#possessive!rafe

[slvtforrafe]

Cutting Ties

Series

Part Three Here

You keep telling yoursef you're in control. So why does it feel like he's pulling every string?

Your phone buzzed on the nightstand.

Again.

And again.

You didn't reach for it this time, not after the last time. When Rafe picked it up before you could and scrolled through your texts with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. He hadn't yelled. Not exactly. But the quiet words had cut deeper.

"You think JJ cares about you? You think he wouldn't fuck you the second I was gone?"

He'd kissed you after that. Hard. Like claiming territory. You hadn't brought it up again.

Now, the buzzing stopped, and Rafe walked out of the bathroom, towel slung low on his hips, hair damp from the shower. He glanced at the phone like it offended him.

"Still blowing you up?" His tone was light, conversational, but his jaw ticked as he reached for the towel around his neck.

You swallowed. "It's... probably just Sarah. She's worried."

He chuckled without humour. "Worried? Or trying to pull you away from me?"

You opened your mouth, then closed it, because arguing only ever felt like walking a razor's edge.

Rafe stepped closer, his eyes locking on yours. "You don't need them, baby. Not when you've got me." His hand slid to your hip, warm and heavy. "You feel that, right?"

You nodded, because the alternative was another conversation that ended with you crying into his pillow while he stroaked your hair and whispered, See what you make me do?

_________________________________________________

Later That Day at The Wreck

You hadn't planned to come. God knows Rafe wouldn't have let you, if he'd known. But Sarah had called ten times, and the guilt was eating you alive. So you slipped out while he was on a call with Barry, phone tucked in your back pocket like contraband.

The Pogues were already there, gathered at your usual booth. JJ spotted you first, grinning wide, until his eyes flicked past you and the smile faded.

"Fuck." he muttered under his breath.

You didn't have to turn to know why. The air behind you thickened, and a familiar voice drawled low.

"Thought you said you were tired?"

You froze. Slowly turned. And there he was, Rafe. All sharp edges and sun-kissed skin, smile stretched thin like a blade.

"Rafe-"

"Nah, it's fine." He stepped past you, clapping a hand on JJ's shoulder a little too hard. "Just catching up with old friends, huh?"

JJ's jaw clenched, but he didn't move. Rafe slid into the booth beside you, arm draping casually across the backrest as his fingers brushed your hair, the gesture intimate in a way that felt more like a warning.

"You should've told me," he murmured, just loud enough for you to hear.

You swallowed hard. "I-It was last minute-"

"Sure." His smile didn't budge. He reached for your untouched drink, took a sip like it was his. "Last minute."

The Pogues exchanged looks. Pope shifted uncomfortably. Sarah opened her mouth, but Rafe cut her off with a laugh that sounded like gunfire.

"Don't worry guys. I'm not mad. I just like to know where my girl's at." His hand slid down to your thigh under the table, squeezing hard enough to make your breath hitch.

Nobody saw. Nobody ever did.

JJ finally spoke, voice flat. "Maybe give her some space, man."

Rafe turned his head slow, like a predator locking onto prey. That smile sharpened. "Space?" He laughed again, low and dangerous. "We don't need space. Do we, baby?"

You felt every eye on you. Your chest burned like fire, but your voice came out steady, practiced.

"...No. We're good."

The conversation limped on after that, awkward and brittle. You didn't taste your drink. Didn't meet JJ's eyes again.

When you finally stood to leave, Rafe's hand was on your back, steering you out like a possession. The cool night air hit your face, and you sucked in a breath like you'd been underwater too long.

He didn't speak until you reached his truck. Then his voice slid out, soft and deadly.

"You lied to me."

Your pulse spiked. "Rafe, I-"

"Don't." His fingers dug into your chin, forcing your eyes to his. His smile was gone now, stripped bare. "You think I don't see what they're doing? Trying to take you from me?"

"They're my friends-"

"They're a fucking joke." His grip tightened, and you flinched. His voice dropped to a whisper, each word laced with venom and devotion all at once. "You don't need them. You need me. Only me."

He let go suddenly, stepping back like nothing happened, that easy grin snapping back into place as he opened the truck door for you. "Come on, baby. Let's go home."

You slid in without a word, heart hammering against your ribs like a caged thing. Through the window, you saw JJ step outside, watching. His eyes met yours for half a second before Rafe slammed the door shut.

You didn't wave.

You didn't dare.

The ride was silent at first. Too silent. The kind of quiet that pressed against your eardrums until your thoughts felt loud enough to scream.

