rafe gets weird about you real fast. like not just "i wanna fuck her" but "i need her or i'll die" levels of obsession. thinks about kidnapping you when he’s high. imagines you tied to his bed in his shitty frat house, crying but still looking pretty, still his.
he watches you sleep sometimes. not even by accident. like you fall asleep on the couch at a party, curled up in a hoodie, and he just sits there staring. hard the whole time. thinking about sneaking his hand between your legs and seeing if you’re wet even in your dreams.
he follows you home after parties. parks down the street. jerks off in the backseat of his truck while he watches the lights go off in your bedroom. says your name under his breath while he cums all over his hand.
steals gross little things from you. a chapstick. a sock. a hair tie you left behind. keeps them in a drawer in his room like trophies. sometimes puts them under his pillow at night and humps the mattress like a desperate, sick puppy.
tries to gaslight you into thinking you’re into him. like corners you at a party and murmurs, "don’t gotta be shy, baby. i see the way you look at me. fuck, you’re makin' me crazy, playin’ hard to get like that. just let me have it, i’ll take good care of u, promise."
fantasizes about breaking you in. not even gently. wants you sobbing, trembling, clinging to him because you’re scared and too sweet to tell him no. thinks about stuffing your mouth full of his fingers so you can't say anything when he ruins you.
leaves bruises on you on purpose. little ones. grips your wrist too tight when he’s drunk and giggling. presses his fingers into your hips when he hugs you goodbye. stares at the marks later and jerks off to the memory, thinking, "mine, fuck, she's mine now."
goes crazy if he sees another guy even look at you. literally loses it. might grab you by the back of your neck at a party and whisper all nasty, possessive shit like, "who's fuckin' girl are you, huh? better fuckin' say it before i make a scene, baby. better say it now."
talks about you like you’re already dating when you're not. calls you "my girl" to his friends. posts blurry pictures of you on his story without tagging you. writes your name on his desk during lectures like a psycho.
secretly dreams about knocking you up. about trapping you. about you getting full with his kid and crying and begging him to take care of you. and he would. he’d be so sickly sweet while he rubbed your belly, whispering about how he’s gonna take care of you forever, how you're never getting away now.
rafe doesn’t just want you. he needs you like a drug. gets shaky and sick without you. thinks about taking you every night, pressing a pillow over your face to muffle your cries while he pushes in raw, whispering, "shhh, it's okay, baby, it’s just me, just makin’ you mine."
fantasizes about catching you drunk and sleepy at a party, scooping you up like a doll, carrying you upstairs and locking the door behind him. stripping you clumsy and rough while you whimper and twitch.
he wouldn’t even wait. he’d be huffing, panting, stuffing himself inside you while you begged him to stop, too high and weak to fight.
he gets hard at the idea of you crying. like not just crying — sobbing, hiccuping, clutching at his shoulders while he fucks you through it. it makes him crazy, makes him kiss your wet cheeks and coo, "feels good, huh? see, baby, your pussy knows who owns it."
he doesn’t use a condom. never would. never even thinks about it. in his sick little brain, you belong to him, and that means filling you up. stuffing you full until you're dripping down your thighs, knocked up, ruined for anyone else.
he presses his hand over your stomach after he cums inside you, panting into your hair, whispering, "gonna get you pregnant. fuckin' breed you like you’re supposed to be. nobody’s ever gonna touch you but me."
he says it over and over until you stop fighting. until you start crying softer. until you just lay there and let him do it again.
would tie you to his bed if he had to. wrist and ankle. keep you there for days. bring you water, kiss your forehead, tell you how good you’re being while he uses your pussy like it’s his personal toy.
gets mad when you cry too much. like after the third or fourth time he’s cum inside you and you’re still sobbing and begging for your mommy or daddy.
grabs your chin rough and growls, "nah, baby, you ain’t got a daddy anymore. you’re mine. i’m the only one that’s gonna take care of you now."
he records it. keeps videos of you broken and shaking and begging. watches them when he’s lonely. jerks off to them with tears in his eyes, swearing he loves you, that it’s real, that you’ll love him back eventually.
in his mind, this isn’t rape. it’s destiny. it’s love. you were just too stupid to see it. but that’s okay. he’ll fix you. he’ll make you understand!!
fake you out // academic loser!rafe x academic weapon!reader
summary ; dark academia au where you are at the top of the school, always getting the best grades and being in the good graces of your teachers, which leads you to gain privileges and power over the academy. and on your opposite side, there is rafe cameron. certified boring loser and pathetic asshole, who is fed up with this stupid system, and always feels the need to make you work harder.
warnings : no kooks/pogues. toxic unbalanced school system. hierarchy. threat. academic pressure/failure. suggestive content but no smut. dark academia aesthetic and classic rules/education. teacher's pet nickname. mentions and threatening of murders. intimidation. slight mention of stalking. be aware of the warnings before reading.
author's note : i will add later, im too lazy.
“ God, you're such a loser, Rafe. ” You muttered under your breath, as you gave him his exam results. “ I would sincerely love to praise you but it's not like you can do anything better. ”
“ F ? You underestimate me ” He replied with a noisy chuckle. “ I can do far worse. ”
“ You like being the last student ? ”
“ I'm fine with your smart ass being above me. ”
The Kildare Academy has always been a prestigious school, well known for having the best students over the island. They had strict rules, and favored a classical and elitist education system, a return to the old one to make this generation full of young prodigies. And you were one of the brightest students in the academy, outshining your classmates and earning a position above the rest. You proudly held the title of leader.
In this establishment, the leaders are considered the dominant ones, those who govern, this means your classmates had no choice but to follow the rules of the ‘ regime ‘ - a system enforced by you and the other two leaders.
