꒰ military!spoilt!rafe x sweetheart!farmer!reader
AN: this is not proofread and so much of this was just things i had written in my notes so there MAY be plots and bits that don't line up but i've postponed this for so long i feel bad that i havent posted it so i hope you guys enjoy!
rafe cameron had never been somewhere he didn’t belong.
that was the thing about money. it made the world adjust itself around you. doors opened before you knocked, people remembered your name before they met you, mistakes became “misunderstandings” and bad behavior became something people laughed off because they knew your family.
rafe had grown up watching people bend. teachers softened when they saw his last name on the register, friends forgave things they shouldn’t have, strangers looked at him differently and somewhere along the way, he stopped knowing if anyone actually liked him or if they just liked the idea of him.
and rafe had always been good at leaving. that was the thing nobody ever really talked about. they talked about his temper. his attitude. the way he could walk into a room and make everyone either look at him or look away. they talked about the money, the name, the privilege.
but they never talked about the leaving. leaving was easy, leaving meant he didn’t have to explain himself. it meant he didn’t have to sit with the things he didn’t know how to fix and the military had been the one place where leaving actually meant something.
no one cared who his father was. no one cared about the house he grew up in or the money sitting in his account. a uniform didn’t care. a command didn’t care. you either did the job or you didn’t.
that was the first time in his life that things had been simple. hard, brutal, exhausting — but simple.
then he came home and somehow, being back in the world that was supposed to be easier felt worse. the second he stepped through the door, he was rafe cameron again.
the son, the problem. the disappointment. ward didn't even bother pretending anymore. his father had finally gotten tired. tired of the fights. tired of the attitude, tired of watching his son burn through every opportunity handed to him like nothing mattered.
“you think the military made you a man?” his father had said one night, standing across from him in the study. “you think wearing a uniform fixes everything?”
"i didn't say that."
"you act like it." that was the thing about ward. he knew exactly where to aim. “you came back with discipline,” his father continued. “great. congratulations. but you’re still the same person who thinks the world owes him something.”
“so what?” rafe asked coldly. “what, you’re gonna send me away again?”
ward didn't hesitate. "yes."
rafe laughed once. not because it was funny but because he couldn’t believe it. “you’re serious.”
“very.”
“where?”
his father leaned back. “somewhere you’ll actually work.”
so that was how rafe cameron — who had never willingly gone without anything — ended up sitting in the passenger seat of an old truck, driving down a dirt road in the middle of nowhere.
a place where the nearest store looked like it had been there longer than he’d been alive. a place where the internet barely worked and a place where nobody seemed impressed.
apparently, that was the point.
“you’re lucky i’m even letting you stay there instead of cutting you off completely.” ward’s voice replayed in his head. “you think you’re better than everyone? fine. go spend some time with people who actually work for what they have.”
rafe clenched his jaw. he hated that there was a part of him that knew his father wasn’t entirely wrong. he hated that even more because admitting that meant he had to look at himself and rafe cameron wasn’t exactly someone who liked what he saw.
the farm appeared after another twenty minutes of uncomfortable silence. it was exactly what he expected.
the kind of place where people probably woke up happy at six in the morning for some reason. he looked out the window, unimpressed. “you’re seriously leaving me here?”
ward glanced over. “yes.”
“for how long?”
“until you figure out what you need to figure out.”
rafe laughed once, without humor. “that’s not an answer.”
“it’s the only one you’re getting.”
the truck stopped. for a second, neither of them moved. despite everything, this was still his son and despite everything, this was still his father. there was a complicated kind of silence between them. the kind built from years of things neither of them knew how to say.
“rafe.” he looked over: his father’s expression had softened slightly. “you’re not a bad kid.”
rafe almost laughed. nobody had called him a kid in years. “sure.”
