#manipulator!rafe

[simpforboys]

Frat!perv!manipulator!Rafe that finally gets a taste of topper’s dumb gf…

(Warnings: oral f receiving, manipulation, drunk/dubcon, cursing, praise, fingering, cheating)

series masterlist

Fuck.

Is all Rafe could think of when he saw you, wearing that white shirt that had your tits spilling out and showing off your tummy.

Not even mentioning that denim skirt you always seemed to wore. All he wanted to do was fold it up and dry hump the shit out of you like he did two weeks ago.

How was Topper such a lucky bastard?

You had a warm smile on your face, a red solo cup in your fingers as you giggled at something your boyfriend was drunkenly rambling on about.

It was a big party night at Outer Banks University, specifically for Alpha Sigma Phi. One where every frat guy got laid, except Rafe tonight. He couldn’t care less about the other girls’ eyes on him.

Not when your eyes weren’t on him.

Rafe was tipsy. He would prefer to be drunk, but he knew he should probably be somewhat aware of his actions. Especially since you were dressed so fucking deliciously.

As soon as Topper left your side, though, Rafe stalked over to you like a predator.

“Hi, sweetness.” He coos, blue eyes locked on your tits before flickering back up to that pretty face he’s so obsessed with.

“Hi, Rafey.” You drunkenly giggle, barely standing on your own two feet.

“Y’look like a mess, baby.” He teases, his big fingers moving to gently poke where the fabric of your shirt is exposing your soft tummy.

You squirmed a bit at the action, almost falling over. Which, Rafe clearly planned for, since his big arms caught you.

“Woah, y/n. Maybe I should take ya upstairs, huh? Back t’mine and Top’s room?”

He was acting like a concerned friend, but in reality, he wanted to get you away from all the prying eyes. Alone.

“Uhmm…” you just hummed unsurely, but didn’t protest when Rafe wrapped his arm around your waist and started guiding you through the crowded house, all the way upstairs into his and Topper’s shared bedroom.

He helped you slip your shoes off, your legs stumbling over to your boyfriend’s twin xl bed before Rafe’s big hands lifted your hips to set you down carefully on it.

“There ya go, good girl.” He murmurs softly, although his cock is painfully hard in his jeans.

“Thank you, Rafey.” You mumble out drunkenly, laying back on the mattress, angling your head so it’s not propped up against the wall while your hips still face the side of the bed.

“Anythin’ f’you, sweet girl. Y’know that.” He coos, his perverted eyes automatically drifting down to where your thighs are spread a bit, revealing a damp spot on your pretty panties.

“Oh, babygirl… look a’ya. All wet ‘n needy f’me. S’your boyfriend takin’ proper care o’ya?”

His thumb came over to start rubbing against your clothed clit, blue irises flickering back up to watch your face.

“A-ah, Rafey.” You mewl softly, lifting your head to watch with half-lidded eyes.

“Shhh, be a good girl f’me, yeah? Rafey s’jus’ helpin’ ya out.”

He gently grasps your thighs and pulls them to where he’s standing next to the side of the bed, fingers hooking into the cotton material of your panties as he tugged them down your legs.

You just laid back against the shitty mattress, mind spinning. But you trusted Rafe. He is your boyfriend’s best friend, after all.

Rafe almost came in his underwear at the sight of your drenched pussy. How long have you been left aching during the party? His poor girl.

He’s had so many wet dreams and fantasies about this moment, and it takes everything in him to not pull his own pants down and fuck you senseless on Topper’s bed while there’s a party downstairs.

But, somehow, he refrains as he spreads your thighs a bit more as he leans down a bit, resting his toned chest against the edge of the mattress.

“S’pretty… such a pretty baby.”

You went to respond, brain fuzzy from alcohol. But then a warm, wet tongue met your bare clit, and the only thing that escaped you was a soft moan.

“Fuckkkkk…” Rafe grunted, already leaking precum in his boxer briefs just from his tongue flicking out to sample your hardened bud.

Just the little taste already had him even more addicted.

He couldn’t help himself, he’s been fucking his fist to this thought for months. His mouth latches onto your drenched cunt, tongue swiping through your folds and over your clit.

“R-Rafe!” You cry out, fingers digging into your boyfriend’s sheets.

“Shh, sweet girl. Shut up.”

