asonofpeter

[asonofpeter]

rafe has a housewife kink

pairing: rafe x housewife!reader cw: traditional gender roles, rafe and reader have 3 under 3, rafe is (sort of) sexist, reader is kindaaa oblivious, suggestive, lil toxic, reader calling rafe “sir” a/n: i dont support this irl but for this mannn ugh

rafe being the sole provider for his family, he always expects you to give back by being the perfect wife for him. before you two even met, you were a waitress at the local bar, but as soon as he set his eyes on you he secretly got you fired.

now, you two have three kids under three and you couldn't be more happier. you have never once felt forced to be a housewife and you never expected this life for you. but, providing for your hard-working husband gives you a sense of pride that nothing else can give you.

as his wife, he implements a set of “rules” that needs to be followed. he engraves them into your brain, unbeknownst to you. he expects lunch to be packed with a love note attached before he leaves, dinner to be cooking on the stove as soon as he comes home, the kids to be showered and tucked into bed by 9 p.m. so he can have his way with you after a hard day at work, and many others. you just do these things naturally.

once, your youngest was giving you a hard time and you failed to serve dinner when he came home. his disappointment comes off of him in waves as he held your chin and said, “is this how you want to treat your husband? the person who provides for you? you don't want me to go to bed starving don't you?”

you never want that for him. “of course not, sir,” you shook your head. since that moment, you promised to never disappoint him again.

[asonofpeter]

Basic Training XIX

Peter Parker x Reader

Warnings: NON-CON, DUB-CON, mentions of MURDER/violence/kidnapping, captivity, public sex, degradation, forced pregnancy, forced marriage, stockholm syndrome, ptsd, housewife kink, cop!Peter

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies​ | divider by @whimsicalrogers

➥ series masterlist

summary: A pit stop during a road trip ends tragically when a small town cop sets his sights on you. You’re the newest addition in a long standing fucked up family tradition.

~

“She’s better than she was when we first discovered her condition, but she’s still not where she needs to be…”

The now familiar voice reached your ears as you stared at the sheets, picking at your fingers just as you heard Peter sigh. You felt his soft hand rest atop your head, fingers gently massaging your scalp.

“That doesn’t surprise me,” the younger man murmured. “I’ve been getting her to eat more, but her appetite still hasn’t fully returned.”

There was a bit of an edge in his voice, and beyond the numb cloud you’d felt trapped in for weeks, a tiny sliver of satisfaction tickled your chest. Even if Peter had not been candid with you about what he was thinking, you knew that some part of him blamed Steve for the predicament you found yourselves in.

As he and Dr. Banner continued to talk about you as if you weren’t there, you recalled the hushed argument from only days ago that had woken you up in the middle of the night. Peter’s voice had been easy to identify—Steve’s even easier—and you’d been unable to fall back asleep right away as their muffled voices reached you through the floor.

You hadn’t been able to make out what they were saying, but you’d known that it was about you. Even though his confirmation wasn’t needed, Dr. Banner had said what everyone guessed to be true. You were pregnant before you even went down into the basement, and now, because of the actions of that day and the events that followed, Peter worried that the baby wasn’t going to make it.

You were sure that parts of him blamed both himself and you as well, but you supposed that Steve was an easier target, and you guessed that you couldn’t argue against the blond carrying a significant amount of blame. Truthfully, you didn’t care about who was to blame. You didn’t care about this pregnancy, at all.

Nevermind the fact that it just didn’t feel real to you—and that probably had to do with the fact that you weren’t even showing—but because it didn’t seem real, you just couldn’t bring yourself to consider it a priority after everything that had happened. How were you expected to care about something you couldn’t even see or feel when you had your own internal turmoil you were struggling to navigate?

Peter was stressed about a baby you didn’t even want while you were absentmindedly leaning into the touch of a murderer.

“Did you hear that?”

Peter’s gentle voice pulled you from your thoughts, and you blinked, the scene before you coming back into focus. Both he and Dr. Banner were looking at you expectantly, and when you looked between them—lips parted and brows furrowed—it became obvious that you hadn’t heard a word.

You ignored the frown on Peter’s face as Dr. Banner repeated himself.

“You need to eat even when you don’t feel like it, okay?” you looked down at that. “You’re still a bit malnourished and nowhere near the weight and health you need to be if you’re to carry this baby to term.”

It went unsaid, but there was a silent agreement that it was a miracle you hadn’t lost the baby already. At the feel of Peter’s gaze on you, you gave the older man a nod, and he seemed satisfied enough to finish up his talk with Peter. Your eyes traced the white sheets as Peter and Dr. Banner walked to the door, their voices fading as the dark-haired young man walked him out.

A small bout of relief filled you at being left alone, but it was overshadowed by the anxious feeling your codependency to Peter often brought on whenever you weren’t around him. Down in the basement, you had started to grow used to the numb feeling of being alone and isolated in darkness and silence. The days and weeks had blended together until it felt like one long endless stretch, but then Peter took your hand again and looked into your eyes and spoke to you in that gentle way he often did and…

You were back.

You were back to wanting to be around him and wanting to always be touching him and depending on him as the only thing to keep you somewhat sane—if you could even call yourself that. You needed him—to act as a shield against Steve, to reassure you that you were okay, to remind you that you were worthy of being loved. 

It was painful to admit, now because some part of you also couldn’t stand the sight of him. Since being out of the basement, you were more at war with yourself than you ever were before, and it was hell. Whenever he looked at you or talked to you, it was a constant battle with yourself to remind yourself of what he did and who he was. A battle you sometimes lost.

Even his touch made you nauseous…

“Dr. Banner’s right,” he said to you sometime later after the man in question was long gone. “You really need to be eating a lot more.”

You said nothing to that, your gaze remaining on the white sheets on your lap. You could feel Peter’s gaze on you, hoping and praying for some kind of response, but you only disappointed him.

“I’ve been trying to find a balance, you know? I don’t want to force you, but it’s important that you eat and get your strength up. I was trying to give it time, but we can’t afford that,” he continued, reaching for your hand.

You snatched it away without thinking, and you could feel him staring at you. The silence stretched and stretched, and you avoided his gaze. This tense and awkward air had surrounded you two for weeks, and you knew that a moment would come where someone would reach their breaking point.

After some time, you heard Peter slowly exhale.

“I understand that you’re mad at me,” he finally whispered. “I understand that. You’re angry and confused…and probably really hurt…”

Your eyes watered.

“...and I’m letting you have that, but…do not do anything you’ll regret.”

His words made you frown, and you stared at the wall, struggling to understand what he meant.

“If you are doing any of this just to spite me…” you whipped your head around to look at him. “If you let anything happen to our baby just to hurt me…”

Peter trailed off the longer you just stared at him, your eyes growing wider and wider at his audacity. How could you even begin to tell Peter that you weren’t even thinking about this baby? That this thing growing inside of you that you couldn’t even feel or see was so far from your mind?

For the first time in ages…you wanted to scream at Peter. You wanted to hit him like you used to and hurt him like he hurt you and make this as difficult as possible for him. The thought to let something happen to this baby just to hurt Peter had never even crossed your mind. Although, you supposed that it wasn’t a bad idea, but you weren’t like that.

You didn’t have it in you.

You wanted to tell the man before you that if you were ever going to entertain the idea of losing this baby in some way, it would be to protect them from what you felt was a worse fate. It would be because ending its life before it even had a chance to take its first breath was a mercy in comparison to what they had to look forward to, and you didn’t know what scared you more.

Raising a son to follow in his father’s footsteps or raising a daughter to follow in yours?

It was too much, and instead of saying any of this to Peter, you chose to bite your tongue and lie back down. You heard Peter sigh as you rolled over and faced your back to him, unable to finally voice your thoughts and open the floodgates that were no doubt holding everything back.

You both felt and heard Peter move closer, joining you on the bed, and you didn’t have the energy to shove him away. His hand rested on your back, gently caressing it, and his apology meant nothing to you as you sought out sleep.

Peter’s hands were tight on you as you spilled what little you had in your stomach into the toilet. His silence betrayed his attempts to hide his disappointment, but you knew that he didn’t like the sight of you throwing up when you were still eating so little.

Even if it was normal.

“I’m going to have to ask Dr. Banner what he can do about that…”

You wanted to tell Peter that nothing could really be done about morning sickness because it was…well…morning sickness. You imagined the doctor would tell him what you already knew—that while there was stuff to help reduce it, there was no guaranteed way to stop it.

After helping you wash your mouth out, he was quick to run into the room and get rid of the untouched eggs. The lingering smell was enough to make your stomach churn, and you worried that you’d be sick again. Your lashes fluttered as you slowly breathed in and out through your mouth, and you didn’t realize how long you’d been doing it until you felt Peter’s hand on your arm again.

When you opened your eyes, he had a glass of water, and you were too unwell to resist his help as he tilted it against your lips. He forced you to drink it all, and under different circumstances, you would have been moved by how concerned he was for you and the baby, but as it were, you could only think about how you were well and truly trapped now.

It was a fact before, and it wasn’t like you had a sliver of hope for otherwise or anything—long accepting your fate—but this pregnancy was like the nail in the coffin. Your eyes strayed to the painful ring on your finger as Peter guided you back to the bed, and you moved your head away from his fingers when he reached for your face.

The silence was loud.

“Are you going to hate me forever?”

The truth was that you didn’t know the answer to that. The most logical part of you guessed that some part of you would always hate him, but the part of you that had been so worn down by Peter and this house worried that a day would come—probably sooner than you think—where you would just accept Peter for who he actually was and not who you’d been conned into thinking he was.

Was that really the appropriate term though?

Had you been deceived? 

Of course you had. You’d been deliberately misled or just flat out lied to about the extent of Peter’s involvement in what happened to your friends. It was an agreed upon thing to keep it from you, so yes. You’d indeed been deceived to think Peter wasn’t as bad as he was, and yet…

Perhaps you held some blame in thinking it made that much of a difference to begin with. Whether he pulled the trigger or not—and he very much did—Peter still played an astronomical part in what happened to your friends. You wondered if making such a distinction in your mind was simply a way to ease the guilt you felt about giving in. 

You hadn’t even realized you’d started crying until Peter brushed his thumb under your eye.

“I’m trying to be patient, so patient, because I know these past couple of months have been a lot for you…but you’re scaring me.”

Peter moved closer, resting his hand on the back of your neck.

“I need you to talk to me. I need…I need to hear your voice,” he whispered. “I miss you.”

You squeezed your eyes shut.

“I know a lot is going on in that pretty head of yours. There’s always so much going on up there,” he chuckled. “...but I can’t try to make this right, try to make this better for the both of us if you won’t talk to me.”

Peter took a deep breath.

“I need you to get healthy again so that we can start forgetting about the rough start to this pregnancy and start being happy. We should be celebrating,” Peter told you. “This is supposed to be a happy time for us, and instead I’m scared—scared of losing the baby, of losing you.”

You hated the way Peter’s voice cracked, and fighting against everything in you, you made to move out of his reach. Peter wasn’t having it though, fingers digging into the fabric of your nightgown and the skin of your arm.

“You’ve lost so much weight, and you’re not eating enough, and you won’t speak to me—stop, stop,” he bit out, pulling you back despite your attempts to get away from him. “I miss you.”

You made a noise of protest, a frustrated whine leaving your lips as he fought to keep you in his grip.

“I miss you so much, I fucking miss you, and you…”

He swallowed his words as he tried to kiss you, and the sound of the slap was loud in the otherwise quiet room. You didn’t know who was more shocked by your actions—you or Peter—and you both just stared at each other for a few moments, silent and wide-eyed.

Your chest was heaving as your breathing grew heavier, and the sight of him started to blur as your eyes watered. You didn’t know why you were pushed over the edge by Peter trying to kiss you, but your whole body felt like it was on fire and not in a good way. Your hand stung, and you took note of the way his cheek continued to redden.

Peter looked like he didn’t know if he wanted to hold you or throttle you.

Your lips trembled as the words danced on your tongue, and the tears that escaped your eyes were hot. You could see Peter’s expression soften at the sight, and you spat the words out before he could say another word to you.

“You are a murderer.”

You couldn’t tell if Peter was shocked by the first words you chose to say to him in months, but he did look stricken.

“...and you made me think you weren’t.”

You shook your head at him, more tears falling.

“You made me think you were better than them. You fed me bullshit and made me think you weren’t as bad as them,” you choked out. “...and maybe…maybe that’s my fault too. Maybe I wanted to believe that to feel better about myself and what was happening.”

You pushed his hands away as he reached for you again.

“Even though I know it’s not my fault, I feel like I could’ve done something to stop this. Fought harder, been stronger, held onto my sanity a little tighter…”

You screamed when Peter tried to interrupt you.

“None of this is my fault! It’s all your fault,” you bit out. “All of this is your fault, but I’m the only one suffering.”

Peter’s face shifted into something angry, but you continued before he could come up with whatever bullshit about how he was suffering too.

“You miss me because I won’t talk to you, because I won’t touch you, but how do you think I feel? Fighting against everything in me that’s telling me to just lay down and submit to survive, telling me to let it go to be happy.”

You were full on sobbing now, gasping around every word you said.

“Every day I have to choose between hating the man that ruined my life…and being happy. Every day, it’s one or the other, and every time I choose what’s easy, I hate myself more and more.”

You reached up to twist your hands into your hair, pulling.

“It was bad enough when I didn’t know you were a murderer…”

You stared into Peter’s eyes, and you looked between them as you dropped your hands.

“...but how can I do it now? How can I choose what’s supposed to be easy when I know what I know?” you whispered.

Peter slowly reached for you, and your shoulders heaved.

“I kept telling myself that it could be worse,” you mumbled. “I kept saying at least…at least he didn’t kill them, at least he didn’t kill them.”

Peter was gently shaking you, but you were staring past him.

“...but you did. Even if you didn’t pull the trigger—and you did—you still killed them,” you quietly breathed. “You killed all of them…”

Your gaze met his worried one.

“From the moment you decided you wanted me, you killed them. You put them in the ground the moment you decided that,” you tearfully said. “...and I told myself differently to make it easier, to make it better, but it doesn’t fucking matter.”

You slapped him again and again, and when Peter painfully gripped your wrists, you couldn’t hold in your painful gasp. You still tried to hit him, but he wouldn’t let you, and you couldn’t stop crying.

“You’re worse than they are. All of them,” you cried. “Even Steve.”

You didn’t care about the hurt on Peter’s face at that, shaking your head at him.

“At least he doesn’t deceive anyone. At least he doesn't lie…”

The words just kept tumbling out, and it was too late to stop them.

“You killed my friends and took me for yourself and drove me insane,” you slowly whispered, tone incredulous like you still couldn’t believe it. “...and if that wasn’t enough…”

You pulled on your arms again, but Peter refused to let you go.

“You made me fall in love with you.”

Peter’s movements faltered at your words, and he moved closer, looking between your eyes.

“You knew what you were doing,” you breathed. “This is what you wanted.”

You frowned at him with a shake of your head.

“You wanted me completely helpless and defenseless without you. I can’t so much as breathe a different way without looking to you first, and you know it. I find out you shot my best friend, and I’m struggling with it? Struggling?” you let out a humorless laugh. “I should hate you! I should be plotting to strangle you in your sleep.”

Peter wrapped his arms around you despite how difficult you made it, and he shushed you.

“...but what would happen to me? Where would I go? Who would even stand to be around me like this?”

Peter forced you to press your face into the crook of his neck, his hand on the back of your head and his other rubbing circles into your back.

“You’ve ruined me, Peter, and it’s exactly what you set out to do,” you sobbed into his skin. “...and I knew it was happening, but I couldn’t stop it from happening.”

“You’re not ruined,” he finally whispered into your hair.

You pushed against his chest, but he wouldn’t let you go, holding you tighter.

“You’re perfect.”

His words both validated and disgusted you. You knew he was saying them because he believed them to be true, and that was the problem. Now that he’d broken you down and scrambled your brain into loving the man who killed your friends and kidnapped you, you were perfect. He’d molded you into exactly what he wanted, and that only made you cry harder.

Peter gently rocked you, refusing to let you go, and when the hand on your back traveled to your stomach, you shuddered. As he traced patterns into your stomach and whispered comforting words to you, you thought to yourself that you couldn't even hate him in peace if you tried. He was always going to be there, comforting you during the pain he caused.

…and for the umpteenth day in a row, you had to decide between hating the man who ruined your life…or being happy.

[asonofpeter]

I love your blog 💖 my request is for sensei Wolf, where the reader is Miguel's older sister and has a baby, since Barcelona Wolf has an interest in her, and when the tournament returns to the All Valley Wolf approaches and you decide the ending

𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐠𝐚𝐳𝐞 | sensei wolf × fem!reader

summary | the request

warnings | intense gaze and implied attraction, soft romantic moments, light suspense, mild references to past relationships, vulnerability

word count | 2.0 k

author's note | it would help me a lot if you liked, commented and reposted so that more people read what I write and don't forget to follow me, thanks ᡣ𐭩

The hustle and bustle of the Sekai Taikai filled the All Valley. The bright lights shone intensely, the cheers of the spectators echoed through the stands, and the sharp sound of blows on the tatami set the rhythm of each match. Everything felt so familiar that, for a moment, you felt trapped in déjà vu. It was as if Barcelona had never ended, as if those chaotic and exciting days were happening all over again before your eyes.

