drtyelvisfantasy

[drtyelvisfantasy]

BASIC TRAINING — CHAPTER FOUR

WARNINGS — suggestive touching, power imbalance, manipulation, dominant/possessive language, physical guidance, non-explicit dom/sub dynamics, reader overwhelmed/confused, Rafe is calculated and icky, grooming-adjacent behavior, breathy voice in ear, hand placement on hips and wrists

It’s your dad’s idea.

He tells you to get out of the house. Says you’ve been too cooped up with your books and files. Tells you to “go unwind,” like there’s somewhere to do that on a military base in the middle of summer.

So when one of the guys suggests pool at the rec hall, you say yes.

You don’t know it was Rafe who suggested it first.

You don’t know he planned it.

He’s already there when you arrive.

The room smells like sweat and chalk dust and something citrusy—you think it might be Rafe’s cologne. He’s wearing black. Just a t-shirt and cargo pants. Casual. Comfortable. Dangerous.

There are a few other guys. Most of them ignore you. One says hi politely. None of them offer to teach you how to play.

But Rafe does.

“Ever held a cue, sunshine?” he asks, already chalking the tip of one.

You shake your head. “Not really.”

He smiles like he expected that.

Then he hands it to you.

It starts innocent enough.

He shows you how to stand. How to line up the cue ball. How to tilt your wrist. It’s harder than it looks.

You bend over awkwardly, squinting one eye as you try to line up the shot.

“That’s not how you hold it,” he says behind you.

You feel him before you see him.

His chest brushes your back. His hand slides over yours. One arm loops around your waist as he corrects your stance. Fingers on your hipbone.

You go still.

“You’re tense,” he murmurs near your ear. “Relax, sunshine. I got you.”

You nod—barely.

His breath is warm.

His fingers are steady.

“Keep your wrist straight,” he says. “Like this.”

He moves your hand.

“You wanna be smooth, not jerky. Control is everything.”

You swallow.

He’s pressed against you now, big and unyielding. You feel every inch of him.

“I—I think I got it,” you stammer.

But you don’t move.

He does.

One hand slips to your stomach. Not low, not obscene—just firm. Claiming. Like he’s saying stay put.

Then he leans down. Voice like syrup.

“Go on, sunshine. Show me what I taught you.”

You miss the shot.

You’re too flustered.

He makes a soft sound behind you—disappointed, amused, something else.

“Guess we’ll need more practice.”

He pulls the cue from your hands.

Then he tucks your hair behind your ear.

“You’ll get it. Good girls usually do.”

You don’t know why that makes your stomach flip.

You don’t know why you can’t look him in the eye afterward.

You don’t know why he watches you all night, smirking every time you squirm.

You don’t know any of it.

But he does.

And that’s the point.

[drtyelvisfantasy]

we neeed a chapter 5 of stripper!reader and rafe 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻 love ur writing btw 🩷

coming soon I promise🙏🏾😩😩 and thank you🩵🩵🩵

[drtyelvisfantasy]

ᤢ ♥︎⠀ 09⠀‌⸻ angel tears / rafe cameron!

Y/N woke that morning with a clarity she hadn’t felt in months. The mansion’s grandeur had once felt like a fairy tale, but now it was a tomb, draining her spirit until she was little more than bones and sadness.

She couldn’t stay, not another day.

She was dying here, slowly, invisibly, and she refused to let the mansion consume her entirely.

Packing took hours, not because she had much to take, but because each choice felt like a betrayal of the life she’d built with Rafe. She stood before her closet, her fingers trembling as they brushed over the dresses he’d chosen—silk, satin, pastel perfection. She left them hanging, untouched, and chose instead a few simple pieces: a soft sweater, a pair of worn jeans, a cotton sundress that reminded her of the girl she’d been before Rafe’s control. From the guest room, she gathered her books and her leather journal. She didn’t pack much, just the necessities and the things that felt like hers, not his.

Before leaving, Y/N sat at the guest room’s small desk, her pen hovering over a sheet of cream stationery. Her heart ached with guilt, that stubborn part of her still whispering that she was wrong to leave, that she owed Rafe for the life he’d given her, for the love she’d once believed in. She wrote a letter, her handwriting shaky but deliberate:

Rafe,

Thank you for the years we had. But I can’t stay here anymore. I’m sorry if this hurts you, I just need to find a way to breathe again. I hope you find what you’re looking for.

She folded the letter and placed it on the bed beside her diamond engagement ring, because she couldn’t take it with her—it was his, a symbol of that cage she was escaping. She slipped on her sneakers, slung the bag over her shoulder, and walked downstairs. At the front door, she paused, turning to take one last look at the mansion. The high ceilings, the peonies she’d tended in the garden, it was a home she’d tried to make, a dream she’d poured her heart into.

But those walls had nearly devoured her.

She stepped outside, the salty air sharp against her skin, and began walking, not knowing where she’d go but certain she couldn’t return.

She didn’t know Rafe was home early that day...

He’d slipped in quietly, his car parked around back, as always his mood a tangled mess of frustration and something he wouldn’t name. He stood at the living room window, hidden behind the heavy drapes, and watched her leave. She didn’t see him, and he was glad for it, because the sight of her walking away cracked something deep inside him.

For a moment, he wasn’t the man who’d yelled, who’d blamed, who’d pushed her away.

He was eight years old again, his face pressed to a different window, watching his mother’s car disappear down the drive, her suitcase in the trunk, leaving his father because he’d failed her as a husband. Rafe’s jaw tightened, his throat burning as he swallowed tears he hadn’t shed in years. He’d done the same his father did to his mother to Y/N.

He’d broken her, just as he’d always feared he would.

He stood frozen, his hands clenched into fists, his nails digging into his palms. He wanted to run after her, to grab her, to beg her to stay, but his feet wouldn’t move. He’d pushed her too far, ignored her pain until she’d become a ghost in his house. The letter and the ring on the guest room bed confirmed it: she was gone, and it was his fault. His angel, the girl who’d followed him with starry eyes at fifteen, who’d loved him through his worst, was walking out of his life, and he’d driven her to it.

A maid’s voice broke the silence. “Mr. Cameron, when should we clean the guest room and change the sheets?”

Rafe’s head snapped toward her, his eyes blazing with fury.

“Don’t touch that room,” he growled. “Close it off. Don’t go in there. Ever.”

The maid flinched, nodding quickly, and scurried away. Rafe turned back to the window, but Y/N was gone.

He stormed to the guest room, slamming the door behind him, and stood in the center, breathing in the faint scent of her—lavender, vanilla, the ghost of her presence. The bed was unmade. He didn’t touch them. He couldn’t. If the maids washed those sheets, they’d take the last trace of her, and he wasn’t ready to let that go.

He sank onto the bed, his hands shaking as he stared at the ring. He saw her in flashes: her shy smile at fifteen, her tear-streaked face when her father caught them, the way she’d looked at him with hope before he’d crushed it with his words. He’d wanted her to be his forever, but he’d caged her instead, because the way he was thought to love was selfish, controlling... now the mansion felt emptier than ever. And as Rafe buried his face in his hands, for the first time in years, he felt the sting of tears he couldn’t stop.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀���⠀ ©slvbun(m) — written with love.