As the status indicates, you were one of those who embodied the law, and who enforced it.
These privileges reinforced the school’s strict hierarchy, fostering both inequality and resentment.
You wore the academy uniform, a perfectly ironed white shirt with a pleated skirt that was maybe even a little too short. But you were the mistress of the rules, the head of this unfair system so no one dared to reproach you, not even the teachers who always ensured the good behavior of each of the students.
If you were among the best, it was because you worked hard. It wasn't desire that pushed you to study so much, to stay so late in the library with those endless and quiet shelves of books in the dark silence of the room and the almost discreet murmurs of your classmates, but pressure and fear. You had no right to make mistakes, no dare to be a failure . You were your parents' trophy, the child forced to shine and be perfect to be loved. Without your academic results, you felt like you were worthless to your parents, so it was for this reason, this ridiculous justification that you fought as much as the others, that you refused any level of competition by being the biggest and the best.
It was surely one of the main reasons why you hated RAFE CAMERON so much. You didn't even understand how teachers could be so kind with him when he didn't do anything in class except being an asshole or a troublemaker. He didn't care about being tagged as an academic loser, never beating the lazy ass allegations. always sleeping, making a mess or missing classes. certified cheater, not an A+ mindset, always getting the worst grades, collecting F- like rewards.
He mocked classes but especially he took down every one of your rules. you were everything he hated with your perfect grades, your impeccable know-how and your exemplary behavior. you looked so fake with your smile, and your superior girl ways.
Also, you were his favorite classmate to bully. because you were such an easy target with your exemplary attitude, perfect manners, but also your good girl behavior, always laying your hand up to answer the teacher, asking for homeworks and some insane bullshit.
“ Think you're gonna have a treat for being such a good pet ? ” he mocked you with a soft tone. he was sitting behind you, so his voice just brushed your ears.
“ Think you can be quiet for a damn minute or should i buy you a sweet muzzle to get your mouth shut ? "
He loved calling you a good girl for this sweet puppy attitude of yours, but his favorite nickname for you was teacher’s pet because you've always been so eager to please your professors. But it was always full of annoying sarcasm and dark humor. He especially made fun of your attraction to perfection and discipline.
“Keep staring at me like that and you're gonna be late for school, teacher's pet. ” He commented while you were on your way to classes.
“ Don't take your dreams for reality. I'd rather have my eyes gouged out than have to look at you. ”
"I already have a nice knife in my pocket. How about we make this happen right now since it is your dear fantasy ?”
"Get out of my way, Rafe."
He had smiled at your annoyance, knowing full well that he was blocking your path. He had cut you off with an amused laugh.
"Asked like that? I think you're going to have to be nicer than that if you want to get anything from me. Where are your manners, teacher's pet? "
You had swatted away his hand that had come to grip your chin, putting some distance between the two of you.
"There's nothing you can teach me, Rafe. You know damn well I'm better than you."
"Daddy issues so hard that you're so eager to be called a good girl by some stupid teachers? Tsk, pathetic."
"Mommy issues are so hard that you're so eager to do anything to have my precious attention. Fine, I got it. You had it. Now, can I go to class?”
“ Should fix that skirt before. Isn't it a little too short for a girl whose acting is so prudish and decent ? ” he suggested before clicking his tongue on the tip of his lower lip.
“Aren’t your cheeks too pale, Cameron? Want me to make it blush a little ? ”
“ For someone who hates me, you're very eager to touch me. How do they call it already ? ” His head leaned toward you, before answering his own question with a proud face. “ Opposites attract. But you already know it, smarty pants. That big brain of yours knows everything. ”
And you hated those stupid jokes, but especially that nonchalance. He always had his hands in the pockets of his tweed pants, and his tie completely loosened if not untied. And he didn’t even bother to button the pants of his shirt.
“ Don’t keep yourself frustrated with that look, sweetheart. You're allowed to touch me. ”
You had looked up to catch the arrogant smile on his face. It was fake and indifferent. He was playing with you as he knew so well how to do, knowing perfectly well how much he was getting on your nerves. His blue eyes were shining with a bright flame like a spark crossing his pupils .
“Why can’t you be a good student like everyone else and follow the rules?”
He laughed noisily, stepping more firmly toward you, forcing you to step back until your body had hit the wall behind you. You swore as your books fell to the ground, and when you wanted to pick them up, he had crushed his foot on your pile of books.
“That’s not a good student you want, miss teacher’s pet.”
You were about to answer but he had cut you off. “You want me to be a good dog, to be able to stay on a leash and do what you want with me. But you see... obeying others, barking when asked, nodding... that’s more of a pathetic thing for a sweet pet like you.”
Ouch, that kinda hurts. Your eyebrows had furrowed but you knew that somewhere, he was right. You may have been one of the leaders, but you were the teachers' pet for a reason. You never stood up to them. It was easier for you to pick on your classmates.
"Now." He had started sharply. "Kneel those pretty legs."
"I'm not gonna play your sick games."
"I mean, kneel to take your books back." He mocked you. "What were you thinking?"
"You're so infuriating."
"I know. That's why you're gonna have to work harder if you want me to follow your rules. ”
On another day, when you got up earlier than the others to take your shower because you wanted to be sure to be quiet since everyone was asleep, you headed to the showers reserved for girls. Since there was no one in the hallways, you could afford to walk around in your underwear, plus access was reserved for women so no boys around.
Well... that's what you thought before seeing Rafe and a few other friends' faces in front of the shower door.
When he saw you, he turned his chair back, while sitting down, his legs stretched out on each side in your direction, his arms resting on the edge of the chair. His smirk was too bright, too fake and calculated.