But this time, something was different.

You were carrying your baby in your arms, wrapped in a soft blanket, as you walked through the gym hallways, trying to find a quiet place to calm him down. Being Miguel’s older sister had already made you a familiar figure in the karate world, but now, being a mother made you feel even more visible. You received curious glances, some filled with tenderness, and others, like the one you had felt from the first day, filled with something deeper.

You knew exactly who it was.

You hadn’t forgotten his intense gaze since the tournament in Barcelona. Even then, when your whole world revolved around supporting Miguel, you couldn’t ignore the way he looked at you. Like you were a mystery he was dying to solve. But back then, there was no room for distractions. Your baby was on the way, and everything else faded into the background.

You didn’t expect to see him again, much less here. But there he was, on the other side of the tatami, leading his students with that calm authority that defined him. And every time you looked up, you found him watching you.

The first day you managed to avoid him. Between taking care of your baby, supporting Miguel, and dodging awkward questions, you kept your distance. But at the end of the day, when the stands were starting to empty and the noise was fading away, his voice caught you by surprise.

“I didn’t think I’d see you again so soon.”

You turned slowly, finding yourself face to face with him. He was even more imposing than you remembered. Tall, with his slightly messy hair and that lopsided smile that felt like a challenge.

“Me neither,” you replied cautiously, adjusting your baby’s blanket.

Wolf took a step toward you, never breaking eye contact.

“May I…?” he asked softly, gesturing towards the little one sleeping in your arms.

You hesitated for a moment but nodded. He approached carefully, observing the baby with a tenderness you didn’t expect from someone like him.

“He’s beautiful,” he whispered. “Just like his mother.”

You rolled your eyes, but a smile escaped your lips before you could stop it.

“Always so direct?”

“Only when I’m sure of what I want,” he replied without hesitation.

A shiver ran down your spine. You remembered too well the feeling of his intense gaze, but now there was something more. Something you didn’t dare name.

“I have to go,” you murmured, walking away quickly before he could say anything else.

The next few days felt like a silent game. Every time you walked past him, you felt his gaze following you. Every time you tried to focus on something else, his image crept back into your mind. And every time you thought about getting closer, you reminded yourself that your life was no longer just yours.

But Wolf didn’t seem willing to give up.

One afternoon, while you were walking through a quieter area of the gym to calm your baby, you found him leaning against a wall, as if he had been waiting for you.

“Are you avoiding me?” he asked with that smile that made you nervous.

“I’m not avoiding you. I’m… busy,” you replied, trying to sound firm.

“I understand. You have a lot going on in your life now. But… can I take you to dinner after the tournament?”

You laughed softly, shaking your head.

“Dinner? With a baby? Doesn’t sound very practical.”

“I don’t care about the circumstances,” he said, stepping a little closer. “I only care about you.”

Your heart pounded loudly. You wanted to say no, that it was too complicated. But part of you longed to feel seen, desired… loved.

“I’ll think about it,” you finally said, walking away before he could press further.

The night of the tournament’s final day arrived faster than you expected. Miguel was focused on his final match, and you were trying not to think too much about Wolf. But it was impossible. Every time you looked around, you found him nearby, watching you with that intensity that made you lose your breath.

During a short break, Miguel approached you, frowning.

“What’s going on with you? You’ve been acting weird the whole tournament.”

“Nothing’s going on,” you lied, avoiding his gaze.

“Does it have something to do with that guy?” he asked, discreetly pointing at Wolf across the gym. “I’ve seen him watching you the whole time.”

You were speechless, surprised that Miguel had noticed.

“It’s nothing, Miguel,” you tried to reassure him.

“If he hurts you, I’ll knock him out,” he joked, though you knew he meant it.

The final match ended, Miguel won, and the gym started to empty out. You were gathering your things when you felt a presence behind you.

“Have you thought about it?” His voice was soft but determined.

You turned to find him closer than you expected.

“My life isn’t simple. I have a baby, responsibilities… I don’t know if I can do this.”

Wolf nodded, as if he had already considered it.

“I’m not asking you to leave everything behind. I’m just asking for a chance.”

You bit your lip, unsure. But when he reached out and gently caressed your baby’s cheek, something inside you gave in.

“Okay,” you whispered, almost not believing it.

Wolf smiled, a genuine smile you hadn’t seen before, and for the first time in a long time, you felt that maybe, just maybe, you deserved to be happy.

He took a step closer, so close that you could feel the warmth of his presence, the weight of his gaze. For a moment, the noise of the gym disappeared, and all that existed between the two of you was that charged atmosphere, full of unspoken promises.

"So, when will we see each other?" he asked softly, his tone as gentle as the brush of a warm breeze.

You could feel the knot in your stomach, the mix of emotions you had always managed to control, but now they seemed to flood out like an unstoppable torrent. The idea of letting someone into your life, of allowing Wolf to have some kind of access to you, terrified you. But at the same time, there was something in the way he looked at you, something in his stillness, that told you it could be different. That maybe what he was offering wasn’t a distraction, but something real.

"I promised I'd think about it," you replied, your voice trembling a little, but you managed to keep it steady.

Wolf didn’t insist. Instead, he simply nodded with that calmness that always surrounded him.

"I know. I just don’t want you to think I’m pressuring you. Take your time, okay?"

A small sigh escaped your lips. You could see the sincerity in his eyes, and that, more than anything else, made you lower your guard a little. You were used to being alone, to facing everything by yourself, but in that moment, you didn’t know what was happening, but you didn’t want to reject the idea of being with him.

"I’ll see you later," you said with a slight nod before turning and walking toward the lobby, where your baby was starting to move in your arms, as if the little one had something to say.

The afternoon passed in a whirlwind of emotions. Every step you took brought you closer to a point of no return. On one hand, you thought about your child, about what he needed, about what you needed. Were you ready to open your heart to someone else after so much time keeping the world at a distance?

And yet, something inside you told you that maybe you were. Maybe it was time to take the risk.

When night fell, and the place emptied of the last wave of spectators, you found yourself face-to-face with him again. He was there, as if he had been waiting for you, in a corner of the gym, surrounded by the lights that were slowly turning off.

"I think I’ve made a decision," you said, looking at your feet for a moment, taking a breath before raising your gaze to meet his.

Wolf raised an eyebrow, interested but not pressing you. He knew that what you were about to say was important, and you could see that in his expectant look.

"And... what is that decision?" he asked, his voice low and smooth at the same time, sending a shiver down your spine.

You smiled slightly, with that insecurity you only felt when you didn’t know what the future held.

"I think I’d like to... have that dinner after all." Your words were like a revelation, something that had been locked inside and finally came out.

Wolf took a step toward you, and the world seemed to stop for an instant.

"Then, will you let me do things right?" he asked, his voice almost a whisper as his hands, firm yet gentle, took your baby’s hands, giving you space to make the decision you had already made in your heart.

Without thinking twice, you nodded, feeling like you could finally see the possibility of something beyond your fears.

Wolf smiled, a smile that wasn’t one of triumph or satisfaction, but a warm, understanding smile, as if he had understood every piece of uncertainty that had been swirling in your mind. It was the first time you felt truly seen, as if everything you had kept inside, everything you had feared, had found a place where it could fit.

"So, when will we see each other?" he asked again, but this time there was no urgency in his voice, just a longing you secretly shared.

Your heart was pounding in your chest, but instead of resisting, you decided to let that feeling surround you. You didn’t have clear answers, nor did you know what the future might bring, but something told you that, at least for a moment, you could allow that small spark of hope.

"Tomorrow?" you answered almost without thinking, as if you had been waiting for that response in some corner of your being.

Wolf nodded, his gaze fixed on yours with a soft but unwavering intensity. The noises of the gym, the flickering lights, everything faded into the air, as if time had stopped just for you to be here, in this space, in this possibility of what could be.

As you walked toward the exit, your steps slowed, as if the weight of the decision was taking form in your feet. The little one in your arms adjusted, breathing peacefully, his small face calm, unaware of the internal battle you had fought.

You reached the door, and before stepping out into the cold of the night, Wolf stopped. He turned to look at you, his expression serious but filled with something you couldn’t quite identify, something that invited you to come closer, to trust.

"I promise you won’t regret it," he said, his words simple, yet carrying a weight that made you believe them.

Without thinking, you nodded. Because sometimes, what you needed wasn’t to have all the answers, but to know that someone, even if just for a moment, was willing to walk alongside you, not pressuring you, not demanding anything more than being there.

With one last look, he said goodbye with a simple gesture, a promise without words.

[asonofpeter]

Will Rafe and readers children get arranged marriage too? If it’s traditional in reader’s family does that mean that there’s matches found for the children already? Would reader let that happen to her kids? I expect reader’s parents would push for arrangements to be made as soon as a child is born

Always repeating itself || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

A/n: lol I was think of this video for the beginning since I saw soo many tiktok comments joking abt it how it would be him walking to the car and saying kids get in the car 😭😭

Warnings: angst!!!!

Word count: 2,193

MASTERLIST (forced marriage au masterlist)

divider by @h-aewo

“Kids! Let’s go!” Rafe’s voice carries from the foyer, sharp and commanding, though not without a hint of warmth. You take a moment to smooth down Madeline’s dress, her little hands fidgeting as her eyes gleam with excitement. “Alright, sweetheart, off you go,” you whisper, giving her a gentle nudge as she bolts toward the door, her laughter ringing through the hallway.

Leo lingers behind, slower to move, his tiny fingers wrapped tightly around your hand. “Careful on the stairs,” you call after Madeline, already bounding ahead, her shoes thudding loudly against the floor. You grab your bag, glancing back one more time at Leo as he moves in front of you. His small hands gripping the railing as he steps carefully down each stair.

“Take your time, Leo,” you murmur, a soft smile spreading across your face as your hand instinctively rests on your rounded belly, the growing weight of the life inside you grounding your steps. Rafe watches from below, his eyes narrowing slightly but softening as he sees Leo’s slower pace. Madeline is already at his side, her hands swinging in his, filled with boundless energy.

“C’mon, buddy,” Rafe says, his tone firm yet encouraging as he extends his hand toward Leo. Leo finally reaches his father, slipping his small hand into Rafe’s, while you take the final steps down, your movements slower, more deliberate. Rafe’s eyes linger on you for a moment, something unreadable flickering across his face before he turns back to the children. “Got everything?” he asks, his voice low as he reaches for the car keys.

You nod softly, pressing a hand against your stomach again, feeling the light kick beneath your skin. “Yeah,” you reply with a hum, your eyes locking with his for a brief second before shifting to the children, now racing toward the front door. There’s a weight to the moment, one that neither of you acknowledges out loud, but it lingers like the unspoken words always do between you two.

Rafe steps aside, closing the door behind you as he unlocks the g-wagon with a beep. You open the back door for the kids, watching as Leo and Madeline clamber into their seats, their excitement barely contained. Rafe moves around the car, quietly buckling the kids in. His movements are precise, almost mechanical, but there’s an undeniable care in the way he makes sure their belts are snug.

You lean back in your seat, one hand tracing slow circles on your belly, feeling the gentle stirring beneath the fabric of your dress. The feeling always brings you a strange comfort, a reminder of the life growing inside you, of the future you didn’t quite plan but now couldn’t imagine without. Sliding into the driver’s seat, Rafe shifts the car into gear, glancing over his shoulder as he reverses out of the driveway. The sound of the tyres crunching against the gravel fills the silence for a few moments.

“Do you know what this is about?” Rafe breaks the silence, his eyes flicking toward you with a mixture of curiosity and mild concern. There’s something else there too—wariness, perhaps. He’s never been one to be at ease around your parents, and this unexpected meeting only stirs that discomfort. You shrug lightly, your gaze focused out the window for a moment before returning to the rhythmic movement of your hands across your stomach.

“No idea,” you murmur, your voice soft, almost distant. You can feel the tension building in your chest, an old, familiar feeling whenever your parents are involved. The tightness grows as you try not to overthink why they summoned you today, especially with the children. What could be so urgent? Rafe’s grip tightens on the wheel, and you don’t miss the slight clench of his jaw.

He’s never been good at hiding his frustration, though he tries for your sake—sometimes. There’s a part of you that wonders if he’s bracing himself for whatever demands or expectations your parents are about to lay at your feet. You glance at the rearview mirror, catching sight of Madeline and Leo in the back, completely oblivious to the tension building in the front seat.

~

“You’re joking,” Rafe scoffs, his voice dripping with disbelief as he swirls the amber liquid in his glass, the ice clinking softly. He brings the glass to his lips, taking a slow sip of bourbon, his eyes narrowing at your parents across the grand dining room. You sit beside him, frozen in place, trying to process the words that had just shattered whatever illusion of calm you thought you’d have during this meeting.

It was bound to happen, but hearing it out loud felt like a punch to the gut. “They’re still children!” Rafe’s voice slices through the tension hanging in the room, his frustration flaring as he slams the glass onto the table, the sound reverberating through the ornate dining room. “And are we forgetting the fact that she’s still not born?” His hand gestures sharply toward your swollen belly, his anger spilling over as your hands instinctively cradle your stomach.

Rafe’s gaze is intense, his blue eyes flashing with a mixture of disbelief and fury. His jaw is clenched, the muscles tightening as he glares at your parents, the weight of their expectations pressing down on him, on both of you. The suffocating traditions of your family—arranged marriages, predetermined futures, heirs before individuals—were wearing on him, threatening to tear down the fragile balance you had both tried to maintain.

Your father leans back in his chair, unfazed by Rafe’s outburst, his expression as steely as ever. Your mother, ever poised, crosses her legs delicately, her cool composure only fueling the fire in Rafe’s gaze. They’ve seen this reaction before—yours, when you were told of your own arranged marriage. To them, this is just another step in the preservation of the family’s legacy, a legacy that had been woven into every decision, every expectation.

“Rafe, we understand your concerns,” your mother begins, her voice calm, like she’s explaining a simple business arrangement. “But this is not about today. This is about securing their future. She may not be born yet, but she, like her siblings, will have her place in this family, and part of that is ensuring they all have the right alliances.”

Rafe scoffs, running a hand through his hair, his frustration only building as he listens to their cold, calculated reasoning. He turns to you, his eyes searching your face, looking for something—anything—that shows you’re as disturbed by this conversation as he is. You meet his gaze, your hands still resting protectively over your stomach, feeling the soft flutter of movement inside you.

Part of you wants to agree with him, to speak up and tell your parents that this is madness. That your children deserve a choice, a chance at a life that isn’t dictated by contracts and old traditions. But the other part of you—the part that had been raised in this world, where duty and legacy are everything—knows this was always inevitable. It’s the same fate that was chosen for you.

Rafe’s voice lowers, but the anger remains. “You’re planning their futures before they can even speak for themselves. Do you realise how insane that sounds?” He turns back to your father, who has remained quiet throughout the exchange, observing Rafe’s reaction with a measured gaze. “Rafe,” your father finally says, his tone cool and authoritative, the kind that commands respect.

“This isn’t about insanity. It’s about responsibility. You, of all people, should understand the importance of that. Our families were built on these alliances, and your children will carry on that legacy.” Rafe leans back in his chair, exhaling harshly, his fingers tapping against the edge of the table as he tries to contain the frustration boiling inside him. He’s always hated this aspect of your family—the suffocating rules, the unspoken expectations that had shaped your life from the moment you were born.

Your mother’s expression was unreadable, though you know her well enough to catch the subtle lift of her chin—an indication that she expected this reaction from Rafe. “Y/n,” Rafe mutters, turning his head toward you, searching your face for any sign of how you were taking this, his blue eyes flickering with something close to desperation.

He’s waiting for you to speak up, to be the buffer between him and your parents, as you often are. You swallow hard, the weight of the situation pressing down on you. Of course, you knew this day would come. In your world, in the world of dynasties and old money, these things were decided long before feelings or personal desires were even considered. Your children were not just your own; they were the future of two powerful families, and with that came the responsibility to uphold the tradition of arranged marriages.

It’s what had happened to you, after all. “Rafe, I understand that in your family, this may seem insane…” you begin, your voice steady, though your heart is pounding with the weight of the situation. Inside, a storm of conflicting emotions rages—your loyalty to your family’s legacy, the deep-rooted traditions you were raised with, and the growing sense that this isn’t the life you want for your children.

You glance at Rafe, watching as his anger simmers just beneath the surface, his fingers drumming impatiently against the side of his glass. “Oh this is more than insane and you know it, Y/n.” His eyes meet yours briefly, a flash of frustration and disbelief swirling in the blue depths. His family may be wealthy, even powerful in their own right, but they’ve never adhered to these kinds of traditions.

