#doctor!rafe

[lacydear]

RAFE IN : DOCTOR!RAFE FLIRTING WITH HIS PATIENT

a/n : i been binging ThePitt lmao sorry!

tw : face fcking, power imbalance, age gap, uhhh i think thats it.

“ah, it's you again.”

you been visiting the ER more times than what a 23 year old should. sometimes its a headache, a knee injury, but really, almost all of the times is you wanting to see your favorite doctor.

Dr. Rafe Cameron.

the man responsible of allowing you past the full waiting and into a room where someone who actually needs medical help could occupy. “what is it, this time?” rafe needed to stop whatever this was. he was sure acting this way towards a patient, a patient that has no life threatening injuries nonetheless was extremely unprofessional.

but how could he ignore you when you looked at him with sad eyes and pouty lips. “my jaw hurts..” you mumble, gazing up at him while rubbing the side of your jaw. he sighs, ultimately pushing whatever nasty thoughts he had to actually tend to you. he cups your jaw, gently feeling the area. “open your mouth..." and when you do, he cant help but feel his scrubs feeling tighter. “then close it.”

he gulps, backing up. “well thankfully there's no popping, so it must be soreness.” “but-” “no buts, sweetheart. we been over this, you cant keep coming back.” you stare at him with a pout, fidgeting with your sleeves.

“i told you we would have our time when i got out of work.”

yeah. he had fallen for you the moment you came in, a year ago. you went through a car accident, he technically saved your life. and since then, well he's been hooked. he's too scared to ask you to be his girlfriend, but you're obviously more than a FWB. since then you been a regular patient in the ER, his patient. “i know but you take so long and i-”

“lay down, sweetheart.” rafe sighs, softly pushing you down on the bed before he goes to the room door and locking it. he closes the blinds before going up to you. “dirty girl... so impatient for me.” shivers run down your back, lips parting as you open them to speak. “shh. just relax, im a doctor, remember?” he says sarcastically. shifting you so your face is close to his waist. “i know what im doing.” once he brushes hair off your face, he pulls his scrubs down.

“so, your jaw's been hurting...” you nod, staring at his hands as they scoop his cock out. “it could be due to an act of stress.." he coos, smirking at how your eyes light up at the sight of his cock. “like in the morning, remember? or last night. or the day before th-“ “okay i get it...” you giggle, rolling your eyes. “so, what will you prescribe me, doctor cameron?”

“maybe a good mouth stuffing.." he proposes, eyes fluttering as you take matters into your own hands and take his tip into your mouth. “fuck, baby... we better hurry.” you whine against his cock, his hands caging your head as he thrusts his cock into your mouth at his pace.

“fuck..” he groans, his eyes shutting tightly as he fastens his pace. he's completely unaware of the mess you are. the sloppy, teared eyed mess you turned as he continues slamming his cock into your mouth.

“you're so pretty like this baby... taking all of me-” he jerks his hips, eyes rolling back as he gropes your breasts. “all of me like a good girl. every inch...coated in your spit.” you moan on his cock, squirming as your hands grip his thighs. after a few more thrusts, he releases his load inside your mouth.

“good girl... swallow all of it.” he hums, gently rubbing your bottom lip before tapping his tip against your plump lips. “satisfied?” he says, this time more softer. he pulls his pants up, adjusting his scrubs before helping you up. “y-yeah. alot.” you giggle shakily, licking your lips. “up you go," rafe helps you up, gently smacking your ass. “go home, sweetheart. and wait up for me, alright? ill leave earlier. just for you.” you cant hold in your excitement, so you hug him tightly.

he hugs you back, kissing your forehead before letting you go. “now go on before people start getting suspicious.” he says with another peck, this time on your cheek.

and you leave; satisfied, and with his taste in the back of your throat. you know people stare as you and him walk out at the same time, and you also know people definitely notice the way his stare lingers on you as you walk out of the ER. but you dont mind. not when you're the one he comes home to, and the one he comes on.