"You're not allowed to be here, Rafe. " You warned in a cold and threatening tone. “ And you know it. ”
“ Do you hear that guys? Teacher's pet told us we couldn't be here...”
“ I just want to shower, Rafe. Don't start a fight. ”
“ And yesterday, I just wanted to go to class but you stopped me because according to you, my uniform was badly worn so that gave you the right to refuse me in class. Some kind of your favorite bullshit, isn't it ? ”
“ Oh, so you want revenge just because you're angry? You know that makes you an even more pathetic person to me ! If you wanted to scare me or impress me, you failed. ”
“You may be a leader with the teachers but here, there is no one, which means that I can do absolutely anything I want to you... And by absolutely anything I want, I can do terrible things...” He had stood up to walk towards you.
There was nothing reassuring in his walk. His shadow was imposing in the darkness as much as his huge size. You were in a totally weak position and you swallowed hard.
“And you know, I'm not really the kind of guy who is good at doing ‘kind things' but believe me... when it comes to doing terrible things, I am much better than you.”
“Are you thinking of something in particular, Rafe?” A black man had answered in the back of the room.
“I can have you fired if you come near me.”
He chuckled before running a hand around his mouth. “You’re unbelievable. Do you really think you’re that untouchable, y/n? Do you know who I am, what family I come from? If there’s anyone untouchable here, it’s me and only me. I could kill you right now.”
You laughed, glaring at him before approaching the tall guy while using the same alarming tone. “You think I’m afraid of you, Rafe cameron? Do you really think you can kill someone? Then, do it. Show me. Don't make me wait with such useless suspens. ”
“Oh sweetheart, this isn’t fun if you want to be prey.” He cut you off with a mischievous look.
“You’re sick.”
“Shut your damn mouth. Don't forget what you're pathetically standing for right here in front of us. I think you're going to have to be a lot nicer, and especially cooperative with us if you want to come by."
"How could you have known that I was going to take my shower right away?"
"I'm disappointed. You're so busy that you don't even notice how much I'm watching you. It's crazy all the things I know about you by looking at you so closely. Starting with the things you like....like that black coffee from the coffee shop, that book that you mark with post-its of all your favorite passages, that boy that you spend your time looking at but who doesn't see you...or we can talk about the things you like to do...in your room...for a girl who claims to be clean, you're dirty, teacher's pet..."
Your jaw was tense. He was going too far. Constantly.
"You're going too far."
He shushed you quickly. “Too far? Come on, I haven't even started yet.”
“I'll report you.”
“Here's the thing, teacher's pet. You should have paid more attention to what I was saying, I've been watching you. Not for a week, but since you were elected leader. So, you can report me but I also have things against you including one thing that wouldn't be good for your reputation. It's about a test..."
And you knew what he was talking about. And you hated the fact that you knew what he was talking about. You caught on quickly and your lips started to tremble, your heart beat to a rapid pulsation, and your skin quivered slightly. It was exactly the same fear you felt when you had to tell your parents about a bad grade. It was nerve-wracking and unsettling.
“Now, I'm gonna smoke. Just a little. And you're gonna watch it and shut your mouth.”
“You're not gonna make her smoke?” Said one of his boys.
“No, I want her to be an accomplice to a school infraction…”
“ You think it's a punishment ? I'm just watching you getting closer to death. ”
But you weren't really there anymore. All you could think about was what Rafe had just told you. You didn't feel good.
You had your eyes glued to him. He had the cigarette in his mouth. He had just lit it, the smoke coming out of his face, blowing quietly around his mouth.
His blue gaze was also on you. He knew that he had beaten you at your own game and that now you wouldn't dare say anything.
You were convinced that what you had done was your secret but it was also his.
It was pure humiliation. And even if you had been able to take a shower at the end, you were unable to stay calm. It was a gratuitous provocation. In the end, all he knew how to do well in this academy.
He was strangely quiet, taking an annoying time to finish his cigarette, knowing that it would obviously get on your nerves.
Frustrated, you had decided to do something you never usually did. Research a student. Rafe. You needed evidence against him, a means of intimidation to turn the situation around. You had to stop him before his little rebellion went too far, and your status faltered. There had to be something to find on someone like him. He was not a nice guy.
After the courses, you had passed the ivy-covered stone walls into the dark corridors of the academy. You had gone to the library that you knew by heart before disappearing into the school archives. All Kildare cases within this establishment were filed inside.
There were a lot. Harassment, theft, violence and fighting, but what had struck you most was the word disappearance. The disappearance of a student.
It was curious. Because no one had ever talked about that here.
You had closed the book with a sharp snap. Just out of curiosity, you had gone to ask the students around you.
“Hey, do you know anything about this girl who disappeared?” you had asked a student.
She had barely looked at you. You didn’t know if she was avoiding you or the question. You had also asked a group of people but once again, no one had answered you. Okay, you could understand that the subject was taboo but from there to not looking you in the eye, leaving and even disappearing, it was clearly exaggerated.
And the last person you wanted to see or question about it had come towards you as you were heading towards class.
"You're not going to ask me what I know? I could help you with your little investigation."
"Oh yes, I'm sure you know something."
He had frowned. "What do you mean?"
"Oh I don't know, you really have the perfect profile of someone who could make a body disappear and act in the most normal way even with blood on your hands. But even if you were the culprit, you wouldn't tell me. It would be too easy."
"What makes you think it would please me to make a poor girl's body disappear?"
"Innocent." You had corrected dryly. "That's good to point out. You have the profile of a guy capable of making the body of an innocent girl disappear."
"What makes you say that, teacher's pet?" He laughed. But that was also hugely fake. "The fact that I threatened you earlier? Let's be serious."
"No, Rafe, it's not your threats."
"So what is it? Just because I'm not the good dog you want me to be?"