The antiquated practices your parents held onto with such ferocity were foreign to him, and every time they were brought up, it was like another layer of expectation was placed on his shoulders. You shift in your seat, trying to navigate the tightrope between the world you come from and the man beside you. “But in this family—your family now—this is what’s expected,” you continue, trying to keep your voice calm, even as your own doubts creep in.

“Our children’s futures are tied to these alliances. It’s not just about them, it’s about securing the family’s legacy.” Rafe’s jaw clenches visibly, his knuckles whitening around the glass as he sets it down with a little more force than necessary. “So what, they just get to be pawns in some game?” he snaps, his voice low but filled with restrained anger. “Is that all we are to them?”

You wince at his words, knowing that’s exactly how he sees it. It’s how you once saw it too. But you’d been trained your whole life to believe it was more than that—that it was a duty, a responsibility to the family. Yet, sitting here now, with your hands protectively over your stomach, the reality of arranging your own children’s marriages before they’ve even had the chance to live feels like a cruel twist of fate. One you never wanted to inflict on them.

Your father clears his throat, leaning forward slightly, his eyes sharp, watching the exchange closely. “Rafe,” he says, his voice measured, authoritative. “This isn’t a game. It’s about ensuring the stability of the family. The world we live in requires certain… arrangements. We all made sacrifices for this, and so will our children.”

Rafe shakes his head, leaning back in his chair, exhaling harshly as he runs a hand through his hair. “Sacrifices?” he mutters under his breath, his voice tinged with bitterness. He looks at you again, the plea in his eyes unmistakable. He’s desperate for you to push back, to stand with him against your parents and their rigid traditions.

But you hesitate, your gaze dropping to your stomach once more. How can you deny the truth of what your father is saying? You’ve lived it—your entire life has been shaped by these expectations. “I know it’s hard to understand,” you finally say, your voice softening as you turn back to Rafe.

“But it’s how things are done in this family. We have to think about the bigger picture.” Rafe’s eyes narrow, his frustration palpable. “And what about them?” he asks. “What about their lives, their choices? Are we just going to take that away from them before they even have a chance?” His words hit you hard, stirring something deep within you.

The idea of your children—your daughter, not yet born—being forced into the same mould you had been, fills you with a sense of dread. But the pull of your family’s expectations is strong, and breaking away from it feels impossible. You can already sense your mother’s disapproval, the way her gaze sharpens at Rafe’s defiance, as if he’s an outsider who doesn’t understand the way things work in your world.

Rafe’s eyes flash with frustration, his lips pressing into a thin line. “I don’t care if that’s how it’s always been done,” he snaps, his voice rising slightly before he catches himself. “They’re not us, Y/n. They deserve more than this.” Your heart tightens at his words because a part of you knows he’s right. You glance at your parents, their expressions unchanged, as if they had heard these objections a thousand times before.

Your father’s gaze settles on Rafe with the kind of authority that comes from years of making decisions others are expected to follow. “We are not here to debate this, Rafe” your father says, his tone calm but firm. “This is about securing the future. Our future. Our children’s future.” Rafe lets out a bitter laugh, shaking his head as he looks away, staring out the large windows behind your parents.

The sun is setting, casting a soft glow over the estate’s immaculate gardens, but the beauty of it is lost in the suffocating atmosphere inside. You know this conversation is far from over, and as Rafe’s hand curls into a fist on the table, you can’t help but wonder how much longer you can keep navigating this delicate balance between your family’s expectations and the life you want for your children.

“This is ridiculous,” Rafe mutters again, quieter now, his voice barely cutting through the heavy silence that lingers in the room. His fingers tap restlessly against the armrest, and just as you’re about to respond, the sound of doors swinging open pulls your attention. You turn to see Leo and Madeline barreling toward you, their shoes tapping against the polished floor, their laughter momentarily breaking the tension.

Behind them, the maid rushes in, her face flushed with worry as she tries to catch up. “I’m so sorry—” she starts, breathless, but before she can finish, Rafe stands abruptly, the legs of his chair scraping harshly against the floor. “It’s fine. We’re done here,” Rafe says, his voice firm as he looks at you, then shifts his gaze to your parents, making it clear that this conversation is over.

The weight of his decision hangs in the air, thick with unspoken words. As Madeline runs up to him, her small arms reaching for him to pick her up, Rafe’s features soften, if only for a moment, as he bends down to scoop her into his arms. You sigh quietly, exchanging a look with your mother, her expression unreadable but the disapproval still lingering in her eyes.

There’s a silent understanding between you—this conversation isn’t over, not really. You rise from your seat, your movements slow as you reach for Leo’s hand, his small fingers curling around yours. With one last glance at your parents, you follow Rafe out, the heavy door closing behind you with a finality that echoes in the pit of your stomach.

[asonofpeter]

   EX-CONVICT!BABYDADDY!RAFE x FEM!READER

WARNINGS .ᐟ unprotected p in v, breeding kink if you squint, heavyyyy angst, rafe being an asshole (as per usual), brief mentions of guns/police raid and drugs

NOTES .ᐟ guys, i need him so bad, like actually. based on this concept from my silly little brain. dad!rafe stays in my mind 24/7, but this is me we're talking about, so of course, i had to put a lil spin on it. also this turned out way longer than i meant it to, woah

After almost four years, you were finally starting to feel like you were getting your shit together. You were living in a nice house in a nice neighborhood where everyone knew everyone—the kind of place where people literally asked their neighbors for cups of sugar. You had a stable job that allowed you to live comfortably and provide for yourself and your daughter, and you had a big St. Bernard, lovingly named Moonshine after you'd watched one too many episodes of Moonshiners, that provided a sense of safety and security when the nights were cold and the paranoia started to creep into your mind.

Being a single mom was not easy, and it definitely hadn't been a part of your life plan, but then, you met Rafe Cameron—the ever charming, sweet talking man that he was. He swept you up and made you feel like the only girl in the world, like nothing else mattered as long as you were by his side, so when you found out you were pregnant, you were over the moon at the idea of starting a family with him.

But Rafe Cameron was a liar. He was selfish and manipulative, and he turned your life right on it's head.

You could still remember the day the police kicked in the door of your apartment, bursting in with guns drawn, pointed directly at you. You were eight months pregnant and having a gun pointed at you—at your baby—made you physically ill.

They had raided the apartment and found copious amounts of drugs. Your heart dropped, and you immediately felt like an idiot. How had you not known? You knew he made more money than he realistically should have, but the thought never even crossed your mind that this could be the reason. You were heartbroken and angry. Angry that he had lied. Angry that he put you in this position. And, angry that he was leaving you.

Rafe was arrested, and eventually charged with possession with intent to distribute due to the amount of drugs they found, which resulted in a five year sentence. You were sad and angry, not only because you were losing the man you always thought was the love of your life, but also because now, you were alone, and your daughter wouldn't know her father for the first five years of her life.

This anger and resentment festered, mixing with longing and a deep, aching sadness. You couldn't bring yourself to answer his calls or letters, let alone visit him. You didn't know who he was anymore. The man that you saw sporting handcuffs and an orange jumpsuit at his trial was not the same man you fell in love with, and you wouldn't pretend like he was.

You had known Rafe's release date was approaching, but you were under the impression that you still had a little over a year to plan on what you were going to do when it finally came. That's why you were so unsuspecting when you went to answer the harsh knock at your door.

It was a Thursday night, and you were cuddled up on the couch with Moonshine, who was practically the size of you. A horror movie was playing on the TV before you, one you'd seen practically a million times, and every few minutes, your gaze would flicker to the baby monitor on the coffee table that displayed the feedback from a camera in your daughter, Rhiannon's, room.

You jumped a little at the harsh sound of a knock on your front door, the horror movie already having you on edge. You could be paranoid sometimes, especially being a single mom, so realistically, you knew you shouldn't have been watching it so late at night, but they were your guilty pleasures that you couldn't indulge in the light of day because of your toddler.

Moonshine immediately jumped up, a low growl escaping his throat as his hair stood on end. Your brows furrowed at his odd behavior, pausing the movie and unfurling yourself from your comfortable position. Your steps were soft on the hardwood, your socks cushioning the sound as you padded over to the front door, patting the dog's head comfortingly as you unlocked the door, completely unaware with what would greet you on the other side.

As you opened the door, the cool night air hit you, carrying with it the faint scent of cigarette smoke. You blinked in surprise, expecting to see a neighbor, but instead, you found yourself face to face with Rafe Cameron.

Your eyes widened, the air knocked from your lungs as you took him in. He was changed, broader and more imposing, his muscles flexing under his tight black t-shirt as he crossed his arms. His hair was buzzed, his chiseled jawline sporting stubble that made him look older, more mature.

He looked so different, but still, somehow, the same. You were hit by a wave of emotions—longing, love, sadness, but most presently, anger. Who did he think he was showing up unannounced in the middle of the night after all these years, especially looking so unapologetic and devastatingly handsome.

His piercing blue eyes bore into yours, captivating and dangerous like a wave pulling you under when you least expected it. "Hey, baby," he greeted, his voice low and smooth, like honey dripping off his tongue. The term of endearment fell from his lips without any semblance of warmth as he stared at you with an intensity that made you want to shrink in on yourself.

"What are you doing here?" You asked, your jaw clenching and grip on the door's edge tightening. You shivered a little as the cold air bit at your bare skin, barely registering the low growls of Moonshine behind you due to your tunnel vision on the man standing before you.

He smirked confidently, knowing the effect he had on you—the effect he always had on you. His eyebrow arched as he took in your appearance, his eyes lingering on your bare thighs, courtesy of your pajama shorts. "Aren't you going to invite me in, sweetheart? It's been a long time." He took a step forward, his broad frame filling the doorway intimidatingly.

You swallowed hard, resisting the urge to step back and let him intimidate you into getting what he wanted. You craned your neck to look up at him, his close proximity looming over you, making him seem even taller and more imposing than he already was. "And whose fault is that?" You managed to say, despite the pit in your stomach—a mix of dread, anxiety, and strangely, desire.

Rafe's gaze sharpened, his eyes glinting dangerously. He uncrossed his arms and braced one hand on the doorframe beside your head, leaning in closer. It made your breath catch in your throat, but you held firm. You couldn't let him see that he was getting to you. "Let me in," he clenched his jaw. His anger at you for abandoning him in there had been bubbling up, and your defiance was bringing it to the surface.

A light flickering on in the house across the street caught your eye. Old lady Flanigan had a habit of making everyone else's business, her business, and she was a nasty gossip. Unless you wanted people talking, you either had to let him in or get him to leave, and one of those would be a nearly impossible feat. "Rafe, you can't be here. You can't just barge back into my life after all this time," you told him firmly, your own eyes blazing with a fiery intensity.

"And why not?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous. His body was practically vibrating with pent-up anger, his muscles taut as he leaned in closer, his breath fanning across your face. "Did you ever think about me? Did you ever think about what you did to us?"

"What I did?" You scoffed, anger bubbling up inside you at his accusation, blaming you as if he wasn't the one that went to prison and left you alone. "Are you fucking kidding me?" The old woman across the street was now shamelessly watching through her window, and you knew you had no choice but to let him in before her nosey ass called the cops on the strange, clearly out of place man lurking in the neighborhood.

He followed your eyes, looking over his shoulder to the nosy neighbor, his expression darkening. Without another word, he pushed past you, entering the house and forcing you to step back.

Your jaw clenched at his blatant disregard or respect for your wishes as you gently closed the door behind you. Moonshine barked, baring his teeth at the intruder, clearly sensing the tension and jumping into action to protect his family. "Moonshine, stop," you told him firmly. You were proud of him, but you didn't want his barking to wake Rhiannon. The last thing you could deal with right now was Rafe and a crying toddler. You could only focus on one temper tantrum at a time.

Rafe's eyes narrowed as he watched you control your dog, a muscle ticking in his jaw. His gaze then swept the interior of your home, taking in every detail as if memorizing it. "Nice place," he commented flatly, turning back to face you. "Where's my kid?"

You took a deep breath, your gaze hard at him calling your daughter his kid, like he had any right. He didn't even know her name or that she was a girl. "She's asleep," you told him, crossing your arms over your chest.

His piercing eyes bore into yours, unyielding. "Her name." he demanded gruffly.

"Rhiannon," you informed him hesitantly, your gaze darting to the monitor on the coffee table, making sure she was still asleep.

His expression flickered briefly, a flash of something softer, almost vulnerable, in his eyes before it was quickly concealed. He nodded once. "I want to see her." It wasn't a request. His posture remained tense and coiled, ready to react to your response.

You huffed, running a hand through your hair and heading to the kitchen with him hot on your heels. Maybe you wanted to busy yourself. Maybe you wanted an excuse not to have to look at him. Maybe you just wanted to walk away from him, to assert some kind of power. Either way, your next words were spoken with your back to him. "I told you. She's asleep. It's the middle of the fucking night, Rafe, what did you expect?"

He followed you into the kitchen, his presence overwhelming in the small space. The air felt charged, thick with unspoken words and unresolved tension. "I don't give a fuck what time it is," he growled, his voice low and intense. "I've missed four years of her life already."

You rounded the kitchen island, planting your hands on it as you turned to face him, feeling more comfortable with the counter between you. Not because you were scared of him but because, despite yourself and despite your anger, you longed to touch him and have him touch you. "And whose fucking fault is that, huh?" You asked angrily, echoing your earlier words that he had ignored.

Rafe's expression darkened, his jaw clenching as he stared back at you. The muscle in his jaw clenched as he ground his teeth together, trying to rein in his anger. "Yours," he bit out. "You left me in there," he accused.

"You left me out here!" Your voice raised slightly before you caught yourself, letting out a hard breath. The only way you could keep yourself from getting sad, from crying over the loss of the only man you'd ever truly loved, was getting angry at him.

"You think I wanted to go to prison?" He hissed, rounding the island and backing you against the counter. "You think I had a fucking choice?"

"You did have a choice," you said sharply, bracing your hands on the counter behind you as you stared up at him. "You chose to deal drugs, and you chose to keep dealing even after you found out I was pregnant. Prison was just the consequence of all your shitty choices."

His hand came up, slamming on the cabinet beside your head, the sound making you jump slightly. "And what about you?" He seethed, his chest heaving as his breath came in short, angry bursts. "What about your choices, huh? You could've waited for me."

"I did what I had to do," you said, glaring at him. You weren't quite sure what else to say. You had to protect yourself, your own feelings, and your child. You couldn't have stayed in touch, sick with worry every night while you soothed a colicky baby all by yourself. You had to forget him; it was better that way, easier.

"What you had to do," he repeated, his voice dripping with sarcasm and the faintest hint of hurt. "You moved on pretty quick, didn't you? Found some new dick to warm your bed, is that it?"

"Fuck you," you spat, the words stabbing you like a knife to the heart. You hadn't been able to bring yourself to even look at another man since he went away. You told yourself it was just because of Rhiannon, that you were focusing on raising her and being the best mother you could be, but deep down, you knew it was because your heart would always belong to Rafe.

"Is that it?" he repeated, his face inches from yours. His voice was low, his eyes searching yours for something. "You found some other man to replace me?"

"Maybe I have," you said stubbornly. You knew you were being petty, wanting him to hurt like you hurt, but you also knew you were a shit liar, so there was no way in hell he would actually believe you. "Maybe I have moved on."

His other hand shot out, gripping your chin roughly as he forced you to look at him. "Bullshit," he growled, looking down at you, his blue eyes darkened. "I can see it in your eyes. You haven't moved on to shit."

You stared up at him defiantly, your chest heaving with anger, which only intensified when you felt the wetness between your thighs. Even after all this time, all it took was a look and a simple touch to get you so wet, and as much as you hated it, you couldn't deny that something about his post-prison appearance—how rugged and large he was—made your knees week.

His hand tightened on your chin as he leaned in, pressing his lips to yours in a brutal, demanding kiss. It was clear he was angry, punishing you for the words you'd spoken, and you knew you should've pushed him away—yelled at him and told him to get the fuck out of your house—but you didn't.

Instead, you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer as you kissed him with an intensity that matched the war going on within you—the jumbled mess of love and hate that he had brought up within you.

He groaned into the kiss, his hands gripping your face roughly as he devoured your mouth. He pushed you further back against the counter that was now digging into your lower back, his body pinning you in place. You could feel his anger, his frustration, his desperation, and it only fueled your own emotions.

The kiss was raw and charged with a passionate mix of need, longing, and pure, unbridled anger, both of you trying to show the other that this wasn't a surrender of power or giving into the other and accepting blame. The kiss itself was an argument, a fight all of its own that didn't require words.

He hands went to your hips, lifting you onto the counter and stepping between your parted legs. Tearing his mouth from yours, he began kissing along your jawline and down the column of your throat. His lips were hot and insistent, his teeth nipping at your skin as he continued to mark you.