[drtyelvisfantasy]

rafe on deployment being a weirdo (but like in a sexy, flirty way?) masterlist !

the kind of man who’s in the desert for six months but still manages to thirst over his wife like they just met.

📲 recipient: yn aka “sweet girl 💍” in his phone

time: 0137 military time — aka late as hell and he’s thinking about her again

📱 text:

you ovulatin’ yet or nah? asking for a friend. (me. i’m the friend.)

📱 text (2m later):

actually nvm. i just looked at the period tracker. ovulation starts friday. perfect timing 😏

📸 photo attachment:

blurry shirtless gym selfie in bad lighting, sweat glistening, dog tags swinging

caption:

tell me you miss me and i’ll take the next one in just my damn boots

📱 text (randomly at noon his time):

don’t wash the sheets.

i wanna come home and still smell you.

yeah, i’m bein’ a weirdo. what about it.

📸 photo attachment: a dusty desert sunrise

caption:

sun don’t even hit right without you under it.

🟢 voice memo #26:

“you still got that lil mole under your left tit? send proof. for morale purposes. this is a government request.”

and reader just responds with a clear close-up of the left side of her chest — just enough to show the mole. her hand is cupping just out of frame.

“for official use only 🇺🇸”

“morale restored?”

[drtyelvisfantasy]

MILITARY!RAFE MASTERLIST !

main masterlist !

”at ease baby” - one shot

how rafe and reader met

rafe during childbirth

rafe tracking reader’s cycle on deployment

zara naming ceremony

domestic morning

current bf prank on rafe

rafe on deployment being a weirdo

butt stuff? (rafe receiving)

nighttime routine on the farm

more kids?

reader getting into fight/proud rafe

[drtyelvisfantasy]

ᤢ ♥︎⠀ 07⠀‌⸻ angel tears / rafe cameron!

content WARNING: toxic!rafe, psychological abuse, mentions of miscarriage.

For the first time in years, Y/N decided to do something for herself. She waited until Rafe left for work, his lunch packed, grilled salmon, quinoa salad, a slice of lavender cheesecake wrapped in parchment. She watched his car vanish down the drive, and felt a surge of resolve. She chose a white yoga set and braided her hair loosely, letting a few strands frame her face. Her heart raced as she walked to the country club, the salty breeze carrying a whisper of freedom.

The country club hummed with privilege: women in designer athleisure, men in crisp polos, their whispers trailing Y/N as she stepped inside. She felt like an outsider, their eyes recognizing her as Rafe Cameron’s wife, the princess kept under lock and key. She smiled through the stares, her cheeks warm, and found the pilates studio. She took a spot next to a pregnant woman, her belly softly rounded, her hair pulled into a sleek ponytail. She was maybe twenty-four, elegant in black leggings and a loose tank top, her face glowing with a quiet confidence Y/N envied.

This had to be the buzzcut man’s wife, Y/N thought.

The class was a revelation—stretching, breathing, moving her body in ways that felt like reclaiming a piece of herself. Afterward, the woman introduced herself, her smile warm as they settled at the club’s café, sipping matcha lattes. They talked easily. She shared stories of her garden, roses that refused to bloom, her triumph over a stubborn lavender bush. Y/N opened up about her baking, how she’d perfected her lavender shortbread but overbaked her last batch.

“My son, Theo, would devour those,” The woman laughed, her eyes crinkling. “He’s four, obsessed with dinosaurs and anything sweet.”

Y/N smiled, a genuine warmth spreading through her, the first in months.

The conversation deepened, the woman independence a quiet marvel to Y/N. She spoke of her work with her father with art and museums and how she balanced it with Theo’s school schedule.

“But of course, our nanny is a godsend,” The woman said, sipping her latte. “She’s been with us since Theo was born, but she’s itching to study—wants to be a teacher. I’ve been helping her research online university programs.” Y/N’s breath caught, the word teacher stirring a dream she’d buried under Rafe’s rules. “She’s so good with kids,” The woman continued, “and I want her to have that chance, you know? She needs to chase her dreams... I think teaching can be handful, a lot of kids, must be wild! Ever thought about teaching?”

Y/N’s fingers tightened around her glass, her heart racing.

“I used to,” she admitted, her voice soft. “I wanted to be a teacher, before…” She trailed off, the weight of Rafe’s control unspoken. The woman’s eyes softened, and when Y/N let slip, almost absently, that she had to get home because “Rafe doesn’t let me out much,” The woman’s face tightened, a flicker of concern crossing her features.

“Well that’s silly, he’s your husband... not your father,” The woman said, but soon she notice the discomfort in YN’s face and she urged with a gentle but insistent tone, like she was afraid she must go and not come back ever again. “Let’s order something to eat and talk a bit more, you deserve a moment for yourself.” She reached into her bag, pulling out two pamphlets. “These are for my nanny’s university programs—online courses, teaching credentials, that sort of thing. I grabbed extras from the coordinator. Maybe they’d interest you too.”

Y/N’s hands trembled as she took them, the glossy paper feeling like a forbidden key.

Study from home. Flexible schedules. Become an educator.

She asked if she could keep them, her voice barely above a whisper. The woman handed them over with a smile, and they talked longer; about Theo’s love for T-rex models, Y/N’s secret recipe for lemon curd, the way the woman’s pregnancy made her crave mangoes at midnight. Y/N laughed, a sound she’d forgotten she could make, and didn’t notice the time until her phone read 3:00 PM.

Panic spiked; she’d stayed too long.

She walked home, fast and urgent steps while her mind alight with possibility. After a quick bath, she changed into a soft sweater and leggings, curling up in the living room with the pamphlets. Online teaching programs. Start your career. The words were a lifeline, a dream she could almost touch. Her stomach twisted with excitement and fear, like she held a secret too big for the mansion’s walls.

Could she do this? Could she be more than Rafe’s wife?

The front door slammed, shattering her thoughts. Rafe was home early, his footsteps heavy, his presence a storm sucking the air from the room. His face was twisted with rage, his jaw clenched so tightly she could see the muscle tick. He loomed over her on the couch, his eyes dark, venomous.

“Where the fuck were you today?” he spat. “Your doctor called me... you missed the appointment for our baby.”

Her face drained of colour, her heart plummeting. She’d forgotten, Rafe was close to her doctor, his control extending to her calendar, a detail she’d missed in her fog of grief. She hadn’t told him about the miscarriage, couldn’t find the courage to confess the loss she was still grappling with. Her hands clutched the pamphlets, crumpling them, her voice trembling. “Rafe, I—”

He cut her off, his voice rising to a roar that shook her bones.

“Don’t give me excuses!” he bellowed, stepping closer, his fists clenched at his sides. “You’re out there, what, prancing around like some clueless bitch, while our child’s at risk? You’re so fucking pathetic, can’t even do the one thing you’re supposed to!” His words were a barrage, each one a blow that shrank her, twisting her guilt into something unbearable. “What kind of mother are you?” he sneered, his face inches from hers. “Negligent, selfish, too stupid to keep a damn appointment.”

Her chest tightened, tears burning her eyes as she fought to hold them back. She was exhausted, and she couldn’t keep her facade anymore. She couldn’t keep lying to herself.

