Can someone please find me some rafe sugar daddy Fanfiction X bratty reader or Oc
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Can someone please find me some rafe sugar daddy Fanfiction X bratty reader or Oc
Guyyyssss I swear I’m going to write everything in my inbox I SWEAR
One shot where Rafe is a little grown and became a boxer to get his anger out and he meets pogue reader in a bar after winning and finds out she bet against him?
Underground nights
pairing: Boxer!Rafe Cameron x Soft!Pogue!Reader
blurb: you, despite being a pogue, catch Rafe's attention after betting against him
warnings: mentions of violence, dark thoughts, alcohol, slight angst
wc: 1.6k
Violence always seemed to find Rafe, no matter how much he tried to escape it. He couldn’t avoid it. Bar fights. Thrown punches. Cracked drywall. So he stopped. Stopped trying to hide from it. Decided to channel his anger into something else. What started as nights alone in the Tannyhill private gym, throwing punches at a bag as a form of release when he was a teenager, ended up becoming matches in the ring, squaring off against a real partner.
Rafe wasn’t a professional. He wasn’t in the UFC or anything like that. Instead, he found himself at underground fights on the Cut. The people who mistook him for some prissy Kook were quick to learn that his punches came sharper than his words. The life didn’t come with trophies or medals, but it came with stacks of cash and a long line of girls swooning over him. Now that he couldn’t deal drugs anymore because of Ward breathing down his neck, this would have to suffice.
Besides, this allowed him his release without any judgment. Rafe got the chance to expel all his anger in trade for money. Good enough deal for him.
The roar of the crowd filled his ears as Rafe slipped off his shirt, raking a hand through his hair. The audience was littered with its fair collection of spoiled girls who’d strayed too far from Figure 8, Pogues who considered this entertainment, and the guys with an overinflated ego who thought they had a shot at beating him. Since Rafe started here a couple months ago, that didn’t happen often, if ever. Sure, he’d taken his fair share of blows, but when the rage that always resided in him truly came out, his opponents didn’t stand a chance.
There was a force inside that fueled him to the point where sometimes the referees, who rarely got involved, would have to pull him off so he didn’t beat the other guy to death or something. Although Rafe would never admit it, he hated when he lost control like that. When he felt powerless over himself. He considered it a weakness.
Rafe tried to push the thoughts out of his mind as he stepped into the ring, fists taped tight like usual. People were finishing up bets as his opponent stepped in, wearing a white tank top. Fucking pussy. Can’t even be shirtless for a match. It was some Pogue whose name Rafe didn’t know. And didn’t care to know. All Rafe knew was that he had a fight with his father earlier today and needed to get all his frustration out before it bubbled over in all the wrong ways.
He turned to glance over the crowd once more, a group of squealing Kook girls in outfits that barely covered anything, catching his attention. They looked like a good enough distraction for after. Rafe gave them a quick wink, watching how they basked in his attention, giggling louder. He spun back around with a heavy sigh, rolling his eyes. They truly never changed. All so fucking desperate.
Bets on him were high tonight, like always. Anyone who didn’t bet on him was stupid or just wanted to lose their money. As the referee stepped up, Rafe’s eyes fell on you, going up to bet on his opponent. Rafe scoffed to himself. How fucking naive. He didn’t know you but could obviously tell you were a Pogue. Simple worn denim shorts and a pink baby tee were clues enough. He could also tell from the fact that he saw you hand over a measly crumpled ten-dollar note with a little smile. Pathetic.
Rafe watched you walk back to the stands quietly, not noticing him staring. Something about it pissed him off. Why the fuck were you betting against him? He didn’t have any more time to dwell on it before the bell rang, signalling the start of the match. Rafe watched as his opponent lifted his fists, doing the same with a smug look on his face.
His opponent threw the first punch almost immediately. Amateur. Rafe dodged, wanting to draw this out. If he really wanted to, he could’ve knocked him out right here, but where’s the fun in that? After all, he had to give the audience a show, right? Another punch, another miss.
“Is that all you, pretty boy?” Rafe chuckled.
The guy stared at Rafe. If he was trying to look intimidating, it wasn’t working. Rafe turned to look in the direction you’d walked in, making direct eye contact for a second. God, the look on your face. As if you were trying to act unaffected. Rafe knew better, noting the wall you gulped nervously. He smirked before spinning and throwing his first punch, hitting his opponent square in the jaw. The guy stumbled back with a grunt.