He lifted two fingers and slid them through your parted lips, your mouth instinctively starting to suck on the long digits. His cock twitched at the sight and he let out a small moan against your pretty pussy.

He watched you suck on his fingers for a minute before he reluctantly pulled them out, a string of saliva connecting your lips from his soaked digits.

“Good girl, baby. Such a good girl f’Rafey.” He praises softly, his middle and ring finger gently sliding into your quivering hole.

“A-agh…” was all that left you, unable to form words in your drunken, pleasure-filled mind.

He swore under his breath again, watching how your greedy cunt swallowed his fingers. He looked back up at you as he began to slowly slide his fingers in and out, his tongue moving back to slide circles around your throbbing clit.

You were panting, back arching, hips bucking. All for him.

“Such a sweet cunt, babygirl. Knew I called ya sweetness f’a reason.”

He crooks his fingers against that spongy spot inside of your walls, his own stomach feeling warm when he heard you whimper out.

“Rafey…”

Rafe felt like such a fucking loser, because all it took was you moaning his name before he’s cumming in his underwear, sensitive cock completely untouched.

“Shittt, y/n. G’nna let m’eat this pussy whenever I want?” He practically whimpers.

Your tummy was feeling tight as the pleasure was getting overwhelmingly good, better than any time Topper tried to eat your cunt.

He could feel your walls fluttering around him, your eyes squeezed shut, pretty lips parted.

“Cum f’me, sweet girl. Cum all over Rafey.”

His command was enough to send you over the edge, soft mewls and noises leaving you as your body trembled for a good ten seconds.

Which sent Rafe into another orgasm, his underwear and jeans completely ruined from his sticky, leaking cock.

And Rafe has never been able to cum without getting any friction on his dick before, but here you were, making him cream himself twice back to back while he ate you out.

“S’good… S’good.” He coos softly, lapping up your release, his own legs shaking a bit.

He was feeling overwhelmed, beyond grateful his chest is leaning against his best friend’s bed.

You let out another little whimper when he pulled his fingers out of your cunt, your eyes still fluttered shut.

Rafe sucked on his own fingers, feeling his dick twitch again at your addictive taste.

And there was no way Rafe was going to be able to last much longer before he fucked your perfect cunt.

[rafeys-baby]

𝐔𝐥𝐭𝐫𝐚-𝐕𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 ౨ৎ

“He hit me and it felt like a kiss…”

You used to be someone.

Sunburnt knees and wind-tangled hair. Late nights in the hammock behind John B’s chateau, your voice blending into JJ’s laughter, Kiara’s sarcastic comebacks, Pope’s calm reason. Your world had sand in its teeth and salt in its veins, and you loved it because it was yours.

And then you met Rafe Cameron.

No you knew him before. Everyone did. Rich boy. Golden boy. Violent boy. Sarah’s older brother with rage behind his eyes and a temper that didn’t need provocation.

You knew what he was.

You just didn’t think he’d ever want you.

But when he did, he wanted all of you.

And now? You don’t belong to yourself anymore.

You’d be lying if you said you friends did care—cause they did more then anything.

You got text after text…

They were mad, and they had every right to be.

John B: you alive or nah? We just want to know you’re safe.

Pope: guess being a pogue is that shitty huh? Once a pogue always a pogue no matter what fancy fucking car ur in.

JJ: seriously tho. what did we do? was it me? if it was me just fuckin say it.

Kiara: cmon pls call us, atleast let us know ur ok 🩷?

JJ: don’t bother anymore if you wanna be his little toy, wtv. we tried.

You read every word, and each one felt like a blade twisting between your ribs.

You wanted to scream: I miss you. I’m not okay. Please come get me.

But Rafe was asleep in the next room. And your phone had his fingerprint now.

You sat on the bathroom floor that night in his house marble floors cold beneath your thighs, his sweatshirt swallowing you whole. You stared at your reflection in the mirror above the sink, barely recognizing the girl blinking back.

She looked tired. Older. Expensive. Hollow.

There was a bruise just under your jawline — not dark, not dramatic. Just a quiet echo of where he gripped you too tightly earlier when you said you wanted to go home for the weekend. He’d pulled you against the wall and kissed you like punishment.

“You don’t need them,” he whispered against your lips. “You have me.”

And that’s how he says it, every time: You have me. Like it’s a gift. A promise. A threat.