“There’s no baby,” she yelled, her voice cracking, a desperate outburst that silenced the room. “I—I lost it, Rafe. It’s gone.”

His rage faltered, his face shifting, not to grief, not to compassion, but to something darker. His eyes narrowed, his lips curling into a vicious sneer as he processed her words. He stepped closer, his presence suffocating, his silence a weapon sharper than his screams.

“What?—This is your fault,” he said, each word a blade carving into her heart. “You killed our baby. Too busy playing house, baking your fucking cakes instead of taking care of what was mine. This is on you.”

The accusation was a gut punch, stealing her breath.

She stared at him, her husband, the man she’d loved, but in that moment, he was a void, a black spot where her Rafe should have been. His words weaponized her deepest fears, turning the miscarriage into her failure. She swallowed her tears, her throat raw, her body trembling as she searched for a defense, but nothing came.

“Okay,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. She stood, her legs unsteady, and walked past him, her eyes fixed on the floor. She didn’t look back as she climbed the stairs to the guest room, locking the door behind her.

She wasn’t going to be his punching bag tonight.

Rafe’s words had shattered her, but they’d also cracked something open... a realization that she wasn’t just his to break. Curled up in the dark with the mansion’s silence swallowing her, Y/N clutched the edge of the mattress, whispering to herself that she was going to be okay.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ©slvbun(m) — written with love.

[drtyelvisfantasy]

ᤢ ♥︎⠀⠀‌⸻ dark is the night / rafe cameron!

content WARNING: rafe (22) / reader (19), violence, mentions of war, health struggles, pregnancy, mentions of death, money struggles, loneliness, sensitive content.

click here for the playlist — here for the pinterest board!

It was a February night, the kind where the cold didn’t just bite... it gnawed. And a 16-hour day on the trawler—hauling nets, gutting cod, dodging a near-miss with a snapped cable—had left Rafe’s muscles aching and his mind fogged. His hair stuck to his forehead, and his blue eyes, usually sharp were dulled by exhaustion.

Inside, the house was barely warmer. Rafe dropped his keys on the chipped Formica table, next to a stack of envelopes that seemed to multiply each day: bills, final notices, a creditor’s letter with red ink screaming urgency. As soon as he sank into a wobbly chair, the numbers stared up at him:

28,000 rubles for the boat’s fuel pump

15,000 for last month’s utilities

10,000 to appease the bank breathing down his neck about his grandfather’s debts

His last market haul had brought in 12,000 rubles, half of which went to diesel and ice to keep his fish fresh. Even food, real food, not just instant noodles or day-old bread, was a luxury he could barely afford.

Rafe rubbed his calloused hands together, trying to coax warmth into them.

Another job, he thought.

Night shifts, maybe, or loading crates at the warehouse.

Not because he wanted to. God, no.

His body was already screaming. But need didn’t care about want. If he didn’t find more hours, the house, his grandfather’s house—would be gone. And with it, the last piece of the man who’d raised him, who’d taught him to read the sea’s moods and knot a line before he could tie his shoes.

He stood, joints protesting, and shuffled toward the narrow hallway leading to his room. Sleep, if it came, would be a brief mercy before the 4 AM. alarm.

But then... a sound.

A faint rustle, not the wind’s usual moan or the groan of the old house settling. It came from outside, like footsteps. Rafe froze, one hand on the hallway’s peeling wallpaper. His grandfather’s neglected garden, a pitiful patch of cabbage and carrots barely clinging to life behind the house, was out there. He’d kept it alive out of duty, not care, coaxing a few vegetables from the rocky soil when he could.

Another rustle, louder now, and a soft snap, like a stalk breaking.

His first thought was exhaustion playing tricks. He’d been seeing things lately, shadows in the waves, flickers in the fog, his mind worn thin by endless days. He rubbed his eyes, and squinted through the kitchen window. The garden was bathed in the dim glow of a streetlamp, its orange light cutting through the night. There, a shadow moved among the rows of stunted cabbage. Not a stray dog or the wind. A person.

Rafe’s heart kicked.

“Hey!” he shouted, alarmed, almost irritated. He lunged for the door, boots thudding on the linoleum, and yanked it open. The cold hit him like a slap, but he barely felt it. He stumbled down the back steps, breath clouding in the frigid air, and caught a clearer glimpse, a girl crouched in the dirt, her hands clutching a half-eaten carrot. Her face, pale and sharp in the streetlamp’s glow, snapped up at his yell. Wide eyes—green, maybe?—met his for a split second, wild with panic, before she bolted.

“Wait!” Rafe called, but she was already gone, a blur of hair and a too-thin jacket vanishing around the corner of the fence. He ran a few steps, his boots crunching on frozen gravel, but stopped at the edge of the garden. She was fast, and he was too damn tired to chase her. His breath heaved, forming fleeting clouds, and he stood there, hands on his hips, staring at the empty street.

The garden was a mess. A few carrots lay uprooted, one half-bitten. Rafe’s jaw tightened. Those vegetables were his... But as his anger flared, it sputtered. That girl looked desperate. Her cheeks were hollow, her movements frantic, like a cornered animal. Hungrier than him, maybe. The thought twisted in his chest, a strange pang he couldn’t name. Guilt? Pity?

He knelt, picking up the bitten carrot, its dirt-smeared end cold in his hand. Why here? Why his garden? Vladivostok was full of markets, soup kitchens, places she could’ve gone. Yet she’d crept into his yard, risking getting caught for a few half-dead vegetables. Rafe’s fingers brushed the fishing hook pendant, a nervous habit, as he scanned the shadows. Nothing. Just the wind and the distant hum of the port.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ©slvbun(m) — written with love.

content: 01 , 02 , 03 , 04 , 05 , 06 , 07 , 08 , 09 , 10.

[drtyelvisfantasy]

SURPRISE 4 HIM ♡ Rafe Cameron!

Content WARNING: Rafe Cameron x Stalker!Reader, sexual content, mentions of drugs, obsession, masturbarion (m!), +18 MDNI.

Lately, nothing felt right—his body, his head, his life. The coke had dulled his edges, but it had also dulled something else. He hadn’t gotten hard in weeks. He was a Cameron, damn it, and nothing was supposed to break him.

The shower was scalding, the water pounding his shoulders, rinsing away sweat, and the chemical haze in his brain. He braced his hands on the tiles, letting the steam clear his head, but that nagging worry lingered, his body wasn’t responding like it used to. He’d tried watching porn, scrolling through his phone late at night, but nothing. Just a dull, impotent frustration that made him feel less like himself. He scrubbed his skin raw, toweled off, and wrapped the towel around his waist, his hair dripping as he stepped back into his room.

He moved to his dresser, yanking open a drawer for clean boxers, his mind already drifting to the blunt he’d smoke to take the edge off. But something on his bed caught his eye—a small, glossy square on his pillow, out of place in the mess of unmade sheets. He crossed the room, his bare feet silent on the hardwood, and picked it up. A Polaroid. His breath hitched as he turned it over, his eyes locking onto the image.

