#rafe x reader fluff

[somaaaaaaaaaa]

I Don’t Play About You

“telling my bf I found his best friend on Hinge”

Your phone is hidden on the counter, recording quietly.

Text on the screen reads:

telling my bf I found his best friend on hinge

Rafe’s at the sink, drying his hands, posture tense like he’s already irritated about something. You clear your throat.

“Rafe?”

“What,” he says, not looking at you.

“I saw something weird today.”

That makes him glance up, eyes sharp. “Weird how.”

You hesitate just long enough. “I think I saw Topper on Hinge.”

He turns around fully. Looks at you once.

“…Okay.”

That’s it. No anger. No shock.

You frown. “That’s all you’re gonna say?”

Rafe shrugs. “He’s single. I don’t care.”

That throws you off. “You’re not mad?”

He takes a step closer, gaze narrowing. “Why would I be.”

You shift your weight. “I mean… it’s still weird.”

His head tilts slightly. Then his expression changes—like something clicks into place.

“Why were you on Hinge.”

Your stomach drops. “I wasn’t—”

“Don’t,” he cuts in immediately. Calm. Cold. “You don’t ‘see’ Hinge profiles by accident.”

“It was just my friends—”

“I don’t care,” he snaps. “Did you download it.”

Silence.

Rafe lets out a short, humorless laugh. “Unbelievable.”

“You’re more mad about that than him?” you try.

He looks at you like you’re missing the entire point.

“I don’t give a fuck about Topper,” he says flatly. “He doesn’t matter.”

Then he steps closer, close enough that you feel his presence completely.

“You do.”

His voice drops. Controlled. Dangerous.

“You don’t need to be on apps. You don’t need to look. You don’t need anyone else’s attention.”

“I wasn’t talking to anyone—”

“That’s not the point,” he interrupts. “You’re my everything. I don’t share.” The way he said it was almost like it disgusted him to even think about it.

Your heart is pounding now.

You finally flip the phone around. “It’s a prank. Look.”

He glances at the screen, sees the recording, the caption. His expression doesn’t soften.

He takes the phone from your hand, ends the video, sets it aside.

“Don’t do that again,” he says. Not asking.

You nod. “Okay.”

For a moment, it’s quiet. Then suddenly—he grabs you.

Pulls you into him hard, one arm tight around your waist, the other threading into your hair as he kisses you deeply, intensely, like he’s staking a claim. The kiss is firm, demanding, leaving no room for doubt.

His mouth trails from your lips to your jaw, then to your neck, kissing there slowly, deliberately. His breath is warm against your skin.

“Mine,” he murmurs, low and possessive.

He presses his face into your hair, inhaling deeply, eyes closing for a brief second like that’s what settles him. Like that’s what reminds him you’re here. With him.

When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours.

“I don’t play about you,” he says quietly.

Your phone buzzes on the counter—notifications flooding in.

Top comment:

the way he did NOT care about topper at all 😭

Rafe doesn’t even look at it. He just pulls you closer.

[prettybabyyyy]

rafes love language is gift giving you cannot tell me otherwise

[somaaaaaaaaaa]

funny love

The restaurant had gotten louder as the night went on, or maybe it was just them.

Y/N sat across from Rafe with her chin in her hand, watching him like he was the most entertaining thing in the room. His sleeves were rolled up, hair a little messier than usual, eyes warm and unfocused in that way that told her he had definitely had too much to drink.

“You’re doing it again,” she said.

“Doing what.”

“Looking at me like that,” she said, smiling. “Like I just told you the funniest joke of your life.”

He leaned back in his chair. “You kind of are the funniest thing in my life.”

She rolled her eyes but she was smiling too much to hide it. “You’re only saying that because you’re drunk.”

“I say it sober,” he replied. “I just whisper it instead.”

She laughed and reached across the table, dragging his hand toward her. “You’re so annoying.”

“And yet,” he said, squeezing her fingers, “you keep holding my hand.”

“Because if I don’t,” she said seriously, “you might flirt with the waiter.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Jealous.”

She leaned closer, lowering her voice. “Possessive.”

That earned her a grin so smug she immediately pushed his shoulder. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what.”

“Like you know exactly how much I love you.”