You panted, your chest heaving for an entirely different reason now as you let out soft gasps and breathy sounds of approval, your head falling back against the cabinet behind your head. You had forgotten how good he was with his mouth, always knowing exactly how to drive you wild.

He took advantage of the exposed column of your throat, sucking hard enough to leave a mark. His hands gripped your thighs, pulling you to the edge of the counter. You let out a low moan, your nails raking against his buzzed scalp. As sexy as he looked with a buzzcut, you wished you could run your fingers through his hair, tugging on it slightly everytime he touched you just right.

"Mmm," he hummed against your skin, his voice a low vibration that seemed to go straight to your core. He kissed his way back up to your mouth, his hips pushing forward to press his hardness against your core. "Did you forget how good I am, baby?"

You internally rolled your eyes at his cocky tone, like he had won. "God, do you ever shut up?" You asked, sounding less annoyed and effective since you were still breathless from his kisses.

His hips thrust forward again, making an involuntary whine fall from your lips at the feeling. "Not when I'm right." He smirked, his eyes crinkling at the corners. His smirk was as frustratingly handsome as it had always been, and it made you want to smack him and kiss him all at once. "And I am."

"Don't be a dickhead," you glared at him, his arrogance and your own unyielding need for him only heightening your frustration. You were desperate and aching for him, but you refused to give in and beg him like you wanted to.

"Then quit acting like you're not soaking wet for me." His grip on your thighs tightened, calloused fingers digging into the soft flesh. "I bet if I slipped my hand into your shorts, I'd find you drenched and ready for me, wouldn't I?"

His smug tone infuriated you and turned you on all at once. "Shut up, Rafe," you demanded, balling your fist into the fabric of his shirt and pulling him closer, so you could press your lips to his, forcing him to shut up and quit pissing you off.

Your grip on his shirt loosened, hand sliding down his hard, muscular chest to his waistband. You had always seen the trope of guys working out their frustrations in prison movies, but you didn't know that was actually a thing. Your fingers fumbled with his belt as he slipped his tongue into your mouth, sliding it along yours in a way that had you moaning against his lips

He groaned low in his throat as you finally worked the belt buckle open, sliding the leather through the loops and dropping it to the floor with a clank. His hands immediately slid up your thighs, hooking into the waistband of your shorts and pulling them down your legs—with the help of you awkwardly shifting to lift your ass enough to do so.

He discarded the garments to the floor with his belt, his palms running along your bare thighs as he parted your legs wider, opening you to him. His calloused fingertips brushed against your center, feeling your slick folds, making you gasp into his mouth. "Told you," he grinned against your lips, finding it in himself to be a complete dick, even when he was about to be inside you.

"Asshole," you mumbled, fingers deftly popping open the button of his jeans and unzipping them. You hooked your fingers in his waistband, shoving his pants and underwear down as he had done to you.

He kicked his pants and boxers off the rest of the way, stepping between your thighs again. His hard cock was flushed, the tip glistening with precum. He gripped himself at the base, rubbing the head through your slick folds teasingly. "What was that, baby?"

Your breath caught in your throat. "Just put your dick inside me before I kill you," you threatened him, though you both knew you wouldn't do anything, not really.

He chuckled lowly, the sound sending shivers down your spine. "You want it so bad, don't you?" He teased, his tip nudging against your entrance but not pushing inside. "Beg for it, baby. Let me hear how much you need my cock." He didn't need to be angry when he could punish you like this. He knew begging was the last thing you wanted to do, but he also knew that you'd do it.

"Don't piss me off right now, Rafe," you gritted your teeth, the feeling of him against your entrance making you dizzy with desire.

"Or what, baby? You'll what?" He pressed against you again, the tip of his cock pushing inside just slightly before pulling back out. "Tell me what you'll do if I don't give you what you want." He was pushing your buttons, knowing exactly how to make you snap.

You practically whimpered at the feeling of him pulling out. "Fuck- fine, please, Rafe," you panted, furious with yourself and him that you were giving into him. "Please just fuck me already."

The confident, victorious smirk that instantly appeared on his face had you wanting to slap him. "Now was that so hard?" He condescend. Your annoyed retort died in your throat as he finally pushed into you, making you moan, your head falling back against the cupboard at the feeling of him inside you after so long.

He groaned as your tight heat enveloped him, his fingers digging into your thighs hard enough to bruise as he started to move. His body tensed, using every ounce of his self control not to cum on the spot. Four years of fucking himself in his hand was nothing compared to the way you were squeezing him right now.

One hand moved up to your mouth, muffling your growing moans and whines. "Shh," he cooed. You were thankful for it. You knew you had to be quiet, but the way he was pounding into you made it nearly impossible.

"Did you miss me, baby?" He leaned down, breathing hotly against your neck as he nipped at your throat. "Did you lay awake at night thinking about me stretching you like this?" He flexed his hips, driving deep inside you.

You nodded, letting out a muffled "mhm" against his palm as your back arched into him. He felt so good, better than you'd remembered, and you hadn't had sex in four years, so you were so worked up.

"Good," he purred, his teeth scraping against your skin as he continued to pound into you relentlessly. "Because I missed you too, baby. Missed this tight little cunt wrapped around my dick." The hand on your thigh dipped down between your legs, his calloused thumb rubbing circles on your clit.

You gasped against his palm, your eyes rolling back at the mix of sensations. You were already so pathetically close, feeling that familiar aching deep within you.

He could feel your weepy cunt starting to flutter around him, and he was more than glad that you were so close so quickly because he didn't know how much longer he could hold back. "Gonna cum inside this pretty little pussy, baby. Gonna get you pregnant again, and this time I'm not gonna miss a damn thing"

His words turned you on more than they should have, snapping that coil inside you and sending you over the edge. You tensed around his dick, feeling your orgasm wash over you as you cried out his name.

"Shit, baby," he groaned, burying his face into your neck, his facial hair tickling your skin as he pushed himself deep inside you, painting your insides white with his release. His breath was hot against your already heated skin, a thin layer of sweat coating both your bodies as he slowly softened inside you.

Your chest rose and fell rapidly as you tried to catch your breath, his hand falling from your mouth to brace himself on the counter. You couldn't believe that after all these years of promising yourself you wouldn't let him back into your life, you had so easily opened your legs and even let him cum inside you—because clearly that worked out so well for you last time.

He stayed buried inside you for a moment, enjoying the warmth and the feeling of finally being home where he belonged. He eventually pulled out, his softening dick slipping from your tender cunt.

You had to tell him that he couldn't stay, that it would confuse Rhiannon to wake up to a strange man in the house, but you didn't know how, not after what just happened.

He stepped back, allowing you to get down from the counter. A silence fell over both of you as you got dressed, neither one knowing what happens now. He finished buttoning up his jeans, his eyes flicking up to you as he ran a hand over his buzzed head. "So... what now?" He asked gruffly, breaking the silence.

"You can't- you have to go," you told him, pulling your shorts back up and crossing your arms. It seemed unfair to say such a thing after sharing such an intimate moment, but you needed to think of your daughter. She didn't even know who Rafe was.

"You're kicking me out?" He echoed, as if he couldn't believe it. "After... that?" He gestured vaguely, a muscle in his jaw ticking.

You pinched the bridge of your nose, both of you finding yourselves right back where you started. "You cant just... be here. Rhiannon doesn't even know who you are." The words seemed cruel as soon as they left your lips, but they were true. You wished they weren't, but they were.

"I know. Fuck, I know that. Don't you think I know that?" He was frustrated, your words like a slap to the face. "But goddamn it, I want to know her. I want to be a part of her life."

"I'm not saying you can't be, but... she's four, Rafe. She's old enough that you can't just walk in and call yourself her father," you told him firmly. "It's going to take time. I don't want to overwhelm her."

"Time?" He asked incredulously. Deep down, he knew you were right, that you were doing what was best, but he was so angry at himself, and instead of facing that anger and acknowledging that this was his own doing, he was taking it out on you. "I've already missed four fucking years. First steps, first words, first everythings."

"I can't keep going in circles with you, Rafe," you ran your hand through your hair, utterly exhausted. "You do this my way, or you don't do this at all." It hurt you to be so cold. You wanted Rhiannon to know her father, but she was just a kid. She wouldn't understand why her dad just showed up out of the blue, and you didn't know how to explain it to her.

He stared at you, his face unreadable. For a long moment, neither of you said anything. Then, he spoke, his voice low. "Alright. Fine. Your way. But you better not shut me out again. I'm not gonna miss anymore. Understand?"

You nodded, thankful that he was going to stop fighting you on this. "Do you have a-a number or something?" You asked, unsure how long he'd been out, if he got his phone back and was able to pay the bill or if he bought a burner. You didn't even know where he was staying.

He shoved his hands in his pockets. "It's the same as my old one," he said gruffly, clearly annoyed by your previous ultimatum.

"Right, okay," you nodded, your fingers drumming against your upper arm. You two stood in silence for a long moment. Rafe didn't want to leave, and you didn't want to tell him to.

Rafe's gaze fell to the floor, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed thickly. "Can I see her before I go?" He asked softly. "Just... just to see her."

There was a shift in his demeanor, a vulnerability about him that told you he really did care about Rhiannon, even if he'd never met her. "Yeah," you found yourself nodding, turning to lead him to her room. As you entered the living room, you could've sworn Moonshine was giving a disapproving side eye. "Don't judge me," you mumbled.

He followed you down the hallway, his heavy boots thudding on the floor. He paused in the doorway of Rhiannon's room, looking in on her sleeping form. She was curled up on her side in a princess toddler bed, her little arms wrapped around a stuffed cat. Rafe's expression softened as he took her in.

His eyes swept over the room, the nightlight plugged into the wall illuminating the space. The walls were painted a light shade of pink, toys strewn about. A small bookshelf sat tucked in the corner, various children's books inside, some sitting on the floor in front of it.

He stepped into the room, moving closer to the bed. He crouched down, his eyes fixed on Rhiannon's sleeping face as he reached out, his large hand gentle as he brushed a strand of hair from her forehead. "She's so little," he murmured softly, almost reverently.

You leaned on the doorway, a small, sad smile pulling at your lips as you watched the exchange. You found yourself wondering what life would have been like if Rafe never got locked up, your heart aching as you thought about sharing all of Rhiannon's firsts with someone, bickering over whether she would've said mommy or daddy first. The wobbly first steps, the soothing and band-aid applications after she scraped her knees. What would it have been like to share those moments with him?

Rafe's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed thickly, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "She's beautiful." He turned his head to look at you, and you saw the sheen of moisture in his eyes. He blinked it away quickly, clearing his throat as he stood, masking his emotions as he always had. "I should go."

You hesitated, for a moment wanting to throw everything you'd said out the window and tell him to stay, but you knew you couldn't. You just nodded, letting him push past you. You didn't move from your spot, even after you heard the front door open and shut. You simply closed your eyes, leaning your head against the doorframe as a few tears rolled down your cheeks.

[asonofpeter]

cooking for dilf! rafe while he watches the game and drinks his scotch 😵🥴🥴🥴🥴 and afterwards he rewards his wife with some nice hard jacuzzi fucking

the sex with this man would always be so fucking hot 😻

It was a Friday evening, and both the kids were over at their separate friend’s houses. With a new development project in the works, Rafe had a stressful work week. After his shower, he’d be sprawled out on the plush sectional with a glass of scotch in his ringed hand while his cerulean eyes focused on the game playing on the large flat screen. He looked sexy of course in nothing but a pair of grey sweatpants that hung on low on his muscled hips, dick print visible as the man was huge. You couldn’t help but want to spoil him with a good meal, making sure his plate was full as you piled on his favorites.

As soon as you set his dinner down in front of him it didn’t take long for him to devour it all. He was one happy man afterward, especially once he had a full stomach and a buzz from the glasses of scotch. He definitely had you in his lap by the time the game was coming to an end, his lips were on your neck and his large hands were squeezing your hips in a possessive manner.

Rafe’s suggestion of relaxing in the jacuzzi was really him showing you how much he appreciated you by giving you the best dick a wife could ask for. The hot water splashed around the two of you as he had you bent over the side, your ass smacking against his muscled hips. “F-fuck Rafe!” You cried, french tipped nails digging into the ledge as you braced yourself from the heavy dick slamming in and out of your soaked hole.

“Take that dick, you goddamn deserve it baby.” He breathed heavily, his hand coming down to give you a firm smack on your ass. There was nothing else on his mind other than giving it to you deep and hearing those gorgeous moans. “Daddy makin’ that pussy feel good? Just how you fucking like. Huh?” He spoke behind you, his raspy voice always making your cunt flutter.

You couldn’t help but glance back, the view of your sexy husband always wanting to make you lose control. His blue eyes met yours, a smirk playing on his lips as he began speeding up his thrusts. Your mouth fell open and head dropped as he laid into you a brutal pace, the sound of splashing water and smacking filling the open air. It was the hand coming down to tilt your head back, ocean irises darker as he looked down at you. “Now I know you aren’t trying to hide from me now that you are gettin’ ready to cum. Let me see you baby, you know I can’t get enough.” His voice low, thumb dipping between your parted lips as he pounded you out.

[asonofpeter]

Forced marriage au req… how did they get pregnant? Was it hate sex? Awkward? Vulnerable? Rough? ☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️

Addressing this since SO SO many of yous have asked abt this and firstly I wanna say I won’t be writing smut simply because I am horrible at it 😭😭😭 BUT I do wanna talk about it!! Reader and Rafe do have sexual chemistry don’t get me wrong, they are for sure attracted to each other!!! 95% of the time when they are arguing, it leads to sex. Rough, angry, raw typa sex for sure, their ego still gets in the way so they do fight for dominance but it’s usually always Rafe who wins. I’d say they have sex just a bit over the normal amount of time that people who willingly are in a marriage just because when they get into a heated argument they both get turned on by one another. Reader would be pregnant just abit over 2 months into their marriage especially since readers parents high key pressure them into having children so quickly.

[asonofpeter]

CAN YOU PLEASE, PLEASE ON MY KNEES WRITE ABOUT BITCHY!READER X RAFE AND IT'S SMUT?? I FEEL LIKE YOU'LL DO IT JUSTICE!!! thank you

you literally read my mind because i was just thinking of this prompt that works so well with bitchy!reader!! hope you'll enjoy <3 (if it’s bad, look away!!)

WHATEVER SHE WANTS | Rafe Cameron

MASTERLIST (Blurb) | x Bitchy!Kook!Female Reader

Content — 18+, power/dominance play, p in v, doggy style, orgasm denial, and dirty talks

Word Count — 2.2K

lıllılı Whatever She Wants by Bryson Tiller

You always wanted Rafe.

It's your right. Since you were a child, you demanded the best in everything—toys, clothes, boyfriends. They had to be perfect. Had to be yours. And yes, it may come off a little superficial but who cares? It's what you deserve, and it'll be hell if you don't get it.

Since the first look, when you caught Rafe lounging on a chair with his friends, tipping the rim of his beer onto his lips, while his eyes scanned over the room in an attractive lazy way, you knew you had to have him. It didn't help that you were competitive, and Rafe garnered attention with women. They flocked to him and begged for a minute of his time. It became a game to you, and that heightened your need.

Everything was calculated. The makeup you wore, the outfits you curated, the glances. You always timed your arrivals—when you knew Rafe would be watching the door—and marked your exits. You knew exactly what to wear—dresses that tantalizing exposes your ass, but only as a preview—and the cosmetic style he liked. Rafe's the type of man who believes he wants a bare-faced woman, but truly, he wants something natural that enhances your features.

You came with friends. You left alone. You drank enough to loosen your nerves and danced with the crowd, but not enough to make a fool of yourself. You knew your tolerance and knew Rafe didn't like a messy girl.

At least, in public.

You caught his gaze a couple of times, flashing a flirtatious smile over your shoulders, but never lingered longer than three seconds. Rafe can't know how easy he can have you, because Rafe, like most boys, loves a chase. You're not easy, you're spoiled. He had to come to you.

And he did.

Rafe tried to introduce himself on several occasions. On those nights when you're leaving early—as planned—Rafe would cut to the door to pay a parting remark. "You're leaving so soon?" he would ask, "Alone? Again?" He would add. You always told him it was because no one caught your eye, and Rafe took that as a personal challenge. He would then try to tell you his name, as if he were different, to which you nod—detached—as if it didn't matter.

It drove him insane.

Because you didn't offer the same courtesy. You kept him guessing. He had to finally ask around to learn your name, which he would use to tease you the next time he saw you. And he did. And you laughed. But you acted like you didn't care. Like all the trouble he went through didn't prove a thing. That's when Rafe knew he needed you.

Tonight's no different. Just as you're about to leave, Rafe catches you with another smooth pick-up line. You just giggle. He studies how your eyes crinkle with amusement, the curve of your lips painted in his favorite shade of lipstick, and the lithe tilt of your head to the side as you ask him with your gaze, is that the best you got?