“you just keep trying to prove you are.”
and that was how rafe cameron ended up standing in the middle of nowhere with a duffel bag, a military-issued mindset and absolutely no idea what he was doing.
the farm was nothing like he expected. that was the first problem. he expected some run-down place where he could prove his point, where he could spend a few weeks miserable and come back saying he’d learned his lesson.
instead, it was beautiful. annoyingly beautiful. it wasn't some shitty, run-down barn with flies hovring by the hay, which made it easy to hate and laugh at, no, it was wide open fields stretched out under the morning sky. old wooden fences ran along the property lines. the air smelled like rain and earth and something unfamiliar.
rafe also noticed that when he arrived was that his phone had barely any signal.
“you’re early.”
the voice made him turn. for the first time in a long time, rafe cameron was genuinely caught off guard because standing there was you. there you were. jeans covered in dirt, boots that looked like they’d actually been used, hair tied back. no makeup, no fancy clothes, no trying to impress him.
not what he expected. not impressed, not nervous and definetly not staring at him like he was somebody important. just… looking at him, like he was some random guy who showed up on your property.
“you’re rafe, right?”
his eyebrows pulled together. "yeah."
you nodded, looked at his suitcase, then: “you planning on carrying that around all day or are you actually going to work?”
"wow."
“what?”
“nothing.”
“you definitely meant something.”
he looked you up and down. “you always talk to people like that?”
you shrugged. “only people who show up expecting everyone else to do things for them.”
his jaw tightened. “you don’t know anything about me.”
“you’re right.”
you grabbed another pair of gloves. “but i know what you look like.”
“then why are you dressed like that?”
rafe frowned. “what does that mean?”
“it means you look like you’ve never touched a shovel.”
silence. he almost laughed. the confidence was ridiculous. “i was in the military.”
you paused. “okay?”
and somehow, that annoyed him even more. “okay?” he repeated.
“yeah.”
“you don’t know what that means?”
“it means you’re good at something that isn’t farming.”
“that’s your response?”
“what response did you want?”
he didn't know. he was used to people treating him differently when he told them. the unfirom and services got the repsect. but you weren't disrespecting it nor were you were worshipping it, and he hated it.
your father came out a few minutes later, and rafe immediately recognized the type of man he was. hardworking, quiet, the kind of person who didn’t need to prove anything.
“rafe.”
“sir.”
your father nodded. “your dad explained everything. said you'd work hard”
of course he did. “i’m sure he did. and i do.”
everyone knew what that meant. rafe wasn’t here because he wanted to be, he was here because someone decided he needed fixing. yo
your father didn’t comment which somehow made it worse. “you’ll work like everyone else,” he said. “you’ll wake up early. you’ll learn what needs learning.”
rafe nodded, military instincts kicked in. listen, adapt, easy except this wasn’t the military. there was no structure. no schedule, no clear enemy, just him.
you hated him. not because he was rich or because he was from somewhere else. not because he was military but because he acted like those things made him better.
like the people here were beneath him, like hard work only counted if someone gave him credit for it and that bothered you. you knew people who worked harder than anyone and never got thanked.
the first day was terrible. not because the work was impossible but because rafe had been through worse. he’d pushed himself through things most people would never understand. he knew exhaustion and discpline. but this?
this was different. nobody was telling him he was doing well. nobody was ranking him. nobody was measuring him. there was no achievement. just work and you. you watched him struggle.
he could handle exhausting training. he could handle physical demands. but he could not handle the fact that nobody cared.
“you’re holding that wrong.”
rafe looked up. “i’m not.”
you tilted your head. “you are.”
“i’ve handled worse things than this.”
“then why are you struggling?.”
you rolled your eyes. "you're unbearable."
"nice to know we're bonding."
"we're not."
for some reason, that actually made him smile. just slightly which annoyed you more because you didn’t want him to be charming.
that was the problem. rafe cameron was frustratingly easy to notice. even when he was being arrogant. even when he was complaining. even when he was acting like he belonged somewhere else.
you noticed him. the way he worked harder than he admitted. the way he automatically helped when someone needed it. the way he went quiet when people mentioned family. the way the confidence slipped sometimes.
but then he’d say something irritating again. and you’d remember: right. he’s still rafe cameron.
one evening, after a particularly terrible day, you found him sitting outside. not angry, not complaining, just sitting. you had started to think he only had two settings: arrogant and more arrogant. “you’re quiet.”