“I do know,” he said softly.

When they finally made it outside, the cool air hit them both at once. Y/N laughed and grabbed onto his arm, stumbling just a little.

“Okay,” she said. “The sidewalk is definitely moving.”

“It’s not,” Rafe said, pulling her closer. “You are.”

She pressed her face into his chest. “You’re solid. I trust you.”

“You trust me with your life,” he said.

“I trust you to not let me fall,” she corrected. “Big difference.”

They stood there waiting, tangled together, talking nonsense and laughing too loud.

“Do you think people can tell we’re drunk,” she asked.

Rafe glanced down at her, then at the way she was holding onto him like he was the only thing keeping her upright. “No idea.”

She looked up at him, eyes bright. “You’re lying.”

“Okay,” he admitted. “But I don’t care.”

She laughed again, shoving his chest. “You’re impossible.”

“You married me.”

She blinked. “I did.”

“You did,” he said proudly.

Their ride pulled up and they barely noticed until the driver cleared his throat. Y/N immediately hid her face against Rafe’s shoulder, laughing.

“Oops.”

Rafe opened the door, guiding her in carefully. “Sorry,” he said casually. “We’re very in love.”

The ride home was quiet in the best way. Y/N leaned into him, head on his shoulder, fingers tracing lazy shapes on his arm. Rafe kept one arm wrapped around her, thumb brushing her shoulder like he was grounding himself.

“You smell good,” she murmured.

“So do you,” he replied. “You always do.”

When they finally got inside, shoes were kicked off again, laughter echoing through the house. They made it as far as the couch before collapsing.

Y/N laid back first, pulling him down with her without a second thought. Rafe followed easily, settling on top of her, his head resting on her chest, weight warm and familiar. One arm wrapped around her waist, the other coming up to slide into her hair, fingers slowly combing through it.

She sighed, hands moving instinctively to the back of his head, fingers threading through his hair, holding him there.

“Comfortable,” she teased.

“Very,” he murmured, nose pressing into her collarbone. “This is my spot.”

“You’re heavy,” she said softly.

“You like it.”

She smiled, kissing the top of his head. “I do.”

They stayed like that, breathing in sync, the room quiet except for the soft sounds of them settling into each other. His fingers moved gently through her hair, slow and repetitive, like he was memorizing her even though he already knew every part of her.

Her hand stayed at the back of his head, thumb brushing his scalp, grounding him just as much as he grounded her.

“I love you,” he said quietly, half asleep already.

She smiled down at him, arms tightening around his shoulders. “I know.”

And with him warm and solid against her, hand in her hair, heart steady against hers, she let herself drift too.

Safe. Loved. Exactly where she was meant to be.

[somaaaaaaaaaa]

Lap of Luxury

No one knew what to make of them. Rafe Cameron the man who made headlines for his reckless business deals, his late-night parties, and his penchant for chaos had somehow ended up with her. The office whispers were endless. Everyone expected scandal, a firestorm, a public meltdown. What they didn’t expect was the way she moved, serene and untouchable, like she didn’t belong in the same world as him, and yet completely, undeniably did.

That day, the conference room was buzzing with coworkers, papers scattered across the polished table, laptops open, everyone trying to focus. And there she was, sitting on his lap. Her posture perfect, her back straight, heels barely touching the floor. She was soft-spoken, elegant in a way that made it seem effortless. Her hair fell just so, the faintest hint of her perfume drifting around them, and she was explaining the work calmly, gesturing toward the documents with delicate precision.

Rafe’s hands were on her waist, holding her to his chest, leaning back in his chair like the king of the world. His eyes followed every subtle movement she made, every tilt of her head, and he smiled like a fool completely undone by her. Not a word of what she was saying registered in his brain. The words, the reports, the deadlines they could all wait. He only had eyes for her.

The first person to walk in nearly choked on their coffee. The image of the notoriously untamed Rafe Cameron, sitting in a tailored suit with a silk tie slightly loosened, holding a woman who looked like she had stepped out of a magazine, on his lap, and letting her work calmly as if they were in their own world it broke the unspoken rules of the office. Everyone knew he didn’t play about her. She wasn’t just his girlfriend. She was his. His only. His entire world wrapped in grace and elegance.