It was her—Y/N, the Kook girl who’d been creeping around his life like a shadow. She was sprawled on his bed, her hair fanned out, her skirt hiked up, and his black boxers pulled low on her thighs. Her hand was between her legs, fingers glistening, her lips parted in a flush of arousal,

Rafe swallowed hard, and he spun around, his gaze darting to the closet, the window, under the bed, half-expecting her to be there, those eyes watching. But the room was empty. He clutched the Polaroid, his fingers trembling, a mix of unease and something darker swirling in his chest. He felt hunted... someone had been in his space, touched his things, laid on his bed. But then his eyes dropped back to the photo, and his cock twitched, a sudden, unmistakable jolt that shocked him.

He hadn’t felt that in weeks. But this lit something in him.

His cock hardened, straining against his boxers, a rush of blood that made his head spin. He should’ve been pissed, should’ve torn the photo up, but his hand moved on its own, dropping his boxers, wrapping around himself. He groaned as he gripped his shaft, the Polaroid shaking in his other hand.

He sank onto the bed, his back against the headboard, his eyes glued to the image. He imagined her there, just hours ago, her fingers working herself, moaning his name, her hips bucking as she came. The thought was fucked up, wrong, but it set his nerves alight, his hand stroking slowly. He pictured her lips parted, her breaths ragged, her eyes locked on him as she touched herself, claiming his space, his scent, his life. His thumb swiped over the tip of his cock, smearing precum, his strokes quickening, his breath hitching.

“Fuck…” he muttered, his mind a haze of lust and unease. His hand pumped faster, his grip tight, his hips bucking slightly as he chased the feeling. He imagined her there now, straddling him, her slick fingers guiding him inside her, her moans filling his room. His cock throbbed, his balls tightening, the Polaroid burning into his vision, her flushed skin, her wet fingers, his boxers clinging to her thighs.

Cum spilled over his hand, streaking his thighs, splattering onto the sheets. His body shook, his strokes slowing as he milked every pulse, his chest heaving, his head falling back. The Polaroid slipped from his fingers, landing face-up on the bed, her image staring back at him. He panted, his hand sticky, his thighs a mess, the high of release crashing into a wave of disgust and realization...

He’d just jerked off to a stalker’s photo, a girl who’d broken into his room, and it was the first time he’d felt alive in weeks.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ©slvbun(m) — written with love.

[drtyelvisfantasy]

rafe waking you up from a nap ༯

you’d fallen asleep mid afternoon, around three. you didn’t mean to but rafe was rubbing your back and it relaxed you enough to fall asleep within literal minutes.

you’re woken up by a small kiss on your cheek, then the blanket was pulled away from your face. you immediately frown and open your eyes to see rafe.

“hey, sweetheart…” he greets you softly with his fingers running over your scalp. you hum in response and close your eyes again.

“i’m sorry, angel… i know you wanna nap but it’s five thirty…” he kisses your cheek yet again and you sigh.

his hand trails back down to rub your back, rubbing firm circles. he sits down next to you and pats his lap.

“come sit with me, i need you to wake up. now.” he says slightly firmer but not harshly. you crawl onto his lap and sit facing him, your legs either side of his. “— there she is…” he smiles softly and pushes your messy hair out of your face.

you bury your face in his chest and he pulls you closer against him. he decides to continue talking to you, to keep you awake.

“what would you like for dinner, baby…?” he rocks you gently. he’s never been this soft with anyone and he’d be damned if anyone found out.

“a nap…” you respond, your voice soft but raspy from sleep.

he chuckles and presses a kiss against the top of your head before resting his cheek against your head.

“you’re funny” he replies fondly, his arms squeezing you tighter.

- request a fic

[drtyelvisfantasy]

ᤢ ♥︎⠀ 06⠀‌⸻ angel tears / rafe cameron!

content WARNING: toxic!rafe, psychological abuse, mentions of miscarriage, mentions of cheating, loneliness.

A heavy silence echoed through the Cameron mansion. Y/N drifted through the rooms like a ghost, her footsteps soft, her presence barely registering. Her cooking, once a source of pride, had turned lackluster, her rosemary chicken too dry, her pastries too dense. Rafe noticed, of course.

“Fuck, this tastes like cardboard,” he’d snapped last night, pushing his plate away, spitting on a napkin. “Can’t you do anything right anymore? I mean, Jesus—how hard can mixing ingredients be?”

The words cut deeper than they should have, making her feel more useless than ever. Since the blood-soaked sheets and the hollow ache in her womb, she’d been unraveling, her heart a fragile thing she couldn’t mend. She hadn’t told Rafe about the miscarriage. She hadn’t even told herself, not really, afraid to face the grief alone.

But today, Y/N resolved to pull herself together, not for her own sake, but for Rafe’s. The image of him with that ginger woman in his office haunted her. She couldn’t lose him. He was her husband, her family, the center of her world. Families stayed together, no matter the cost. She couldn’t bear the thought of him turning to someone else, someone who wasn’t her. So she forced herself out of bed, her limbs heavy, her heart heavier, and decided to be the wife he wanted, the one he’d married, the one he couldn’t look away from.

She chose a blue dress sprinkled with tiny yellow flowers, the kind Rafe used to love when they were teenagers sneaking kisses in the moonlight. In the mirror, she brushed her hair until it gleamed, pinning it back with a pearl clip. She looked like the Y/N he loved, not the ghost she’d become. In the kitchen, she poured her energy into a chocolate fondue, melting dark chocolate until it was silky, pairing it with fresh strawberries, pineapple, and delicate cubes of pound cake. She set up a picnic in the backyard, reminiscent of their early days when they’d sprawl on a blanket under the stars, Rafe kissing her senseless until the world faded away. She draped a white tablecloth over a wrought-iron table, arranged the fruit in a crystal bowl, and lit a citronella candle to keep the mosquitoes at bay. It was perfect, a gesture to win him back.

Hours passed, the sun dipping low, the candle flickering.

Rafe was late.

She waited, but she was exhausted, miscarriage leaving her weaker for weeks. She curled up on the living room couch, her blue dress fanning around her, and slipped her thumb into her mouth—a childish habit she’d never broken, one Rafe despised but she couldn’t stop, especially when she needed comfort. It soothed her now, her eyes fluttering shut as she drifted into a restless sleep.

A hand on her shoulder jolted her awake. Her eyes snapped open, her heart leaping as she saw Rafe standing over her, his silhouette dark against the dim lamplight.

“Rafe!” she gasped, a smile breaking across her face, bright and hopeful. She scrambled to her feet, her dress wrinkled, and threw her arms around him, her hands cupping his face to pull him into a kiss. “I made something for you,” she said, her voice bubbling with excitement. “It’s in the backyard, a picnic, like we used to—” Her thumb, still damp from her mouth, brushed his cheek, and Rafe’s expression changed in an instant.

He winced, his face twisting with disgust, and shoved her away, his hands forceful enough to make her stumble, her hip catching the edge of the couch.

“How many times have I told you to stop putting your damn fingers in your mouth?” he snapped, wiping his cheek with the back of his hand as if she’d tainted him. His blue eyes were dark with irritation, pinning her in place. “Grow up,” he said, his tone dripping with disdain, each word a hammer striking her already fragile heart. “You’re not a fucking child anymore.”