"you really hate me, don't you?"
"yeah."
he nodded. "fair."
that was somehow worse. for one second, he didn’t look like the spoiled rich guy. he looked tired and lost, human. hating him was easier when he was impossible, not when you started seeing the real side of him.
“you know,” you said quietly, “being in the military doesn’t automatically make you better than everyone.”
his expression hardened slightly. “i know.”
“do you?”
a long silence. then: “i’m trying.”
you didn’t know what to say. that was the first real thing he’d said since arriving.
rafe was awful. he was arrogant, and spoiled and frustrating but he wasn’t empty. that was going to make forgiving him a lot harder. you couldn’t hate someone you were starting to understand.
and you definitely couldn’t forgive someone you still wanted to fight with every single day.
over the next week, rafe cameron had decided two things about you.
first: you were annoying. second: you were way too comfortable telling him what to do. third: he absolutely did not like the fact that he was starting to look for you every morning.
you hated that you were starting to notice things. that was the first problem. noticing meant caring and caring about rafe cameron was absolutely not something you wanted to do.
especially not after the first week. especially not after watching him stand in the middle of a field, looking at a list of chores like it was an attack. “you’re kidding.”
you didn’t even look up. “what?”
rafe held up the paper. “this is the schedule.”
“yes.”
“this is the entire schedule?”
you finally looked over. “you mean the schedule that tells you what time you wake up, what needs to be done, and when it needs to be done?”
“yeah.”
“that’s usually what a schedule is.”
he stared at you. “there are chores on here.”
“you’re on a farm.”
“i know where i am.”
“do you?”
that earned you a glare. a very rafe cameron glare. the one that probably worked on everyone else. the one that said i’m used to people backing down. unfortunately for him, you were not everyone else. “you can’t just stare at the chickens until they become less annoying,” you said.
“i wasn’t.”
“you were.”
“i was thinking.”
“about?”
“how much i hate chickens.”
you laughed before you could stop yourself and immediately regretted it. his expression changed, not much, just enough like he noticed. or even worse, like he liked hearing it so you looked awyay. “don’t get comfortable.”
“what?”
“you’re still annoying.”
“i was making a joke.” rafe shook his head but you saw it. the tiny almost-smile and it irritated you. you weren’t supposed to find him funny.
he pretended the work didn’t bother him. pretended the early mornings weren’t exhausting. pretended he didn’t care when people talked about him but you knew people. you knew the difference between someone who didn’t care and someone who cared too much.
rafe cared too much. he just hated admitting it.
“you don’t have to prove anything, you know.” you said it without thinking. you were both fixing a fence. well. you were fixing the fence. rafe was standing there, holding a piece of wood like he was trying to understand why it existed.
he looked over. “what?”
“you heard me.”
“i’m not proving anything.”
you gave him a look. "right."
"fuck is that supposed to mean?"
"nothing."
"no, say it."
"you act like every single thing is a test. like if you're not the best at something immediately, it means something about you."
rafe looked away. for once, he didn’t have a sarcastic comment. “you don’t know me.”
there it was. the wall. you recognized it now. every time you got too close to something real, he shut it down. “you’re right.” you went back to the fence. “i don’t.”
maybe that was why he looked at you differently. you didn’t chase after the answer. you didn’t push. you just let him have it.
a few days later, you finally saw the military side of him and you hated how much sense it made. there was an accident, nothing serious. one of the workers slipped while moving equipment, and before anyone else even reacted, rafe was already moving.
not panicked. not scared, just focused. his voice changed. everything about him changed.
“move back.”
everyone stopped. suddenly he wasn’t the arrogant guy complaining about mud. he was someone trained, someone who knew exactly what to do. he checked what happened, called for help, kept everyone calm and you stood there watching him.
that was the first time you understood. the military wasn’t just something he used to make himself sound important. it was part of him. it had shaped him. you had been so focused on the arrogance that you forgot there was a reason behind it. later, when everything was okay, you found him sitting alone.