[angel06babysworld]

DOCTOR!RAFE CAMERON WHO…

DOCTOR!RAFE CAMERON ⟡ who chose medicine for control just as much as intelligence—he likes knowing things other people don’t, likes being the one everyone looks at when something goes wrong, the one who fixes it.

DOCTOR!RAFE CAMERON ⟡ who is terrifyingly calm in high-pressure situations—blood, panic, chaos—it doesn’t shake him. ig anything, it makes him stand out. his voice drops, his movements get precise, and suddenly he’s the most competent man in the room.

DOCTOR!RAFE CAMERON ⟡ who has a reputation at the hospital—brilliant, a little cold, definitely arrogant. Nurses either love him or hate him, but nobody ignores him.

DOCTOR!RAFE CAMERON ⟡ who rolls his sleeves up just enough during procedures, veins visible, watch pushed back on his wrist—completely unintentional, but it does things to people.

DOCTOR!RAFE CAMERON ⟡ who calls you “sweetheart” or “baby” in the same tone he uses to reassure patients—low, steady, like he already has control of the situation.

DOCTOR!RAFE CAMERON ⟡ who is insanely protective once you’re his. not loud about it, not dramatic—but he will step in, correct people, shut things down, reposition you without asking.

DOCTOR!RAFE CAMERON ⟡ who has no patience for stupidity—especially from other doctors. he won’t yell, he’ll just… correct them in front of everyone, voice smooth, eyes sharp.

DOCTOR!RAFE CAMERON ⟡ who is lowkey obsessive about your health. You mention a headache once and suddenly he’s asking follow-up questions like he’s building a case file.

DOCTOR!RAFE CAMERON ⟡ who keeps spare things for you in his office without telling you—hair ties, snacks, a hoodie—like he expects you to end up there eventually.

DOCTOR!RAFE CAMERON ⟡ who hates when you don’t listen to him medically. you skipping meds? ignoring symptoms? yea, fuck no. that turns into a very quiet, very controlled argument where he backs you into a corner with facts.

DOCTOR!RAFE CAMERON ⟡ who is soft in the weirdest ways—like adjusting your posture absentmindedly, brushing hair out of your face while he’s focused on something else, checking your pulse just because he can.

DOCTOR!RAFE CAMERON ⟡ who smells like clean soap, antiseptic, and expensive cologne—something about him always feels clinical but expensive.

DOCTOR!RAFE CAMERON ⟡ who is exhausted most of the time but refuses to admit it. dark circles, tension in his jaw—but he still shows up, still performs perfectly.

DOCTOR!RAFE CAMERON ⟡ who lets his guard down with you in rare moments—head in your lap after a long shift, quiet, not talking much, just existing.

DOCTOR!RAFE CAMERON ⟡ who has a thing about control bleeding into when you fuck—slow, deliberate, like he’s studying your reactions the same way he studies patients.

DOCTOR!RAFE CAMERON ⟡ who praises you in that same clinical tone sometimes—“good, that’s it, just like that”—and it shouldn’t work, but it really does.

p!link

tags: @amelialovesrafe @alyisdead @illumoria @blissfulbutterfliess @sydneysslove @matthewswifeyy @meetmeintheemeraldpool @lcversvoid @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @cokewithcameron @drewrry @harubunnyy @lifeonawhim @ar1ynx @tottassss @nessasmultiverseoflove @camerxnlove @mochibunnyyyy @starkeysfile @rosiecherie @dainted @my-fabulousness-has-arrived @angelicameron @p34rlzzz @maximumstructurearchivist @seraphiccrafe @graciegibsonn @obxobsessedbitch1 @dabishou @corallandtragedy3 @dxphhnnee @angxls @l1ttlebones @kavycakes

dividers: @/omi-resources @/saradika-graphics

[torturedtypewritersdept]

omg baby an idea for dr rafe came up to me at work and i'm shksjcnd!!!! okay hear me out<33 reader is at work waitressing and for the last couple days she had that strange stomachache but she didn't really care about it when it suddenly hits her at work (it turns out to be an appendix) and she ends up in the hospital and when rafe sees her at the ER all the flashbacks comes back to him but he tries his best to stay calm to take care of her and be there for her 🤍

BABE <3 NOT ME WANTING TO GET HOME ALL DAY TO WRITE THIS!!!!!!!!!!!! HOPE YOU ENJOY, MY LOVE!