Y/N froze, her breath catching, her smile crumbling like ash. The warmth she’d felt seconds ago drained away, replaced by a cold, sinking shame. She opened her mouth to speak, to apologize, to say something, anything, but Rafe’s look silenced her, a look that made her feel small, insignificant, a speck of dust on his pristine world. He turned, his shoulders rigid, and stalked toward the guest room, not sparing a glance for the backyard, not noticing the effort she’d poured into the evening, the dress, the fondue, her heart.

He didn’t tell her she looked pretty, didn’t ask why she’d been asleep on the couch, didn’t care.

She swallowed her tears, her throat raw, her hands trembling as she stood alone in the living room. The mansion’s silence was deafening, its grandeur a cruel reminder of her isolation. She moved to the backyard, her steps mechanical, and began dismantling the picnic she’d so carefully crafted. Each item she packed away felt like a piece of her broken heart, her hope for Rafe’s love slipping through her fingers like sand. She carried the crystal bowl inside, her arms heavy, her chest aching with unshed tears.

Back in the kitchen, she set the bowl on the counter, her reflection in the darkened window staring back at her—a ghost in a blue dress. She loved Rafe, needed him, but the fear of losing him warred with the growing dread that he’d never be the man she needed. As she sank to the floor, her back against the cabinet, her thumb crept back to her mouth, a desperate grasp for comfort.

The tears came then, silent and unstoppable, spilling down her cheeks as she curled into herself, knowing that she was always going to be in his shadow.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ©slvbun(m) — written with love.

[drtyelvisfantasy]

ᤢ ♥︎⠀ 05⠀‌⸻ angel tears / rafe cameron!

content WARNING: controlling behaviour, toxic!rafe, psychological abuse, miscarriage, pannick attack, cheating, realisation.

Rafe had never explicitly forbidden her from leaving the mansion, but the unspoken rule hung heavy, reinforced by his watchful cameras and the maids’ quiet reports. She’d always assumed she wasn’t supposed to go out alone, her world was the mansion, her role to be his flawless wife, waiting for him with a smile and a warm dinner.

But today, she wanted to surprise him, to bridge the widening gap between them, to soften the edge of his recent cruelty. Maybe, she thought, a sweet gesture could lighten his mood, could make him see her again, really see her. Maybe they could talk about the baby, make plans, and find a way to quiet the dread that had settled in her since the pregnancy test.

She stood before her closet, her fingers trailing over the rows of dresses Rafe had chosen for her. She picked a cream one, sleeveless but high-necked, the silk skimming her slender frame just the way he liked. In the mirror, she brushed her long hair until it fell in soft, glossy waves, framing her delicate features. Her hands trembled slightly as she packed a dessert she’d prepared that morning: a small lavender cheesecake, extra sweet, just for him. She wrapped it in a linen cloth, tucking it into a wicker basket, her heart fluttering with hope. They could eat together at his office, maybe even laugh like they used to.

The thought felt fragile, but she clung to it, desperate to believe in it.

She walked to his office in downtown Figure Eight. The secretary, a kind-eyed woman with a tight bun, smiled when Y/N arrived, the basket swinging lightly in her hand.

“Don’t tell Rafe I’m here,” She said. “It’s a surprise.”

The secretary nodded, charmed by the young wife’s eagerness, and waved her toward Rafe’s office on the top floor. Her heels clicked against the marble lobby, her heart pounding. She imagined his face lighting up, his arms pulling her close as he called her his angel again.

But as she reached his office door, the glass window revealed a scene that stopped her cold. Rafe—her Rafe—was standing too close to a woman with fiery red hair, tailored blazer and pencil skirt. They were laughing, his head tilted toward her, his hand brushing her arm as he leaned in to whisper something. The woman’s head tipped back, her laughter bright and unguarded, her hand lingering on his chest a moment too long. Her stomach twisted, a sickening lurch that stole her breath. The basket slipped from her hands, the cheesecake hitting the floor with a soft thud, its lavender frosting smearing across the pristine tile. She didn’t wait to see more. Her vision blurred with tears, her legs carrying her back to the elevator, down to the streets before she could process the betrayal burning through her.

She walked home. The image of Rafe and the ginger woman looped in her mind, each replay a fresh cut.

Was this why he’d been so cold? Was this why his words had turned cruel?

She was so distracted thinking about that... that she got lost. Her feet hurt after some hours wandering around. She stumbled into the mansion when the sun was hiding, her dress wrinkled, her makeup streaked from tears she hadn’t realized she’d shed. That night, Rafe didn’t come home. She didn’t wait for him either. She curled up in their bed, the sheets cool against her skin, and cried until exhaustion pulled her under, her sobs muffled by the pillow.

A sharp pain woke her in the early hours, a searing twist in her lower belly that made her gasp. Her eyes snapped open, she shifted, and something wet and warm met her fingers. Her breath hitched as she pulled back the covers, revealing the sheets soaked with dark, glistening blood. Too much blood. The pain came again, sharper, a cruel confirmation of what her body already knew. Her baby. The emptiness in her womb felt like a void, a hollow ache that mirrored the one in her heart. She sat frozen, her legs trembling, her hands hovering over the stained sheets as shock numbed her mind.

With shaky hands, Y/N gathered the sheets, her movements mechanical, her body barely cooperating as she stumbled out of bed. Her legs felt like they might give out, each step a battle against the pain radiating from her core. She clutched the bundled linens, the blood seeping through to her hands, staining her manicured nails. She didn’t know what to do. Her mind was a blank, her heart too stunned to process the loss. She made it downstairs to the kitchen, her bare feet cold against the marble, and shoved the sheets into the trash bin, the metallic clang echoing in the silent mansion. She sank to the floor, her dress pooling around her, her hands slick with blood as she reached for the bin to steady herself.

The noise roused the maids, their footsteps soft but urgent as they appeared in the doorway.

“Mrs. Cameron?” one called, her voice thick with concern as she saw Y/N on the floor, pale and trembling, the trash bin tipped over, blood-streaked sheets spilling out. “Oh, Lord! Let us help you—”

“Leave me alone!” Her voice cracked, a raw, desperate yell that startled even her.

She’d never raised her voice, not once, not to them, not to anyone.

The maids froze, their eyes wide, then retreated, their whispers fading down the hall. Y/N stayed on the floor, her hands pressed to her stomach, the emptiness there a wound deeper than the physical pain. She didn’t cry, not even as she stared at the blood on her fingers, the evidence of it all. She felt half-dead.

She didn’t know how long she sat there. She didn’t even know how to process what had happened. All she knew was the blood on her hands, the silence of the house, and the terrifying realization that she was alone in a way she’d never been before.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ©slvbun(m) — written with love.

[drtyelvisfantasy]

BEACH DAY ♡ Rafe Cameron!

content WARNING: Rafe Cameron × Bimbo!Reader.

based on this request HERE!

Rafe made the executive decision to ditch his work day at Cameron Development. All because his girl had been begging all week to go swimming, her excitement peaking when she’d shown off her new bikini collection, three stunning pieces, all in shades of pink, glitter, and shimmer, each one hugging her curves in a way that made his jaw drop.

“Rafey, please!” she’d pleaded, her big eyes sparkling.

Against his better judgment, and the stack of emails waiting, he caved, calling his assistant to clear his schedule.