It isn't. But Rafe's determined to get further with you tonight. He continues to talk, asking about which men disappointed you and the reasons for your constant disappearances from these parties. And, for once, you're answering his questions with little resistance. Perhaps, it's because of the amount of cheap wines you consumed, or maybe you—for once—are tired of the games and want it to come to a fruitful end. Because when Rafe finally asks to take you home, you don't say no.

The walk to his truck is brisk. His arm wrapped around your waist, directing your path, while his fingers trail over the backless cut of your dress, producing a buzzing feeling beneath your skin. He's whispering something in your ear, but all of it is incomprehensible as you revel in the feeling of his touch and his touch alone. The feeling of your game coming to a conclusion.

And, just as you're about to reach the car, Rafe slams you into the side of the vehicle with a searing kiss.

His mouth catches yours and everything feels perfect. As if the buildup leading to this precise moment had been worth it, and every needy emotion rises to the top. His hand travels down the length of your body, to your hips, pulling you closer, and needing to eliminate all the space and wait you made him do.

Rafe's movements are swift and controlled. One of his hands props open the backdoor of his car, pushing you inside, and laying you against his leather seats. All without breaking the kiss.

"You don't know how long I wanted this, wanted you," Rafe blubbers between wet kisses. "Seeing you at every party, in these tiny dresses, not being able to touch," he rasps, bundling the hem of your dress into a tight fist. "Tell me you wear them for me."

"And if I did?" You say with a moan, tipping your head back to grant him access to your neck. "Did you like them?"

"Of course I did," he murmurs against the curve of your neck, the vibration of his words sending heat straight to your core. "You dressing up for me like my own perfect doll."

You want to retort that it's him who's in the palm of your hand, but Rafe sucks on a sensitive spot, causing your eyes to roll back and a whimper to escape your lips instead. He grabs your wrists with one hand, throwing them over his shoulder as he pulls you flush against his chest.

"So pretty, so fucking untouchable," Rafe kisses down the length of your throat, his fingers collecting the spaghetti straps of your dress before sliding it down the slope of your shoulders. "I'm going to fuck you so good."

His words snap you out of your haze. And while Rafe continues to expose more of your body, lamenting each reveal of flesh with a kiss, you withdraw enough to grab his attention.

"You're not fucking me in a car."

"What?" Rafe breaths, unable to snap out of the trace you had him in. Delirious with want, his mind warped around the idea of you being so close to attainable, that all rational manners left his system. He tries to kiss you again, to resume the moment, but you pull enough to send him a deadly glare, pouty and spoiled.

"Rafe, take me somewhere nice or we're not fucking at all."

He can't believe what he's hearing. He can't believe he's contemplating it. But Rafe doesn't understand that you have it all planned out to result in a perfect moment. You won't let it be disrupted just because Rafe can't drive the extra mile to take you somewhere nice. You'd rather leave him with blue balls.

"Are you serious?" He asks slowly, his eyes drawn to your swollen lips, the little pout, and the desperation to have them back on his. Sure, Rafe's had girls who wanted something more than a casual fling. He had them ask him for a better spot, but he never obliged. He never cared. But you're different. He wants you, and it's been a hell of a chase to get you here. He'll be damned if he lets it slip away because of a pretentious standard.

"Does it look like I'm joking?" You cross your arms over your chest, pushing your breasts further up. He nearly groans at the sight. "We're not having sex here."

"The nearest place has to be at least a fifteen-minute drive," Rafe argues. And it makes you upset, brows pinched together. "We can just—"

"I don't care," you snap. "Take me somewhere nice or I'm leaving."

You're serious. He sees it on your face. Rafe can't risk that, despite wanting to protest, because he knows he if he messes this up, he won't have another chance. Swearing under his breath, he drags himself out of the backseat and into the driver's side, pulling the car out of the parking lot.

Dangerously, Rafe speeds down the road, while you're sitting in the backseat with a self-satisfied demeanor, fixing your makeup through the rearview mirror. Occasionally, Rafe spares a glance through the same reflection, connecting with your gaze, and while there's subtle bitterness coiled in his chest, he recognizes the bigger prize at hand.

And what he can do with it.

Because, despite your bratty attitude, Rafe is a person who wants control. You want perfection. You two can have both.

That's how you find yourself in a newly-booked penthouse suite at one of the bougie hotels in Kildare, your head digging into the soft comforter of the bed, your ass in the air, as Rafe drills into you from behind.

When you reached the room, everything moved frantically. Rafe slammed you against the nearest wall to kiss you again—needing your lips, needing your taste—while his hands roamed over your dress and pulled down your cleavage, revealing your tits. Your hands wandered down his pants, unbuttoning them hurriedly, needily, and he assisted you by pulling them off alongside his boxers. His cock was big, slightly red with a pearly bead of pre-cum that rolls off the tip. And you could tell by the look on Rafe's face that he wanted you to suck it.

But you told him, "I don't do blowjobs."

So fucking pretentious.

It didn't matter. He hauled you over to the king-sized bed and pushed you onto the mattress. You landed with a soft thump, while Rafe hauled you up to your ass, pushing up your dress, until it became nothing but a bundle around your waist. His movements were urgent, and he wanted—no, needed—to be inside you because a bratty girl was going to be a great fuck.

And he was right.

You're perfect. The way you wrap around him, the way he sinks inside you. He doesn't know if it's because of the delirium of wanting you so desperately, of chasing you for so long—but he never had better pussy. And it doesn't help that your moans are sweet, breathy, and loud—begging him to go faster.

"Such a pretentious brat," Rafe grabs your throat, hauling you upwards till your spine rest on his chest, airway constricted by his harsh grip. "Making me wait this fucking long."

"R—Rafe," you mewl, eyes rolling to the back of your skull at the way he's angling his cock deep into your cervix, bullying the sensitive spot over and over again until you're seeing stars.

"Had to get the princess treatment, did you?" He murmurs hotly into your ear, nibbling a spot on your neck as you rest the back of your head on his shoulder. His thrusts grow more erratic. "Had to make me earn you, didn't you?"

"You weren't going to fuck me in a car," you persist, and despite how cockdrunk you became, and how much of an attitude you're willing to sacrifice to feel good, you were still adamant about receiving what you deemed enough. He respected that. "I'm not one of your whores."

"But I'm fucking you like my own personal slut. Is that any better?" He bites the lobe of your ear, and his other hand wanders up to grab a handful of your breast, squeezing the fat before rolling your perked nipple between his fingers. You moan louder. "What does that make you?"

You can't seem to answer him, can't seem to find your senses. The words Rafe uses are vulgar, but there’s still no regrets about this entire thing. Rafe wanted you so badly, that he was willing to spend hundreds of dollars on a hotel he probably won't even stay the night in. All because you demanded it.

You win.

"Shut up," you stammer, your stomach tightening. "Shut up and just fuck me, Rafe."

Rafe grins. The hand playing with your tits slips between your thighs to assist, finding your clit easily as he rubs it with his thumb in sync with his thrusts. Breathy moans escape you as you arch into his palm, while he pistons deeper inside of you, bottoming out.

"You sound so pretty, doll," Rafe murmurs against your heated skin, "Come on, take my fucking cock."

Everything’s so dirty. The way he handles you, the way your wetness drips down your thighs, the way his words breathe onto your skin and tighten your core. But you love it. You do, but you're not willing to give in so easily. No matter how good it feels. No matter how much he feels like a prize.

"You don't deserve me." You whisper with a mewl, body tightening with the familiar wave of your undoing.

Yet, Rafe merely grins.

"But you're sucking in my cock like you need me," Rafe taunts, pleasure coursing through his body at the way your walls grip him in a vice. The way your words spark challenge and invitation. He knows, despite your spoiled attitude and pretentious demands, he'll do anything to get another chance like this. "Now, behave like a good girl or you're not coming tonight."

IMPORTANT: if you want to follow my fics and updates, follow @zyafics-library and turn on notifications!

tagging @starkeysprincess bc she saw it first <3

[asonofpeter]

Disclaimers: in these universes, she wrote these songs. Also I know Rosalia isn’t Latina and that she’s Spaniard.

If Latina popstar!reader was a pogue, and Rafe had said what he did about her to his Kook friends. She’ll break up with him right before she becomes a big star.

The songs she would have written about it:

Provenza by Karol G

BAGDAD by Rosalia

Amargura by Karol G

Me tengo Que ir by Karol G

Moral Conscience by Kali Uchis

Dead to me by Kali Uchis

quiero sentirme bien by Kali Uchis

Malamente by Rosalía

Me ponga loca by Kali Uchis

If Latina popstar!reader was a Kook, and she heard Rafe talking down on their relationship. And she breaks up with him because of it

The songs she would have written about it:

Mi Ex Tenia Razon by Karol G

I wish you Roses by Kali Uchis

Blue by Kali Uchis

Vaya con Dios by Kali Uchis

After the storm by Kali Uchis

Perdiste by Kali Uchis

Igual que un ángel by Kali Uchis

Te Mata by Kali Uchis

[asonofpeter]

rewatching desperate house wives right now and would love to see a little something inspired by gabrielle and carlos?? maybe season 2 when he's in jail and she wants a conjugal visit. just thought it would be fun, love your work!!!

i'm the girl you die for - r.c

pairing: canon!rafe x queenb!kook!reader

of course, you had to be here.

no one else was going to fight for rafe—certainly not that tired, old man , with his cheap suit and receding hairline. god, you hated this place. the lighting was terrible, the walls a sad, dull beige that screamed "i give up," and the leather chairs were probably fake.

honestly, couldn’t these people at least pretend to have some standards? guess that’s what happens when you’re not the one cutting the checks.

now, instead of champagne and designer brunches, you were spending your afternoons in a hellhole like this. you stood near the chain-link fence, your sunglasses shielding you from the glaring sun. in the distance, the inmates were out in the yard, working out, talking in groups, smoking—whatever it was they did to kill time.

who thought it was a good idea to have meetings out here? the yard was full of dirt, sweat, and who-knows-what, and the chain-link fence looked like something out of a low-budget crime show. you flicked a piece of lint off your skirt, more for effect than necessity. maxwell finally showed up, his face blank, like he wasn’t impressed by the outfit you’d spent an hour putting together. whatever. you were here for rafe, not him.

“we need to talk,” you said, tightening the hold on your birkin like it weighed a thousand pounds. it was designer. it probably cost more than his car.

maxwell didn’t even flinch. “about?”

cheap suit, cheap attitude. honestly, if you weren’t so desperate, you’d be done with this idiot by now.

“about my fiancé.” you tilted your head, giving him your best ‘don’t play dumb with me’ look. “we need a conjugal visit. and i need you to make it happen.”

“a conjugal visit?” he said it slow, like you were asking for a miracle.

“yes.” you smiled tightly. “you know, those things where people in prison get to have a little privacy? i want you to get us one.” you rolled your eyes. god, this guy was infuriating. “isn’t that part of your job? to get what we need?”

maxwell raised an eyebrow. “a conjugal visit isn’t part of the deal. rafe’s charges are serious. i’m trying to get your fiancé out of jail, you want me to stop everything just so you can have a booty call?”

he was acting like you were asking for something outrageous.

like it wasn’t completely reasonable for you to want to see rafe. really see him. after months. this was rafe cameron you were talking about. he had power. you had power. how could this crusty lawyer not understand that?

“i’m not asking, maxwell. i’m telling you. make it happen.”

“i said no.”

you scowled at him, “all we need is an hour. you can’t tell me no! you work for me, you will make it happen.”

he gave a fake sigh, the kind people did when they thought you were being dramatic. “listen,” he sneered, leaning in slightly. “i’m not your servant. you don’t get to snap your fingers and expect things to just happen. newsflash—your boyfriend is in prison. not some hotel.”

oh, this smug asshole. you were about to really let him have it when a low voice interrupted from behind the fence.

“you got a problem, lady?”

you turned, eyes narrowing as you saw two inmates standing near the fence, both of them massive. tattoos snaked up their arms, and they looked rough. you’d seen them with rafe before.

maxwell glanced back at them, trying to act tough, “excuse me, but this is a private conversation.”

“private? you’re out here talking loud enough for the whole yard to hear. we heard what you said.” he tilted his head toward you, eyes narrowing on maxwell. “sounds like you’re disrespecting cameron’s girl.”

maxwell stammered, suddenly not so confident. “i—i’m just trying to explain that a conjugal visit is complicated. there are rules—”

“we don’t care.”

the second maxwell started running his mouth, you could already tell he had no idea who he was dealing with. he was still trying to act like he had the upper hand, like he was some big-shot lawyer who could push people around. you almost pitied him. almost. but honestly, he deserved what was coming.

“you’re not gonna get away with this,” he snapped, all bravado, puffing out his chest like that was going to make him any less pathetic. “you think you can intimidate me? i’ll have you all locked up for life if you so much as lay a finger on me.”

you rolled your eyes behind your sunglasses. what an idiot.

the bigger inmate—tank, you’d heard people call him—reached through the fence with a broomstick. you hadn’t even noticed it before, but he must’ve grabbed it from somewhere nearby. he jabbed it into maxwell’s shoulder, not hard enough to really hurt him, but enough to make his point. maxwell jumped back like he’d been electrocuted.

“hey! what the—” he shouted, trying to step out of range, but tank just laughed and poked him again, this time aiming lower, jabbing him in the ribs.

“you don’t make the rules here, old man,” tank sneered, poking him once more, this time a little harder. “you’re gonna learn that the hard way if you don’t shut your mouth. apologize!”

maxwell’s face was turning red now, panic setting in as he tried to dodge the broomstick, but the other guy grabbed the handle, keeping it steady while tank prodded him over and over, relentless. “i swear to god,” maxwell was screaming now, voice cracking. “i’ll have the guards throw you in solitary! you’ll never see daylight again, i’ll make sure you rot in here!”

the inmates just laughed, like his threats were some kind of joke. and honestly, they were. you watched, arms crossed, completely unbothered, as maxwell flailed, trying to keep his balance while other inmates jabbed other broomsticks at him, from every side, like he was nothing more than a punching bag.

“you hear that, boys?” tank said, grinning as he poked maxwell one more time. “he’s gonna get us locked up for life! like we’re not already in here.” the other inmate burst out laughing. a few more guys started drifting closer to the fence, watching with interest. “apologize!”

maxwell’s face was pure panic now. “stop it!” he screamed, backing up so far he was almost falling over. “i’m serious, i’ll call the warden, i’ll—this is all her fault, if she wasn’t such a goddamn horny b—”

you gasped, insulted, ready to read him to filth but the inmates beat you to it.

“do it,” the second guy sneered, his voice low and threatening. “see if we care. you think we don’t know how to make things happen? you’d be gone before you even got your phone call.”

a few of them started yelling, and jeering, like they were ready to jump in, too. maxwell’s eyes darted around, realizing that this was spiraling out of control. “you idiots!” he screeched, his voice high-pitched and panicky. “you’ll start a riot! they’ll lock all of you down—no more yard, no more visits, nothing! you’re gonna screw yourselves over!”

but they didn’t care. the guys on the yard were getting riled up now, shouts echoing across the open space. some of them were banging on the fence, rattling it hard enough to make it shake.

“apologize to the lady!”

one of the other inmates reached through the fence, grabbing at his sleeve, yanking him forward. maxwell screamed, struggling to pull away, but the guy held on tight, his grip ironclad.

“come on, boys!” someone yelled from the yard, and suddenly it was like the floodgates had opened. more and more inmates rushed toward the fence, shouting, banging on the metal, some of them reaching through, trying to get a piece of the action, “apologize!”

you adjusted your sunglasses and turned to leave, your heels clicking against the pavement. you hope they kill him for you.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆˚୨୧⋆｡˚

you were dressed to the nines, as usual, in a designer dress that probably cost more than what the guards made in a month. even in this drab setting, you looked like you belonged on a yacht, not here, in some depressing room meant for criminals and their girlfriends.

you strutted toward him, your lips glossed to perfection, knowing full well that the bratty smile curling your mouth would drive him insane. it always did.

rafe was already sitting there, arms crossed, looking as exasperated as you’d ever seen him.

his jaw was clenched, and the muscles there twitched. he was not happy. you smirked. of course, you weren’t expecting a warm welcome, but at least you got to see him.

“hi, baby,” you purred, batting your lashes as if you weren’t here to make his day harder. “missed me?”

he just stared at you for a moment, pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes squeezed shut like he was trying to find some ounce of patience. then he let out this long, heavy sigh, rubbing his hand down his face before finally looking at you again.

“you—” he started, then stopped, poking his tongue against the inside of his cheek in frustration. “you started a riot because you wanted a conjugal visit?”

you tilted your head innocently, like you didn’t understand why he was so worked up. “almost,” you corrected, as if that made it any better. “it wasn’t like they actually did anything.” you waved your hand dismissively, the gloss on your lips catching the light as you smiled.