-

The ER doors burst open with a gust of hot air and urgent voices.

The emergency department was loud with the usual noise—overhead pages, squeaking gurney wheels, a child crying somewhere in the pediatric hallway—but Rafe barely registered any of it. His shift was rounding the corner of hour fifteen, and his spine was curved with exhaustion, the tendons in his shoulder aching from an earlier reduction. He hadn’t eaten. He hadn’t sat down. And he sure as hell wasn’t in the mood for small talk.

He was halfway through charting when he heard the commotion.

“Twenty-five-year-old female—acute abdominal pain, febrile, suspected ruptured appendix. Transport was delayed due to emesis and instability—possible septic onset.”

Rafe didn’t even look up at first. The words meant something clinical, standard—he'd heard a thousand variations of them over his years. But then a nurse muttered your name.

And the pen slipped from his hand.

His chair scraped violently against the floor as he stood, already moving, already knowing.

You.

Not a patient. Not a stranger.

His wife.

You—who had just started teaching again, your sweet voice now filtering into the corners of your shared home as you led virtual classes from the kitchen table in oversized sweaters and soft joggers, hair pinned up with one of his old surgical caps. You—who had fought through months of agony and immobility after the accident that nearly took your life. You—who now called him baby when you were half-asleep and Rafe when you were afraid.

He caught a glimpse of you on the gurney and it nearly buckled his knees.

You were curled in on yourself, one hand clutching your lower abdomen, the soft blue knit of your teaching sweater soaked with sweat. Your glasses were crooked. There were tears on your cheeks and vomit crusted near your collar. Your laptop bag had been hastily tossed onto the floor beside the EMT, as if you’d collapsed mid-lesson and someone had simply tried to gather your life in one arm before rushing you here.

His stomach dropped.

It was the accident all over again.

That night; The blood in your hair. The way your body seized in his arms, arching as your heart gave out. The weeks spent hovering between here and gone. The breathless nights where he held you through the pain, praying you'd come back. The memory ripped through him like a blade.

And now—this.

You whimpered as they adjusted your IV. The pain was eating you alive.

Rafe forced himself forward, teeth clenched so tightly his jaw ached. He reached your side, brushing the damp hair from your temple, thumb ghosting across your cheek.

“I’m here,” he whispered, voice thick, steadying himself for you even as his knees trembled beneath the weight of it all. “You’re okay, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”

Your eyes fluttered open—barely. But you found him. You always did.

“Hurts,” you whimpered, and Rafe swallowed hard, nodding.

“I know. Appendix ruptured—we’re going to surgery. I’ll be right there the whole time.”

You groaned, curling tighter, your knees drawn toward your chest.

“S-sorry,” you gasped.

That shattered him. Sorry—like you had done something wrong by hurting. Like your body failing was somehow a burden.

“Hey. No,” he said, firmer now, his forehead pressing to yours. “None of that. You’re going to be okay. We’re going to get through this.”

He glanced at the monitors. Your vitals were slipping—blood pressure bottoming out, heart rate climbing fast. Sepsis was setting in. Fast.

“She’s crashing!” a nurse called out.

And just like that, it was happening again. Too fast. Too much.

He was on the gurney, straddling your body, the curve of your hip digging into his thigh as he began compressions, his palms pressing down hard into the center of your chest. His wedding ring clinked against your sternum with every thrust. He didn’t stop. He couldn’t.

