you up,” he groaned, his rhythm becoming erratic. “I won’ let you leave.” His words were a dark, filthy promise that sent you spiraling over the edge. Your orgasm crashed through you, a blinding, all-consuming wave that left you trembling and crying out his name. He followed you over the edge with a guttural roar, burying himself as deep as he could go as he spilled himself inside you, a hot, possessive flood that marked you as his.
He collapsed on top of you, his weight a comforting, suffocating blanket. You lay there, boneless and spent, his seed leaking from you as you tried to catch your breath, feeling yourself succumb to exhaustion, your body shutting down before your mind could catch up.
It wasn’t until a few weeks after you’d gotten to Atlanta when you started to feel ike something was off. At first, you blamed the stress of moving and constant tension under your skin that Rafe could have very likely followed you out here. You couldn’t sleep through the night anymore just thinking of your last night with Rafe, how you’d betrayed yourself but could bring yourself to hate it as much as you wanted to. Food turned your stomach. Mornings felt heavier than they should’ve. You told yourself it would pass. Except, it didn’t.
Your hands shook as you lowered yourself onto the cold tile floor, your back pressed to the cabinet, breath coming shallow. The room felt too quiet, too aware. The word “positive” written on the test burning into your brain as the smiley face next to it blinked as if it were mocking you. As you were hunched over the toilet, you weren’t sure if you were throwing up because of the morning sickness or how you were going to tell your best friend that you’d inadvertently gotten pregnant by her ex-boyfriend that you had helped her get over.
Still, you didn’t tell anyone, not your cousins, not your friends, you tried to not tell yourself either to chalk it up to a false positive. Until your phone buzzed one evening.
Unknown contact: When are you coming back?
Unknown contact: You don’t have to tell me. I already know.
That was when you understood. Not how he found out—you’d stopped asking yourself that a long time ago—but what this meant. Why he hadn’t hesitated in leaving you that morning, or why he hadn’t followed you out for so long.
You were back home less than a week later, standing in a familiar driveway that no longer felt like home. Rafe was waiting for you, leaning against his car like this was something the two of you had planned together. He took one look at your face and smiled.
“There it is,” he said quietly. “F’r a second I would have had to bring you back myself so that nothing happened to-”
You tuned him out after that, not really understanding how you got to where you were now. All you could see was Rafe standing in front of you, rubbing his hand over your non-existent bump. Cementing that you were stuck with him.
Rafe tilted your head up, smirking as he looked into your eyes.
“Fuck around and you’ll find out again what happens when it comes to me.”
requested tag: @sublimepenguinpeach-blog
