hots for you (rafe cameron)
dealerRafe! x femReader -
chapter one. wicked games
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description: You need an Ounce from your favourite dealer who never leaves your mind.
warnings ✉️ྀི ⋮ nsfw. minors do not interact !! fem!reader. established relationship (emotionally). slow burn. forbidden relationship. possessive dynamics. emotional angst. strong language. kissing. sexual tension. explicit sexual content. fingering. penetrative sex. dirty talk. mutual pining.
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Living in Chicago wasn’t easy for you.
You were a small town desert girl through and through. The cold weather, the fluctuations, and the big city were all relatively new. But your job moved you here so here you are. While you toured the city, your mind fluttered to Rafe Cameron for some reason. You remember all your summers in OBX.
Once you were a little older, you remember getting pretty high all those summers and Rafe was the go to man. And since he had crossed your mind, you figured you give him a look up. You got home from picking up pasta. Kicking your shoes off, and stripping down to layer one which was a tank top, your undies, and fuzzy socks. As you situated in front of of the TV with some background noise you started looking up Rafe. You had still followed eachother on instagram.
He lives in Chicago now too.
Then the urge to text him came quick. “No. That’s ridiculous,” you whispered to yourself.
But one DM couldn’t hurt right? Maybe we play this the fun way post a semi-thrust trap and see if he slides up? Right? “What the fuck am I thinking?” You say louder to yourself. But an ounce of weed that not an arm and leg from the dispensary? Now that’s something worth checking.
@YFN.LN: hey rafe! it’s y/n wanted to know if your were selling
You sent it and threw your phone immediately. Your half eaten paste sitting on the coffee table, you curled up on the couch— BUZZ
Fuck.
You picked up your phone slowly and see a notification from instagram.
@rafecameron1: hey there gorgeous long time no talk- yeah i got some for you. need me to pull up?
You stared at your phone in shock. Rafe Cameron. THE OBX Golden Boy. Heir to the Cameron Empire.
A small dull warm feeling slowly burning in your stomach. You’re just looking to buy right? He’s a dealer and your need weed. 10 mins your apartment couldn’t hurt right?
@YFN.LN: yeah i live at 1111 Price St. right on the water- park in my drive way
@rafe.cameron: just a few blocks away from me- be there in 5 x
You liked the message and scrambled to do dishes, clean your room and the living room. You threw on some sweat pants and you old high school hoodie. Threw your hair up and took out your contacts when you heard a knock on your door.
You took a deep breath and rushed over to the door. As you opened it, there he was. Towering over you . His blonde hair all gone, clean shaved. Grey sweatpants. THE grey sweatpants, wife beater under his grey zip up.
“Y/N long time no see,” he smiled pulling you into a hug. He smelled like trouble.
He smelled like a god.
His big arms wrapping around your tiny frame, “It’s good to see you too Rafe.” you smiled.
As you pulled away you stepped aside to let him in.
——-
It was definitely awkward. You both sat on the couch both trying to start a conversation but nothing ever came out of your mouth.
Rafe went still for a moment, jaw tightening like he’d said too much—or not enough.
“There’s a reason I’ve kept my distance,” he said quietly.
You looked at him. “You’re sitting on my couch.”
A breath of a laugh slipped out of him, low and strained. “Yeah. And that’s me already losing.”
He leaned in—not sudden, not aggressive—just enough that his shoulder brushed yours. The contact was minimal, but it sent a shock through you anyway. His presence felt heavier now. Settled.
“I know myself,” he continued. “I know what happens when I stop pretending I don’t want something.”
His eyes lifted to yours. Steady. Honest. Almost too intense.
“With you,” he said, “it’s never just one thing.”
Your throat went dry.
“If I let myself get close,” he went on, voice dropping, “I don’t stay in my head about it. I don’t keep it neat.”
His gaze flicked briefly to your mouth—quick, unconscious—then back to your eyes, like he was reining himself in.
“And I don’t want to half-remember you,” he added. “I don’t want another almost.”
The words settled between you, heavy and charged.
You shifted slightly, your knee brushing his again. This time neither of you pretended it was accidental.
He inhaled slowly through his nose. You felt it. The restraint.
“That night,” he said, softer now, “ruined me a little.”
You whispered, “Rafe…”
“Because everything since?” He shook his head. “Has felt like I was comparing. Like I was waiting for something that never showed up.”