You had laughed sarcastically. "Oh but think again, Rafe. You are one of my dogs. I just need to train you properly, and soon you'll be barking my name every time you see me.”
Finally, you had a bit of an answer for him, and he liked it. “Red.”
“Red?” You repeated, puzzled as you looked at him with wide eyes.
“For the color of the leash. But also for your safeword. you know, I tend to bite really hard, teacher’s pet.”
He was so annoying. Even more so when he played along with you. You rolled your eyes. He stared at your lips for a bit, the ice fierce of his blue gaze trailing down the curve of your mouth.
“ Stop staring. ” You warned.
“ So should i kiss ? ”
“ Try it and you're gonna have a free ticket for the infirmary for the rest of the week. ”
The thrilling sound of the academy bell rang to signal that classes were about to start again.
“Your uniform.” You commented. “Put it on properly if you want to go to class. At least tie it.”
“Do it if you care that much about my presence in class.” He scoffed.
“I’ll rather strangle you with that tie.”
“Sounds more like a kink than a threat. You really want to kill me, don’t you?”
“About that...”
You approached cautiously, lifting yourself up on the tips of your loafers until you could feel his breath on your neck, before making his tie. You were so close that Rafe wanted to tear his hands off because the temptation to wrap them around your waist was growing harder. Instead, he’d let your fingers slide around his tie, your mouth so close to his that every breath you took was a caress on his. He hung on your lips, waiting for a word to come, rather than a tempting breath. It was hard.
Hard to play your game when you were too close.
“I’m sure it’s your fault. People avoid me when I talk about that girl, so someone’s pressuring them not to say anything. And you’ve always made sure to tell me how untouchable you are, Rafe Cameron.”
You finished tying the knot, moving on to the buttons of his shirt, knowing full well the effects of this proximity on him. That was why you took your time, so he could feel every touch of your fingers on his body.
"But untouchable doesn't mean unbeatable. It means you can fall, and believe me, not only would I witness your fall, I would have participated in it. You're not a king child, Rafe Cameron. And you and I both know it."
He swallowed hard, very hard.
He grabbed your hand, stopping you from doing the last button.
"Enough."
"What?" "
He leaned in, his lips so close to your ear that you could feel the quiver of his breath against your earlobe. Now that he was in a position of strength against your small size, he was no longer destabilized. “Be careful because I already have an advantage over you.”
“You don’t scare me.”
“I can see you shaking.”
“That’s because you’re too close to me.”
“It’s the perfect proximity to make you the next body to disappear, teacher's pet.”
You never swallowed so hard in your life after his sentence.
summary: nerdy, loser rafe cameron still has a crush on marlena and it gets out of hand, well…
warnings: masturbation
part one
It’s Saturday night and Rafe’s been playing League for two hours straight.
Correction: he’s been losing for two hours straight.
The scoreboard is humiliating.
He’s feeding. His teammates are toxic. His jungler flamed him in all chat.
And honestly? He deserves it.
Because his head isn’t in the game.
It’s at the bookstore.
More specifically, it’s on her.
Marlena.
Marlena with the sharp eyes and pretty mouth. Marlena who touched his thigh like it wasn’t a big deal and smirked when he turned red like a boiled lobster. Marlena who called him Rafael and made it sound like a secret.
He’s supposed to be grinding.
But instead, he keeps seeing the way her tank top rode up when she stretched.
The tiny flash of panties.
The sound of her laugh when Benji called him out for hovering.
He groans and faceplants on his keyboard. “I’m such a fucking idiot.”
He forgot his card at the register that first time. She had to chase him outside with it. He thought he was going to die on the spot.
And yet—he went back.
Twice.
No reason. No new releases.
Just vibes.
Just her.
Last time, he bought a random Aquaman issue. He doesn’t even like Aquaman.
He’s obsessed. He knows it.
Benji knows it too.
The little gremlin had smirked at him and said, “You really like that bookstore, huh?” like he wasn’t thirteen years old and way too observant.
Rafe sighs and slumps in his chair, the LOL client still open, blinking Defeat.
Yeah. He’s losing.
But the worst part?
He’s planning to go back Tuesday.
Again.
For a comic he doesn’t need.
From a girl who’s probably laughing at him behind the counter.
And maybe—just maybe—he hopes she flirts with him again.
Just a little.
Just enough to keep him completely destroyed.
He’s mid-rant to Benji over Discord, talking about how technically his lag was to blame for that last League match, when it happens.
Buzz.
His phone lights up.
MARLENA 📚: Look what just came in 😉
Rafe freezes.
Heartbeat: immediate.
Hands: clammy.
Mind: absolutely blank.
He opens the message.
And sees her.
Marlena, in the bookstore, clearly taken just minutes ago. She’s wearing a loose grey tank—thin enough to show the soft curve of her chest and the very clear outline of her nipples beneath the thin little bra. One strap has slipped down her shoulder like it’s been personally instructed to murder him. She’s holding the new comic Benji’s been freaking out about—just two fingers, cover toward the camera.
But it’s not the comic Rafe’s looking at.
It’s her smirk.
It’s the way her hair is messy like she’s been lounging in bed.
It’s the sheer knowing in her eyes.
MARLENA 📚: You can come get it if you want.
He doesn’t even finish the match.
He fumbles to his feet, headset still half-on, knocking his knee against the desk as he walks backward toward his bed, eyes locked on the photo like it’s the Rosetta Stone.
His breath catches.
He drops onto his mattress like he’s been shot.
Benji’s voice is still coming from the headset:
“Yo? Rafe? Did you die again?”
Yes.
Yes, he did.
He stares at the message again.
Re-reads it ten times.
Zooms in on the comic like that makes him more innocent.
Fails. Miserably.