Rafe didn’t stop, getting bored of waiting now. He dodged the guy’s weak swing before landing another hit. And another. And another. It felt good letting all his anger out, and Rafe didn’t hold back. In moments like this, all he heard was his father’s voice calling him a disappointment, everything else blurring out of focus. His opponent tried to defend himself, but it was no use. He seemed to realise when Rafe had him pinned to the ground, punches never slowing. Bruised and beaten, he finally yielded, giving the sign.
Rafe managed to stop himself. Just barely. His breath was heavy, blood pumping as he stood up, the cheers from the audience returning.
“Give it up for Rafe!” The screams grew louder as the referee walked up and lifted Rafe’s hand. The smirk never left his face. His eyes seemed to find you again, looking a little disappointed. Unbeknownst to you, Rafe’s attention had been caught.
Rafe was at the adjoined bar later, knuckles bruised and ego high. He’d been paid five hundred today. Not bad. He was at the bar, taking full advantage of the three free drinks offered to the day’s winners, when he saw you walking by. His lips curved into a smirk as he walked over, blocking your path.
You stopped just short of bumping into him, then froze as you saw who he was. “Um… excuse me,” you whispered, trying to get past him. Not so quickly.
“You bet against me,” Rafe stated flatly, not hiding the amusement in his voice.
You blinked, clearly not expecting him to know. Your reaction gave Rafe a rush. Satisfaction? Thrill? He wasn’t sure, but he relished it. “Y-you saw?” you stuttered out, nervous, not sure what he was going to do to you. You’d just watch him beat a guy.
Rafe chuckled at your obliviousness. “You new here?” He already knew the answer but asked anyway. Of course, you nodded as Rafe expected.
“One thing you should know, sweetheart,” he leaned closer, breath fanning over your ear, “don’t bet against me.”
Rafe pulled back to watch your wide eyes, the terrified look on your face. God, you were sweet. “O-okay,” you nodded frantically.
He couldn’t help but smile fully. “You know, an underground fighting ring is no place for a girl like you.”
“I know… I just came here with my boyfriend,” you whispered, barely meeting his eyes.
For reasons Rafe couldn’t place, his fist tightened. You had a boyfriend. It shouldn’t have mattered to him, but it did. Suddenly, Rafe had the primal urge to know. To know which fucking bastard here was dating you. “Who’s your boyfriend?” Rafe asked, trying and failing to keep his tone neutral.
If you noticed the undertone in his voice, you didn’t show it. Or perhaps it was hidden under your already present nervousness. “Jake,” you mumble. When he raised his eyebrow, you kept going. “Um… the guy you were fighting.”
Rafe’s blood went cold, jaw clenching harder, his smirk gone now. That fucking weakling was your boyfriend? Rafe couldn’t understand why a girl like you would be with someone like that when you could do so much better. This shouldn’t matter. You were Pogue. Rafe tried telling himself that, but his mind seemed to ignore it. Just as he was about to speak, your boyfriend came into view behind you, bandages loose, holding a pack of ice. Rafe was almost certain the idiot was fucking limping.
You turned, your nervousness shifting into a smile at the sight of Jake. “Hi…” you whispered softly as he walked closer. It just pissed Rafe off more.
Jake wrapped an arm around you, pressing a kiss to your forehead. So fucking sweet. Then his eyes landed on Rafe. He froze for a second before extending his hand like some respectable guy. “Hey man… good game.”
Rafe stared for a second before smiling. Coldly. He shook the guy’s hand hard, watching as he winced slightly. He didn’t say anything. He was too focused on you. The way you were looking at Jake like he hung the moon or some shit.
“You wanna go home, babe?” Jake asked. Of course, the fucking pussy wasn’t staying for a drink. His broke ass probably couldn’t afford it.
You nodded before turning to Rafe. “Nice meeting you,” you smiled before walking off with your boyfriend.
Rafe watched as you left. Whatever anger he’d just released in beating the shit out of your boyfriend had returned. Doubled this time. He went to the bar, ordered a whiskey, and downed it in one go, savouring the burn down his throat.