He didn’t always hurt you.

Sometimes, he was tender. Obsessively so.

He brushed your hair with callused fingers while you sat between his legs on the floor. Bought you books he never let you read. Dressed you in white silk just to tear it off. Told you he wanted to make you better. Wanted to “fix the Pogue in you.”

You let him.

Because he’d helped your mom with her bills. Put gas in your car when it died. Bought your medication when your insurance lapsed. He made sure you needed him.

Its your own fault really, your are the one that flirted with him on the beach that one day the minute he gave you attention.

Then you ended up at dinner and a few dates later wearing expensive jewelry he bought while telling him you were completely a virgin even though we all know you and JJ fucked sophomore year on some random looks bed at a party.

And now you were nothing but a mouse trapped in an impossible cage to escape.

| JJ (1:30am) : Pls, we just wanna know you’re doing well. I mean at least turn on your read receipts so ik ur alive.

ʀᴇᴀᴅ 1:45ᴀᴍ.

[wandassweetheart]

SOUR SWITCHBLADE!

currently playing… ‘sour switchblade’ by elita

pairing- toxic!rafe cameron x naive!fem!reader

warning!- toxic & manipulative behaviour, self-doubt, implied non-con, mention of drug misuse, brief mention of daddy issues, misogyny, oral (m receiving)

a/n- i love this song sm, makes me feel so slutty but so whimsy at the same time😵‍💫😵‍💫 also i hope this makes sense, enjoy! (creds to @anitalenia for the divider!)

your friends had warned you countless times about rafe, yet you kept seeing him. how could you not? he bought you gifts, spoiled you with good sex, made you feel special and with each time you let him you were just falling deeper and deeper into his trap. somehow this wasn’t even the first time, but it was the only thing you were familiar with.

was it really him you wanted or was it déjà vu?

you missed when it was just you and rafe against the world. you could always speak your mind, and he would listen. you’d both do stupid shit together and laugh about it after. watch the sun set at the beach in eachother’s arms. even if rafe never told you that he loved you then, you knew he did.

but now? you didn’t know if he loved you or your body.

sometimes he’d disappear for hours or even days. no explanation. no texts. you’d lie in bed replaying conversations, dissecting moments. had you been too much? not enough? should you have laughed less? smiled more? when he came back, it was like a drug hitting your bloodstream. “i missed you,” you whispered, crawling into his lap like it was your home. rafe never said it back, but he let you stay. you thought that was enough. after all, it had been you that drove him away for periods of time, wasn’t it?

all you wanted to do was please him, do things with him, do things for him. you wanted to return the favour for everything he did for you so that it was fair, even if it did hurt you in the process.

you wanted to talk to him about the things you could do. “we could just lay in bed and cuddle,” you murmured, craving for the affection you longed for. you snuggled into his chest further hoping for some comfort. rafe gave you a sleazy smirk whilst his hand slowly slid beneath the waist band of your panties. “or we could do something more fun?” with that, his lips reached your chest whilst his hand started to rub you and get you wet. you tried to relax into it, you’d take whatever version of him he gave you. maybe if you gave him what he wanted, he’d give you what you needed. if this was what he wanted to do then you would do it.

whatever he went through, you did too. he came home wired. you could tell before he even stepped fully into the room. the way the door slammed, the way his jaw worked like he was chewing on glass, the way his eyes didn’t land on you, just flicked past like you were furniture. you sat on the edge of the bed, silent. waiting. “he thinks i’m nothing,” he muttered. sniffing hard, running a hand through his hair, then across his face. his nose red, his pupils huge. “always has. always fucking will.” you knew who he meant before he even said it. he always meant his dad. you bit your lip, feeling something shift inside you. a pain you knew too well. “rafe, that’s not true—” he cuts your sentence before you’re even able to finish. “what the fuck do you know, huh?” he spat. but you knew, you knew how he felt. you were always there for whatever he went through, he was never there when you’d had complications with your father.

you always stayed there for him, perfect and obedient just how he liked it. “you’re pathetic, you know that?” he’d scoff down at you with a smile on his face. he knew that you wanted to please him and he loved that. the way he could mess with your mind and you’d still run right back into his arms. somehow you felt appreciated when he’d degrade you like that. it was like he knew the efforts you took for him. but really he thought you were so dumb for still trying. his point of view was a lot to live up to.