This isn’t just a “your order’s ready” text.
This is a test.
A trap.
An invitation.
His thumbs hover over his keyboard for a solid three minutes.
What do you even say to that?
Cool. I’ll come?
Nice tank top?
You’re trying to end me and it’s working???
Instead he just sends:
NERDY BOY 🤓: be there in 10.
And then stares at it in horror.
Ten?? Ten is too eager.
He should’ve said twenty. Or not replied at all.
He’s such a loser.
He’s already grabbing his hoodie and putting deodorant on twice. And then he grabs a random comic from his shelf—no reason, he just needs something to hold.
He’s not even gonna read it.
He’s going to the bookstore.
To get a comic for Benji.
And probably die.
The bell above the door jingles.
Rafe steps inside.
And she’s there.
Behind the counter, exactly like she promised.
Tank top and all.
Marlena looks up, and the second she sees him, her lips curl into this knowing smirk like she knows exactly what that photo did to him.
Rafe almost trips.
Literally.
His foot hits the corner of a display and he has to awkwardly play it off like he meant to do that.
“Hey,” she says, all cool and calm, like she didn’t nearly murder him over text. “Came for the comic?”
Came for you, is what he wants to say.
But his mouth is dry and his brain is mush, so all that comes out is: “Yeah. Benji, um. He’s excited.”
She raises a brow. “Is Benji the excited one?”
Rafe doesn’t answer. He can’t.
Because she steps out from behind the counter with the comic in hand—same one from the photo—and he can’t look at her face because his eyes betray him instantly.
They drop.
To the tank top.
Thin grey cotton. Thin little lace bra.
Her nipples are still visible through the fabric, perked and sharp in the cool store air.
He tries not to look, tries to focus, but the way the shirt clings to her curves—it’s over for him.
She’s talking. Something about the distributor being late again. He nods. “Totally. Yeah. They suck.”
He doesn’t even know who they are. He’s just praying she doesn’t notice the way he keeps shifting on his feet, adjusting his hoodie lower.
His blood is rushing to the worst possible place.
His hands are stuffed in his pockets. His posture screams panic.
She hands him the comic—slowly, purposefully.
Their fingers brush.
He swears he hears a dial-up tone in his head.
“You good?” she asks, biting her bottom lip like she’s trying not to laugh.
Like she knows exactly what’s going on with him.
He clears his throat. “Yeah. I’m—fine. Just hot. I mean, cold. Cool. Whatever.”
She leans forward on the counter, arms pressed together, giving him a front row seat.
“Sure,” she says, teasing. “You look… flustered, Rafael.”
And God help him, he is.
Her fingers drift across the keyboard, slow and deliberate, nails tapping each key with soft little clicks as she rings up the comic.
Like she’s got all the time in the world.
Like she doesn’t notice the way his eyes keep darting from her hands… to her chest… to anywhere but her eyes.
But she definitely notices. She does it on purpose.
“Cash or card?” she asks, not looking at him just yet.
Still typing. Still calm. Still dangerous.
Rafe swallows hard. His tongue feels like it’s been replaced with cotton.
She says it so casually, but it hits him like a sucker punch.
Because her voice drops just a little when she says it.
Low. Smooth. Teasing.
And the way her fingers move?
Delicate. Precise. Like she’s touching something more important than a register.
His brain goes blank.
There’s blood in all the wrong places.
He finally clears his throat and manages, “Uh. Card.”
But it comes out like a question. Like he’s not even sure.
She smirks.
Finally looks up. And her eyes shine with amusement, like she’s watching him struggle on purpose.
“Same one as before?” she asks, tilting her head just a little—soft curls falling into her face, tank top still a goddamn threat to his sanity.
He nods.
Way too fast.
“Cool.” She slides the comic toward him with just her fingertips, slow and sensual like it’s a glass of wine and not some foil-covered Batman issue.
Her fingers brush his again.
Again.
And she lets them linger.
Just for a beat.
Just long enough to watch his brain short-circuit.
Marlena hands him the bag. Her fingers graze his again—on purpose, he knows it now—and she watches him like she’s got a whole script written out in her head and he’s just bumbling along the lines.
She lingers.
Just a moment longer than necessary.
And then, with a lazy little smile pulling at the corners of her mouth, she says it: “You’re cute.”
Rafe short-circuits.
Totally freezes.
Like a deer in headlights.
If the deer was rock hard and trying to act normal in a public place.
Then she hits him with the kill shot: “You got a girlfriend?”
She says it lightly, almost like a joke, her voice dancing at the edge of a laugh.
She’s teasing him.
Clearly.
But Rafe? Rafe takes it completely seriously.
His mouth opens. Then closes. Then opens again.
“No,” he blurts, like it’s a confession. “I mean—not right now. I mean, I’ve, uh… dated. Like. Girls. Before. But not—right now.”
He’s rambling. She knows it. He knows it. The whole bookstore knows it.
And Marlena? She smiles. Leans her elbow on the counter, chin resting on her hand, eyes bright with amusement.
“I was just messing with you,” she says, clearly trying not to laugh. “But… good to know.”
Rafe looks like he’s just been told he won a prize and also that he’s naked on live television.
“Cool,” he says, voice cracking just slightly. “Cool cool cool.”
Then he walks backward. Into the door. Forgets how doors work.
She opens it for him
“Bye, Rafael,” she sings.
Like she knows he’s going to think about this moment for the next 72 hours straight.
And he will.
Oh, he does.
He barely makes it to his room. No waiting for the house to quiet down, no pretending to be “just tired.”
The second his door clicks shut behind him, Rafe locks it without a thought, drops his backpack, and pulls out his phone.