Streetlights sliced through the darkness in flashes, painting Rafe's face in sharp angles, the hard set of his jaw, the muscle ticking near his temple. One hand gripped the steering wheel, knuckles pale against the leather. The other rested on the console, tapping once, twice, like the ticking of a clock running out of time.

You stared out the window, counting the lights, counting your breaths. Anything to ignore the way the air in the truck felt heavier with every mile.

Finally, his voice cut through the quiet, smooth and low in a way that made your stomach knot. "You really think I'm stupid, huh?"

Your pulse spiked. You turned your head slowly. "Rafe-"

"No, go ahead." He glanced at you, a flicker of teeth in the dark. "Explain to me how sneaking behind my back isn't the same thing as lying."

You swallowed hard. "I didn't sneak. I-I just needed to see them-"

"You needed to?" The laugh that slid out of him was sharp, humourless. "Needed them more than me?"

"That's not what I said-"

He slammed his palm against the steering wheel, the crack of it making you jump. The truck swerved slightly before he corrected, knuckles bone-white again as he gripped the wheel. His breath came hard now, sharp through his nose, but his voice. His voice was calm. Too calm.

"You think they'd fucking pick you over each other? Over their little Pogue family?" His eyes cut to yours, wild and burning, before snapping back to the road. "You think they'd protect you if it came down to it?"

You didn't answer. Couldn't. Because a part of you, deep down, where all the fear lived, wondered if he was right.

He leaned back suddenly, like he'd made a decision, and the smile that stretched across his face made your blood run cold. "You know what I think?"

You barely got the words out. "...What?"

"I think they're the reason you keep second-guessing us. They're the reason you're still fucking confused about who you belong to." He slowed the truck, pulling onto a deserted stretch of road. The engine rumbled low, the only sound in the thick night air.

Your heart slammed against your ribs as he shifted into park and turned toward you fully. His hands shot out, grapping your chin, not hard enough to bruise, but firm enough to lock you in place. His eyes drilled into yours, ocean blue and storming.

"So let me make it real simple for you, baby." His thumb stroked your jaw slowly, mock-gentle, the way a predator might pet what it plans to kill. "You're mine. Always were. Always will be. And the second you start forgetting that..." His grip tightened just enough to make your breath hitch. "...I'll remind you."

Tears stung your eyes before you could stop them. Not sobbing, just that hot, helpless burn that made your chest ache.

"Rafe..."

His smile softened, like he'd just noticed. He released your chin, wiped the stray tear with his thumb, and his voice dropped to that velvet tone again. The one that used to sound like love. "Hey... don't cry. You know I'd never hurt you, right?"

You nodded automatically, because you didn't trust your voice not to break.

Rafe kissed your forehead, soft, almost tender, and then sat back, starting the engine like the last five minutes hadn't happened. Like he hadn't just carved the warning into your bones.

The truck rolled forward, and you stared out the window again, tears blurring the lights until they looked like fire.

For the first time, you wondered if this road didn't lead back home at all.

[vinsrafes]

—no one else gets this.

rafe cameron x reader

cw: rough sex, possessive!rafe, choking (light), jealousy, degradation, unprotected sex, creampie, marking. 18+ only.

wc:316 | one-shot

not deducted

"you knew what you were doing when you walked in with that skirt."

He’s got you flat on your stomach, pressed deep into the mattress, hand tangled in your hair like he owns you — because he does, at least tonight. He’s not talking much. Just breathing heavy, jaw clenched, cock hard against your ass through his jeans.

You feel the rage in his grip. The way his body trembles not from nerves — but from holding back.

Not anymore.

"Spread your legs," he growls. "Now. Don’t fucking test me."

You do. You don’t dare disobey.

He slides in without warning — raw, fast, buried to the hilt — and you cry out, but he doesn’t stop. He shoves your hips down harder, deeper, fucking you like it’s punishment.

"You wanted this? You wanted me like this?"

Thrust. Thrust. Your fingers claw at the sheets.

"You do shit like that on purpose. Act all sweet, all innocent — but then you walk in with that mouth, that fucking skirt..."

His hand wraps around your throat. Not tight. Just enough to make your breath catch — just enough to remind you who you belong to.

"All you’re good for is taking my cock like the pretty little slut you are."

You moan, dizzy and dripping. He knows it. His fingers slide between your legs, rub fast, mean, like he wants you to fall apart all over him. You do.

You come with a broken sound, thighs shaking, mouth open, body gone — and he doesn’t stop. Not yet.

He bites your shoulder. Hard. You’ll feel it tomorrow.