“Come on, baby. Stay with me. Stay.”

He could barely see. Everything blurred—tears or sweat, he couldn’t tell. All he knew was that this was you, his wife, the woman he loved more than life itself, slipping away beneath his hands.

“Not again, please, don't leave me.” he whispered, his voice ragged, haunted. “Not again. Not today.”

They wheeled the two of you into the OR, your body beneath him, your life cracking open all over again—and Rafe holding it in his blood-stained hands, determined not to lose it.

Not to lose you.

-

The ICU was quiet in the way grief is quiet—dim lights humming, machines breathing in rhythm where lungs couldn’t. Somewhere down the hall, a monitor beeped in slow intervals. A nurse whispered something behind the glass. But in room 3B, time had slowed to a crawl.

You were lying in the center of it, pale against the white sheets, your body still trembling beneath the weight of what it had survived. A nasal cannula curled into your nose, pushing oxygen through your system one soft stream at a time. Your wedding ring had been taped to your finger by the nurse after surgery, just beneath the IV port, and your sweater—now bloodstained and cut down the center—had been placed in a biohazard bag outside the room.

The surgery had gone well.

The appendix had ruptured. They’d caught it just in time.

But your body… your beautiful, bruised, stubborn body had gone into shock, and it had taken longer than expected to stabilize your heart rate again. The code Rafe called had been the third of his career—and the second on you.

He hadn’t left your bedside since.

Still in his scrubs—now stained and wrinkled, the collar stretched from where he’d yanked at it in the OR—Rafe sat in the chair beside you, hunched over your arm like a man at the altar of something holy. His head was bowed, eyes closed, fingers loosely wrapped around yours. A bag of saline dripped slowly into your arm above him, its quiet rhythm the only metronome in the room.

He hadn’t spoken in hours. He didn’t need to.

Because in the silence, he was remembering—every word you’d said before the pain took over, every look, every apology you’d never needed to make. The memory of your eyes—glassy and searching for him—burned behind his own. The way your body jerked beneath him as he’d done compressions. The way your lips had parted, trying to say something, anything, before your consciousness gave out.

And he’d been afraid. God, he’d been so afraid.

More than the night of the accident. More than the first time you coded. Because this time you had his last name. You were his. And the idea of living without you—again—was something he couldn’t survive a second time.

“Please wake up, honey,” he whispered, forehead pressing gently to your arm. “You’re okay now. You made it through. Just wake up.”

And as if your soul heard him across whatever threshold it had wandered toward—your fingers twitched.

Barely.

A tremble in the space between sleep and wake.

His eyes snapped up. Your lips parted on a dry breath, eyelashes fluttering.

“Hey,” he breathed, rising to hover over you, his hand moving to your cheek, thumb brushing a smudge of iodine from your skin. “Hey, baby. I’m here.”

You blinked at him, slow and heavy, eyes glazed with pain and confusion.

“Rafe?”

“Yeah. I’ve got you.”

Your brow creased slightly. “It hurts.”

“I know.” His voice cracked. “It’s over now. They got everything. You’re gonna be okay.”

You made a small sound, barely audible, and tears immediately welled in his eyes. He pressed a kiss to your temple, hand cradling the side of your head.

“Shh. Don’t talk yet, just rest. You’re in the ICU. They’ve got you on fluids and antibiotics. I’m staying right here.”

“Did I die?”

“No.” He swallowed, his throat burning. “No, baby. You lived. You fought through again. You’re the strongest goddamn woman I’ve ever seen.”

You smiled faintly—just a flicker of it—and he swore the sun broke through the hospital window when you did.

“I didn’t even get to finish teaching,” you rasped.

A broken laugh left his chest. “Your students can wait. I’m the one who needs you now.”

You squeezed his hand, feeble but real. And he held it like a lifeline, like a promise. Because it was.

He wasn't going anywhere. Not tonight. Not ever.