He leaned closer—not enough to kiss you, but close enough that his voice was meant only for you.
“I don’t miss a lot of things,” he said. “But I miss how real it was with you.”
Your heart hammered. The space between your faces felt impossibly small.
“And that’s why I’m careful,” he finished. “Because once I stop being careful… I don’t pull back.”
His hand shifted on the couch, close to your thigh but not touching. Not yet.
He met your gaze again, searching. Waiting.
“You feel that too,” he said quietly. Not a question.
The room buzzed with it. The waiting. The want.
And still—nothing happened. But it was getting harder not to.
You tilt your head just enough to meet his eyes.
“Well?” you ask softly, almost amused. “Are you gonna kiss me… or just keep looking at me like that?”Rafe lets out a quiet breath through his nose. A sound that’s half a laugh, half something else entirely.
“You really don’t play fair,” he murmurs.
He shifts closer—not fast, not desperate. One hand comes up, knuckles brushing your jaw like he’s testing the weight of the moment. His thumb lingers near your chin, not lifting it, just there.
“Say it again,” he says.
Your pulse stutters. “Kiss me,”
That’s all it takes.
His mouth finds yours with intent—not rushed, but decisive. The kind of kiss that’s been thought about too many times. His lips are warm, firm, moving against yours like he already knows the rhythm. You melt into it before you can stop yourself.
His hand slides to the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair. He deepens the kiss just enough to make your breath catch, just enough to make your body lean into his without you realizing you’ve moved.
You kiss him back harder.
The world narrows to sensation—his mouth, the scrape of stubble against your skin, the way his chest presses into you when he leans in. Your fingers find his hoodie, fisting the fabric, pulling him closer like instinct takes over.
Rafe groans softly against your lips.
His other hand slides to your waist—strong, grounding—thumb brushing the edge of your hoodie. He’s solid. Steady. Very aware of his size, his presence, the way you fit against him.
The kiss turns heavier. Messier. Breaths shared. Teeth grazing lips. It’s not frantic, but it’s intense—like he’s holding himself right at the edge.
Then—he pulls back.
Just enough to break the kiss.
Your lips part, chasing him without meaning to. He rests his forehead against yours, eyes closed, breathing heavy.
“Fuck,” he mutters.
You blink, still dazed. “What—”
He opens his eyes, dark and focused. Controlled again, somehow.
“If I keep going,” he says quietly, “I won’t stop where I should.”
His hands stay on you, though. One still at your waist. The other still in your hair. He doesn’t pretend he hasn’t felt it—the pull, the heat, the way his body responded.
“But I’ve got a better idea,” he adds, a slow smile tugging at his mouth.
You swallow. “Oh?”
He eases back just enough to stand, rolling his shoulders like he’s resetting himself. Like a man reminding himself he’s grown. That he can choose.
“Let’s make this fun,” he says.
He moves to the counter, pulling out his things with practiced ease. Grinder. Paper. The motion is unhurried, almost ceremonial. He glances at you while he works, eyes lingering like the kiss hasn’t left him.
“You always did like when I took my time,” he says casually.
You roll your eyes.
He rolls the blunt with steady hands—capable, confident—like this is second nature. Like everything about him knows exactly what it’s doing. When he’s done, he looks back at you, expression calm but charged.
“Come here,” he says,
Not commanding. Inviting.
The room still hums with everything unsaid. Everything waiting.
And somehow—that restraint only makes it worse.
——————
You don’t hesitate.
You push off the couch and close the distance, slow enough to feel every second of it. Rafe watches you come to him, eyes tracking you like he’s bracing for impact.
You stop right in front of him.
“Do the honors?” you ask quietly.
He smirks. “Anything for you”
You reach for the blunt first, fingers brushing his. You take a drag—slow, deliberate—eyes never leaving his.
When you step closer, he exhales sharply like he already knows what you’re about to do.
You blow the smoke straight into his mouth.
He doesn’t pull away.
He takes it. Breathes it in with you still that close, lips barely apart, noses brushing. The second the smoke clears, his hands are on you—one at your waist, the other sliding up your back—pulling you in hard.
The kiss is immediate. Heavy. Messy.
No easing into it this time.
Your mouths crash together, open and hungry, smoke still lingering between you as his lips move against yours like he’s done pretending. He kisses you deep, slow but insistent, tongue brushing yours just enough to make your knees weaken.