"Mine. Say it."

"Yours," you whimper. "Fuck, Rafe — all yours."

He finishes deep, raw, growling against your skin, and you swear he almost collapses on top of you.

He stays inside. Breathing heavy. Not moving. Just holding you there, buried, full, wrecked.

"No more skirts," he mutters against your neck. "Unless you’re ready for this every time."

[maybanksbabe]

Topper kind of pressuring Rafe into a threesome because of how much Rafe brags about reader. Rafe says yes because he feels he has something to prove. She obviously says yes just because Rafe asked her and wants to make him happy. But before Topper can even breath near reader rafe is kicking him out and promising reader they’ll NEVER do something like that

UGH YES! Fuck Topper for being an ass, the moment the three of you get to Rafe's room he's immediately taking Topper back downstairs and out the door, realising that it was a bad idea and he doesn't ever want to share you with anyone ever

[slvtforrafe]

The Silence Hurts Louder

Series

Part Eleven Here

There's no going back after this. And deep down, you don't even want to.

The silence is what kills you.

No buzzing phone. No messages. Not even a missed call. Just... nothing.

And Rafe Cameron was never nothing.

He was chaos. He was gasoline and fire, burning everything you thought you knew about yourself. And now he's gone quiet. Like the other night never happened. Like the way he held your face, kissed you like he'd rather die than let you go, was just some sick joke.

You tell yourself you should be glad. That this is what you wanted, what you demanded. But the lie tastes bitter every time you repeat it. Because the truth? The truth is that silence feels like rejection. And rejection feels worse than all of his possessivness, his anger, his obsession.

You curl deeper into your sheets, staring at the ceiling, chewing your bottom lip raw. Your mind keeps looping back to his voice the other night, low and rough against your ear. "If this is the last time, we're doing it right."

God, you hate how that memory makes your stomach clench.

It starts creeping in slowly, the flashback. You don't even fight it.

The first night. The one you never told anyone about.

You'd been terrified, knees trembling as he kissed you, hands everywhere, pulling, claiming. You'd told him you'd never done it before. He'd gone still for half a second, eyes dark and unreadable, then whispered, "Good. That means you're mine first."

And then he was inside you, raw and overwhelming, his breath hot against your neck as he murmured things that shattered you and remade you all at once. His hand gripping yours against the mattress like he never wanted to let go.

You remember the sting, the heat, the way his voice sounded when he said your name like it belonged to him. And now, even after eveything, even after all the ways he's hurt you, the thought of someone else touching you feels wrong.

Because he ruined you for anyone else.

And now he's silent. Like you never mattered.

By the time your phone buzzes, you're trembling, not from fear, but from something darker. Something hungry. You snatch it up like maybe, just maybe, it's him finally cracking.

It's not.

It's Sarah.

Sarah: Party at Topper's? Big Kook thing. Wanna go?

You don't even hesitate.

You: Pick me up in 30.

Because if Rafe won't come to you, maybe you'll force his hand.

You tear through your closet like a girl possessed. Jeans won't do. Hoodies won't do. No, you want him to see you. To remember exactly who he said belonged to him.

You settle on the shortest, tightest slip dress you own, a barely there thing in deep red that hugs your curves and leaves nothing to the imagination. A pair of strappy heels. Lip gloss that catches the light when you smile. When you're done curling your hair and sliding gold hoops into your ears, you almost don't recognise the girl in the mirror.

You look like temptation bottled up. And you hope to God he chokes on it.

__________________________________________

The party is chaos the second you walk in, music thumping through the floors, laughter spilling out of every doorway, the air thick with smoke and salt from the ocean breeze. Sarah hooks her arm through yours, grinning.

"Hot. Damn. Someone's on a mission," she teases.

You smirk like it's a joke. But your eyes are already scanning the crowd.

And then you see him.

Rafe Cameron, standing near the bar with Topper and Kelce, beer in hand, head tipped back in a laugh you've missed more than you'll admit. He looks sinfully good, white button up rolled at the sleeves, tan skin glowing under the string lights, veins popping his forearms.

Your stomach flips so hard it almost hurts.

And then... he looks right at you.

For a split second, your heart stops. There's no mistaking it, he sees you. In that dress. With your hair curled and your lips glossed and your body screaming look at me.

But then?

He turns away.

Just like that.

Laughs at something Topper says. Takes a sip of his drink. Like you're invisible.

Like the other night never happened.

And then? That burns worse than any fight you've ever had.

You tell Sarah you need a drink. You tell yourself you're fine. But the truth is pounding in your veins, loud as the music.