There she is. That damn photo.Marlena.In her grey tank top. Nipples obvious even through the soft fabric. That little smirk. The comic still in her hand like it’s an invitation spelled out in pixels.
His body reacts before his brain can catch up.
His heart pounds and his cheeks burn.
His jeans suddenly feel way too tight.
He’s big.
Pulsing.
Sensitive.
He doesn’t even try to stop it.
He lies back on his bed, phone propped on his chest, and imagines—no, knows—it’s her.
Her, kneeling right there in the bookstore, smiling up at him like he’s the only person in the world.
His fingers tremble as they find the edge of his waistband, pulling down just enough to free his dick.
He strokes himself slowly, again and again, each movement sending sparks through his skull.
He’s fully aware of how pathetic this is.
A grown man, alone in his bedroom, jerking off to a comic-shop selfie.
And yet he can’t stop.
He breathes out a ragged moan—loud in the silent room—then winces, slapping a hand over his mouth.
Loser, he thinks, scolding himself as his heartbeat hammers in his ears.
You’re nothing but a pathetic mess.
But it doesn’t slow him down.
His hand picks up speed.
He closes his eyes and pictures her—her fingers on that keyboard, the way her tank clings to her skin, how she laughed that time he tripped.
He’s lost in the fantasy.
When it finally ends, he slumps back against the headboard, panting, clothes disheveled.
He breathes in the quiet, the glow of his phone illuminating tears of shame he won’t admit are there.
That’s right, he tells himself. A total loser.
And somewhere, deep down, he knows he’d do it all again in a heartbeat.
HEAVILY inspired by buffalo 66, slight 18+ warning, minors dni, i just needed to get this out of my system
topper was bringing a girl, kelce was bringing his, while rafe did not have a single date to this party. he could not go to his first party back from college without a girl by his side. he would look like a complete loser. rafe had talked so much about his apparent “girlfriend” to his friends over the phone that it would be way too weird if she didn’t show up. well, rafe was fucked because there was no girl—
until now.
“weird that no one wants to date you. you’re pretty cute, y’know that?” you’re leaning over the console with a smirk on your face, looking at the stranger you met a day ago who flew you out to north carolina to be his girlfriend. “shut your mouth and keep lookin’ straight for me.” rafe grumbles, he wouldn’t even spare you one glance. his eyes were locked on the road.
“talking a lot for someone who paid for a girlfriend.” you leaned back and crossed your arms, raising an eyebrow at him for his very grouchy behavior. the way he’s so tense right now, his hands gripping the steering wheel tightly, makes you amused. “yeah— well,” he lets out a chuckle out of nothing but pure annoyance, cocking his head to the side while rubbing his jaw, “you accepted it.” that went in one ear and out the other. “are you a virgin?” you want to mess with him more, his reactions were just too funny. how far could rafe be pushed? the answer is: not far. he quickly pulls the car over and violently grabs your face in his hand. “quit it with that shit, i mean it. what’d i say huh?” rafe taunts you, that reaction definitely tells you the answer.
“c’mon doll, you want your money? gotta behave first.” he shoves your face to the side and gets back onto the road. it was almost absurd how arrogant this guy acted. you let out a small chuckle that makes rafe glance at you, “what’re you laughin’ at?”
“nothing.” you shrug and his jaw clenches from how much attitude you’re giving him. rafe lets out a exhale, lowering his free hand. “listen. you’re gonna act proper, alright? you’re gonna pretend to be my girlfriend and you’re gonna act well. no drinking or i swear—“ you interrupt his words with a quick but not very genuine okay that makes rafe suspicious. you promise to him that you won’t get crazy drunk or do anything and rafe decides to believe you. for now.
────────*𑁍༘⋆ ────────
rafe should’ve known. you’ve never listened to him in the past 24 hours since he snatched you up from campus. “i paid you to be a good girl not fuckin’ trouble.” rafe scowls, tossing your plastered body on the hotel bed. he didn’t want to bring you to his family’s house with you blackout drunk. rafe would rather die.
you’re giggling like a manic over nothing. no thoughts in your head with the amount of shots you took. you were a hit with his friends, at least in your opinion. so what if you might’ve gotten a bit carried away?
you accept being tossed around by rafe and lay down with your hair sprawled out on the sheets, all intoxicated. rafe roll his eyes at you, grabbing a water bottle from the fridge and pulling you back up to a sitting position. “drink some water, c’mon. don’t make this hard for me.” he tugs your hair back as gently as he can (it’s not at all gentle) and tilts the water into your mouth.
rafe puts the water away once you swallow it down, wiping away the water that drips down your chin. he’s so close to you so you take the opportunity to fist the collar of his shirt and drag him down to meet your lips. rafe was obviously caught off-guard and he stumbles on top of you. his eyes were wide open in shock, his hands reach over to push you away but then suddenly the position changes.
“rafe, don’t you wanna know what sex actually feels like?” you look down at him, now sitting on top of him while he’s laid down. rafe is speechless, licking his lips in anxiety or desire? he didn’t know either. his hands instantly grasp your waist when you start to grind on him. rafe doesn’t even try to shove you off. it’s like his mind just suddenly shut off.
“you’re drunk.” he pants out, holding back a groan from the friction of your two bodies. rafe is trying his hardest to hold back, however, when you lean down to kiss his neck: he’s gone. “c’mon rafe, you don’t want your friends to find out you're a virgin do you?” his eyes close instantly as a grunt slips past his lips, his breath becoming shorter. you’re like a damn siren to him.
he’s gotta get out of here.
“okay— i.. okay. i’ll give you what you want, you happy? just get up for a second. i need to take off my clothes.” rafe pushes you off him before you try anything else. you don’t really protest except for a small scoff. rafe makes sure to keep his eyes on you while he unbuckles his belt. it slides right out of his loops and suddenly before you can process it, the belt is around your wrists. rafe ties your hands behind your back with the belt, making sure it’s extra tight.