You make a sound into his mouth without realizing it.
That’s when he groans.
Low. Rough. Like it slips out of him before he can stop it.
He backs you up until your thighs hit the counter, hands gripping your hips, fingers digging in like he needs leverage. He kisses you again—harder—then breaks it just to drag his mouth down your jaw, your neck, teeth grazing skin.
“Fuck,” he mutters, breath hot against you.
Your hands slide under his hoodie, palms pressing flat against his back. He’s solid. Warm. Very aware of himself—of how much space he takes up between you.
He kisses lower. Slower.
Not rushing. Never rushing.
His mouth lingers at your collarbone, then lower, then pauses—right there. His hands slide down your thighs, spreading them just slightly as he steps in closer, body caging yours in without pinning you.
Your breath stutters.
Rafe stills.
He’s right there. Close enough that you feel his breath. His focus. His restraint shaking.
He tilts his head up just enough to look at you, eyes dark, blown wide, jaw clenched like he’s holding himself back by force.
“Say no y/n,” His eyes plead,
“Why?” You choke out,
“Because I am a mess and I’d torture anyone who even breaths your way,” he whispered to you. Even he sounded scared of who he’d become if he was with you.
“Rafe, will you promise to never intentionally hurt me?” You looked at him honestly and caution.
“I would rather be 6 ft in the ground.” He promised.
“Then why the fuck would I want you to stop?” you teased,
He dropped his head to laugh before looking back up at you with hooded eyes and a smirk.
You give him a two quick kisses, but he deepens the second one. Hovering over you claiming your mouth. You two moved together like your souls were made for each other. Your hands move over his shirt, making a map on his skin. He broke the kiss to practically rip off his shirt. The glimpse you caught of his body was like looking at fucking Picasso. He was toned, and bulky.
His lips on yours again gripping your legs to help you on the counter as he steps in between your legs, wrapping them around his waist. His rough hands felt nice moving up and down your thighs. Your heart was racing. IT was slow and intentional. He was trying to take his time and enjoy you again for the first time since OBX.
His lips trailed down to your neck he stopped at your collar bone teasing your nipples through the thin fabric. Your body reacted to his touch. Begging for more. He gently gripped the hem lifting your shirt revealing your tits.
Once your shirt was discarded, he stared at you in awe and with pride. For some reason seeing you naked boosted his ego and for some reason that was turning you on.
He started again with his trail on kisses, taking one of your nipples in his mouth while he pulls down your shorts. Taking his time.
After dropping your shorts he gently brings his hand up your thigh.
“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” He blurts out, turning red after saying it,
And in that moment you did feel beautiful. You felt like that young girl in Tannyhill. You got down from the counter grabbing his hand and the blunt.
You closed the door behind him. As you walked over to your night stand to get out a lighter and ashtray, you lay down on your back. You light the blunt.
You take your hit and open your legs for Rafe. His eyes go wide.
He stands there for a second, caught between reverence and a hunger so raw it makes the air crackle. He doesn’t rush. He sits on the edge of the bed, pants still on, like he’s giving himself a final anchor to the floor. He just stares, and the intensity of his gaze makes you feel completely exposed, more than the simple act of being naked.
“You’re gonna undo me,” he says, his voice a low scrape.You exhale smoke toward the ceiling, a nervous laugh bubbling up.
“We’re already pretty undid, Rafe.”He reaches out, his knuckles—busted and a little swollen, you notice now—skim the soft skin of your inner thigh. The touch is so light it’s almost a question.
You don’t flinch.
You push into it. That's all the answer he needs.His touch becomes deliberate. His eyes don't leave yours as his hand travels higher, the rough pad of his thumb finding the sensitive skin just beside your core. He lets out a slow breath, watching your face for every flinch, every sigh.
He’s mapping you. Learning you all over again.
“Still so fucking responsive,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you.
His thumb strokes a slow, maddening circle, not quite where you need him, just close enough to make your hips tilt off the bed. A silent plea. He smiles, a sharp, knowing thing, and finally lets his thumb slide through your folds.
You’re already wet for him, and he lets out a low groan of appreciation. He pushes the blunt between your lips“Keep that going,” he orders softly, his eyes dropping to watch his hand work.
You take a shaky drag as his thumb circles your clit, once, twice, a firm, slow rhythm that makes your thighs tremble. He presses harder on the third pass, a deliberate pulse of pressure that has you arching off the bed with a choked gasp.