“Fuck it,” he muttered, grinning. “She’s worth it.”

By noon, they were on his yacht, cutting through the turquoise waves toward a secluded little island off the coast, just the two of them. The deck was decked out with towels, a cooler of her favourite strawberry smoothies, and a playlist of her pop hits blasting through the speakers. She’d slipped into her favourite bikini—a shimmery rose-gold number with tiny bows at the hips, the top barely containing her bouncing tits as she moved—and Rafe couldn’t take his eyes off her.

But even on this private escape, work wouldn’t let him go. His phone buzzed incessantly on the deck table, investors and suppliers calling about some last-minute deal, his voice clipped as he answered, “Yeah, just a sec, princess,” when she called him to join her in the water. She was wading near the shore, the waves lapping at her feet, her phone in hand as she snapped selfies. Fed up with his excuses, she turned, her pout turning into a determined grin as she marched back toward him, her wet feet leaving little prints in the sand.

“Baby, come on!” she whined, grabbing his hand with both of hers, tugging with all her might despite him being twice her size. He didn’t resist much, truth be told, he was walking with her, amused by her effort, her tiny frame pulling at him like she thought she could drag him. “You promised we’d swim!” she huffed, her cheeks flushing, her bikini bottom riding up slightly as she yanked harder.

“Alright, alright,” he laughed, letting her “drag” him to the water’s edge, his phone forgotten as he tossed it onto a towel.

The moment the waves hit his ankles, she squealed, splashing him, and he didn’t care anymore... how could he when she looked so goddamn gorgeous, her giggles lighting up the island, her wet hair sticking to her neck, her body glistening? He lunged forward, scooping her up in his arms, her legs kicking as she shrieked with delight.

“Rafey, put me down!” she laughed, but he just grinned, carrying her deeper into the waves, the water lapping at his chest as he held her bridal-style. She wriggled, trying to escape, and he let her slip, chasing her through the surf, his hands grabbing at her waist, her hips, her laughter ringing out as she splashed him back. He caught her easily, pulling her against his chest, the water cool against their heated skin, and kissed her hard, his lips tasting the salt on hers, her soft moan vibrating against him.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” he murmured between kisses, his hands roaming her wet body, cupping her ass through the bikini as she wrapped her legs around his waist, the waves bobbing them gently. She giggled, kissing him back, her fingers tangling in his hair, and they played like that for hours, him tossing her into the waves, her clinging to him as he spun her, their lips meeting again and again. Lost in their little world.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ©slvbun(m) — written with love.

[drtyelvisfantasy]

͏͏͏✧྅ ˚ . ᯇ ིུ͠* TWITCH STREAMER!RAFE meeting reader ਉl̈́ਉ * :.･ﾟ･ 🎧

❝bro is mesmerized❞ : bold text is stream chat! 💬

STREAMER who isn’t afraid to go after what he wants irl stream

HE ™ pinched a brow at the screen. “is it lagging? well, pretty sure service sucks right here, but we’re almost at the store, it’s fine.” rafe told the chat that was going crazy about the stream lagging and missing what rafe was saying.

wasn’t his first time being in public with a camera, talking to it. not his last. after his viewers took the poll about what rafe would be doing on the irl stream, going to the mall won. he planned on just walking around and shopping, but when one user brought up popmart, everyone else agreed that he should get a blind box.

rafe, not too familiar with the subject, asked what’s the best to get. his chat wasn’t too helpful, either saying different answers or telling him to just get what he liked. either way, he’d do whatever to make his viewers happy.

he was a few feet from the store when someone approached him, asking for a picture. after taking it, he took a look at his chat.

user: she’s selling that pic user: look at him getting recognized 😭 user: third person to do that. . user: this guy thinks he’s tuff

rafe pulled a blank face at the last comment. “someone ban that guy for misspelling tough.” he told his mods. weird comments like that rafe usually ignored, but when he felt like it, he got his moderators to ban the user either for a while or indefinitely from his chat. he doesn’t need that negativity in his community.

rafe stepped inside popmart, looking around. “gosh, it’s pink and bright.” he spotted some characters he recognized. he turned the camera, pointing it at a giant figure. “is that a purple hello kitty?” he asked the viewers. he read the responses. “what is a kuromi? guys, i don’t know anyone.” he defended himself when they started attacking him for not knowing the sanrio character.

he turned the camera back to himself. “okay, what do i get? there’s so many options. i see these huge figures, don’t think i need those. .” he read the chat.

user: blind boxes!! user: he’s so cute for being confused 🥰🥰 user: ask someone idk

“ask someone? ’kay.” he turned to spot someone. he saw a girl frowning at two boxes in her hands. he smiled at her adorable confusion. “i’ll go ask her.” he made his way towards the girl.

“did they just speak to you? i would be confused too.” you slightly startled, turning to the voice. you were looking at a blonde guy with a camera held near his face. and rafe was looking at a girl he’s so glad he just walked up to.

a soft smile pulled at the corner of your lips. “i wish. then maybe one of them could tell me which one to get.” you twisted your lips, looking to the boxes instead of the boy. it wasn’t the camera that was making you nervous. just his presence.

“what’s the difference?” rafe angled the camera down to put you out of view. he looked over your shoulder, your heights making it easy for him to see. you held the one in your right hand closer. “this one contains a rare, but it’s only a slight possibility i’ll get it.” you held up the one in your left hand. “this one is a collection i’ve been wanting. .” you trailed off.

yeah, rafe had no clue what you were talking about. “i’m actually new to this. .” you turned your head to him, excited. and rafe saw it. “i think you’re the perfect girl to explain to me what any of that means.”

you bit down a smile. “maybe. .” you turned to him fully. “what are you thinking of getting?”

rafe was so enraptured, staring at you and your giddiness to explain the world of trinkets, he didn’t notice the chat going crazy.

user: bro is mesmerized user: he has NOT looked at chat in an hour user: waitt love this for her user: might as well end the stream i feel like i’m intruding

rafe shrugged, glancing around. “what do you like?” he peered into your eyes as he said it. you suddenly forgot everything you’ve ever liked.

user: horrible pick up, buddy user: that better not work

you walked over to some boxes with cool looking figures surrounding them, showing what’s in the boxes. “i really like these,” you pointed. “they’re the ones i was actually deciding about.” then you turned, pointing at another set.

“but these are really popular. i. . i don’t know. i guess it’s just whatever looks nice to you.” you were slightly failing at keeping it cool.

rafe looked to the ones you said you liked. “those are sick. what are they called?” he picked up a box, showing it to the camera. you noticed, picking up another box, and handing it to him to show the camera. “they’re skull pandas. what do you think?”

rafe was stumped at you giving him a box to show his viewers. not only haven’t you mentioned the camera, but you were helping him give his viewers good content. and they noticed.

user: she tryna hit user: she’s so nice, can i see? 🥺🙏 user: @? i don’t need to know what she looks like

“yeah, i like them. i think i also like ones that look creepy? i like things that look weird, i don’t know. .” rafe went to grab two when you held out the basket you were holding for him to drop them into. rafe took notice of that as well. were you this nice to everyone or was rafe special? he actually doesn’t care, he just loves the attention you’re giving him.