She adjusted a page on the table, still soft-spoken, still explaining, entirely unbothered by the attention. She didn’t raise her voice, didn’t blush, didn’t sway in her confidence. She was completely focused, completely herself, and completely his.

Rafe leaned his head back against hers, pressing a kiss to the top of it, his fingers curling in her hair. He didn’t care who was watching. He wasn’t going to hide her. But he also wasn’t going to let anyone get close. She could handle herself. He didn’t need anyone to see what she meant to him but oh, how he loved that they did. The shock on everyone else’s faces was almost as satisfying as having her right there, soft and flawless against him.

Her hand rested on the papers, her fingers tracing lines as she explained something to the room. His hands stayed on her, his smile growing, his eyes warm with something no one else had ever gotten from him. He wasn’t listening to a word she said. He didn’t need to. He just wanted to look at her, to feel her, to remind the world that she was his and that he wasn’t going to let anyone forget it.

The room might have been full of chatter and deadlines, but for Rafe Cameron and her, it was just her soft voice, her calm focus, and the way she made him a complete fool willing to ignore everything else in the world just to hold her.

[somaaaaaaaaaa]

Calloused Hands, Quiet Love

Rafe Cameron came home every night with dirt under his nails and sweat clinging to his skin like proof of how hard he worked. His boots were always kicked off by the door, jeans stained with oil or dust, shoulders tight from carrying more weight than anyone ever asked him to. Blue collar life had carved something rough into him. It had also made him honest in ways he never used to be.

Y/N loved him like that.

She loved the way his hands were always a little scratched up, knuckles bruised from long days of labor. She loved the way he moved slower when he got home, like the world had finally stopped asking things of him. Most of all she loved that he let her be the place he rested.

He never said much when he walked in. Just a low “Hey baby” as he leaned down to kiss her temple, pressing his forehead against hers for a second longer than necessary. It was his way of grounding himself. Of reminding himself that this was real. That she was real.

She would sit on the counter while he washed his hands at the sink, watching the muscles in his back shift under his shirt. Watching the tension slowly melt out of him. Sometimes she would step closer and wrap her arms around his waist from behind, pressing her cheek between his shoulder blades. Every time she did, he would pause. Every single time.

“You smell like work,” she would murmur.

“And you smell like home,” he would answer, voice low and sure.

At night they sat on the porch together, his arm draped heavy around her shoulders, her legs tucked beneath her. The air was warm and thick with summer, cicadas humming in the background. Rafe would lean back in his chair, pulling her closer until her head rested against his chest. He loved having her there. Loved the weight of her. Loved that she chose to be close.

He would press slow kisses into her hair, her temple, the curve of her shoulder. Not rushed. Never rushed. Blue collar Rafe loved with patience, with intention, with hands that had learned how to hold without breaking.

“You ever get tired of me?” she asked once, half teasing, half serious.

He laughed softly and tipped her chin up so she had to look at him. His eyes were tired but warm, steady in a way that made her chest ache.

“I work all day just to come back to you,” he said. “Why would I ever get tired of that.”

She melted into him then, fingers curling into his shirt. He kissed her slow and deep, like he had all the time in the world. Like nothing else existed beyond the porch light and the sound of her breathing.

Rafe loved her quietly but fiercely. In the way he fixed things before they broke. In the way he made sure she ate before he did. In the way he kept her on the inside of the sidewalk without even thinking about it. His love was not loud. It was solid. Reliable. Earned every single day.

When she fell asleep against him, he stayed still even when his arm went numb. When she laughed, he watched her like he was memorizing it. When she held his face in her hands, thumbs brushing along his jaw, he closed his eyes like he had finally found peace.

Blue collar Rafe Cameron did not have much. But what he had, he gave to her completely. His time. His strength. His heart.

And Y/N loved him not despite the dirt and the exhaustion, but because of it. Because he showed her every day that love was not just something you said. It was something you built. Something you worked for. Something you came home to.

[somaaaaaaaaaa]

He Didn’t Mean To

The living room was warm in that lazy, late-afternoon way, sunlight spilling through the tall windows and settling across the rug. The TV was on but muted, some sports channel neither of you were really watching. You were sitting cross-legged on the floor, your daughter between you and Rafe, her little legs wobbling as she tried to stand.

