possessive!bf!rafe who adores it when you wear those tiny, slutty outfits. but the second someone even glances your way, his jaw tightens and his hand is on your lower back pulling you closer like he’s saying, yeah, she’s mine.
possessive!bf!rafe who always has to be touching you in public, with his hand wrapped around yours, fingers hooked into your belt loop, arm draped over your shoulders like he physically cannot stand the idea of there being an ounce of space between you.
possessive!bf!rafe who calls you “my girl” in that low voice of his, especially around other people, like he needs it to be known.
possessive!bf!rafe who gets a little smug when you instinctively lean into him, like yeah, you know exactly where you belong.
possessive!bf!rafe who pretends to be annoyed when you tease him, but the second you wander even a few steps away, he’s watching you like a hawk until you’re back near him.
possessive!bf!rafe who doesn’t like when other guys make you laugh too much, suddenly pulling you into his side with a tight grip and muttering something like, “you’re funny, but not that funny.”
possessive!bf!rafe who acts like he’s in control to others, when you both know he’s at his knees for your every want and need.
possessive!bf!rafe who goes quiet instead of loud when he’s jealous, jaw clenched, eyes locked on whoever’s looking at you a second too long, then suddenly you’re being pulled into his chest, his hand gripping your hip just a little too tight.
possessive!bf!rafe who tilts your chin back toward him mid convo if your attention drifts too long somewhere else, thumb pressing just enough for you to feel it. “focus.” his hand on your thigh under the table, thumb brushing higher and higher just to remind you he’s there
possessive!bf!rafe who gets that dangerous little smirk when someone flirts with you, like he almost wants them to keep going just so he has a reason to step in.
possessive!bf!rafe who leans in close to your ear when he’s jealous, voice low and controlled, but there’s an edge to it: “you done entertaining him?”
possessive!bf!rafe who doesn’t like when you’re out without him for too long, not in an obvious way, but your phone lights up with his name more than usual in short texts like “you good?” “where are you now?” “send me your location”
possessive!bf!rafe who keeps things you’ve left behind, hair ties, lip gloss, any random little thing and doesn’t even realize it’s weird, just likes having pieces of you around when you’re not there.
possessive!bf!rafe who watches your reactions more than anything. what makes you laugh, what makes you blush, what gets your attention, and if someone else manages to get that out of you? he doesn’t let it happen twice.
possessive!bf!rafe who doesn’t ask for reassurance, but you can tell when he needs it by the way he hovers closer, the way his touch lingers longer than usual, like he’s silently asking you to remind him. and he softens instantly when you reassure him without him having to ask.
possessive!bf!rafe who gets this dark, satisfied look when you choose him in front of other people, like it feeds something in him he doesn’t fully understand.
possessive!bf!rafe who doesn’t just want to be your boyfriend, or husband one day. he wants to be the only person you instinctively turn to, the only one you rely on, the only one you would ever need. he’s fixated on you, in every sense of the word. the way you talk, the way you move, the way you look at him, like it’s all his favorite thing to study.
Engaged to Rafe. Ensnared by his plans. There's no pause button on forever.
The drive back is quiet, the kind of quiet that makes your thoughts louder. Rafe's hand stays glued to your thigh the whole way, thumb brushing circles into your skin as if he's grounding you there, locking you in place. Your phone is still buzzing in your lap from the group chat you left on read. Sarah's last message still hands at the top. Are you sure about this? Please call me.
You stare out the window, the salt of the weekend still in your hair, the ring still heavy on your finger. You can still hear JJ's voice, low and angry, calling Rafe a manipulator.
Rafe's grip tightens slightly. “Don't do that.” he murmurs, eyes still on the road.
“Do what?”
“Get lost in your head. We're not going backwards.” He glances at you, smirk flickering. “We're here now. All in, remember?”
You nod, but the echo of Sarah's concern presses against your skull.
By the time you're back at Tannyhill, Rafe's whole demeanor shifts again. He's back to beaming, bustling, opening doors, taking your bag, kissing your forehead. You've seen it enough to know what it is, his version of an apology.