you wanted to worship him, make him feel brand new. he leaned back, his shirt slightly askew, one arm casually draped across the back of the couch. his eyes met yours, dark and calculating, and a slow, almost predatory smile spread across his face. you knelt between the spread of his legs with his hand ruched in your hair. as you moved, you could hear him let out a soft sigh of approval, but it wasn’t the warmth you were hoping for. it was cold, calculating, like he was only tolerating you. “you’re so good at this,” he groaned. “always makin’ me feel good, right? puttin’ that mouth to use…” his grip on your hair tightened as he pushed further into your mouth. you sought for that validation, you wanted him to feel idolised because you loved him, you really did. at times it felt like he was doing voodoo on you.

you wanted to fuck with him, he could bring his friends too. topper, kelce and rafe were all hanging out in rafe’s apartment doing lines whilst you brought them drinks. rafe pulled you into his lap, nuzzling his head into the crook of your neck. “fuck, man, shit’s good tonight,” topper said, his voice a little louder than usual. kelce agreed with a grin whilst watching you and rafe. rafe completely ignored the other two, he looked like he was in his element, the drug giving him that relaxed, almost cocky air that made you feel like he was actually thinking about you. you rubbed against him slightly, needing his attention and rafe groaned quietly. “damn, i need myself a girl like her,” kelce chuckled, continuing to watch you both. rafe gripped onto your waist and started kissing at your neck. you felt cherished, you didn’t feel like a secret, like something rafe was ashamed of displaying to his friends. whilst rafe felt like he was fucking with you, he felt thrilled that he could exhibit you to his friends like something he owned.

in the end, his point of view was a lot to live up to.

[overlygoin]

would have ran pissing

[eternallyniah]

I can fix him

Him :

[hunzzzzz]

𖥔 Liar 𖥔 Part 2

Psycho Rafe x Reader

MASTERLIST

SUMMARY: The summer started with late night car hookups and smoking like there was no tommorrow, a desperate escape from broken homes. You and Rafe two halves of a beautiful disaster, found each other- a casual fling that became something undeniably, terrifyingly real.

You ran, but the blood followed, staining your hands and haunting your every breath.

You cared about him, maybe even loved him. But was that enough to lie for him? Enough to twist your morals into knots, to let the image of blood haunt your nightmares every single night?

And when the lines between loyalty and survival blurred, slowly, terrifyingly, a new truth began to dawn on you: Rafe wasn't the one who needed protecting anymore.

It was you.

TW: guns, blood, violence, smut, f!oral receiving, manipulation, corruption, coercion (idk what coercion means but just tagged it in case??), dark themes, dark Rafe, reader has mommy issues, pregnancy

A/N: 7.5k words....

Comment if you want to be on the Taglist!

"I'm pregnant."

The words, a desperate, final gamble, hung in the air, shattering the terrifying silence. It was a Hail Mary pass, a shot in the absolute dark.

"No," Rafe whispered, his head shaking slowly, disbelief etched onto his face. "No. You're lying."

"I'm not lying, I swear to you." You were spitballing, throwing the words out into the void, waiting, praying, to see if they would stick.

He pressed the gun harder against your skin, a silent, bruising promise. The cold metal indented the tender flesh of your forehead. "Liar."

Rafe looked like he was fighting a war within himself, his face contorting with a horrifying blend of fury and profound shock. 

His hand trembled violently, the gun shaking in his grip, wavering between your eyes and the floor. 

Then, with a shuddering breath, he finally pulled it away, letting it clatter to the ground with a deafening clang that echoed in the small, stone room.

"You're carrying my child..." he said aloud, the words a disbelieving murmur, as he ran his hands through his greasy bangs, his gaze distant, lost in a sudden, impossible reality.

"Yes," you swallowed hard, committing fully to the bit, every ounce of your being focused on the performance of a lifetime. 

You needed to buy yourself time, just a few precious seconds.

"Baby," he whispered, his voice incredibly soft now, broken, as he sank to his knees in front of you. His hand reached out, cupping your face, his thumb stroking your cheekbone. "How long?" 

Rafe wasn't sure how he felt. Was he too young to be a father? Hell yes. Was he fit to provide for a child right now, with everything going on, with Peterkin's blood still fresh on his hands? Absolutely not. But was he going to try his damn best to step up and mold himself into that role? Hell yeah.