Rafe had her under the arms, holding her upright, laughing every time she bounced. “Look at her,” he said, pride thick in his voice. “She’s strong. I swear, she’s already got better balance than I did at—”

“She’s literally standing because you’re holding her,” you teased, smiling up at him.

He snorted. “Let me have this.”

She babbled loudly, arms flailing, and both of you laughed. Rafe leaned forward, talking to you now, eyes on your face instead of hers. “I was thinking maybe we should move the couch back a bit. Gives her more room when she starts—”

He gestured without thinking.

Just a small movement. A reflex. A second of forgetting what was in his hands.

Your daughter slipped.

Her knees hit the rug with a soft thump, followed immediately by a startled, sharp cry that ripped straight through your chest. Everything froze for half a second before instinct took over. You were moving before you even realized it, scooping her up, pulling her tight to you, one hand immediately cradling the back of her head.

“Hey—hey—shh, shh,” you whispered frantically, kissing her forehead, her temple, her cheeks. “Mama’s here. Mama’s got you. It’s okay.”

Rafe didn’t move.

His hands were still lifted in the air, fingers curled like they were still holding her. His face drained of color as realization slammed into him.

“Oh my God,” he breathed. “I— I didn’t even—”

You shot him a look.

Not yelling. Not screaming.

A death stare—sharp, furious, protective in a way that made his chest seize. The kind that said that was my baby.

He flinched.

You didn’t say anything. You were too busy checking her—her knees, her arms, her head—your hands shaking as you searched for any sign of real injury. You kissed her over and over, rocking her as her cries softened into whimpers.

“It’s okay,” you murmured. “You’re okay, baby. Shh.”

Rafe slowly sank down onto the floor, like his legs couldn’t hold him anymore. “I’m so sorry,” he said, voice cracking. “I swear I didn’t realize I moved. I just— I forgot.”

You kept shushing her, jaw tight, until her crying finally eased. When you looked at him, his eyes were glassy, terrified, full of a guilt so heavy it looked like it might crush him. He reached out hesitantly, unsure if he was allowed.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered again—this time to her. “Daddy didn’t mean it. I promise.”

“She’s okay,” you said finally, your voice low but firm. “But you scared me.”

That broke him more than anger ever could. “I scared myself,” he admitted.

The rest of the night passed quietly. Bath time was gentle. Bedtime slower than usual. Rafe hovered nearby, watching every movement, flinching every time she wobbled, like he was afraid the world might hurt her again if he looked away.

When she was finally asleep in her crib, warm and safe, Rafe lingered. He stared at her for a long moment before following you out. The door barely clicked shut before he collapsed against the wall, sliding down until he was sitting on the floor, face buried in his hands.

“I hurt her,” he choked.

You knelt in front of him immediately. “You scared her,” you said gently. “There’s a difference.”

He shook his head, tears slipping through his fingers. “She trusted me. She was in my hands and I dropped her. What kind of father does that?”

“A human one,” you whispered.

“I keep seeing it,” he said, voice breaking. “Her falling. The sound she made.”

You pulled his hands away, forcing him to look at you. “She’s safe,” you said firmly. “She’s sleeping. And tomorrow she’s still going to reach for you like nothing happened.”

He sobbed then—quiet, broken cries against your shoulder as you held him. “I love her so much,” he said. “I didn’t know it could hurt like this.”

Later, when the house had gone still and dark, Rafe crawled into bed with you without a word. He folded into your arms, head resting against your chest, one arm wrapped tightly around your waist like he needed to anchor himself. You ran your fingers through his hair, slow and steady.

He held the baby monitor in his hand, the soft green light glowing. Through it, you could hear her—tiny breaths, small sounds in her sleep. Rafe pressed his ear to your chest, listening to your heartbeat, the same rhythm that had once soothed her before she was ever born.

“She’s so small,” he whispered, eyes fixed on the screen. “I can’t believe I almost—”

You cupped his face gently. “She’s safe,” you said again.

He watched her sleep, her chest rising and falling, her lashes resting against her cheeks. His expression softened into something achingly tender—love wrapped in guilt and awe.