“me too!” you spoke a little louder than you meant to. you scrunched your face in a silent wince, rafe chuckling softly at you. were you not able to speak about your interests? okay, well, that’s coming to a stop.

“yeah? what’s the weirdest thing you like?” rafe continued walking around with you at his side, you two falling into step easily, only having known each other for a few minutes.

user: unexpected but needed side quest user: oh he likess her

“um. . probably weird animated series’. or video game lore that i can recite. some memes that probably aren’t funny to a lot of people.” you decided to keep it mild. he doesn’t need to know your true form right now.

“i feel like we’d find similar things funny. i talk to a screen for a living. . not much gets weirder than that.” rafe picked up another box, showing it to you silently. you nodded enthusiastically. rafe dropped three boxes in your basket. two are for you.

you giggled at the last thing he said. “oh! i know this collection that i think you would like. .” you held up your index finger then scurried off to find the section.

rafe watched you go, then when he couldn’t strain his neck anymore, looked down to his chat. “i’m about to buy this entire store for this girl. .”

user: do it you won’t user: she’s got you smiling like a psycho btw user: let’s see her!!

“i’m not showing her.” he quickly shut down the asks.

user: get her snap

rafe pulled a face. “i’m not asking for her snap, i’ll ask for her number. mods, ban this guy for being corny.”

you were making your way back with options. rafe looked up to see you paused, waiting for him to finish talking to his viewers. when he gave a slight nod with a chuckle, you stepped up and showed him the boxes. “i don’t know, i remembered i saw these earlier and thought you would like them.”

rafe rose a brow. “you’re already thinking of me? i missed you while you were gone, by the way.”

you scrunched your nose, sticking out the boxes. you’d end up babbling if you tried to respond to that.

rafe bit a smirk, grabbing the boxes. “you got them for me, of course i’ll get them.”

your eyes widened a little. “but do you like them? i could grab another one if you don’t.”

rafe dropped his cool. “i think i might go insane if i leave this store without your number.”

user: please say yes girl, i don’t want to know what he looks like insane

↳ 💻 userrotapathetic ⡇i’ll do this instead of a usual introduction post :p

[drtyelvisfantasy]

floridakilos!reader (+ dealer!rafe)

introducing floridakilos!reader

floridakilos!reader during one of rafe’s dealer meetings

floridakilos!reader going shopping for the first time

floridakilos!reader being too scared to eat the food rafe bought

floridakilos!reader escaping to church

dealer!rafe teaching floridakilos!reader to read

floridakilos!reader miscarrying .. part two

celebrating fk!reader’s birthday

running into dealer!rafe at the store (blurb)

fk!reader planting roses for her miscarried baby

fk!reader getting sick due to overeating

[drtyelvisfantasy]

Military! Rafe deployment

Rafe’s phone buzzed again, loud and persistent.

He groaned, already knowing what it meant

You, on the other hand, were practically strangling him, arms clinging around his neck , your face buried in his chest as if letting go would make him disappear

“It’s just two weeks, stop actin’ like I’m being deployed for two years” he muttered, trying to shift under your grip

“That is like t..too longgg” you sobbed dramatically, clutching his shirt like he is your savior , mascara smudging his tee,” Like… tw-two weeks, Rafe!” your voice cracked, hiccuping and whiny

“Christ, kid” he winced as you tightened again, He could barely breathe with your arms around him like that

He could’ve tossed you off like a a fly, after all he is trained for this but God help him, he loved the way you clung to him like his little doll. Needy, helpless, and totally his

“Whyyy can’t they just send some… someone else?” you pouted, lips trembling

“That’s not how it works, princess,” he sighed, rolling his eyes at your bratty act, You were glued to him, keeping him from even straightening his damn spine

“Fine,” he sighed , eyes narrowing.“You made me do this”

Before you could gasp, his big hands were around your shoulders lifting you and then you were tossed onto the bed like a spoiled kitten

“You’re staying right here,” he growled, standing over you with arms crossed.“Enough with the fake tears. I’ve seen better performances “

rolling your eyes with an over-exaggerated ugh, flipping your hair. Fine. If begging didn’t work, maybe your other tricks would

He was still standing at the edge of the bed, barking like a damn general, until your eyes dropped down, The sight of his belt and the hard line pressing behind it was so much more interesting than his lecture

“But Rafeyyy…” you whined in that high, breathy voice you knew made his jaw clench, Your fingers toyed with the hem of his shirt, voice dripping “You’re just gonna leave me alooone with no one to cuddle”

He opened his mouth to scold you again like you didn’t hear what he said,

but it died on his tongue when you leaned forward and pressed your cheek right against the bulge in his pants slow, and bratty

“Jesus Christ stop that,” he snapped, stepping back, his voice tight

You looked up at him with wide, glimmering eyes, blinking innocently, your glossy lips pouting

“What? I’m listening to you rafe im just dizzy”

His jaw ticked., You knew exactly what you were doing and he was two seconds away from pulling your hair then forcing his cock down your throat like how you want to be treated

[drtyelvisfantasy]

ᤢ ♥︎⠀ 04⠀‌⸻ angel tears / rafe cameron!

content WARNING: controlling behaviour, toxic!rafe, misogyny, psychological abuse, mentions of pregnancy, maternity, anxiety.

Motherhood was supposed to be a dream, a promise of purpose and love. Y/N had seen it in the movies she watched alone, in the glossy magazines she flipped through while Rafe was at work. Mothers cradling babies, their faces radiant, their lives complete. But for her, the thought of a child, Rafe’s child, twisted her stomach into knots. She wasn’t sure why, not entirely. She loved Rafe, didn’t she? His rare smiles, the way he called her his angel when he was pleased, the way he’d pull her close and make her feel like she was his whole world. But beneath that love was a shadow, a quiet fear that whispered she wasn’t safe, that a child would tie her to him in ways she couldn’t escape.

So she did the unthinkable to prevent it.

She never told Rafe. How could she?

A wife admitting she didn’t want his child, that part of her feared what he might become as a father, would shatter the fragile balance of their marriage. He’d be furious. So every time they had sex, she would slip away afterward, her bare feet padding across the marble floor to the polished bathroom. She’d lock the door, turn on the shower, and wash Rafe away from her, as if she could erase the possibility of a child. Rafe noticed her rushing off, her cheeks flushed with something he mistook for shame or obsession.

“Your little cleaning habit,” he’d tease, chuckling as he rolled over in bed, oblivious to the secret she guarded in that sterile, gleaming bathroom.

So when the pregnancy test showed two pink lines, her world tilted.

She sat on the bathroom floor, the tile cold against her thighs, her hands shaking so violently the stick clattered into the sink. Panic clawed at her throat, her breath hitching as she stared at her reflection in the mirror, pale, wide-eyed, like she’d seen a ghost.

She was pregnant.

Rafe’s child was growing inside her. She waited for him in the living room, her hands twisted in her lap, her heart pounding so loud she thought it might burst. When he came home, his tie loosened, his hair slightly mussed, she blurted it out, her voice trembling. “Rafe, I’m… I’m pregnant.”

His face lit up. He crossed the room in two strides, scooping her into his arms, his laugh warm against her ear.

“My girl,” he murmured, kissing her deeply, his hands cradling her face like she was something precious. “We’re gonna be a family.”