He’d always told himself that when he became a father, he would do things differently. He would be better than Ward. He would provide endless love to his children, a love that wasn't transactional, a love that wasn't withheld as punishment or granted as reward. He would give them the unconditional love he never received, the kind he craved more than anything.

He stared into your eyes, searching for any hint of deceit, any flicker of a lie. But he couldn't find it. All he could see, all he could feel, was his own overwhelming, terrifying joy.

Sure, if it were up to him, he wouldn't have planned for a child right now. He knew he was careless with you, often forgetting condoms in the heat of the moment. And he knew you were careless too, often forgetting to take your birth control on time. Despite all the recklessness, he still hadn't truly expected it to happen.

But now that it was done, now that you were pregnant, there was no changing the past. He was going to give this child everything he had in him, a silent vow he made to himself, staring into your tear-streaked face. This child would be his redemption, his chance to finally be truly loved.

"I was late, so I took a pregnancy test," you sputtered, your mouth moving faster than your terrified mind, scrambling for a logical reason, anything to delay the inevitable.

"When?" 

"A week ago."

His eyes hardened again, the dangerous shift in his mood almost instantaneous. "You've been keeping this from me for a week? Been lying to me this whole time?"

Your heart sank. You were so close, so agonizingly close to freedom, and now this.

"I was scared." You sniffled, tears springing to your eyes, genuinely fueled by the sheer terror of your predicament. "I was scared that—that if I told you, you'd make me get rid of it."

The tears were real, but the reasoning behind them was a desperate lie. Because even if he believed you, by some miracle, what then? What were you supposed to do next? 

How were you going to "grow" a child inside your womb? What if he asked for proof, a doctor's visit, another pregnancy test? At most, this lie would buy you a few days, maybe even less, until he realized your deception. You had to get away from him.

Rafe pulled out a gleaming pocket knife, and your breath hitched. This was it. This was the end, for real this time. 

But instead of the expected, chilling plunge, he used the blade to swiftly cut the ropes binding your wrists and ankles. 

"I would never," he whispered, his voice thick with what sounded like genuine emotion as he took your raw, chafed hands in his. "Would never do that to you. I love you."

You didn't believe him. Not for a second. He'd been moments away from pulling the trigger, his finger on the release, his eyes cold and empty.

"That why you ran?" he asked, his voice softening, yet his fingers deliberately brushed over your raw, tender wrists. You couldn't help but hiss, a sharp intake of breath as pain flared. "You were scared?"

You nodded, “I’m sorry,” you offered another lie. You weren’t sorry, you were only sorry that you got caught.

"Don't ever do that again." he mumbled, his voice low and soothing, yet his fingers pressed harder into your bruised skin, a subtle, agonizing pressure that made you wince. It was a silent punishment. 

Then, he lifted your wrists, one after the other, and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to each reddened, tender spot. The kiss was a chilling promise, a wordless warning that clawed at your insides.

"I'm sorry," you mumbled, looking down at your lap, "I'm so sorry, Rafe."

A sob tore from your throat, and he immediately pulled you into his arms, holding the back of your head, pressing your face into the crook of his neck.

.・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・.

The past couple of days had been a terrifying tightrope walk. Rafe had become incredibly, unnervingly soft, a stark contrast to the manic rage that had gripped him in the basement. Meanwhile, every nerve ending in your body was on edge, terrified that he would somehow catch on to your desperate lie.

He'd massage the raw bruises on your ankles and wrists, gently working in aloe vera, his hands painfully tender. 

In bed, he held you impossibly close, spooning you from behind, his hand resting protectively on your womb, a constant, heavy presence that made your skin crawl. He'd open doors for you with an almost chivalrous flourish, and his eyes, though softer, were always on you, tracking your every move.

His touch, once so readily given, now became strangely restrained, even reverent. No matter how hard he was, or how much your ass brushed back against him, he’d grab your hips with a firm, almost clinical grip and mutter a tense: “We need to be careful now. Gotta wait till the doctor gives us the clear."

One afternoon, you'd tried to reach a bowl from the very top kitchen cupboard, grabbing a step stool. Before you could even climb the first rung, Rafe was there, his voice a sharp, scolding bark that made you flinch. 

"What the hell are you doing? You could fall!" He lifted you  from the stool, firmly placing you back on the ground as if you were made of glass. "Don't you dare do that again.”