“C'mon,” he says, pulling you inside. “Let's start making plans.”
“Plans?”
“For the wedding.”
Your heart jolts. “Rafe---”
“What?” He's already at the kitchen island, pulling out his phone, scrolling through photos of venues, florists, rings that look just like yours but bigger. “We've got time but why wait? You're mine. I'm yours. Let's do it.”
“It's just…” You fidget with the ring. “Don't you think it's a little soon? We literally just got engaged yesterday.”
Rafe stops, lifts his gaze to you slowly, and you feel that familiar pull in your stomach, the one that's part thrill, part fear. “Too soon?” he repeats, softly. “We've already lost enough time.” He moves closer, placing both hands on your face. “We've been circling this for months. You know what you want. I know what I want. Tell me you don't want to be my wife right now.”
You swallow, the words stuck. “It's not that I don't-”
“Then why wait?” His thumb drags across your bottom lip, his blue eyes boring into yours. “I'm done waiting for the world to catch up. You said all in. This is what all in means.”
You glance down at the ring again. Your heartbeat is a drum in your throat.
Slowly, almost mechanically, you nod. “…Okay.”
Rafe smiles like he's just won a war. “Good girl.” He presses his lips to your forehead, then your nose, then your mouth, each kiss sealing the agreement.
“We'll start looking at places this week. Guest list, honeymoon, all of it.”
It's dizzying, the way he talks. The way he moves. The way he plans yur life as if it's already written.
Later, when he's got his arms wrapped around you on the couch, whispering about houses and children, you let your eyes drift shut. It's easier than arguing. Easier to let him draw the future for you than admit you're terrified of what saying all in really means.
summary: he's never needed peace. He required you. And you never wanted calm. You wanted to be ruined. Again and again. The party? That was just an excuse. The real tradition was what happened after.
The first time he saw you in that navy dress, he knew you were doing it on purpose.
And Rafe Cameron doesn't beg. He takes.
Every time you were with him, it felt like nothing else mattered.
No family, no friends, no Outer Banks.
Just you and him.
Just this.
Rafe found in you the only kind of peace he never believed in—
Not softness, not stillness.
But submission.
Yours.
He'd come home and throw himself into your lap like a man who just survived war. Head in your thighs, your fingers in his hair, his tension melting under your voice. You'd talk about anything—grocery list, people fighting at the club, what Topper's girlfriend wore. Didn't matter. Rafe listened.
He never gave anyone that kind of silence.
Only you.
So when you convinced him to take time off, it felt like you'd stolen time from God.
Lazy mornings.
Midday fucks.
Moonlit walks.
And of course—parties.
You always loved traditions.
And fucking at a party? That was one of your oldest.
You wore that dress. The navy satin one.
The one with the open back.
The one that barely needed panties—so you didn't wear any.
You didn't tell him.
You didn't need to.
He watched you from across the room, half-lit by strobe lights and half-lost in a haze of booze and sex and sweat.
You were dancing.
You weren't even drunk yet—just bad.
Winding your hips to the music, brushing up on your friends, pressing tour hands all over your own body like you didn't know he was watching.
But you did.
You always did.
Rafe was across the room with a drink in his hands and murder in his eyes.
You could practically feel his stare crawling up your thighs.
And then: breath on your neck.
“You trying to make a fucking scene, baby?”
He didn't wait for you to answer.
Your back hit the wall behind the stairwell.
Cold. Hard. Public.
His hand wrapped around your throat as his mouth devoured your jawline, your collarbone, your lips.
“Turn around.”
You obeyed, cheek against the wall.
Dress hiked up.
Panties tugged aside.
And the—his cock, thick and hot, sliding inside you with no warning.
You breath caught.
Your knees buckled.
“You're so fucking wet,” he muttered into your neck. “Already?”
You nodded, moaning, pushing back against him.
“God, yes—”
He didn't stop.
Didn't slow.
Just pounded into you like he owned you.
And he did.
You cried out. Your voice echoed in the stairwell, vulgar and real and so close to the edge.