He spun her gently, his excitement a stark contrast to the dread pooling in her stomach, then kissed her forehead before grabbing his briefcase and heading to work, promising to celebrate later. The door clicked shut, leaving her alone with her thoughts and a bitter taste in her mouth, like bile she couldn’t swallow.

She tried to distract herself, to drown out the anxiety that gnawed at her. She baked, her hands kneading dough with a fervour that bordered on desperation, filling the kitchen with the scent of lavender shortbread. She dusted the already spotless mantel, anything to keep her mind from spiralling. It’s okay, she told herself, pacing the mansion’s endless halls. Rafe would change with a child. He’d be softer, kinder, the father she’d dreamed of in her girlhood fantasies.

That night, Rafe came home late, the front door slamming with a force that echoed through the mansion. She was in the kitchen, setting out dinner: herb-roasted chicken and baked potatoes fresh from the oven, their warmth a feeble shield against the chill in her chest. She heard his footsteps, heavy, and when he appeared in the doorway, her heart sank. His pupils were wide, dilated, a glassy sheen that told her he was coked out again. His tie was gone, his shirt unbuttoned at the collar, and his jaw was tight, his energy unpredictable. She forced a smile, her hands trembling as she served him, nodding along as he ranted about his business partners, his voice sharp with irritation.

“Of course, baby,” she said softly as she set a plate before him. “They’re wrong.”

She kept her eyes down, her movements careful, as if navigating a minefield. She wanted to keep him calm, to avoid the storm she could sense brewing in his silence.

But her hands betrayed her.

As she reached to serve him a baked potato, her fingers shook, the tongs slipping. The potato tumbled, knocking over his glass of red wine, the liquid splashing across the table and onto his lap. She gasped, her hands flying to her mouth.

“Oh, Rafe, I’m so sorry—” she started, but before she could finish, his hand shot out, grabbing her face with a force that made her wince.

His fingers dug into her cheeks, squeezing hard enough to bruise, forcing her to meet his gaze. Her eyes widened, fear flooding her as she gripped the edge of the table to steady herself, her breath catching in her throat. Rafe’s face was a mask of rage, his dilated pupils swallowing the blue of his eyes.

“You’re so useless,” he hissed. “How do you expect to take care of a child when you can’t even serve fucking food?”

The words hit harder than his grip.

Useless.

The accusation burned, echoing every doubt she’d buried, every fear that she wasn’t enough... not for Rafe, not for a child. Tears spilled down her cheeks, her sobs choking her as she tried to speak, to apologize, to make it right.

“I—I didn’t mean to—” she stammered, her voice breaking, but Rafe’s grip tightened, silencing her.

“You think you can be a mother like this?” he continued, his breath hot against her face. “Clumsy, stupid girl, always screwing things up. You’ll ruin that kid before it’s even born.”

She sobbed harder, her body trembling under his hold, her heart fracturing with every syllable.

He released her abruptly, shoving her back so she stumbled against the table, the edge biting into her hip.

“Clean this up,” he snapped, wiping his hands on a napkin as if touching her had dirtied them. He turned away, dismissing her, his attention already back on his phone as if she were nothing.

She knelt to mop up the wine, her movements frantic, desperate to erase the evidence of her failure. The kitchen was silent except for her stifled sobs. She was useless.

As she scrubbed the floor, her mind replayed his words. All she could feel was the cold tile beneath her knees, the bitter taste of her fear, and the crushing certainty that Rafe wouldn’t change.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ©slvbun(m) — written with love.

[drtyelvisfantasy]

PRECIOUS POSSESSION ♡ Rafe Cameron!

Content WARNING: Rafe Cameron x Stalker!Reader, stalking, stealing, unhealthy behaviour, masturbarion (f!), +18 MDNI.

Rafe was heading to the country club; his golf session with Kelce and Topper was set to start in fifteen minutes. She knew he’d leave at 2:45 PM. Her world revolved around Rafe, so she knew his schedule down to the minute, every morning, every afternoon, she lingered near his haunts: the gym, the pier, the country club.

She snapped photos, her breath hitching at the way his hair fell over his brow, the careless swagger in his step.

Click. Click.

Her lens captured him mounting his motorbike. She waited, her pulse a drum, until the glint of his bike vanished from sight.

The coast was clear. Y/N slipped through the side door she’d learned was always unlocked, her sneakers silent on the hardwood. Her heart thundered as she climbed the stairs to Rafe’s room. The door creaked open, and she inhaled deeply, the room enveloping her in him. His cedar-and-salt cologne lingered, mingling with the faint musk of his sheets, his gym clothes tossed in a corner. Every inch screamed Rafe: the surfboard propped against the wall, the scattered beer cans, the dog-eared paperback on his nightstand. Her fingers brushed the desk, tracing the grain of the wood, the pen he’d chewed, the watch he’d left behind. Each touch sent a shiver through her, her skin prickling with desire.

She moved to his dresser, her hands trembling as she opened the top drawer. Socks, belts, and—there—a pair of black boxers. Her breath caught, her fingers clutching them like a relic. She held them to her face, inhaling deeply, her eyes fluttering shut as his essence flooded her senses. A low moan escaped her, her body responding, heat pooling between her thighs. She slipped the boxers under her skirt, pulling them on over her panties. The intimacy of it, wearing his clothes, feeling him against her, sent a jolt of arousal through her, her pulse racing, her cheeks flushing.

She drifted to his bed and lay back on the unmade sheets. His scent was everywhere, wrapping around her like a lover’s embrace. She buried her face in the pillow, inhaling, her hips shifting as she imagined him there, his body pressed against hers, his voice rough in her ear. Her hands roamed, one slipping under the boxers, her fingers finding the slick heat of her arousal. She gasped, her face twisting with pleasure as her fingers circled her clit, teasing, then pressing harder, her breaths turning to soft moans. She pictured Rafe, his sharp jaw, his blue eyes darkened with want, his hands gripping her thighs.

“Rafe…” she whimpered, her voice muffled by the pillow, her hips bucking as she slid a finger inside herself, then another, pumping slowly.

The boxers rubbed against her, the fabric a constant reminder of him, heightening her pleasure. Her moans grew louder, her face contorting as she chased her release. She imagined him watching, wanting her, needing her as much as she needed him. Her fingers moved faster, her thumb pressing her clit, her body tensing as the pressure built.

“Fuck, Rafe…” she gasped, her hips grinding against her hand. The orgasm hit hard, a wave of pleasure crashing through her, her body shuddering, her moans spilling freely. She came in his boxers, her fingers slick, her thighs trembling, her chest heaving.

For a moment, she lay there, panting, her skin flushed, her heart soaring with triumph. She’d claimed his space, his scent, his essence. He was hers.

But she wasn’t done. She sat up and reached into her bag, pulling out a Polaroid camera. She arranged herself on his bed, hiking up her skirt, the boxers still on, her hand positioned to mimic her earlier touch. She snapped the photo, the flash casting a stark light on her flushed skin, her parted lips.

She left the Polaroid on his pillow, a gift for him to find. She slipped off the bed, keeping the boxers on under her skirt, like her most precious possession.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ©slvbun(m) — written with love.