“this is what you’re into?” you chuckle, squirming around to see if you could get out but it was no use. that belt was not gonna budge any time soon. rafe lets out an exhale once he’s sure that you’re trapped. “you— stay there.” he walks off to the bathroom to handle the problem in his pants that you caused, not listening to your complaints while he steps away.
luckily for him since you were so inebriated, you were asleep when he came back out. rafe sat all night on the uncomfortable chair in the corner of the room that will definitely makes his back ache the next morning. he couldn’t fall asleep at all. his mind too busy thinking about you and your pretty face. rafe was going crazy.
rafe cameron did not lose his virginity that night but next time, you’re gonna make sure that you’ll be his first.
IM LATE TO KINKTOBER BUT I GOT ONE FOR YOU incel streamer! rafe + girly! reader + dacryphilia (i just miss them so this can be anything) maybe like reader is reacting to sad tiktoks on her stream and rafe is watching her getting off on it😭 because he’s a freak tbh
you’re perched in front of your pastel-pink setup, fairy lights twinkling behind, your chat blowing up as you scroll through tiktok. “okay guys, this one’s supposed to be super sad,” you giggle at first, but then the video hits—some poor puppy getting abandoned, and bam, your eyes well up. tears start slipping down your cheeks, smudging that glittery highlighter you spent forever on.
“oh my god, why do they make these?” you sniffle into the mic, wiping at your face with the back of your hand, but it just makes you cry more.
your viewers are eating it up, spamming hearts and “aww baby” in the comments, donating bits to “cheer you up.” you don’t notice the one username that’s always lurking, never chatting, just watching.
rafe’s screen name is something dumb and anonymous, he’s there every stream. dude’s in his dark room, energy drinks scattered around, his own stream offline for once ‘cause he can’t miss this.
he leans back in his chair, hand slipping down as he zooms in on your face. those tears, fuck, they get him every time. shiny tracks down your flushed cheeks, the way your lashes clump together, lips quivering as you try to laugh it off. “shit,” he mutters to himself, breath ragged, stroking faster.
you’re not even trying to be sexy, just reacting to dumb videos, but that’s what twists him up—the innocence, the realness. he imagines being there, thumbing away those tears, or better yet, making you cry harder.
Haii this is my first time requesting something for anyone, kinda nervous!
But I was wondering if you could do Incel!streamer!Rafe x Girly!streamer!reader, where the reader makes Rafe play dress to impress or vice versa!
No rush or anything I’m just bored😭
incel!streamer!rafe playing dress to impress with girly!streamer!reader ᥫ᭡.
“ok so like, we have to get dressed super fast and then the audience votes on who served the hardest,” you explain softly, clicking through skirts with hearts in your eyes. “and the theme is ‘date night’ so make sure you pick something cutesy.”
on the other side of the screen, rafe looks like he’s being held hostage. hoodie pulled up, camera angled just enough to cast a shadow over his face. lips parted like he wants to say something—maybe “kill me”—but can’t because you’re giggling.
💬 user6658: HE LOOKS LIKE HE’S GONNA THROW UP 😭😭😭
💬 cameronfan09: he’s playing the dress up game. we won
💬 lipstickdeity: i swear he likes this
“this is so—” he starts, then cuts himself off when your avatar pops up on his screen.
your character is in a baby pink minidress with white gloves and glitter heels. she’s holding a plush heart purse and blowing a kiss. he chokes.
“seriously….?”
you smile sweetly. “i had that outfit saved already, it’s like, my third fave.”
he doesn’t respond. just stares.
💬 RAFEslayhouse: you good bro?
💬 n0respect4women: nah he’s COOKED. she got him smiling fr
💬 crymoredaddy: they look cute together ngl
💬 00narcissist: do NOT let him win this. gatekeep the runway.
the timer beeps.
“ok now it’s your turn,” you say, turning your attention to his screen. “you have to pick a top and a bottom and like… accessories. i’ll help!!”
“no,” he says flatly. “i’m not putting my guy in a fucking skirt.”
“but the leather mini looks so good with the fishnets,” you pout.
his jaw flexes.
you rest your cheek in your hand, tilting your head. “rafe. be honest. you don’t wanna disappoint me, do you?”
he doesn’t say anything. but suddenly his mouse is moving.
click. click. click.
black pleated skirt. silver belt. boots.
black crop top that says heartbreaker in rhinestones.
you gasp.
“…wait you ate that up actually”
💬 guylikerafe: NOT THE CROP TOPPP
💬 pinktoxiccandy: he def has a saved look too don’t let him lie
💬 shygirlfolder: he’s so whipped. this is embarrassing
💬 user9000: he’s playing dress up in silence. someone check his blood pressure
rafe’s character walks the runway.
you’re clapping, voice breathless with excitement. “he’s WORKING IT!! look at the lil strutttt!!”
he mutes his mic for like 10 seconds. no one says anything. then:
💬 toxic4babies: HE HAD TO BREATHE LMFAOOOO
💬 necktatking: nah mute button = full spiral
💬 notagirlpromise: wait… why is this kinda hot
💬 1-800-urbabymom: if they don’t fuck after this i’m suing
the scores come in.
your avatar wins, but rafe gets second.
he leans back in his chair and mutters, “this game is fucking stupid,” while his chat explodes with hearts and your username spammed next to his.
you giggle and lean toward the mic. “he liked it. i can tell.”
he glares.
but doesn’t deny it.