“Yeah you like that,” he says, more a statement than a question, his voice thick. He remembers. He remembers exactly how you like it.
Then he leans down, replacing his thumb with his tongue. It’s a hot, wet, devastating sweep that steals the air from your lungs. Your fingers tangle in his buzzed hair, holding on as he licks into you with a focused, filthy precision.
He doesn't tease. He goes deep, his tongue fucking you in slow, deliberate strokes before returning to circle your clit with relentless attention.The sounds are obscene. The slick noise of his mouth on you, his low hums of satisfaction, your own broken whimpers muffled by the smoke you’re trying not to choke on.He pulls back, his chin gleaming.
“Tastes fucking incredible,” he rasps, his own breathing ragged.
He strips his sweatpants and boxers in one rough motion, his cock springing free, hard and flushed and curved upward against his stomach. You watch, mesmerized, as he strokes himself once, his hand working his length with a grimace of pure need.
“Need to be inside you,” he grits out. “Now.”You stub the blunt out haphazardly, not caring where it lands. “Then get inside me,” you say, your voice wrecked.
He doesn’t need telling twice.
He pushed your thighs back until you’re open, exposed, utterly vulnerable to him. He guides himself to your entrance, the broad head of his cock nudging against you, slick with your wetness and his spit.
“Look at me,” he demands.Your eyes snap to his. Blue like ice, burning like fire. He pushes in. It’s a slow, searing stretch that makes you cry out. He’s big, thicker than you remember, and he gives you every inch with a patience that feels like its own kind of torture.
Your nails dig into his biceps, feeling the corded muscle there strain as he holds himself. When he’s in, he stops, his body trembling with the effort of staying still.
“Jesus,” he breathes, his forehead dropping to yours. “Fuck. Jesus.” He’s so deep you can feel him in your throat.
The fullness is overwhelming, a perfect, aching pressure. You shift your hips, a tiny, experimental movement, and he groans, a ragged, desperate sound.
“Don’t,” he warns, but it’s a plea.
You do it again.
That breaks him.His hips snap back and then drive into you, a hard, deep stroke that punches a sob from your chest. He sets a punishing rhythm, each thrust measured and brutal, designed to hit a spot inside you that makes your vision blur.
“That’s it,” he growls, his words coming in harsh pants against your neck. “Take it. Fucking take all of it.” You can’t speak. You can only gasp, each drive of his hips pushing you higher. He shifts your leg, angling himself deeper, and the new angle makes you see stars.
“You gonna come for me?” he grunts, his pace relentless. “You gonna come on my cock?” All you can do is nod, frantically.
“Fucking say it,” he growls stating slow his thrusts down.
“I’m—I’m gonna cum baby,” You barely say,
One of his hands slides between you, his thumb finding your clit again, rubbing in fast, tight circles perfectly in time with his thrusts.
The dual sensation is too much. Your body coils tight, a scream trapped in your lungs.He feels it. Feels you clench around him.
“Come on, then,” he commands, his voice raw. “Fucking come.”
The world shatters into bright, sharp fragments. Your back bows off the bed as the climax rips through you, wave after convulsing wave, your inner muscles milking his cock in a frantic, rhythmic pulse. You hear yourself crying out, a broken, endless sound.
He fucks you through it, his strokes becoming ragged, losing their rhythm. “Gonna fill you up,” he groans, his face buried in your shoulder. “Gonna fucking fill you, Y/N.”With three final, shuddering thrusts, he stills, a low, guttural roar tearing from his throat as he spills inside you. You feel the hot pulse of him, deep in your core, marking you.
Claiming you in the most basic way possible.He collapses on top of you, his weight crushing and perfect. The only sounds are your combined, labored breathing and the distant hum of the city through your window. His skin is slick with sweat against yours.
Minutes pass. He doesn’t move. You don’t want him to.
Finally, he lifts his head, his eyes softer now, unguarded in a way you’ve rarely seen.
He rolls off of you. “Let me help you clean up baby,” He is now standing holding his hand out.
You smile and let him help you. You both take a quick shower rinsing off before settling back in bed.
“I really did miss you Y/n,” Rafe says while you both lay in the dark as he strokes your hair.
He tucked a piece behind your ear before scooping you into his arms and kissing the top of your forehead.
“I missed you too Rafe,” you said very sleepily.