[rafesthroatbaby]

me applying for a job at the hospital doctor!rafe works at 🤭 @rafesheaven

[snugglesbunny19]

I just want Rafe Cameron to objectify me bro

[angel06babysworld]

doctor!rafe x dancer!reader

warnings: birth

Paisley

“Rafe—”

“I know, baby, I know.”

His voice was a whisper, but his hands were steady. One pressed against the small of her back, the other smoothing back damp strands from her forehead. She was in the bathtub.

“It hurts,” she sobbed. “I can’t—Rafe, I can’t do it.”

“Yes, you can,” he said, kissing her temple as her body seized again. “You’re already doing it. Just a little more. I swear to you, she’s almost here.”

They hadn’t planned this. Not the home birth. Not the bathtub filled with water and her giving birth in a way she didn’t even know was possible. Not Rafe—still in sweats and a white tee—delivering his own daughter in their dimly lit bathroom because she’d gone into labor too fast for the drive.

But somehow, when it mattered most, it was only him she wanted.

And God help him, it was the most terrified he’d ever been.

“Push for me, sweetheart,” he told her gently, gloved hands in place. “You’ve got one more in you, I know you do.”

Her fingers clawed at his shoulder as she sobbed into his neck, voice breaking in exhaustion. “I’m so scared.”

“I’m not.” He kissed her again, firmer this time. “Because it’s you. And you’re the strongest damn woman I know.”

With a final cry, she pushed—screamed—and Rafe caught his daughter in his hands.

The baby’s first wail split the quiet like light through clouds.

“Oh, my God,” Rafe choked, eyes wide, chest caving in. “Oh, my God.”

She was tiny. Red-faced and slippery, crying and perfect. He wrapped her in the soft cloth they’d warmed earlier and brought her to her mother’s chest, eyes glassy and lips trembling.

“You did it,” he whispered, brushing her tear-streaked cheek. “She’s here. She’s beautiful. You did it.”

She couldn’t speak. Just cradled her newborn against her chest and sobbed softly, overwhelmed.

Later—after they were cleaned up, the baby was asleep against her mother’s heartbeat, and the room smelled like lavender and sweat and something sacred—Rafe came back from the hallway with something in his hand.

A birth certificate form.

Temporary, handwritten. But real.

He cleared his throat, voice still soft. “You still want to name her what we talked about?”

Her lashes fluttered. “Paisley?”

He nodded. “Paisley Rose Cameron.”

A fresh tear rolled down her cheek. “Yeah. That’s her.”

He crouched beside the bed and gently filled out the line, his handwriting shaky. Then he showed it to her.

Name of child: Paisley Rose Cameron

Date of birth: July 15th, 4:26am

Delivered by: Dr. Rafe Cameron, MD

She smiled through her tears. “Doctor, husband, midwife… what can’t you do?”

Rafe pressed a kiss to her knee and looked at her like she hung the moon.

“I can’t stop falling in love with you,” he said. “That’s about the only thing.”

dividers: @/cursed-carmine @/anitalenia

tags: @amelialovesrafe @alyisdead @illumoria @blissfulbutterfliess @sydneysslove @sc04 @matthewswifeyy @meetmeintheemeraldpool @lcversvoid @honeyinthesummer @dolli333 @lolabunnyworldss @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @rafessbaby @rafesbabygirlx @cokewithcameron @drewrry @harubunnyyy @ellayahhs @lifeonawhim @usseraloo

[angel06babysworld]

doctor!rafe x gf!reader

“Stay Inside, Baby.”

It happens fast.

Too fast.

One second she’s smiling up at him from the porch—sun-kissed and flushed from running errands in the ninety-degree heat—and the next, her words cut off mid-sentence. She sways, just barely, eyes glazing over. Her body lists forward like she’s falling into him on purpose.

But she doesn’t catch herself.

“Hey—hey, woah, baby,” Rafe says sharply, arms shooting out just in time. She crumples into him like her legs stopped working, her head lolling against his chest, breath shallow and uneven.