“you okay?”
he looked up. the fact that you asked seemed to surprise him. “yeah.”
you sat down a few feet away. “you were good today.”
his eyes narrowed. “that sounded painful for you to say.”
you rolled your eyes. “don’t ruin it.”
a small smile. “sorry. you know what’s funny?”
“what?”
“everyone always thinks the military made me this way.”
you looked at him. “made you what way?”
he shrugged. “angry.”
that caught you off guard. “did it?”
he stared out at the fields. “i don’t know.” quiet. “maybe.”
for once, rafe didn’t seem like someone who had all the answers. he seemed like someone trying to figure himself out and that was dangerous.
because it was easier when he was just a jerk.
but then the next morning happened and you remembered exactly why you hated him. “you’re joking.”
you looked at him. “what now?”
rafe pointed at the breakfast sitting on the table. “this is breakfast?”
you stared. “yes?”
“there’s no way.”
your eyebrows lifted. “what did you expect?”
“i don’t know. something normal?”
you looked around. “it’s eggs.”
“and?”
“and toast.”
“that’s it?”
you crossed your arms. “you survived military food.”
“exactly.”
“and?”
“and this is somehow worse.”
you stared at him. then slowly: “get out.”
he blinked. “what?”
“leave.”
“why?”
“because if you insult my mother’s cooking again, i’m going to make you eat outside with the chickens.”
a pause. then: “you wouldn’t.”
“try me.”
he laughed. a real one that made him look younger. less like the person everyone warned you about, more like someone who had forgotten how to be happy.
that night, you lay awake thinking about him which was annoying. rafe cameron was supposed to be temporary. a spoiled rich military guy your dad’s friend dumped on the farm until he learned some manners.
that was it. except now you knew: he was arrogant but he was also loyal. he was frustrating but he cared.
he was impossible but he was trying
you weren’t sure anymore if you wanted him gone.
and that was a problem. rafe cameron was not someone you were supposed to understand. he was someone you were supposed to hate.
“you’re doing that wrong.”
rafe didn’t even turn around. “you say that a lot.”
“you do things wrong a lot.”
“wow.”
“what?”
“nothing. you’re just very supportive.”
you walked over, taking the tool from his hand, “you know, for someone who spent years in the military, you’re weirdly bad at admitting when someone else knows something.”
“i know how to admit when someone knows something.”
“really?”
“yes.”
“okay.”
it began to feel like routine. the arguing. the constant back and forth. the way neither of you could have a conversation without turning it into a competition.
your dad noticed before either of you did. parents always did. “you two fight like you’re married.”
you nearly dropped what you were holding. “absolutely not.”
rafe scoffed at the exact same time. “that’s disgusting.”
your dad just laughed. “sure.”
and that made both of you even more irritated.
the thing was you and rafe understood each other more than either of you wanted to admit.
you both hated being wrong. you both hated looking weak. you both had stubborn streaks that could last days.
the difference was: you had learned to ask for help. rafe hadn’t. and sometimes it showed, like when he injured his hand and tried to pretend it wasn’t bothering him. “give me your hand.”
he looked up. “what?”
“your hand.”
“why?”
“because you’re holding it weird.”
“i’m fine.”
“rafe.”
“i’m fine.”
you stared and he stared back. there it was. that stupid pride. the thing that made you want to shake him. “you know what?” you stepped back. “fine.” you turned away. “bleed all over the equipment. see if i care.”
the first time you saw him genuinely angry at himself, you didn’t know what to do. rafe being angry at other people? normal. rafe being angry at himself? different.
it happened after a mistake. a simple one. something got damaged, and nobody blamed him but he blamed himself. you found him outside later, sitting alone. “you know everyone’s fine, right?”
he didn’t look at you. “i know.”
“then why do you look like someone died?”
his jaw tightened. "i messed up.”
you sat beside him, not too close. you knew better. “rafe.”
“what?”
“you’re allowed to mess up.”
he laughed quietly but there was no humor in it. “you really don’t know me.”