“you—” he stopped, biting the inside of his cheek again, trying to rein it in. he was always like this—prone to temper, to obsession. the need to control everything. especially you. “do you know how close it came to getting out of control? the guards were ready to lock the whole place down. for days. you think that would’ve been good for me, huh?”

you shrugged, not really fazed. “he was being a dick to me, baby. what was i supposed to do? that lawyer was useless. i wasn’t just going to stand there and let him talk to me like that.”

his eyes dropped to your mouth, unable to resist. “he was the best lawyer in the fucking county.”

“they clearly need new ones then.”

rafe groaned, clearly trying to keep from losing it completely.

“he almost called me a bitch!”

“were you acting like one?”

“and so what if i was?” you leaned back, crossing your arms, the movement accentuating your designer dress. “he was the one acting like an asshole. he’s lucky i didn’t throw my drink at him. if i’d had one.”

he looked like he was about two seconds away from unleashing his deranged side, rubbing his hand over his face again, like that was going to somehow make all of this disappear.

“you don’t get it, do you? you can’t pull this shit in here, baby. it’s not the fucking outer banks. people don’t just let you get away with whatever you want because you look good and throw money around.”

you rolled your eyes, flipping your hair over your shoulder.

“yeah, well, maybe they should. you don’t see me lowering my standards just because you’re stuck in this dump, do you?” you gestured around the room, your nose wrinkling at the depressing, beige walls. “god, i mean, who chooses these colors? it’s like they want people to lose their minds in here.”

he scoffed, “that’s what you’re worried about? the color of the walls?”

you pouted, “what else was I supposed to do? sit and wait for him to do nothing? ’m not stupid.”

"you're lucky you're even allowed in here after that stunt.”

you gave him a sweet, almost patronizing smile, teeth digging into your lower lip. "aww, baby, are you worried about me?”

"stop," he snapped, "this shit isn’t funny. you think i want to spend the next month in solitary because you couldn't keep your mouth shut?"

you didn’t flinch. in fact, you smiled even wider, enjoying how worked up he was getting. “don’t be so dramatic. it wasn’t like anything actually happened.”

"you're out there playing power games with people who don't care about you,” he tapped two fingers against his temple, brows slightly raised,“they won’t bow down because you’ve got money or a pretty face."

"maybe not, but they’ll listen if i push hard enough," you said coolly. "and guess what? they did."

he clenched his jaw again, running his hands through his growing hair in frustration. he looked like he was fighting every instinct not to explode.

"you really think you're helping me, don’t you?"

you crossed your legs slowly, adjusting your dress so the fabric draped perfectly. “would you rather have me fuck someone else? y’know… a free man?”

that got a reaction. his eyes flickered with something dangerous, a smirk forming at the corner of his mouth as he leaned in close. “you wouldn’t.” he whispered, the words laced with venom and amusement at the same time.

your smile turned wicked. “wouldn’t i?”

his fingers twitched on the table, the way they always did when he was seconds away from grabbing you. “you’re really testing me right now,” he said slowly, his fingers drumming on the metal table between you. "you think ’m stuck in here, so you can play your little games? make me jealous?”

you held his gaze, unbothered, your lips curling into a defiant smile. "’m just reminding you that i have options. ones that aren’t sitting in a prison cell.”

he chuckled darkly, though there was nothing funny about the look in his eyes. "options, huh?" his voice was edging on borderline strained. "and what makes you think i wouldn't kill any man who even looked at you?"

"you’d have to catch him first, wouldn’t you? and we both know you’re a little… tied up at the moment."

his hand shot out, gripping your lower cheecks with a force that sent you spiriling, remembering how he used to manhandle you anytime he got his hands on you, your faces were almost touching. his eyes were wild. possession. obsession.

the kind of dark love that made you both feel alive.

“you’re mine. no matter where i am, no matter who else you think you can have. you’re mine.”

“then get the stupid conjugal visit,” you hissed through your teeth, “’m horny.”

“’m not asking you. ’m telling you. you don’t have options sweetheart. you never did.”

you felt your pulse quicken. god, he was insane, but that’s what made it so intoxicating. he was right. no matter what you said or did, no matter how much you tried to push his buttons, it always came back to one thing: you belonged to him.

“i’ll get you your damn visit,” he continued, his voice dropping lower, “but ’m not doing it because you demanded it. ’m doing it because you need to be reminded of something.” he leaned back, letting go of your face, his fingers printed into your cheeks, keeping his eyes locked on yours, “you’re mine. and i’ll make sure you remember that.”

you rubbed where his grip had been, the throbbing sensation making it clear that he hadn’t lost his touch—he never did. you grinned as you leaned forward, closing the space between you two again, “i’ll be waiting, baby.”

rafe’s smirk widened, his eyes burning with that possessive glint you knew all too well. there was no escaping him, not that you really wanted to.

“enjoy your time behind bars,” you added, standing up slowly, your movements deliberate, making sure he had a full view of your ass as you walked toward the exit. “maybe i’ll find a way to keep myself busy until you get out.”

he didn’t answer, but you could feel his eyes burning into your back as you left the room. you knew you were pushing him, playing with fire, but that’s how you both liked it. this was the game you played.

you couldn’t wait for him to remind you exactly who you belonged to.

[asonofpeter]

waking up to you

au!rafe cameron x reader

— in which you wake up in a strange alternate reality that just so happens to be the outer banks universe, and to your disbelief, you’re suddenly in a relationship with the shows most unlikely character, rafe cameron.

warnings: safe!!

authors note: thank u sm for the support lately on this !! if u still arent part of the tag list, feel free to let me know thru replies, anons, or dms !! notifications are always on <3

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you pull into the lot, the crunch of gravel beneath the truck’s tires the only sound you hear as you shift the car into park. so far, so good, you think, shutting off the engine and tossing your keys into your lap.

the ride here had been surprisingly smooth, considering you’re driving a truck you’ve never touched before in a world that feels completely foreign. a quick glance at google maps had helped you navigate.

taking a deep breath, you step out of the truck, slamming the door shut behind you and instantly squinting as the midday sun catches your eyes. you glance up at the sign outside the wreck, the familiar wooden board making your heart race a little faster.

you’re not ready, but you push forward anyway. with the keys still clutched in your hand, you head toward the restaurant, your stomach in knots.

as you approach the entrance, you hesitate, lingering behind the door even though most of the place is made of glass. you can already see customers inside, people chatting and eating, and in the middle of it all—the pogues.

your heart lurches in your chest. they’re here. jj, pope, john b, and kiara. they’re all here. the sight of them—alive, real, in the flesh—makes your head spin.

with a deep breath, you pull the door open and step inside, trying to smooth down your clothes as you cautiously approach the group. kiara is the first to spot you, standing by the table while the boys sit, looking like she’s mid-shift. her eyes widen when she sees you, and she immediately puts her tray down on the table, practically rushing over to you.

“y/n, holy f—” she breathes, throwing her arms around you in a tight hug. you freeze for a second, still processing the fact that kiara carrera is hugging you like you’ve been friends for years, but you quickly wrap your arms around her in return.

“where have you been?” she asks, pulling back to look at you with concern.

you’re confused but manage a small smile. “uh . . . here and there.”

before kiara can respond, john b and pope stand up from their seats, walking over to join the reunion. their faces are serious, concerned, and the energy shifts from relief to something heavier. they hug you, one after the other—john b slapping you on the back, pope squeezing your shoulder.

“you’ve been m.i.a. for weeks,” kiara says, her tone still filled with worry. you can only nod, your mind racing. m.i.a.? weeks? what has this universe’s version of you been up to?

john b’s half-joking tone cuts through the tension. “no, no, yeah, is rafe keeping you hostage or something?” he asks with joking-concern, though there’s a sharpness in his eyes that tells you he’s not entirely kidding.

you force a laugh, not sure how to answer. “i’ve just been busy. i guess.”

but the questions don’t stop. “you never spend time with us anymore,” pope adds, his voice a little quieter but still pointed. “not even a ‘hi’.”

john b nods, quickly jumping in. “yeah, like the other day—i saw you driving, and you just . . . you looked stressed. didn’t even wave.”

you blink, trying to process their words, but your gaze drifts toward jj, who’s been quiet this whole time, standing behind the others, just watching you. he’s risen out of his seat, his hands resting on the back of the chair, his expression unreadable.

your eyes lock onto his, and there’s an awkward silence that stretches between you two as the others continue to speak, their words starting to blur in your head.

you have no idea what you’re supposed to say, no clue how to answer their questions, because you have no idea what kind of life this you has been living.

kiara glances around, ensuring that the boys are momentarily distracted, before she pulls you aside, her expression turning serious. “hey, can we talk for a second?” she asks, lowering her voice as if to guard a secret. you nod.

as you step away from the lively chatter of the pogues, kiara leans in closer, her brow furrowing slightly. “are you and jj okay?” she asks, her tone heavy with concern. you blink, momentarily stunned by the question.

are you two not? your mind races to comprehend what’s happening. what did you miss?

kiara’s expression softens, but you can see the confusion flickering in her eyes. she hesitates for a moment, gauging your reaction. before you can press her for clarification, you glance back toward the boys. jj is striding over, his expression a mix of determination and something more vulnerable that you can’t quite place. relief floods through you; he’ll help you make sense of this chaos.

as he approaches, he suddenly envelops you in a tight embrace, pulling you into him as if the air itself is a precious commodity. the warmth of his body against yours is overwhelming, and you find yourself caught off guard by the intensity of the hug.

“you can’t just scare me like that,” he mutters into your hair, his voice low and slightly strained. you pull back slightly to look into his eyes, the concern etched across his features makes your heart ache.

“i’m sorry,” you finally manage to say, still grappling with the weight of their worry. “i didn’t mean to . . . whatever i did.”

jj’s frown deepens as he holds your shoulders, grounding you. “it’s okay. we’ve all been worried about you,” he admits, his tone sincere, almost tender. “you just . . . disappeared.”

“disappeared?” you echo, the word hanging heavy in the air.

kiara watches from a distance, her expression shifting from relief to concern as she observes the exchange between you and jj. “i’ll talk to you later,” she whispers, stepping back to rejoin the boys.

“are you good?” jj asks again, his eyes searching yours for the truth.

you nod, but inside, uncertainty churns. “i think so,” you reply, forcing a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “just been a rough couple of . . . hours. sorry.”

the thought that your friends have been worried about you, that they felt your absence acutely, makes you feel a strange blend of gratitude and guilt.

you slip into an empty seat at the table, feeling the weight of their eyes on you, though they’re not staring outright—just that subtle, expectant energy from people who know you, who expect you to slip into conversation naturally.

the pogues keep talking, voices overlapping, john b saying something about a boat, pope chiming in about something kiara did the other night. you try to follow, but the tension in your chest grows tighter with each passing second.

you pull your phone out of your pocket, more as a distraction than anything else, but as soon as you unlock it, you see a series of texts from rafe lighting up the screen.

‘ where are u ’

‘ ? ’

‘ y/n ’

a jolt of nerves shoots through you. you hesitate, glancing around the table before typing a quick, evasive reply: ‘ grabbing something to eat ’ and then you lock the phone, slipping it back into your pocket as if shutting it off will somehow keep rafe from reaching through the screen and dragging you back to him.

you’re about to breathe a sigh of relief when you notice kiara watching you. her brow is slightly furrowed, concern clearly etched into her expression. she can sense something’s off—you’re not fooling anyone.

quietly, she reaches across the table, her fingers brushing yours as she places her hand on top of yours, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

you glance at her, surprised by the small gesture. her eyes search yours, asking a question she doesn’t need to voice. you manage a small, grateful nod in response.

she doesn’t say anything, but she doesn’t let go either. she just holds your hand, her quiet way of telling you that she’s here, that whatever’s going on with you, she’s got your back. it makes your chest feel tight in a different way now—a kind of bittersweet ache.

there’s something comforting about her kindness, about how she’s looking out for you even when you barely know how to look out for yourself in this universe.

the boys keep talking, the hum of their conversation flowing around you, but you’re only half-listening. you’re too busy wondering how long you can keep pretending, how long before someone calls you out, or worse—how long before rafe shows up, expecting you to be the girl he knows, the one you’re clearly not.

you give kiara’s hand a gentle squeeze back, silently thanking her. whatever this universe’s y/n had with these people, it was clearly something worth holding onto. now, you just have to figure out how to live up to it.

you drive back to the camerons’ house, the road blurring a little as your thoughts swirl with everything that happened at the wreck. the pogues, the way they looked at you, kiara’s hand holding yours . . . it was overwhelming.

and then rafe’s texts—those three small messages that sent a ripple of anxiety through your chest.

you pull up to the house and notice an extra car parked outside, one you didn’t see earlier. you assume it must be rafe’s. he’s home.

turning off the engine, you sit in the car for a second longer than you need to, just staring at the house. it’s quiet, as it always seems to be. you sigh, grabbing your phone and sliding out of the truck. your steps are slow, calculated, as you walk toward the nearest door that leads inside, keys jingling softly in your hand.

you let yourself in, the familiar stillness of the cameron estate washing over you. you half expect to hear rafe’s voice, or even the sound of something from the kitchen, but there’s nothing.

your shoes make soft thuds against the hardwood as you approach the staircase, heading upstairs, but you’re stopped halfway up by movement out of the corner of your eye.

someone is pacing in the hallway—going back and forth between one of the rooms and the bathroom.

you freeze, instincts kicking in as you press yourself slightly against the railing, watching the figure move. it takes a second for your eyes to adjust to the dim light filtering through the hall, but when they do, you realize it’s a girl.

she’s rushing, flustered, like she’s trying to get ready for something or find something important.

you squint, trying to get a better look. and then it hits you. sarah, rafe’s sister.

your mind stalls for a second, trying to piece this together. sarah’s here? your confusion deepens as you process what you're seeing.

in the show, sarah had practically sworn off coming home because of rafe, too afraid or too angry to set foot in this house. but now, here she is, pacing around like she never left.

you blink, trying to make sense of it all. things really are different here, you think, the realization sinking in deeper. this isn’t the world you knew from the show. people are different. timelines are different. maybe even rafe is different.

“sarah?” your voice comes out a little softer than you intend, tinged with concern. sarah freezes in her tracks, realizing she’s not alone. she turns toward the sound of your voice, her eyes scanning the hallway until they land on you, just now reaching the top of the stairs.

“oh! y/n. i didn’t even . . even hear you come in,” sarah says, moving back into the bathroom, fiddling with an earring that looks like it’s giving her trouble.

you hesitate for a moment, glancing around cautiously, tiptoeing past the open doors, half expecting rafe to be lurking somewhere. you check every shadow, every open space, feeling that knot of unease tightening in your chest. like he could appear at any second. and for some reason, it scares you more than it should.

“yeah, you know me! quiet as a . . .” your voice trails off when sarah leaves the bathroom again, now heading back into her room.

your steps quicken, and you catch up to her, pausing at the doorway as she moves around, her pace hurried. something about it feels off.

“hey, what are you doing?” you ask, more out of curiosity, but also trying to make sense of what you’re seeing.

sarah barely looks up, focused on adjusting her earring, her back still turned to you. “i’ve got to head out. there’s this thing i promised kie i’d go to, but of course! i’m running late.”

the casual tone throws you off, like this is just another ordinary day. but your mind races, trying to keep up. kie?

the door downstairs clicks open, and you hear the familiar jangle of keys hitting the table near the entrance. sarah pauses for a moment, but only to check her reflection, humming softly to herself. the sound of rafe’s voice calling out from below makes you stiffen.

“y/n?”

sarah, oblivious, brushes past you, grabbing her phone as she’s ready to head out.

you reach for her instinctively, fingers grazing her arm, wanting her to stay, to keep her here just a little longer, but it’s no use. she pulls away easily, humming her tune as she heads downstairs.

your hand lingers in the air for a second before it falls back to your side, and you clench your fists tight, feeling the cold bite of unease creeping up your spine.

you’re left alone in the hallway, breath caught in your throat, and you can hear rafe jogging up the stairs—too fast for you to get your bearings, too quick for you to decide on what the hell to do next. your eyes dart around, searching for a place to hide or something to distract yourself with, but it’s too late.

he nudges sarah playfully as he passes her, like this is routine, and before you can even process it, rafe’s standing in front of you, catching you off guard with that easy smirk of his.

he’s amused. you can tell. you must look ridiculous leaning against the doorframe like that, trying way too hard to appear nonchalant.

his gaze flickers over you, and for a second, you think he’s going to laugh, but instead, he closes the gap between you, his hand slipping easily around your waist. the kiss he presses to your forehead is casual, familiar.

“hey,” he murmurs against your skin before pulling back and slipping into his room, leaving you standing there in your awkward daze.

you gnaw on your bottom lip as you step into the room after him.

rafe settles into his chair with a heavy sigh, leaning back and rubbing at his temples, clearly worn out. his fingers press into his skin, trying to relieve some of the tension, and you can’t help but watch him for a moment. he looks like he’s been through it.

you move slowly toward the bed, leaning back against the edge, trying to steady your breath and ease the weird knot in your stomach. rafe is quiet for a bit, eyes closed, before he speaks up, his voice low, almost distracted.