He's doing this on purpose.

And you hate how much it's working.

Your hands are trembling when you set the empty cup down. Not from nerves, from anger. From humiliation. From that smug fuck you of a move Rafe just pulled by looking straight through you like you're not even worth acknowledging.

Two can play this game.

"Shots?" you ask Sarah, already reaching for the tequila bottle like you're not seconds from burning down everything.

Sarah arches a brow. "Whoa. You okay?"

"Great!" you lie, pouring two shots with hands that aren't quite steady. You knock yours back before she can even toast. It scorches your throat, makes your eyes water, but the fire feels good. Cleansing.

One shot turns into three. Three turns into something else entirely. Soon, the bass is thrumming through your body, and you're not thinking about Rafe. You're thinking about not thinking about Rafe.

And that's when you find yourself on the dance floor, pressed between strangers, your body swaying in a way you know will catch eyes. You toss your head back, let your hair fall like a curtain, let your lips part like you're the girl who doesn't care about anything.

You laugh too loud at things you barely hear. You let some guy's hands settle at your hips. You flirt with people you wouldn't have looked twice at last week. Anything to feel something other than the hallow ache in your chest.

But every time you glance towards the bar, every single time, you see him.

Leaning against the counter like he owns the place, watching you with that unreadable expression. Arms crossed now, beer bottle dangling from his fingers, sharp jaw clenches like stone. He doesn't come over. Doesn't say a word. Just watches.

And the longer he stays silent, the more it eats at you.

Fine. If he wants a show, you'll give him one.

So when a tall guy with shaggy blonde hair leans down and asks if you want to go upstairs, you hear yourself say yes. Loud enough for the song to swallow the word, but not loud enough for Rafe not to notice.

You make sure of that.

The room upstairs smells like cologne and cigarettes. The guy closes the door behind you, grinning like he just won the lottery. He's cute. Nice smile. Blue eyes. But he's not Rafe.

He kisses you, hard and sloppy, and for a second you let him. You let his hands slide to your waist, let his tongue part your lips, let his mouth taste like cheap vodka and something sour. You even kiss him back, desperate for anything to drown out the way Rafe's silence feels like a knife twisting under your ribs.

But then his hands start to wander. Down your hips. To your thighs. Fingertips sliding higher.

And you freeze.

Because it's wrong. It's all wrong. His touch feels foreign, empty. And the only hands you can think about are Rafe's. The way he grips, claims, like he's trying to fuse you into himself. This guy? He feels like nothing.

You shove him back before you can stop yourself. "I-I can't."

The guy looks confused, then irritated. "What the hell?"

"I said I can't." you snap, breathless. Your chest is heaving, heart pounding like you just ran a mile. You don't even give him time to argue before you bolt for the door.

The hallway spins as you search for Sarah, every beat of the music making your head pound harder. You find her near the staircase, laughing with some girls, and grab her wrist like you're drowning.

"Take me home, please." you say. Your voice sounds wrecked, like you've been crying, even though you haven't. Not yet.

Sarah blinks, startled. "What happened?"

"Nothing. Please. I just... I need to go."

She doesn't argue. Just nods and starts guiding you through the crowd. You keep your head down, your pulse loud in your ears, until you hit the front door and the cool night air hits your skin like a slap.

And then you see him.

Rafe.

Standing on the porch like he's been waiting for this exact moment, like he knew you'd break before the night was over. He's still holding that same beer, condensation dripping down the glass, his shoulders loose like he hasn't got a care in the world.

Your eyes meet his, and your breath catches because he looks, calm. Cold. Smug.

And then, just to twist the knife, he smirks.

Lifts his beer in a slow, mocking toast.

And takes a drink.

[slvtforrafe]

The First Fracture

Series

Part Four Here

He's everywhere. In your head. Under your skin. And now, he wants more than forgiveness.

Your phone buzzed against the nightstand. The sound was small, harmless, but it felt like an alarm in the quiet of Rafe's bedroom.

You froze, toothbrush in hand, staring at the glowing screen from the doorway of his bathroom. One word lit up in white letters that made your chest seize.

JJ: You good? Haven't seen you in days.

Your throat went dry. JJ always knew when something was wrong, even when you didn't say a word. And you missed him. Missed all of them. Their laughter, the sunburned shoulders, the way being with them felt like breathing.

But Rafe... Rafe had been so good these last few days. Softer. Patient. Almost like the boy you used to love. It made the guilt chew at your ribs like acid. You'd chosen this. Chosen him.