“maybe.” you looked ahead. “but i know you act like one mistake means you’re a failure.”
“you make everything sound easy.”
“it’s not easy.”
“you make it look like it is.”
you looked at him and for once, he looked away first. you hated that moment: not because it was bad but because it was too honest. rafe cameron wasn’t just some arrogant guy who thought he was better than everyone. he was someone who had spent his whole life trying to be enough.
and you understood that which was incredibly inconvenient.
of course, the next day he ruined it. apparently rafe cameron could not go too long without being unbearable. “you’re serious?”
you looked at him. “what?”
he gestured at your outfit. “you’re working like that?”
you looked down. “yes?”
“you’re going to ruin those.”
“they’re work clothes.”
“they’re old.”
you stared. “yes.”
“you could get new ones.”
“why?”
he shrugged. “because you don’t have to wear stuff like that.”
somehow, that made you angry. you knew what he meant. but you also knew what he didn’t understand. “not everyone gets to replace things because they don’t like them, rafe.”
his expression changed. “that’s not what i meant.”
“maybe not.” you grabbed your things. “but that’s what you sounded like.”
and you walked away, leaving him standing there. quiet.
that night, he didn’t argue which was weird. rafe always argued: at this point, it was basically his hobby. but he was quiet. you hated that you noticed. you hated that you wondered if you’d hurt his feelings.
he was rafe cameron, for christ's sake. he was supposed to be impossible, not someone who looked genuinely upset because you misunderstood him.
the next morning, there was a bag sitting outside your door. you frowned. inside were new work gloves. better ones. stronger ones. and a note.
“these aren’t because yours weren’t good enough. they just looked uncomfortable.”
you stared at it. that was probably the closest thing to an apology rafe cameron had ever written. you found him later. “you bought these?”
he shrugged. “yeah.”
“why?”
“cause you needed them.”
“that’s it?”
“what else would it be?”
you looked at him. really looked. and there it was again. the problem. the thing you didn’t want. he cared, in the most rafe way possible. quietly. badly and without knowing how to say it.
slowly, annoyingly, somehow… things changed. rafe learned which chickens were aggressive. you learned he hated talking about himself. rafe learned you always hummed when you worked. you learned he always tapped his fingers when he was thinking. rafe learned you drank your coffee way too sweet. you learned he secretly liked helping when nobody made a big deal about it.
and neither of you admitted that you were becoming friends because admitting that would mean admitting something else. that you liked him, and he liked you.
which was a problem. a huge problem. rafe cameron wasn’t supposed to like someone who made fun of him. you weren’t supposed to like someone who annoyed you every five minutes.
but then there were moments. small ones, dangerous ones, like when you slipped in the mud and rafe caught you before you fell. his hands immediately grabbed your arms.
“careful.”
you looked up. suddenly he wasn’t the arrogant guy who arrived with an expensive suitcase. he was just rafe. tired eyes, soft expression. someone who cared. “you caught me.”
he looked away quickly. “you were falling.”
“still.”
“don’t make it weird.”
you smiled. “you’re blushing.”
“i’m not.”
“rafe.”
“i’m not.”
“you are.”
he was smiling and you noticed.
that night, rafe was lying awake.
thinking about the farm and how much he complained when he arrived. how he’d expected to hate everything and somehow the thing he hated most was the fact that he didn’t.
because this place had started becoming something. a routine. a home. he didn't even know how many days had passed because it just felt like life.
and you… you were becoming someone. someone he looked for. rafe cameron had spent years convincing himself he didn’t need anyone.
then you came along with your muddy boots and your attitude and your complete lack of interest in his reputation. and somehow… you were the first person who made him want to stay.
the problem with rafe cameron was that once he got comfortable somewhere, he forgot how to pretend he wasn’t. unfortunately for him… he was getting comfortable. way too comfortable. somewhere between waking up before sunrise and spending hours covered in dirt, rafe had accidentally become part of the farm which was something he would never admit. especially not to you.
“you’re smiling.”
rafe immediately dropped his expression. “no i’m not.”
you leaned against the fence beside him. “you are.”