Those stupid Kook girls were the last thing on his mind right now. Rafe would have you. And he’d make sure of it.
a/n: @bookishbelle2312 tysm for sending in this request and im sorry it took me like a month to get to but hope you like it!! 😭 ik this was supposed to be a oneshot but i couldn't really think of a satisfying ending so idk i might do another part 🤭 more reqs will be coming soon if you sent one in i promise ive seen in and will get to it asap i love your ideas sm! 💕 feel free to send in requests for fics, headcanons or moodboards ꫂ᭪݁
taglist: @rafesgreasycurtainbangs , @rafecameronarchive , @misschillyy
dividers: @chrisssiren
♡ masterlist ♡
me realizing i have to actually write part 4 of my fic and it won't mysteriously just get onto my laptop or phone from my head..
it was a sweltering july afternoon on kildare. the sun reached its highest peak in the sky, its rays making everyone, especially you, a bit hazy. after a long while in the sun, you lay in the reclined passenger seat of rafe’s truck, oversized sunglasses covering your weary eyes.
he’s got his phone connected to the vehicle’s bluetooth system, your shared car playlist softly playing through the speakers. you tried adding a few songs of your choosing after he insisted he wouldn’t mind, and he’d still love you even if he didn’t like one of your favorite songs. in fact, he “wanted to hear some of that shit you like”, even though you knew he was mainly just trying to make you feel especially included, due to the anxiety that always seems to plague you no matter the situation. in order to impress and relate to him, you added a few female rap songs you enjoy to the playlist.
rafe taps his fingers against the leather steering wheel to the beat of the song playing, which happened to be ‘slut him out’ by baby tate. rap didn’t seem like a genre you frequented, or so rafe thought.
his eyebrows raise as you hum along, mouthing every few words in your half-asleep state, tuckered out from the sun. you were just too exhausted to be shy about the explicit lyrics like you usually would be.
“you, uh… you like this one?” rafe asks, grin evident in his tone. his voice interrupting the song wakes you from your cat-nap.
“huh?” you reply, voice scratchy with sleep.
“you’re singing. you know this song?” he continues, turning the music down just enough to hear your quiet voice.
“oh…” you start, rubbing your eyes with your fists. you were just getting comfortable. “i— i guess so…” you reluctantly admit, preparing yourself for his onslaught of teasing.
“do you even know what you’re singin’ along to? hah…” he chuckles, shocked you would even keep the song on for longer than five seconds without getting hot in the face and pressing the skip button.
“it’s just a song…” you shrug, feeling the ever-common wave of shyness that appears whenever rafe pokes fun at you.
“nah— nah, baby, this isn’t just ‘a song’, are you hearing yourself? the you i know would never be caught dead sayin’ this shit.” he gestures to the screen of his truck, slowing to a stop at a red light, before turning his torso to face you. you begin to sink into your seat at his gaze.
“it’s not, like, a big deal, it’s just words—“ you try to defend yourself before he cuts you off with a scoff.
“okay, well— if they’re just words, then go ahead and repeat them for me. say ‘em to my face.” rafe grins, pointing at his chest repeatedly.
“rafe, please…” you cover your cheeks, heat spreading throughout your face and down your neck.
“c’mon,” he goads, reaching across the center console to tuck a piece of fallen hair behind your ear. “you’ll repeat all the shit she’s saying behind my back, but you can’t say it to my face? really, baby? you really that shy?”
“i don’t wanna say it…” you mumble, shoulders raised to your ears, body slumped in your seat. you know his teasing is always light-hearted, but you can’t help but get so embarrassed around him.
“yeah, i know you don’t.” he gives in, turning back to face the road, beginning to accelerate the truck on the final stretch back to tannyhill. “i know my girl doesn’t talk like that.”