“I’ll never forget again,” he murmured. “Never.”

You held him as his breathing finally slowed, matching yours, his grip tightening just a little around the monitor. The last thing he did before sleep took him was look at his baby girl one more time, peaceful and dreaming.

And for the first time that night, his chest eased—because she was safe, because he was loved, and because tomorrow, she would still reach for him.

[somaaaaaaaaaa]

SUNSET ON THE RANCH

The sun was melting into the horizon, painting the sky in streaks of gold and pink. Rafe guided the horse at a slow, steady pace, the rhythm of its hooves blending with the soft whisper of the evening breeze. Y/N sat snugly in front of him, pressed back against his chest, feeling the warmth of his body and the strength of his arms resting over her stomach. Her overalls were cut short, a simple bra underneath, and her worn cowboy boots tapped gently against the horse’s sides.

Rafe’s hand gripped the reins easily, but the other stayed firmly on her stomach, keeping her close. He tilted his head slightly, letting his jaw brush the top of her head, inhaling the scent of her freshly washed hair. The breeze teased her strands across his face, and he closed his eyes, savoring every bit of her, every little detail he’d memorized over the years.

“You always pick the perfect evenings for these rides,” Y/N murmured, leaning back a little more into him, voice soft and playful.

“I like having you close,” Rafe said, low and rough, brushing a thumb lightly across her side. “Feels right. Feels like you’re supposed to be here. On me. With me.”

Her breath caught at the weight behind his words, at the warmth of his chest pressed against her back. She tipped her head slightly, letting him nuzzle her neck. His lips brushed the curve of her shoulder, slow, deliberate, and careful, sending shivers down her spine. Her hands found his forearms, fingers curling against his skin, seeking a tether to the man holding her so protectively.

“You notice everything about me,” she whispered, tilting her head so she could feel his lips along her neck.

“Everything,” he admitted, lips brushing across the top of her shoulder, then to the side of her neck. “The way your hair falls. The way your body leans back into me. Every little shiver, every breath… I notice it all. I can’t stop.”

Y/N shivered, leaning back a little more into him, letting herself feel it fully. “You’re obsessed,” she said, half laughing, half breathless.

“Maybe I am,” Rafe admitted, voice rough and dark. “But how could I not be? Every inch of you… every little detail… it’s impossible to look away.”

She pressed back into him, feeling the solid weight of his chest, the strength of his arms holding her. He lowered his head again, pressing a soft kiss to her neck, moving to her shoulder blade, lingering there, as if memorizing every curve of her. Her breath came faster, pulse racing, body humming with warmth and desire.

“You feel that?” he murmured against her skin, his lips grazing the curve of her neck. “This… this is just us. Out here. Quiet. And yet I can feel every bit of you.”

“I feel it,” she whispered, tilting her head back to let him nuzzle her temple. “I feel you too.”

The horse trotted steadily onward, the breeze playing through Y/N’s hair, brushing against both of them, carrying the scents of dirt, grass, and warm skin. Each time Rafe’s lips moved along her shoulder and neck, she shivered and tucked herself closer, letting his warmth, strength, and attention envelop her completely.

“I love having you here,” he murmured, resting his chin lightly on the top of her head. “You make this world… this life… better. I need this. I need you.”

“And I need you,” she whispered back, pressing against him, heart racing. “Every second. Every moment. I love being close to you, Rafe. Like this.”

The sun disappeared behind the hills, leaving the sky painted in soft twilight. They moved together, steady and unbroken, a single heartbeat riding the horse through the warm evening air. And there, pressed together, leaning into each other, Rafe and Y/N existed in a world all their own, tethered by a love that was messy, wild, and utterly theirs.

[somaaaaaaaaaa]

A World Built For You

Y/N sat on the couch, the plush cushions swallowing her slight frame, her gaze fixed on the black TV in front of her. Not off, just black, unlit, an empty screen reflecting nothing but the quiet of the house. She hadn’t even realized how long she had been staring at it. The villa was pristine, every corner immaculate, every room tailored to her comfort, but the perfection only made the emptiness louder. The gym, the pool, the movie theater, the salon, the endless stretch of marble floors-it all existed for her. All of it for her. And still, she felt… alone.