Your fingers hovered over the screen anyway. I'm fine, you typed. Just been busy.

The message sent, and you didn't realise you were smiling a little until the shadow fell across the doorway.

"Who's that?"

You jumped so hard the phone slipped from your hands and landed face-up on the rug. Rafe stood there, leaning against the doorframe, towel slung around his neck, damp hair curling at his temple. He looked calm.

Your stomach plummeted.

"Just... JJ," you said carefully, bending to pick up the phone. "He was checking in."

Rafe hummed low in his throat, stepping closer. You tried to move past him, but his arm shot out, caging you against the counter. The scent of his soap, clean and sharp, hit your nose as his body crowded yours.

"Checking in?" His voice was silk stretched too tight. "Why would he need to do that?"

You forced a shaky laugh. "Because we haven't hung out. That's all-"

"That's all." He repeated it like a prayer, or maybe a curse. His hand slid slowly down your arm until his fingers closed around your wrist. Not bruising. Just enough to remind you he could.

"You told me you were done with all that, remember?" His eyes locked on yours, blue fire and shadows dancing in the glass. "Done with the games. Done with them."

Your pulse hammered so hard you thought he could hear it. "I am-"

"Then why," he murmured, leaning in until his breath warmed your ear, "is JJ texting my girlfriend in the middle of the night?"

The word my burned like a brand. You tried to speak, but his fingers tilted your chin up, forcing your gaze to his.

And then, like a storm breaking, his expression shifted. The fury smoothed into something almost tender. He kissed your temple, soft and slow, like none of this was what it was.

"Baby," he whispered against your hair, "I just don't want them confusing you again. Making you think you need them when you have me." His thumb brushed your jaw, gentle as glass. "You love me, right?"

The question landed like a weight. You nodded because you couldn't not. Because some broken, bleeding part of you still did.

He smiled then, bright and boyish, like nothing had happened. Like he hadn't just tightened the leash another notch. "Good."

When he pulled away, your phone was gone. Sitting in his hand. He glanced at it once, smirk curling his mouth, and then he dropped it into his pocket.

"Let's not give him the wrong idea, yeah?" His voice was warm honey now. Sweet. Sticky. Impossible to escape. You stood there, toothbrush forgotten, watching him walk out with your only lifeline. And for the first time, the walls of his perfect room felt like bars.

You didn't move at first. Couldn't. It was like the world had narrowed down to the sound of his footsteps as he crossed the room. Slow. Measured. The same way he used to walk into a fight, calm, calculated, like he already knew how it would end.

Your toothbrush was still clutched in your first when you followed him out, heartbeat loud in your ears.

He was sitting on the edge of his bed now, elbows resting on his knees, your phone turning over and over in his hands like something fragile. Like something that belonged to him.

"Rafe..." Your voice cracked a little. You cleared it. "Give it back."

He didn't look up. Just kept spinning the phone, watching it glint in the lamplight. When he finally spoke, his tone was soft. Almost bored.

"You know what I hate?"

You swallowed hard. "What?"

"Liars."

The word hit like a slap even though he said it like a sigh. His eyes finally lifted to yours, and the calm in them was worse than anger. "And I feel like you've been lying to me, baby."

Your throat closed. "I haven't-"

"No?" He tilted his head, lips curling faintly. "So when you said you were done with all that Pouge and bonfire crap, you meant it?"

"I did." You hated how small your voice sounded.

Rafe stared at you for a long, slow beat. Then he smiled. The kind that never reached his eyes.

"You know what I think?" He stood, phone still in his hand, and the spacce between you disappeared in three easy strides. "I think he doesn't know where the line is."

His fingers grazed your cheek, feather-light, before sliding into your hair. A shiver shot down your spine, part fear, part something you didn't want to name.

"And I think," he murmured, lips brushing your temple, "you like the attention. Don't you?"

Your stomach dropped. "No-"

His grip tightened just enough to make you feel it. Not pain. Just a warning.

"Don't lie to me."

Your breath hitched. "I'm not."

For a second, there was nothing but silence. Then his hand loosened, smoothing down your hair, the perfect boyfriend again. He kissed your forehead like he hadn't just cornered you, like the air wasn't still crackling with something sharp and dangerous.

"That's my girl." He stepped back, slipping your phone into his nightstand drawer with a casualness that made your stomach twist. "No more texting JJ, yeah? He's not good for you."

You wanted to argue. Wanted to scream. Instead, you nodded, because his eyes were still on you, and the weight in them pinned you in place.