His heart seizes.

“Baby,” he says again, firmer now, panic already rising in his chest. “Hey, wake up. Look at me.”

She doesn’t respond. Her skin is clammy. Her body too warm, too limp. He feels the heat radiating off of her like warning signs he should’ve seen earlier.

He scoops her up immediately, his medical instincts kicking in faster than the fear can settle. He’s carried patients like this before—collapsed, overheated, unconscious—but this isn’t a patient. This is her.

His girl.

By the time he lays her on the couch and presses the back of his hand to her forehead, he’s already mentally diagnosing her—heat exhaustion. Low fluids. Probably skipped breakfast. Definitely didn’t drink enough water.

Stubborn. Sweet. Always putting everything before herself.

He grabs a cold towel from the kitchen and presses it gently to her face, murmuring her name over and over again like the repetition alone will anchor her to him. “Come on, baby. You’re okay. You’re okay, but I need you to open those eyes.”

She stirs a little, her body twitching before her lashes flutter.

“There she is,” he breathes, so relieved it hurts. “Hi, honey. You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

“Rafe?” she whispers, dazed and confused. “What happened?”

“You passed out. You scared the hell out of me.”

Her brow furrows, hand weakly grasping at his. “I’m fine now. Just got too hot.”

He gives her a look. The look. The one that says, Don’t even try me.

“No. You’re not fine. You passed out in my arms. You haven’t been drinking enough water. I’m willing to bet you had one granola bar and iced coffee and called that lunch.”

She tries to sit up. He gently presses her right back down.

“Not a chance. You’re not moving.”

“Rafe…”

“No. No arguing. I’m a doctor. You’re not. And right now, I’m prescribing full rest, fluids, and me not letting you out of my sight for the rest of the damn day.”

She blinks up at him, throat dry. “You’re bossy.”

“You almost collapsed on the porch. You’re lucky all I’m being is bossy.”

He grabs a cold bottle of water, unscrews it, and holds it out to her. When she doesn’t move fast enough, he guides it to her lips himself, eyes watching her every swallow like he’s trying to track her pulse through it.

When she’s done, she leans her head against his shoulder and closes her eyes. “I just wanted to get everything done before you got home…”

“I’d rather come home to a messy house and a healthy girlfriend than see you like that again,” he says, hand cradling the back of her head. “You scared me.”

She’s quiet for a moment, the guilt creeping in.

“I’m sorry.”

“I know,” he murmurs. “Just let me take care of you now.”

So she does. She stays curled into his side, letting him press cold cloths to her skin and feed her sips of water and mutter things like “reckless little thing” under his breath even as his hands never stop being gentle.

And even hours later, when the color has returned to her face and the headache has started to fade, he still refuses to let her up.

“Rafe, I feel better. I swear.”

“Baby,” he says, pulling the blanket tighter around her shoulders and tucking her against his chest. “You’re not leaving this house until I say so. In fact, you’re not leaving this couch. I’ll get your laptop if you want. I’ll bring snacks. I’ll even let you put on that trash reality show you like. But you’re not going anywhere.”

And with his heartbeat in her ear, his arms around her, and his voice soft and stubborn, she doesn’t really want to.

Not when she has everything she needs—right here.

dividers: @/cafekitsune

tags: @amelialovesrafe @alyisdead @illumoria @blissfulbutterfliess @sydneysslove @sc04 @matthewswifeyy @meetmeintheemeraldpool @icversvoid @honeyinthesummer @dolli333 @lolabunnyworldss @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @rafessbaby @rafesbabygirlx

[angel06babysworld]

doctor!rafe x dancer!reader

p!links

spitting in your mouth

spanking

after you were a brat

breeding kink

thigh fucking

dancers are flexible, right?

teasing

throat fucking

34+35

post shower sex

tags: @heavenstolemyheart @rosiecherie