💬 xxraferulesxx: he’s already logged back in on his alt
💬 girlyrafeedits: she broke him and i love her for it
💬 hearts4hate: this is the enemies to lovers pipeline and i’m HERE FOR IT.
you pick him the way some people pick a stray cat — not because he wants you, but because you’ve decided he’s yours.
rafe cameron, transfer student. always in the back of lecture, hood up, jaw tight. the type of boy who looks like he’s holding a grudge against the whole world. he’s handsome in that tense, bad-tempered way, but clearly broke, clearly bitter, clearly trying not to exist.
most people take the hint.
you don’t.
the first time you speak to him is in the hallway after class.
he’s digging in his backpack, earbuds in, when you tap his arm.
“you dropped this,” you say, holding out a pen you found on the floor.
his eyes flick from you to the pen and back again. “…thanks.”
“you’re welcome.” you keep smiling at him, watching the discomfort pool in his face.
he doesn’t smile back.
you like that.
—
it starts small.
you change your seat in lecture so you’re two rows closer. you time your coffee runs to match his, standing in line right behind him and asking about his order like you’re just curious. you start wearing your hair the way you did the first day he looked at you for more than three seconds.
he never says much, but he starts noticing you. you can tell by the way his eyes flicker to you in class, quick and sharp like he’s trying to catch you doing something.
you let him catch you.
the first time you follow him home, it’s raining.
he takes the back streets, hood up, headphones in, cutting through alleys until he disappears into a crumbling apartment building on the edge of campus.
you write down the address in your notes app.
by the end of the week, you’ve figured out his schedule — when he leaves for class, when he’s gone for groceries, how long he showers.
the lock on his apartment door sticks if you jiggle it.
you’re inside in under a minute.
his place smells like laundry that’s been left too long in the washer — damp and sour. there’s barely anything on the walls, just stacks of paper and a bed that looks like it hasn’t been made in months.
you touch everything.
the lighter on his desk. the hoodie hanging on the chair. the mug by his bed that still smells faintly of coffee.
you open drawers, find receipts, loose change, a half-empty pack of gum. you pocket the gum and the lighter.
before you leave, you pull the hoodie over your head and look at yourself in the mirror.
—
the first time he notices something’s off is in class.
you’re wearing his hoodie — too big, sleeves covering your hands.
his eyes stick on it like they’re glued there.
“cute, right?” you murmur when the lecture ends, brushing past him.
he doesn’t answer.
—
it escalates fast after that.
you start slipping notes into his bag during class.
i like your hair when it’s messy.
you smell like soap today.
you left your window unlocked again.
you text him from an unknown number: nice boxers.
when he ignores you, you send a photo — him in his kitchen, shirtless, drinking water.
he catches you two weeks later.
you’re sitting on his bed, flipping through the notebook he keeps shoved in his backpack, when the door opens.
he freezes in the doorway. “…what the fuck are you doing?”
you glance up like you’ve been caught reading a magazine. “waiting for you.”
“how did you even get in?”
you tilt your head. “door was unlocked.”
his jaw tightens. “bullshit.”
you smile. “fine. i made a copy of your key.”
he takes a step toward you. “give it to me.”
“no.” you close the notebook gently, set it on the bed beside you. “you know, you’ve got some really interesting thoughts in here. especially the ones about… women.”
his face goes pale.
“imagine if the wrong person read those,” you say softly. “wouldn’t look good for you.”
he swallows. “you’re insane.”
“maybe.” you stand, brushing past him on your way to the door. “but i’m not wrong.”
after that, he stops telling you to leave.
you show up at his apartment whenever you want. you sit at his table while he eats. you lean over his shoulder while he works, your chin resting on his hoodie-clad arm.
he still doesn’t talk much, but you notice the way his body tenses less when you touch him now.
sometimes, when you catch him staring, you smile slow — just so he knows you’ve noticed.
—
one night, you let yourself in while he’s asleep.
you climb into his bed, curling against him like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
he stirs, voice thick. “what are you doing?”
“warming you up.” your fingers slide over his stomach, resting there like you belong.
“get out.”
you press your mouth to his ear. “if you make me, i’ll scream. and when the cops come, i’ll tell them you begged me to stay. who do you think they’ll believe?”
his breathing goes sharp.
you smile into his neck. “good boy.”
—
the thing about boys like rafe is they think they’re hard to.
but you know better.
you just have to make sure there’s nowhere left for him to run.
and by the time you’re done with him, there won’t be.
hii idk if you've done this but i'd love to see your take on like nerd!rafe putting mean popular reader in her place! (btw your writing is soso good sexist!rafey is literally my man my man)
“extra credit” — dark!nerd!loser!rafe
you always thought he was a loser.
pale, quiet, eyes always flicking to your thighs in lecture like he didn’t want to be caught. like he didn’t already know what color your panties were. because he did. he had pictures. cameras. notes. you made fun of him once—laughed when he dropped his pen in front of you and blushed when you bent over to pick it up.
you thought that power was yours.
but now you’re tied to a chair in his apartment—nails broken, mascara smudged—and he’s standing over you with a smug, patient smile, like he’s finally solved a math problem that’s been bothering him for years.
“you thought you were better than me,” he says softly, like he’s explaining it for a class. “just because you’re pretty. because you’re loud. because you got fingered in the frat house bathroom by some lacrosse player who probably can’t even spell his own name.”
he crouches. grabs your chin. forces you to look at him.
“but guess what, sweetheart?”
he leans in, breath warm against your cheek.
“i aced every class. i got into med school. and you are just a scared little slut in my basement now. so who wins, huh?”
you try to spit in his face. he laughs.
and then he backhands you. not hard. just enough to make your lip split, just enough to make you cry. and it’s so satisfying when you do.
“there she is,” he murmurs, tracing the blood with his thumb. “my little project. finally ready to learn.”