“ran into my dad earlier.”

you stay quiet, just nodding, letting him talk. you’re not sure how you’re supposed to respond to that, especially with how vague that even is. he’s still rubbing at his temples, and then he adds, “hey, has sarah talked to you at all about . . .”

you arch a brow, confused. “about what?”

rafe pauses, his eyes flicking over to you, but when he realizes you have no idea what he’s talking about, he just shakes his head, muttering under his breath, “nothing.”

why is everyone being so secretive today? it’s infuriating.

there’s a beat of silence before he changes the subject, dropping his hand from his face and leaning forward a bit, looking at you more closely. “where were you earlier? you said you were getting somethin’ to eat? bring me anything?”

you feel your pulse quicken, scrambling for a lie that’ll stick. “oh, yeah, i, uh, went to this place nearby—what was it called?” you stall for a second before pulling a name that you think you remember seeing on the way to the wreck. “waterman’s cafe. but there was this huge line, and they were backed up on orders, so . . . i just ended up getting something quick for myself.”

you give a half-hearted shrug, trying to sell it. “didn’t think i’d be there for that long, so . . . sorry, didn’t bring you anything.”

rafe just nods, looking a little disappointed but too tired to really care. “yeah, s’all good. don’t worry about it.”

he leans back again, rubbing his temples, and the room falls quiet. you can feel the weight of everything—how out of place you are, how close you are to slipping up.

your phone buzzes softly in your pocket, cutting through the quiet, and you pull it out to check. it's a text from kie.

‘ miss u already. why didn’t u come back with sarah? 3 of us together again ’

it makes you smile for a second, but before you can dwell on it, rafe rubs the back of his neck and gets up from his chair. “you ready to go?”

your smile fades as you blink at him, caught off guard. “what?” the question slips out before you can stop it. go where?

rafe furrows his brows, clearly confused. “why are you forgetting so much today? we’re going to the . . .” he trails off, waving a hand in the air like it’s obvious, “you told me yesterday that you wanted me to take you shopping for midsummers. said you wanted a new dress, shoes, whatever.”

you feel your breath catch for a second. midsummers. you remember that from the show, where all the kooks in the outer banks dressed up in fancy attire—the girls in dresses, the guys in suits and ties.

you play along, nodding slowly, but you feel yourself processing the idea of shopping with rafe, and—admittedly—a part of you feels a little intrigued by it.

you get to spend rafe’s money.

your lips twitch up into a slight smirk as you entertain the thought. is this what having a sugar daddy feels like? you snicker to yourself at the ridiculousness of the idea.

“right, yeah, shopping,” you say, standing up and smoothing your hands over your shorts, trying to act casual. “totally didn’t forget, let’s go.”

rafe, unaware of the internal chaos you’re experiencing, watches you for a second before shaking his head with a soft chuckle. “you’ve been forgetful as hell lately,” he mutters, checking his pockets to make sure he has what he needs. “you seriously need to get out of your head.”

you laugh, unsure whether he’s being serious or just teasing you. “yeah, i guess i’ve just been . . . distracted.”

“distracted, huh?” rafe glances at you again, one eyebrow raised, almost like he’s questioning you but decides to let it go. “let’s go then. the sooner we get there, the sooner we can get outta there.”

he’s clearly not thrilled about going, but it seems like he’s doing it for you—or, well, for the version of you that apparently wanted this yesterday.

as you head downstairs, his hand brushes yours, guiding you toward the front door. before you leave, though, he glances back at you, his voice lower. “oh, by the way, my dad said your parents are visiting, like, ‘rica right now.”

your feet stop abruptly on the stairs. rica? your parents . . . are in costa rica?

rafe’s voice is casual, but the words hit you like a truck.

for a second, your entire body freezes, your hand gripping the wooden railing a little too tightly. your parents—your parents—are in costa rica right now. it’s like your mind can’t fully grasp the concept.

your parents you grew up with, always talking wistfully about the places they’d visit one day, always saying, “when we have time, when we save enough, we’ll go.”

it’s the sort of thing you used to talk about over dinner when you were younger, your mom flipping through travel magazines, your dad rambling about the rainforest and wildlife they’d visit.

those conversations always ended with a resigned sigh, your mom closing the magazine, saying, “maybe someday.”

but this version of your parents? they’re not stuck in ‘maybe someday.’ they’re in costa riva, living the life they always wanted.

you swallow hard, your throat tightening with the wave of emotion that suddenly crashes over you. you blink rapidly, trying to force away the tears that well up behind your eyes. you can’t just break down. not in front of rafe.

on one hand, you’re genuinely happy for them, knowing that their dream finally came true in this version of your life. but on the other hand, it’s a brutal reminder that your parents, the ones you grew up with in the world you know outside of this, never got that chance. they never made it past those conversations.

rafe, oblivious to you, doesn’t seem to notice the full weight of what he’s just told you. he starts down the rest of the stairs, but you remain stuck on the middle step, your hand still gripping the banister. you take a shaky breath, glancing down at your feet, willing the lump in your throat to go away.

“y/n?” rafe turns back when he notices you haven’t moved. his brows knit together, concern briefly flashing in his eyes. “you alright?”

“mhm,” you hum, and you clear your throat quickly, forcing a tight smile onto your face. “yeah, i’m fine.” you nod, though it feels like you’re lying to yourself more than to him. “i just . . . didn’t know they were there.”

he shrugs like it’s no big deal. “yeah, apparently they’ve been there for a while. you should probably call them tonight or something. i think they miss you.”

that comment hits you like another punch to the gut. they miss you? why is rafe the one telling you this, and not your own parents? unless they have? but . . .

there’s just something you’re not getting. something’s missing. it’s like everyone else—your parents, the pogues, even rafe—knows something you don’t. and the longer you stay in this world, the more you realize that the other version of you, the y/n who actually belongs here, has been avoiding people. ghosting them.

you take a step down, feeling like you’re moving through quicksand, but you try to pull herself together.

rafe watches you carefully, sensing something is off but not fully understanding it. he rubs the back of his neck and takes a few steps toward the door. “c’mon.”

you nod, following him out the door.

@v2los @cosmixstar @meeuhsworld @httpsdrewstarkey @lovdrew @lilithblackkk @rovckwells @cherrylooney @namelesslosers @cocolovey @rafeyswrd @odairtrqsh @vivian-555 @lunaleah @smol-coffee-addict @behindviolettwrites @avngrssckr @stonerroadbull

[asonofpeter]

WAKING UP TO YOU

au!rafe cameron x reader

— in which you wake up in a strange alternate reality that just so happens to be the outer banks universe, and to your disbelief, you’re suddenly in a relationship with the shows most unlikely character, rafe cameron.

warnings: safe, mention of drugs, like one f word

authors note: i need to stop making new series when i havent even finished my last 😭 i get so bored when i near the end of a series LMAO im so sorry. guaranteed this is about to be my next potential series if people like it !!

next

you wake up with a start, disoriented, the remnants of sleep clinging to you like a heavy fog.

the first thing you notice is the warmth of the sun pouring through the windows, casting golden stripes across the room. you blink slowly, your surroundings coming into focus, and that's when the confusion sets in. this isn’t your apartment.

it’s . . . tannyhill. the camerons’ house. the place you’ve only ever seen on screen, the walls adorned with the unmistakable coastal vibe of the outer banks.

you push yourself up on your elbows, heart racing as you try to piece together what happened. just last night, you were in your own bed, scrolling through your phone, drifting off to sleep amidst the noise of the city. how did you end up here, in this bed, in this house?

your mind races, trying to catch up with your senses.

the sheets feel soft against your skin, and you notice the faint scent of salt and something warm, familiar, clinging to the pillow next to you. it feels like a dream, and the longer you sit there, the more bizarre it all seems.

no.

your heart starts to pound. this is wrong. you were in your apartment last night, you were sure of it. how could you be here now? how could any of this be happening?

you take in the opulence of the room. it's exactly like the show, down to the little details you never thought you'd see in person. the bed feels massive, the room impossibly large.

the panic begins to rise in your chest, your breaths becoming shallow as your mind races to make sense of it all.

and then, from the corner of your eye, you see movement. the door to the balcony swings open, and your blood turns to ice.

rafe?

he steps inside as casually as if he’s done this a hundred times before. and he probably has—because in this world, it looks like waking up next to you is normal for him. but for you? this is waking up next to a stranger, someone you’ve only seen on a screen, a character, an actor.

and yet, here he is, in the flesh, shirtless with his t-shirt dangling loosely in his hand like he’s about to put it on.

you freeze, eyes locking onto his bare chest, the sight almost too surreal to process. his body is toned, like you’ve seen a few times in his films, but now he's standing here, so nonchalant, as if this is all part of your routine together.

your breath catches, panic bubbling up inside as your mind screams at you to make sense of it. but no sense can be made. he’s real. he’s right there.

he catches your gaze and pauses for a beat, his expression calm, almost indifferent, as he pulls the shirt over his head. there’s no shock in his eyes, no alarm at your presence. instead, there’s a faint, almost ghostly hint of a smile on his lips, like he’s seeing something that comforts him. like this is just another morning. another day with you.

“you were sleeping for a while,” he says, his voice low, calm, as if you’re supposed to know exactly what he’s talking about.

but you don’t. you can’t.

your heart is pounding so hard you swear he must hear it. you feel like you're glued to the spot, unable to move or speak. he words are there, tangled in your throat, but no sound escapes.

and rafe? he doesn’t even notice. he’s too busy pulling the shirt over his head, smoothing it out with one hand as he heads toward the dresser, rummaging for something—maybe his keys, maybe a wallet. your eyes follow him, wide and unblinking.

every little detail is telling you this is really happening. the weight of the sheets, the soft scent of the ocean drifting in from the open balcony, the way rafe moves so effortlessly around the space—it all feels too tangible. too vivid.

he throws a glance over his shoulder, not catching the absolute terror that must be written across your face. instead, he just adds, “you good?” like, yeah, just a weird morning. what the hell are you supposed to say?

he turns back to whatever he’s doing, seemingly satisfied with your silence, and your mind is racing.

your eyes dart around the room, looking for anything that could anchor you back to reality, something that tells you this is just a dream, that you’ll wake up in your own bed any second now. but nothing happens. you’re still here. still watching rafe cameron move around like this is just another ordinary day.

and then he looks at you again, his eyes narrowing slightly, as if he’s starting to sense that something’s off. not that he’s alarmed—he’s just . . . curious. “one of those realistic dreams again?”

the question hits you like a freight train. the way he says it, so casual, so knowing, makes your stomach churn. it’s clear that, in this reality, the version of you he knows has had these ‘realistic dreams’ before. does he think this is just another one of those?

you know you have to respond, have to say something to keep him from getting suspicious, so, you muster the courage to mutter, “yeah . . . something like that.”

the words feel foreign on your tongue, forced, like they don’t even belong to you. your voice sounds small, uncertain, and you hope he doesn’t pick up on it. but rafe? he just nods.

“i’m heading out to take care of some business,” he tells you, vague, the way he always is when it comes to whatever shady dealings he’s involved in. his voice has that low, dry edge to it, like he’s not too concerned with explaining more than he has to.

you swallow, your mind racing. business. you’ve seen the show. you know what kind of business he’s talking about. barry, he’s a drug dealer. or his dad, ward, who’s capable of anything.

suddenly, you wonder just where you are in the timeline of this world. does it follow the plot of the show? or is this some kind of alternate version of it, where different rules apply?

your eyes stay locked on him as he steps closer, and suddenly, the air shifts. he’s walking toward you with a purpose, and something in the way he moves makes you realize what’s coming before it even happens. you’ve seen this before—rafe being possessive, intense. you know what he’s about to do. but knowing still doesn’t prepare you for it.

he leans down, his hand brushing your hair back gently as his lips press against yours in a kiss that’s too soft, too familiar for how absolutely terrified you feel. the moment his lips touch yours, your mind goes blank.

you feel it—the warmth, the pressure, the sensation of his breath mingling with yours. it’s real. it’s terrifyingly, unmistakably real.

when he pulls back, you’re frozen. your hand instinctively reaches up to touch your lips, your mind racing with the reality of it. this isn’t just a dream. dreams don’t feel this real.

rafe pauses, noticing how off you are, his eyes narrowing as he studies your expression. he tilts his head slightly, and for a second, there’s something almost tender in his gaze.

“hey . . .” his voice is low, murmuring like he’s trying to ground you. “i’ll see you later, alright?”

you can’t speak. your throat feels too tight, your brain too scrambled to form words. you just nod, barely, enough to make him think you’re okay.

he gives you one last look, a flicker of something unreadable passing across his face before he turns and walks out of the room, disappearing into the hallway.

you don’t move for what feels like minutes. the sound of his footsteps fading into the distance is the only thing grounding you as your mind whirls. you’re trapped in his world—his reality—and there’s no telling how or why. but the one thing you do know?

this is real. too real.

because if this isn’t a dream . . . then where the hell are you?

the slam of the front door echoes through the quiet house, and the sound sends a shiver down your spine. your breath hitches, the reality of everything sinking in, and you can’t help the way your hands start to tremble.

you sit up carefully, trying not to make a sound as you pull the covers off your body. your skin prickles from the cool air against your bare legs, and when you glance down, you realize you’re only in a shirt—one that definitely isn’t yours—and your undergarments. it hits you all at once: this is rafe’s shirt. his scent clings to it, the familiar mix of cologne and something inherently him.

your feet touch the cold wooden floor as you swing your legs over the side of the bed, toes curling at the sudden chill. every movement feels deliberate, cautious, like any wrong step could wake you from this strange, twisted dream—or worse, prove it’s not a dream at all.

quietly, you push yourself off the bed, heart hammering in your chest as you make your way to the door. you peek your head out, eyes scanning the hallway. it’s empty. eerily quiet. thank god. but the silence makes everything feel even more surreal.

you pull back into the room quickly, your fingers brushing your hair behind your ears, trying to still the panic rising in your chest. you need answers. you need to figure out what’s happening—and fast.

your gaze darts to the nightstand, where your phone sits charging. finally.

you grab it with shaky hands and immediately swipe it open, your fingers moving fast as you pull up your contacts list. the plan forms in your head as you scroll, desperate. maybe this is all some elaborate prank. maybe your friends are messing with you, and any second now, someone’s going to pop out and yell “gotcha!”

but as you scroll, the names that appear make your stomach drop. none of them are familiar. faces and names you’ve never seen before fill your screen—until you see his name.

rafe.

then sarah. wheezie. even ward and rose.

your breath catches in your throat as you keep scrolling. it’s his family. it’s them.

you swallow hard, continuing to scroll, fingers trembling as the names blur together until you see the ones that make your heart stop.

jj. pope. kiara. john b.

the pogues.

you stare at the names for a second, your brain short-circuiting. your thumb hovers over jj’s contact, the one name that stands out to you more than the others.

without giving yourself time to second-guess it, you hit ‘call.’ the ringing fills the silence of the room, and your pulse quickens with every passing second.

the ringing feels like it goes on forever. each tone stretching out the anticipation, the nerves, the sinking realization that someone is actually going to pick up. your heart races, and just when you consider hanging up, a click echoes through the phone line.

“y/n?”

you flinch, eyes widening, mouth falling open. it’s him. it takes a few seconds for you to even remember how to speak, your mind stalling out completely. then you somehow force out, “hey, i just wanted to see how you’re . . . doing.”

the words stumble out of your mouth in a mess, and you internally cringe at how awful it sounds. god, could you be any worse at this? you wouldn’t blame jj if he called you out for the obvious lie, the way your voice shakes just slightly with every word.

but, to your surprise, he doesn’t. instead, he sounds casual. like he’s known you for years. “yeah, i’m good. why? do you wanna come over? kie’s here.”

your mind reels. kiara’s there? you’re friends with kiara? that’s news to you, but good to know. in this world, apparently, you’re on good terms with the pogues, at least you think.

you quickly pull the phone away from your ear to glance at the time, realizing it’s probably morning. or maybe early afternoon. time doesn’t even feel real right now.

“yeah, i’ll . . . i’ll come over,” you say, trying to sound nonchalant even though nothing about this is normal. the words slip out of your mouth before you really think them through. “where is over?”