Rafe smiled then, slow and satisfied, like he'd just won something. Maybe he had.

"Come to bed," he said, patting the mattress. His voice was honey now, warm and sweet and deadly. "Long day tomorrow. I just wanna hold you."

The words wrapped around your throat like velvet rope. You climbed in because you didn't know what else to do. Because you told yourself this was still love. That he was still the boy you remembered.

But when his arm curled around your waist and his breath warmed your neck, you felt the bars close in.

And for the first time, you wondered if you'd ever get out.

[slvtforrafe]

The Week Everything Unravels

Series

Part Thirty-One Here

Safety shatters in a single moment, because monsters don't stay gone.

Monday

The morning starts with the clatter of the old radiator in your apartment waking you up. You sit up slowly, brushing a hand over your bump. Small, but definetly there now, rounding out beneath your shirt. You still aren't used to the sight of it, the reality of it. But you no longer feel the stabbing panic you did six weeks ago. Just, a softer ache.

Work at the cafe is busy, which you like. It keeps you from thinking too much. Luna comes in on her day off. Brunette, freckled skin, painted nails the colour of lavander. She always smells of vanilla and carries a tote bag stuffed with half written poems and snacks,

“Lunch, later?” Luna asks, leaning on the counter. 

“Yeah,” you smile. “I'll text you when I'm off.”

After work you sit eating sandwiches at the picnic tables behind the cafe, talking about everything except the things you're running from.

That night, you facetime Sarah. You talk about nonsense, about Kira's latest fight with JJ, about Pope's new internship, about John B growing a mustache “as a joke” but he ends up keeping it.

Your mum texts afterwrads, checking in like always. “How are you feeling, sweetheart? Are you eating enough? Are you safe?”

You answer each question honestly but lightly, protecting her.

By the time you crawl into bed, you feel steady. Tired in a way that's good.

Tuesday

Work again. Regulars greet you by name now.

“Morning, sweetheart.”

“The usual, right?”

“You're glowing today. Pregnancy looks good on you.”

You laugh awkwardly at that last one, brushing it off. They don't know the truth. They don't need to.

Marisol approaches you at the till. Tall, thick curls, eyes sharp with muscheif but shoulder weighed down with too much sympathy. The kind of friend who notices everything without being told anything. 

“You good?” Marisol asks, leaning in close.

“Yeah. Just tired.”

“That;s every day for us now.” She taps her own coffe. “We survive on this stuff.”

You spend the evening in Marisol's apartment, watching a bad rom-com on a cracked TV. You laugh for real, for the first time in days.

Wednesday

You wake up from a dream you don't want to remember. Rafe's hands around your wrist, his breath on your neck, his voice saying your name like a warning. 

Work helps distract you. You wipe down tables, fill orders, reposition pastries in the case. The usual customers. The usual rain tapping the windows. The usual ache in your back. 

Dinner with the girls. Facetime with your mum. Bed early.

A normal day. A good day.

Thursday

Halfway through breakfast prep at the cafe, you feel your chest tighten. Not panic, just something heavy and sharp. You ignore it.

After your shift, you and Luna go to the bookstore. You buy a thriller you probably won't read but want to.

That evening Sarah calls you. Hair messy, face bare, sitting cross-legged on her bed. 

“I miss you.” Sarah says gently.

“I miss you more."

“You'' come home one day?” Sarah asks genty?

You don't respond to that.

You talk until you dinner gets cold. You eat it anyway, one forkful at a time.

Friday

This is the day everything breaks. 

You get off work early, buy groceries, take a long shower. You feel peaceful. Rare, gentle, precious.

At nine, you facetime Sarah again, propping your phone on your pillow.

Sarah grins at her instantly. “You look cute today.”

“Shut up.” you laugh.

You talk about nothing, baby names, the rain, Sarah's failed attempt at making chicken alfredo. The conversation is soft, warm, almost normal.

And then,

The door behind Sarah slams open.

She jumps. 

Sarah whirls around. “What the, Rafe! Get out! I'm busy-”

You hear it before you see him.

That voice.

That rage.

That familiarity hits you like a punch. 

Rafe storms into Sarah's room, eyes wild, hair slightly longer than you remember. “What the hell are you hiding in here?” he snaps. Then he sees the screen.

Your face.

Your room,

You.

His expression detonates.

Rafe snatches the phone out of Sarah's hands so violently that Sarah yelps.

“YOU-” he roars, filling the screen, too close, too loud. “You think you can run from me?”

Your whole body goes cold. 