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rafe cameron : headcanons
super fluffy - very cute i'd say! if you enjoy tell me and i can do more maybe even a little less fluffy and more smutty? love ya!
what's his, is his. he adores keeping what he owns, in this case it's you. creepily eyes hold onto you swiping up and down your body, however you don't worry; you know your psycho boyfriends grip is tightening onto your forearm and staring knives, his protective shield over you expands. clearly he dislikes dirty eyes exploring your physique, which of course drives him crazy, insane if he wasn't already. his anger overpowers him but he's learnt by now to just have a staring contest rather than starting something; only because you told him once not to. his intimidation makes the man backdown and rafes pent up anger releases effortlessly as you giggle at him for his insanity; you do appreciate it though. he rolls his eyes slightly smirking just because you've infected a smile onto him, he definitely did not find it funny before.
your skin is like holding a warm cup of coffee on a autumn day, he states. rafe loves skin to skin contact, however maybe not in the way you think. his arm is tightly wrapped around your waist brushing against your shirt, resting above your hipbone under your shirt is his hand. thumb rubbing slight circles, no this is not a protective thing although you wouldn't put it past him, your skin warms his hands up. any chance he gets to feel your skin rather than fabric he takes. it's cute really. it makes him feel more connected.
he's a professional plait-er. his hands lightly hold the three pieces, he carefully arranges them to create one of the most beautiful braids you've witnessed, any braid you ask even if he hasn't tried he will do; he'll learn one way or another. he adores seeing your hair out of your way helping you be more comfortable, what a little softie. you guess he learnt it from braiding sarah's or wheezies hair but either way, he does it best. "rapunzel"
you had asked really, really nicely.
"pretty please? it's been such a long week, i just need to de-stress a little bit..." you bounce on the balls of your feet, jewelry and bangles jostling at your incessant movement.
"you dragged me to that dusty ass thrift store last week, okay? you-- you need to find a new hobby. one that doesn't involve spending all the money I work my ass off to make on dead people's shit." rafe responds, finality in his tone. he saunters past you, stepping into the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water.
"you don't even need to come in!" you bargain, trailing after him like a puppy. "you could just drop me off! please?" you clasp your hands together, giving him your best sad eyes to try and convince him.
"i'm not just gonna leave you there by yourself, that's not-- that's not safe, alright?" rafe stresses, pinching the bridge of his nose with his free hand. he thinks it over for a beat, squinting at you.
"two hours. okay? that's it. i have shit to do tonight and i can't be chasing after you." rafe decides, taking a long swig from his glass.
"really?" you beam, smiling up at him.
"really. go grab your shit, let's leave in 10."
"thank you, thank you, thank you!" you wrap your arms around his neck, balancing on your tiptoes to hug him.
"yeah, that made you happy, huh?" he says faux-sarcastically, setting his now empty glass down in the sink, watching you skip down the hall to your shared bedroom.
that was how you ended up here, in your favorite antique store in all of the outer banks. you practically float down the aisles, awe-struck at all the clothing pieces, trinkets, and vintage furniture. you could come here a million times and always feel like you are right where you're meant to be; in your special happy place.
already in your reusable tote bag (the one you bring everywhere, of course), was a pair of embroidered cowboy boots, a true-vintage baby blue negligee, and a precious moments figurine you just have to take home and paint to look like a carbon copy of you and rafe.
speaking of rafe, he follows closely behind you, still being hyper-aware of your every move while he responds to business emails on his phone.
"is this cute?" you ask, holding up a plaid mini dress. it would look perfect with the blythe doll tights you just ordered, you think.
"huh? rafe looks up from his phone, eyes zeroing in on the dress you gesture to. "yeah, baby. it's-- it's nice." his head turns down to his phone again before returning to stare at you. "you want it? get it."
"thank you..." you say softly, hugging your tote full of goodies to your chest. it's not unlike him to pay for your shopping sprees, and you know he does it because he loves you, and he wants you to have all of the things you like.
"it's no big deal," he shrugs, the corner of his lips turning upward in a proud smirk. "what's that thing you always say? 'bare minimum'?" rafe guides you towards the checkout counter with a gentle hand on the small of your back.
of course when you get home rafe asks you to do a haul of everything you bought! his favorite part is the mini fashion show you do at the end, rambling about how perfect all of your finds were and how you just can't wait until you can style all of them. you take it so seriously because you're a niche fashion icon!
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an: just clearing out the drafts so if this is shitty sorry!!
the worst part wasn’t that rafe lied.
it was how easy he made it look.
you stood barefoot on the tarmac outside tanneyhill, arms wrapped around yourself against the ocean wind while rain soaked through the thin hoodie you’d stolen from him months ago. the same hoodie he used to pull over your head after late-night drives. the same one that still smelled faintly like his cologne and cigarette smoke.
and now all you could think about was her hands on him instead.