“the wreck,” jj replies, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. right. of course. “but be quick.”

your chest tightens. why do you need to be quick? fear creeps into your voice as you ask, “why?”

there’s a pause, one that feels like it stretches forever, before jj finally responds, his tone softening. “cause we miss you.”

and then, just like that, he hangs up.

you blink, staring down at the phone in your hand as if it’ll give you answers. it doesn’t. you’re left standing there, your mind racing, trying to process what just happened. they miss you?

the idea that jj misses you, that kiara’s waiting for you at the wreck, is both exciting and terrifying.

your eyes dart around the room, like maybe you’ll find some clue that explains how this is all happening, but there’s nothing. just the same four walls, rafes room, his scent lingering in the air, and the echo of jj’s voice in your head.

your mind spins as you sit on the edge of the bed. what is going on in this world?

the characters you know from the show are behaving so . . . normal, so real. there are these new relationships, bits of information that seem to imply some kind of history, things that don’t align with what you know. you’re in their world, but there are gaps—huge, gaping blanks that terrify you because you don’t know what role you’re even supposed to be playing.

you glance around the room, trying to calm yourself as you get up to grab some clothes, already dreading the ride to the wreck.

how the hell are you actually supposed to get to the fucking wreck?

a/n: let me know if u would like to be part of the tag list thru any replies, anons, dms, etc !! notifications are always on <3 this will also lowkey be a jj & rafe x reader series i fear

[asonofpeter]

NICHOLAS ALEXANDER CHAVEZ Photographed by Sam Ramirez for Behind The Blinds

[asonofpeter]

more husband dilf!rafe 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

okay but can we talk about the hot morning sex he would give you 😩

The sun had barely started peeking through the curtains, when you let out a beautiful moan as Rafe’s hips slowly thrusted into you. His thick cock shiny with your sweetness, a messy sight for it being first thing in the morning. You could feel the low groan from him vibrate against your bare skin, his thick biceps wrapped your smaller frame.

“Shhh…. the kids are still asleep baby. But, fuck… don’t you sound so beautiful.” He mumbled, his voice raspier than usual from sleep. He pulled back to look down at you, blue eyes raking over your curves as he watched your gorgeous body glow under the seeping sun. “And you look so fucking stunning.” He breathed out heavily.

Your eyes fluttered open, taking in the art that was your husband. His cheeks were a little flushed, his toned stomach flexing with each deep thrust he gave you, and those blue irises meeting your gaze in a hot stare. “How’s that baby? Feel good?” He rasped out, voice sending shivers down your spine as you nodded your head.

“Feels so good... Y-you’re gonna make me cum Rafe.” You warned him, words coming out a mess as you felt your head start to feel light and stomach flutter. You were trying your best to be quiet, as Rafe wrapped a hand around your throat to make you focus on him. “Don’t fuckin’ look away from me. You know better.” His voice firm as he pounded into you at a rougher pace.

You didn’t know how he expected you to stay quiet when he was fucking you like this. One hand was squeezing your neck, the other holding the headboard so that it didn’t keep hitting the wall. His muscled body did the rest of the work, holding back a groan himself as your cunt began to squeeze around him. He watched your pretty eyes roll back, your manicured nails digging into the messed up silk sheets as your orgasm washed over. Oh how he definitely was about to give you a few creampies while it was still early in the morning.

[asonofpeter]

First Impressions || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

Summary: the meeting in which your parents announce your arranged marriage to Rafe.

Warnings: mention of smoking, not much else ???

Word count: 1,724

MASTERLIST (forced marriage au masterlist)

divider by @h-aewo

Your black Porsche roars down the gravel drive, tires screeching as they skid to a halt just in front of the grand entrance to your family estate. The car’s abrupt stop sends a shower of tiny stones in every direction, the sound cutting through the quiet morning.

With a sigh, you push open the door and step out, the morning air crisp against your skin. Taking one last drag from your cigarette, you savour the moment before dropping it to the ground, the glowing ember snuffed out beneath the heel of your designer shoe.

A quick glance at your watch—10:20am. Twenty minutes late. You were supposed to be here on time, but the delay feels inevitable. With a flicker of annoyance, you brush a strand of hair from your face and stride toward the front door, where the familiar figure of your family’s butler awaits.

“Miss Y/n, it’s good to see you again,” he greets you with a warm smile, the lines of age deepening around his eyes. “Likewise,” you respond, managing a small smile in return. The butler steps aside and opens the door, allowing you to enter the cool, polished interior.

Your heels click sharply against the marble floor as you make your way toward the formal dining room, each step echoing in the vast, silent hall. As you approach the double doors, two servants stand ready, pulling them open to reveal the scene inside.

Your parents sit at the table, their expressions betraying nothing as they notice your arrival. Alongside them are three unfamiliar figures, their backs turned to you, leaving you momentarily confused as to who they were. You exhale softly, bracing yourself, and walk into the room.

“Pleasure to have you finally arrive,” your mother remarks, her voice edged with a tight-lipped grin. Your father doesn’t even glance your way, his attention fixed elsewhere. With a deliberate movement, you stride to the table, tossing your Lady Dior bag onto the polished surface with a loud clatter.

“The pleasure is all mine, mother,” you reply, your voice thick with restrained anger as you take your seat. Finally, your gaze falls on the three guests seated before you—the Camerons. Your eyes land on Rafe, and for a moment, you’re taken aback.

He looks different, more rugged, with his hair shaved off, giving him a harder, more defined look. His eyes, however, remain downcast, focused on the table as if he’s avoiding meeting your gaze. “My, how beautiful you have gotten, my dear,” Ward Cameron’s voice breaks through the tension, drawing your attention to him as he regards you with a smile.

You force a smile in response to Ward’s compliment, though it doesn’t reach your eyes. “Thank you, Mr. Cameron,” you reply, keeping your tone polite but distant. The tension in the room is palpable, every gesture, every word carefully measured. Your mother’s gaze flickers between you and Rafe, a subtle hint of expectation in her eyes, while your father remains silent, his face a mask of indifference.

As you settle into your seat, the silence stretches, heavy and uncomfortable. You feel the weight of the moment pressing down on you, the unspoken purpose of this meeting hanging in the air like a storm cloud. The Camerons, your parents, Rafe—all of them waiting for something, though none are willing to break the silence.

Finally, your mother clears her throat, her voice cutting through the quiet. “We thought it was time for you to meet again,” she begins, her tone carefully neutral. “It’s been a while since you’ve seen each other, and given the circumstances, we felt it was appropriate to… reconnect.”

You glance at Rafe, his eyes still fixed on the table. The last time you saw him, things were different—less complicated, less strained. But now, the distance between you feels like a chasm, impossible to bridge. You wonder if he feels it too, this cold, empty space that has grown between you.

“I suppose it’s been a long time,” you murmur, more to yourself than anyone else. The words hang in the air, unanswered, as you try to find something—anything—to say that might ease the tension. Ward shifts in his seat, his gaze settling on you with a calculating intensity.

“Rafe has been doing well,” he says, as if the words are meant to reassure you, though they have the opposite effect. “He’s matured a great deal since you last saw him.” At this, Rafe finally looks up, his eyes meeting yours for the first time since you walked into the room. There’s something in his expression—an apology, perhaps, or maybe just regret—but it’s gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by the same distant, unreadable look he’s worn since you arrived.

“And you, Miss Y/n,” Ward continues, his tone smooth, almost too smooth. “I trust you’ve been well?” You nod, forcing another smile. “Yes, quite well, thank you.” The words feel hollow, a formality that barely covers the unease simmering beneath the surface.

Your mother, sensing the need to steer the conversation, jumps in. “We’ve been discussing some… arrangements,” she says, her voice careful, as if she’s choosing each word with precision. “Given the history between our families, we thought it best to ensure that both sides are… satisfied with the outcome.”

Your heart sinks as the true purpose of this meeting becomes clear. This isn’t just a casual reunion or an attempt to reconnect old acquaintances. This is a negotiation, a transaction between two powerful families, and you and Rafe are the bargaining chips.

You glance at Rafe again, searching his face for any sign of how he feels about this, but his expression remains guarded. Whatever thoughts are running through his mind, he’s keeping them well hidden. Your father finally speaks, his voice low and authoritative.

“This is an important moment for both of our families. I trust you both understand the gravity of the situation.” The weight of his words settles over you, a cold, heavy pressure that makes it hard to breathe. You want to protest, to argue that this isn’t what you want, that it isn’t fair to either of you—but you know it would be pointless. In this world, duty and obligation come before personal desires.

Rafe’s voice cuts through your thoughts, quiet but steady. “We understand,” he says, his tone betraying nothing of what he might actually be feeling. Your mother smiles, a thin, satisfied smile. The silence in the room grows heavier as your father's words sink in, confirming what you’ve both known was coming.

This is more than just a meeting; it’s the formal beginning of the arrangement that has been hanging over you for months. The marriage. The merging of your two families. You glance at Rafe, catching the flicker of frustration in his eyes before he looks away, jaw tightening in silent protest. It’s clear he’s not happy about this, and a part of you understands his reluctance.

But for you, there’s no surprise, no anger—just a deep, overwhelming numbness. This is what your life was always meant to be: a marriage arranged for the benefit of your family, a union to produce heirs, to continue the legacy. There was never any illusion of choice.

As your mother and Ward exchange pleasantries, discussing the finer details of the arrangement, you find yourself tuning out, your gaze drifting to the large windows that overlook the manicured gardens outside. The sunlight streaming in feels distant, cold.

Rafe shifts in his seat beside you, the movement drawing your attention back to the table. His expression is tense, a mixture of resignation and barely concealed resentment. He doesn’t want this—at least, not like this—but he’s trapped in the same web of expectations that binds you.

Your father’s voice breaks through your thoughts, stern and final. “The wedding will take place in two months. The arrangements have already begun.” Two months. The words hang in the air, sealing your fate. You glance at Rafe again, hoping for some sign of how he’s processing this, but his face is unreadable, the brief glimpse of frustration now replaced by a mask of indifference.

For a moment, you wonder what he’s thinking—whether he’s angry, scared, or just as numb as you are. But you quickly push the thought aside. It doesn’t matter how either of you feel. This is what you were born for, raised for. This is your duty.

“We’ll be ready,” Rafe finally says, his voice clipped and devoid of emotion. It’s a statement of fact, not a promise, and you feel the weight of it settle over you like a shroud. Your mother nods approvingly, while Ward offers a pleased smile. “I’m sure you will be,” he replies, as if Rafe’s compliance is exactly what he expected.

The conversation shifts to practicalities—guest lists, venues, and dates—but it all feels distant to you, like watching a play from behind thick glass. You nod and smile at the appropriate moments, playing the part you’ve been trained for your entire life, but inside, there’s only emptiness. This marriage, this life, was decided long before you had a say in it.

When the meeting finally ends, and the Camerons prepare to leave, Rafe stands, his movements slow and deliberate. For a moment, his eyes meet yours, and in them, you see a flicker of something—anger, perhaps, or maybe just resignation. But just as quickly, it’s gone, replaced by the same cold detachment you’ve come to expect.

Ward clasps your father’s hand in a firm handshake. “We look forward to the wedding,” he says, his tone full of false warmth. “Likewise,” your father replies, though his eyes remain hard. As the Camerons depart, leaving you and your parents alone in the dining room, you feel a wave of exhaustion wash over you.

The future, once a distant inevitability, now looms as a stark reality—a reality you must face with Rafe by your side, whether you want to or not. The weight of it settles over you like a suffocating blanket, each breath growing heavier as the room seems to close in around you.

Your mother’s voice slices through the thick silence, her tone sharp and unforgiving. "How many times must I remind you to break that wretched habit of smoking?" Her eyes narrow in disapproval, her gaze like a blade that cuts through any pretense of warmth. You feel the familiar irritation rise within you, fighting the urge to roll your eyes at her constant nagging.

"I could smell it the moment you walked in, and I’m certain the Camerons did as well," she continues, her words dripping with disdain as she takes a deliberate sip of her drink. The crystal glass clinks against her teeth, a harsh sound that echoes in the tense air. You lower your gaze to your lap, your fingers twisting together in a futile attempt to keep your composure.

The reprimand feels like a ritual by now, one you’ve endured countless times, yet it never fails to sting. Your father’s voice cuts through the tension, sharp and unyielding. "Such behavior will not be tolerated once you're married," he declares, his tone cold and final. "Respectable young women preparing to have a family do not indulge in such habits."

His words hit you like a slap, a stark reminder of the life being imposed upon you—one where even your small rebellions are to be eradicated. Your father stands, his movements deliberate and composed as he smooths down his blazer. He doesn’t look at you as he speaks, his tone firm and unyielding. "Yes, Father," you reply quietly, your voice barely more than a whisper as you sit there, trying to disappear into the chair.

Your parents leave without another word, their footsteps echoing in the empty room, leaving you alone in the suffocating silence. The echo of their disapproval lingers, mixing with the cold reality of your future, a future where even your small, defiant pleasures are not your own.

You sit there for a long moment, the weight of it all pressing down on you until it feels as though you might break under the strain. But you don’t. Instead, you swallow the bitterness, pushing it deep down where it festers quietly. This is your life now, the one you were born into, the one you must live whether you want to or not.

[asonofpeter]

I love your arranged marriage series I have a few questions-

-how physically affectionate are they like hugs kisses cuddles?

- is he like affectionate when she is going though it ?

-DOES HE EVEN LIKE HER ? ( like if he had a choice to leave ?

I’m so glad you like the series!! It’s so so much fun writing it! Thank you for the questions, I love it when people ask me questions about this au and I really hope you understand this series in the way that I envision it in my head :)

1. They do show physical affectionate to one another both in public and the comfort of their house. Because reader and Rafe have to show these types of affection when out in public, they’ve grown accustomed to it even inside their house when no one is watching. They have simple kisses like if one of them leaves the house or comes back, before they sleep etc. Idk if I’m explaining it good enough but it’s kind or routine for them to show each other physical affection, same goes for hugging/touching each other etc.

2. Do you mean sex? If so, it really depends. Sometimes they would have intimate sex with feelings, other times it’s just rough hate. When they have sex for the purpose of producing an heir however, it’s usually soft, Rafe worshipping readers body that will soon enough be carrying his child.

3. As complicated as it seems, Rafe DOES love reader in his own ways. Though he might not show it often in his words or actions, he truly does love her. At the beginning it’s difficult to say just because both of them were thrusted into this arranged marriage without a say or consideration of their feelings. But as they’re forced to stay together, act like the perfect couple that everyone envies, there of course is a development of feelings from both reader and Rafe. Rafe would never leave reader if he had the choice to, she gave him his children which he loves dearly (even though he might not show it all the time)

[asonofpeter]

Lunch with the family || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

A/n: been a hot min since I’ve posted dad!rafe and mabel

MASTERLIST (dad!Rafe au masterlist)

"The views are insane," Sarah mutters, her phone raised to capture the breathtaking scenery of Lake Como. The serene lake shimmered under the late afternoon sun, framed by the towering mountains and elegant villas scattered along the shore. "I know, it's so surreal," you respond, adjusting the sunglasses perched on your nose, the warmth of the Italiab sun gently caressing your skin.

The entire Cameron family had gathered here to celebrate Ward and Rose’s wedding anniversary—a grand affair that seemed to fit the lavish surroundings perfectly. Your gaze drifts, inevitably landing on Rafe who was sat on the table in the patio, engrossed in conversation with Ward. His fitted Ralph Lauren shirt accentuated his broad chest and sculpted biceps, clinging perfectly to his figure.

The subtle grown-out buzz cut he now sported framed his face in a way that made him look even more ruggedly handsome, and you couldn’t help but admire the way the soft breeze tousled his hair just so. There was something magnetic about him—something you couldn’t quite shake. He caught you staring, his piercing eyes meeting yours, and a smirk slowly curved onto his lips.

He winked, a playful glint in his gaze, causing your heart to flutter despite yourself. You returned the smile, warmth creeping up your neck, before quickly turning away, focusing instead on Wheezie and Mabel, who were happily playing together in the garden nearby. "Does anyone want any more pizza?" Rose’s voice suddenly cut through the peaceful scene as she stood up from the table, brushing crumbs from her dress.

"We're good, thanks, Rose—" Sarah began to reply, but her words were abruptly cut off by a high-pitched wail. The unmistakable sound of Mabel crying pierced through the air, causing everyone to turn in alarm. Your head whipped around, eyes widening as you saw Mabel sprawled on the grass, tears streaming down her tiny face. Gasps erupted around the table, chairs scraping against the stone patio Rafe, Rose, and Ward stood.

Wheezie stood frozen, her eyes wide with panic. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry. I looked away for just a second—" she stammered, voice shaky with guilt. You moved quickly, bending down to scoop Mabel into your arms. "It’s okay, Wheezie, don’t worry. It was just an accident," you reassured her, offering a soft smile. Gently bouncing Mabel, you inspected her for any signs of injury, "I know, baby, I know. But it’s okay," you cooed, soothing Mabel as she continued to cry softly in your arms.

Rafe was at your side in seconds, his frustration evident. "Wheezie!" he snapped, his tone sharper than intended as Mabel's cries intensified. "Rafe, it’s fine," you interjected quickly, placing a calming hand on his bicep in an attempt to soothe his agitation. He met your gaze briefly before focusing on Mabel, his expression softening as he took her from your arms, holding her protectively against his chest.

"You’re okay, baby. You’re okay," Rafe whispered, kissing Mabel’s tear-streaked cheeks while he rocked her gently. You rested a hand on her back, helping to calm her. Soon enough, Mabel’s eyelids grew heavy, her tiny body relaxing in Rafe’s arms. He continued to hold her close, his movements tender and sleepiness overtook her.