“Give the phone back to Sarah,” you say, voice shaking.

“The fuck I will.”

“Rafe-”

“Don't,” he snarls. “Don't say my name like that. Like I don't get to hear it anymore.”

“Because you DON'T!” you snap.

Rafe laughs, a broken, breathless sound.

“You're real funny for someone who disappeared in the middle of the night.”

You swallow. “I left because I had to. Because you-”

“Shut up.” His jaw flexes. “Just tell me. Did you keep it?”

Your stomach twists. 

You don't answer.

You don't have to.

Your eyes flicker down for half a second.

Rafe sees.

His whole expression changes.

“You kept my baby.” His chest heaves. “You kept my fucking baby.”

Silence. Electric. Unbreathable.

“It's not your baby,” you force out. “It's mine. And you don't get to be a part of this.”

“Oh, the hell I don't.” Rafe's voice drops low, lethal. “You don't get to keep my kid from me. You don't get to run from me. Not my girl. Not my fiance.”

“I'm NOT your fiance.”

“You ARE!” he spits. “Until I say you're not.”

Your breath shakes. “You're never going to find me.”

Rafe's lips curl into a smile that turns you inside out. 

“What if I already have?”

You freeze.

No.

No, he's bluffing.

He has to be. Otherwise, he'd already have you back in Outer Banks. 

“Rafe-”

“Don't hang up,” he growls. “We're going to talk about this. You and me. You fucked up badly, and you're gonna fix it.”

“Fix?” You choke on a laugh. “I'm done fixing anything for you.”

You hit end call before he can say another word. 

The silence that follows feels like a scream.

You stare at the black screen, heart hammering, hands trembling so violently you drop the phone onto the bed. 

Cold sweeps over you. Ice. Numbness. Fear.

Your new life, your calm, your job, your friends, your apartment. Shatters instantly.

He saw you.

He saw your room.

He saw enough.

He might've seen everything.

Your breath quickens. 

You grab the edge of the bed, grounding yourself.

But the truth hits you anyway.

You might have to run again.

Just when you finally felt safe.

Just when you finally felt like yourself again.

You curl forward, hands in your hair, tears hot and silent. 

He found you.

He found you.

He found you.

And this time, you're not alone.

You press a hand to your stomach, feeling the baby move faintly beneath your palm.

“I'll protect you.” you whisper, voice cracking. “Even if it means disappearing again, for good.”

You don't sleep that night.

You just sit in the dark, waiting for morning, waiting for the next move.

Knowing Rafe Cameron will make one. 

And soon.

[vinsrafes]

—just a party.

rafe cameron x reader

cw: obsession, alcohol, jealousy, possessive!rafe, explicit language. 18+ only.

wc:535 | one-shot

not deducted

The party was already dissolving into its own mess. Sweat, alcohol, smoke, noise. Lost phones, smudged mascara, music that I didn’t even hear anymore — just felt in my chest like a second heartbeat.

But I knew he was watching.

Rafe.

Leaning against the doorway, cigarette half-finished, hooded eyes fixed on me like a fucking target.

I laughed at something JJ said — not even flirty, just polite — and that was all it took. Rafe dropped the cigarette, crushed it, and started walking.

You don’t hear him. You feel him.

And then he was behind me. Close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off him.

"Having fun?" he murmured, voice low and rough like gravel. "You like people looking at you like that?"

I turned slowly. Didn’t flinch.

"It’s just a party..."

His hand wrapped around my wrist. Not hard. But firm. Intentional.

"Come with me."

"Rafe—"

"I said, come."

No room for arguing. He pulled. Through the crowd, up the stairs, into a locked bedroom — one I’m sure wasn’t his, but he had the key anyway.

The door slammed. Silence. Just breathing.

"Tell me you didn’t know what you were doing. Laughing like that. Acting like you’re not mine."

His voice dropped.

"Tell me you didn’t want me to snap."

I stayed quiet.

He moved in, crowding me against the wall.

"Don’t pretend you don’t want me to fuck you right now," he whispered, hand sliding up to wrap gently but possessively around my throat. Not choking. Just claiming. "You do. You want it. From me."

I inhaled sharply. His mouth was already on mine — messy, hot, angry. Tasting like beer and something dangerous. His hands slid under my skirt, ripped my underwear off like they were in his way. His fingers pushed inside like he owned me. Because he did.

"Already so wet," he muttered darkly. "One smile and I lose my fucking mind. You think that’s fair?"

You try to speak — he cuts you off with another kiss, harder. Rougher. His fingers don’t stop. They only go deeper.