“Rafe, I—fuck, I'm gonna—”
But before you came, he pulled out.
“Not here,” he growled, dragging you down the hall. “I want you screaming.”
You barely made it into the room before he bent you over a desk, face down, legs spread.
He slid back into you with a grunt.
Hard. Deep. Brutal.
Your moans turned into sobs. You couldn't hold anything back—not your voice, not your orgasm, not the wet mess dipping between your thighs.
He fucked you like a man obsessed.
“You like when I fuck you dumb, huh?”
You couldn't even nod. Just shake under him, helpless.
His fingers found your clit—rubbing fast, desperate, relentless.
And you broke.
Your climax hit so hard you nearly screamed his name.
But you weren't alone.
The door had opened.
A gasp.
A broken glass.
Then silence.
You blinked through your haze and saw Topper.
Jaw on the floor. Eyes wide.
You screamed.
Your legs gave out.
Rafe turned, towering in front of you like a demon in a suit.
He didn't flinch.
“Get the fuck out,” he said, deadly calm.
Topper didn't move.
“NOW.”
You pulled your dress down and stumbled forward.
“Let's go, Rafey.”
He didn't look back at Topper until you were halfway down the hall.
And when he did?
He smiled. The kind of smile that meant danger.
“You dream about her again, I'll rip your eyes out. Don't forget who she belongs to.”
He slammed the door.
Topper just stood there, breathless, flushed, shaking.
thinking about s1 and s2 rafe, being so possesive and impulsive.
rafe wasn’t subtle about you, never had been, and probably never will be. but you loved that about him, the second another guy so much as looked your way, something in him snapped tight, his jaw clenching, fists curling like he was holding himself back from doing something stupid.
"relax man, you know you can trust her" kelce says to rafe trying to calm him down. kelce glances as rafe's hand as he see's his fists are red from how tight he's holding them. "I'm gonna kill him" rafe says, eyes locked on the douchebag who decided he didn't want a future.
because in his mind, no one should even be looking at you, let alone thinking they had a chance. "or, you can let her handle it." topper adds, taking a sip of the red alcoholic drink in a blue solo cup.
rafe just stared ahead, watching as he tried to warm you up, eyes raking up and down your body, his jaw ticked, anger only rising, but then he sees it. He sees the random douchebag reach for you, and just like that, his restraint snaps clean in half.
he’s moving before he even realizes it, stalking over with purpose, eyes locked on the guy like a predator that’s finally found something worth tearing apart. you feel the shift in the air before he even reaches you.
the second he does, his arm wraps around your waist, pulling you back into him like it’s second nature, like it’s his place. his grip is possessive, as he presses a slow kiss to your shoulder, his gaze never once leaving the guy in front of you. “I think you’re done here,” Rafe says, voice low, and laced with something dangerous underneath.
The guy doesn’t back off. "we're just talking, cameron" he replies, with a smug smirk on his face, and you feel it instantly. rafe’s grip tightening just slightly, his body going rigid behind you, like he’s one wrong move, just one wrong word from completely losing it.
“uh oh,” you murmur with a quiet laugh more to the guy than anything, already knowing exactly what’s about to happen if he doesn’t take the hint.
rafe lets out a low, humorless chuckle, shaking his head slightly like he almost can’t believe the audacity. his arm tightens around you, pulling you impossibly closer, like he’s making a point.
“I don’t think you heard me,” Rafe says, voice quieter now, his voice laced with threat. his eyes don’t leave the guy’s face, sharp and unblinking. “I said you’re done.” the smug look falters, just a little. but the guy’s ego won’t let him drop it. “man, you don’t gotta-” that’s it.
rafe steps forward, shifting you gently behind him in one smooth motion, like he doesn’t even think about it. One hand comes up, shoving lightly at the guy’s chest, but there’s nothing playful about it.
“walk away dipshit,” Rafe repeats, jaw tight, voice low and final. the music around you keeps playing, people keep laughing and drinking, but right here? everything feels like it’s gone dead silent.
you watch the guy size Rafe up, really look at him this time, the wild look in his eyes, the way his shoulders are squared, like he’s already decided how this is going to end.