“i’m not.”
“rafe, i’ve known you for weeks. i know what your normal face looks like.”
he looked at you. “concerning.”
“your normal face looks like someone offended you by existing.”
“accurate.”
you laughed. “see? there. you did it again.”
“did what?”
“made a joke.”
he rolled his eyes.
“i make jokes.”
“you make sarcastic comments.”
“same thing.”
“you’re exhausting.”
“you like it.”
the words slipped out before either of you could think. suddenly there was silence. rafe looked at you. you looked at him. for a second, neither of you knew what to do. you were right. he did like it. he liked that you challenged him. he liked that you didn’t let him hide behind the attitude. he liked that you could make him laugh when he didn’t even realize he wanted to.
so naturally… he did what rafe cameron did best. he avoided the feeling, cleared his throat, and threw feed to the chickens more aggressively than usual.
the farm had become a competition between you two. everything was a competition. who could finish chores faster who could get the other one to admit they were wrong. who could annoy the other person first. (which was usually you.) “you’re doing that on purpose.”
you looked up innocently. “doing what?”
“singing.”
you blinked. “i’m humming.”
“same thing.”
“you hate my humming?”
rafe immediately looked away. “no.”
“you do.”
“i don’t.”
“you literally just said —”
“i said it was distracting.”
you smiled. he shook his head but he was smiling and you caught it. you always caught it.
your dad noticed before either of you did. parents always did.
especially when two people were convinced they were fooling everyone. one afternoon, he watched rafe hand you a drink without you asking. watched you take it without saying thank you because apparently you had reached the stage where basic manners disappeared. watched rafe pretend he wasn’t waiting for you to smile.
“you two are strange.”
you nearly choked. “what?”
your dad shrugged. “nothing.”
rafe immediately became defensive. “we’re not strange.”
which was why the next week hurt more than it should’ve. things were good, too good. rafe should’ve known better. what was the saying? good things never stayed or lasted. well it was true, especially for him.
the car arrived in the afternoon. you noticed it before he did. a nice car, too nice for the farm. rafe was outside fixing equipment when the woman stepped out. and immediately… you knew.
not because you knew her, but because you knew him. the way his entire body changed. the way his expression closed off. the way the easy rafe disappeared.
“rafe?” the woman smiled. “wow.”
he went still. “sofia.”
your stomach dropped slightly. you had never heard that name but you knew exactly what it meant. sofia. someone from before, someone who belonged to his world. she walked closer. “you look different.”
rafe gave a small, humorless laugh. “yeah. well. things change.”
“your dad told me where you were.”
of course. ward. you watched from a distance, not because you were trying to listen but because you couldn’t seem to make yourself leave.
sofia looked around. “this place is… different.”
“yeah.”
“you always hated places like this.”
rafe looked away. “people change.”
something about the way he said it hurt. suddenly you remembered you didn’t actually know everything about him. you only knew this version. the farm version. the version that laughed with you, the version that argued over stupid things but there was a whole other life.
one you weren’t part of. sofia noticed you. “oh.” her eyes moved between you and him. “who’s she?”
rafe opened his mouth.
and for some reason… you waited. you don’t know why. maybe you wanted to hear what you were. maybe you wanted to know if you mattered but then he hesitated.
only for a second but you saw it and that was enough. your brain filled in the silence.
you weren’t anything. you were just the girl on the farm. the girl who taught him how to hold a tool properly. the girl who made him laugh. the girl who forgot that boys like rafe cameron came with entire histories attached.
you looked away. “i’ve got work to do.”
rafe immediately looked at you. “wait—”
but you were already walking.
“it’s fine.”
it wasn’t, not really, but you weren’t going to stand there and feel like you didn’t belong.
behind you, rafe watched you leave. for the first time since arriving at the farm, he felt like he was losing something. something he didn’t even realize he had.
“rafe?” sofia’s voice pulled him back but he wasn’t looking at her anymore. he was looking at you, walking away, thinking the worst.
he knew exactly why.
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