The faint echo of the front door closing made her glance up, though not fully. She knew when Rafe came home from work-he had a way of moving through the villa that was impossible to ignore. He didn’t announce himself with fanfare, didn’t need to. His presence filled the house before he even stepped into the living room.

“Hey,” his voice was low, almost soft, carrying just enough weight to make her heart lift, a small pulse of warmth threading through her chest.

She didn’t move, didn’t answer. She wasn’t hiding, she just… stayed, letting him come closer. She could feel him before she saw him, the faint scent of his cologne, the subtle shift in the air as he leaned against the couch, his shoulder brushing hers. His hand, larger than hers, rested briefly on the back of the couch, just above her head. He didn’t touch her yet, but the air between them was thick with something inevitable, possessive, quiet but undeniable.

“You’ve been staring at a black screen for how long?” he asked, teasing just slightly, though his eyes never left hers. He was more observing than questioning, almost reverent in the way he looked at her.

Y/N shrugged without looking at him. “Doesn’t matter,” she murmured.

Rafe’s hand found hers then, brushing her fingers lightly, tracing a path down her arm, making her chest tighten without warning. She flinched slightly, though not entirely away. She knew the way he touched wasn’t casual. Every movement was calculated, familiar, a silent claim. His thumb brushed the back of her hand, slow and deliberate, as if memorizing her, as if he already knew every contour he could touch, every pulse he could feel.

“You don’t have to go out, you know,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost a whisper against the stillness of the house. “I’ve built it all… for you. Everything you could ever want, I made it here. All of it, so you never have to step foot outside if you don’t want to.”

Y/N’s throat tightened. She had felt it-the weight of his love, his obsession-but hearing it out loud, so unflinching, made it real in a way she hadn’t allowed herself to admit. She felt trapped, yes, but the trap was velvet soft, wrapped in silk, lined with intention and care. Every gym, every pool, the salon, the movie theater, even the underground garage with cars she would never touch-every detail was about her, for her, around her.

“I…” she started, then stopped, unsure how to voice the tangle of emotions inside her. Comfort, awe, fear, warmth- all crashing at once.

He leaned closer then, his chest brushing hers, the proximity sending shivers down her spine. His hand slid into her hair, fingertips threading through the strands at the nape of her neck. The gesture was gentle, almost casual, but underneath it all was that intensity, the one she had felt in the small looks, the quiet touches, the way he held himself around her. She could feel it now in full force, like gravity pulling her in, binding her to him in a way that felt permanent, inevitable.

“You’ve been alone too much,” he murmured, just above her ear. “This house, all of it, I wanted it for you, for us. But I don’t like seeing you sit here, untouched, unclaimed.”

Her breath hitched. The words weren’t aggressive; they didn’t need to be. He didn’t yell, didn’t demand. His possessiveness was embedded in everything—his eyes, the brush of his hand, the way his chest leaned against hers as if nothing else in the world mattered but keeping her here, keeping her close.

She shifted slightly, leaning into him despite herself. Her hand came up to rest on the back of his head, fingers tangling in his dark hair. She felt the pulse of him there, strong and steady, and she let herself feel it-the warmth, the safety, the subtle pressure of his claim. His lips brushed the top of her head, almost accidentally, almost tender, but in a way that made her heart clench.

“You’re mine,” he whispered, almost to himself, almost reverent, the words threading into the silence of the room. Not demanding. Not threatening. Just… fact. Unyielding. Certain.

Y/N’s eyes closed. She didn’t need to argue. She didn’t need to move away. The house, his love, his obsession-it was all encompassing, suffocating, comforting. He had built a world around her, wrapped her in it, and now he was here to remind her that nothing, not even the black emptiness of the TV, could touch her when he was home.

She let herself sink into him, into the heat of his chest, the possessive weight of his hands in her hair, the quiet devotion that was as intoxicating as it was overwhelming. The villa could be infinite, could hold every luxury imaginable, but it was him-him, here, now that made it feel like home.

And in that quiet, heavy silence, Y/N understood something she hadn’t allowed herself to admit before. She was utterly his, and she had never felt safer in her life.