Then he unzipped his jeans. Still staring at me like I was the only thing he could see. His cock was already hard, throbbing.

He lifted me in one swift motion, setting me down on the desk by the wall, pushing my knees apart, breathing fast.

And then he was inside. No warning. No patience. Just all of him, all at once.

You gasped. He groaned low in your ear.

"That’s it," he rasped. "You’re mine. That’s your punishment. And your reward. Got it?"

He fucked like he meant it — like he was mad, or scared, or starving. Every thrust harder than the last. You couldn’t think. Couldn’t speak. Just held onto him, nails digging into his back, moaning his name as everything blurred.

"Yeah, baby," he growled. "Let them hear who you belong to."

You came first. Loud, legs shaking, breath stolen.

He came after — deep, raw, gritting your name through his teeth.

Silence again. Heavy. Warm.

He didn’t move. Just stayed there. Still inside. Still looking at you.

Then he whispered:

"Now go. And tomorrow... be mine again. Or I’ll come remind you."

You nodded. Because you already knew what this was.

[slvtforrafe]

Thirty Minutes

Series

Part Foutreen Here

You thought it was just a break away. You didn't realise it might be forever.

The walls feel too small. The silence too loud. You've been pacing for what feels like hours, replaying every second of the beach in your mind like a broken tape. The girl's hand on his arm. His smile. The way he didn't look at you, not once.

Is this it? Is this how it ends? After everything, every breathless night, every secret touch, every part of you that you gave him, does it all just... stop?

You sink down onto the edge of your bed, hands shaking so hard you can barely grip your phone. Your reflection in the black screen stares back at you, pale, messy, hollow-eyed. Mascara smudged like bruises under your eyes. You hate the sight of yourself like this. Weak. Pathetic. Desperate.

But you can't take it anymore.

Your tumbs hover over the keyboard before you finally type the words you swore you wouldn't.

You: Can we talk?

You hit send before you can talk yourself out of it, and then you sit there, heart pounding like a drum in your chest, waiting for the three little dots.

They don't come.

Minutes drag like hours. The weight in your chest crushes you with every passing second. You start to wonder if he's even going to read it, if maybe you've already been erased from his world completley, when your phone vibrates.

You snatch it up so fast your hands shake.

Rafe: what you wanna say?

Your pulse stutters. For a second, you can't breathe. He replied. He actually replied.

Your fingers fly across the screen.

You: Not over text. In person?

The message hangs there like a question that could make or break your entire world.

He reads it instantly. You see the tiny Read under the bubble, and your chest squeezes so tight it hurts. But there's no reply. Not for a full minute. Two. Three.

And then,

Rafe: kinda busy right now.

It's like someone rips the floor out from under you. Your breath catches, a sharp, broken sound that echoes in the silence of your room. Busy. Busy.

Busy with what? With who?

You swallow hard, fingers trembling as you type again.

You: It's important.

You watch the little dots appear. Disappear. Appear again. And then,

Rafe: thought you wanted me to leave you alone? i’m just keeping my promise.

Your chest caves. Your eyes burn. And suddenly you're spiraling, panic clawing at your throat as your thumbs fly over the screen again.

You: I know. Please.

He reads it instantly. But there's nothing. Nothing for thirty seconds. A full minute.

Five.

Your heart pounds so hard you feel sick. You open the chat again, your teeth sinking into your lip as you see it. Read.

And then nothing.

Another minute. Two.

You type again, frantic now, every word a plea.

You: I can see you reading my messages.

Read.

Your hands shake so violently you almost drop the phone. Tears prick your eyes as you slam out another message.

You: Fuck sake Rafe. Please. I need to see you.

You're holding your breath when the bubble finally pops up. And then,

Rafe: I'll pick you up in 30.

For a second, you just stare. Frozen. Like the words don't make sense. Like you've conjured them from pure desperation and they'll disappear if you blink too hard.

But they're real.

He's coming.

You scramble off the bed so fast you nearly trip, sprinting for the bathroom. You splash water on your face, scrub away the smudged black beneath your eyes. Your hands move on autopilot, face wash, toothpaste, anything to erase the wreck you were five minutes ago.

You yank your hair into a messy ponytail, pull on black leggins and an oversized hoodie, and for a split second, you almost laugh at yourself. After all that effort to make him jealous the other night, now you're standing here bare-faced and simple, like the girl he first broke.

Your phone buzzes again.

Rafe: outside.

Your breath hitches.

This is happening.

You grab your phone with shaky hands, heart in your throat, and head for the door.