“nah i don't think i want to,” the guy mutters finally, “oh i’d strongly advise you to,” you say, tone light but it's meant to be with warning, eyes flicking to the guy like please don’t be stupid right now. because you know rafe. and this? this is exactly how things go off the rails.
the guy glances at you, then back at rafe, like he’s still debating it. like he doesn’t fully grasp what he’s standing in front of. big fucking mistake.
rafe rolls his jaw, tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek as he steps closer, closing the already small gap between them. “You gotta death wish or something?” he mutters, voice low enough that it almost blends into the music.
“rafe,” you say, squeezing his arm, fingers brushing against tense muscle. “It’s not worth it baby,” but he barely even registers it. his eyes are locked in, already been seeing red since the moment he thought it wise to even look at you. even pretend to think he had a shot.
the guy scoffs, trying to play it off. “bro, it's really not that seriou-”rafe shoves him harder this time, the guy stumbling back a step, drink sloshing over the rim of his cup. “I said walk away,” rafe snaps, voice rising just enough to cut through the noise around you.
a few heads start to turn now. you step in closer, hand gripping rafe’s arm tighter. “rafe, baby-” you try again, he exhales sharply through his nose, like he’s trying, really trying not to lose it completely. his shoulders are tight, chest rising and falling, fingers twitching like he’s itching to swing.
the guy looks between the two of you, confidence finally cracking “fuck it...whatever,” the guy mutters, backing up, but then his expression twists, ego bruised, mouth running before his brain can catch up. “not like I’d really want that anyway, she’s just a-”
he doesn’t even get the rest out, because the second it leaves his mouth, rafe snaps. his arm drops from around you like you were never even there, all that control gone in an instant. one second he’s beside you the next, his fist is connecting with the guy’s jaw with a grueling crack.
the guy stumbles back, completely caught off guard, hitting the ground hard, and rafe doesn’t stop. he’s on him immediately, grabbing at his shirt, fist coming down again, rage completely taking over now. there’s no restraint, just pure unfiltered anger. and you? your lips form a line, as you shrug your shoulders. you asked for it dick, you say to yourself as you watch the scene unfold, drink still in hand.
“rafe stop!” someone shouts. people start backing up, a circle forming, music still blasting like nothing’s happening, but all attention is here now, on rafe, completely unhinged, throwing blow after blow like he’s got something to prove, and in a sense, he does. no one fucks with what's his.
“yo, chill! chill!” one of the guy’s friends rushes in, hands up, trying to pull him back, but rafe shoves him off without even looking. “finish your fucking sentence now!” rafe snaps, grabbing the guy by the collar, hauling him up just enough before slamming him back down. “I fucking dare you, SAY IT!" he yells.
the guy’s barely able to respond, dazed, trying to cover his face. kelce and topper finally push through the crowd, grabbing rafe from behind, dragging him off with effort. “alright, alright, that’s enough, rafe!” topper grunts, holding him back as Rafe still tries to lunge forward.
“should’ve fucking been here earlier,” Kelce mutters, helping keep him back, glancing at the guy on the ground, knowing this was gonna be the outcome. rafe’s chest is heaving, eyes wild, completely gone. “I fucking dare you to talk to my girl like that again!” he yells, voice raw, straining against their grip like he’s still ready to go back in.
the guy’s friends rush in, helping him up, one of them throwing his hands up toward Rafe. “yo, we’re done, we’re done, he’s not saying shit, alright?” but rafe doesn’t care. he’s still staring him down, jaw tight, breathing heavy, like if they let him go for even a second, he’d finish what he started.
and you're just standing by rafe, watching just how good he looks, defending your honor, pupils blown in his stare, small red cuts on his knuckles from the blows, chest heaving hard from adrenaline, and alcohol, and maybe drugs. mouth hung a bit agap, tongue running over his bottom lip.
you just can't wait to show him how appreciative you are of him later.