Rose had been close by in the kitchen and caught it. She gave you a questioning glance but you avoided her gaze. 

This new, doting Rafe was almost more terrifying than the one with the gun, for he held you captive not with ropes, but with a horrifying, possessive tenderness.

One morning, the facade threatened to crumble completely. Rafe flashed a pregnancy test in front of you, and with a firm hand on your back, ushered you into the bathroom. 

Your stomach clenched. This was it. The act was surely up.

You followed the instructions mechanically, your hands trembling as you took the test. 

The agonizing wait for the lines to appear felt like an eternity. When the result finally showed itself – a stark, undeniable negative – your heart slammed against your ribs. You braced yourself for the inevitable explosion, for the furious accusations.

But Rafe’s expression didn't change. Not even a flicker. He simply glanced at the stick, a dismissive shrug of his shoulders. 

"Probably a false negative," he murmured, his voice utterly calm, as if this was a common occurrence. He tossed the test carelessly into the bin, already moving on.

You were off the hook for now. Relief, hot and dizzying, washed over you for a split second.

"Don’t worry, I got a doctor's appointment booked for next week." 

Your entire body went cold. A doctor’s appointment. That would certainly pull the plug on your lie, there would be no faking a growing belly, no explaining away the truth when a professional was involved. 

This wasn't just a threat to your carefully constructed illusion; it was a ticking clock– ticking down to the absolute end.

.・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・.

"Did you not like my food?" 

You'd been so lost in your own spiraling thoughts that you hadn't realized Rose was right there, watching you scrape your half-eaten plate into the bin.

"Huh?" You turned, caught off guard.

"You barely touched your plate," she clarified, gesturing towards it. She took it gently from your hand, moving to the sink.

"Uh, no, no, not at all. Sorry, I just don't have a big appetite," you clarified, forcing an apologetic smile. Your anxiety had rendered you physically unable to stomach a single bite.

"Morning sickness?" Rose asked, her voice a low, almost conspiratorial hush, without turning from the sink. 

Rafe, Ward, and Wheezie were still dispersed in the adjacent dining room, their voices a distant murmur.

You froze, the blood draining from your face. You weren't sure if you'd heard her right. Morning sickness?

She turned the tap off, the sudden silence deafening, and faced you. Her gaze, usually so placid, now held a deep, knowing look that sent a shiver down your spine. 

"How far along are you?"

You stared at her in disbelief, your mind reeling. You always knew Ward and Rafe kept a terrifyingly close eye on you, always assumed Rose was just a silent observer, a background character in this lavish, suffocating drama. It had never occurred to you that she might be listening in too.

Rose sighed, a sound heavy with resignation, and slowly placed the dish towel down on the counter. Her gaze, however, remained fixed on you, a mixture of concern and a disturbing kind of knowing. 

"Do you know what you're getting yourself into?" Her eyebrows were slightly raised, her lips pressed into a thin line.

"I really don't," you muttered, pinching the bridge of your nose.

"You're young. Rafe's young," she continued, pushing the point. "Is this what you want your life to be? Tied to this… this situation?" Her head tilted slightly, an unspoken question hanging in the air.

You looked away from her, wiping frantically at your suddenly glossy eyes. The words caught in your throat, a choked whisper. 

"You don't understand." You couldn't tell her everything. “I’m not pregnant….. and that’s the problem.”

Rose didn't say anything for a moment, her gaze dropping from your face to your wrists. Her eyes lingered on the raw, chafed skin where the ropes had bitten deep. 

Before you could react, she inched closer, her hand taking your wrist, turning it over to inspect the tender marks. For some reason, you let her, too tired to fight.

When she finally spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper, "How did this happen?" 

"It was Rafe," another voice spoke up, startling you. 

You turned to see Wheezie standing at the kitchen entrance, her young face pale, her eyes wide with a knowing sadness that made your stomach clench. "Wasn't it?"

You didn't deny it. Your hands, still in Rose's gentle grip, trembled uncontrollably.

"What?" Rose's voice was a sharp intake of breath, her brows shooting up, her head snapping towards Wheezie.

"I heard screaming from the basement a couple days ago," Wheezie continued, her gaze fixed on your wrists, then flickering to your face. "And... and I saw him with the rope."

"Wheezie, go to your room. Now." Rose's voice was stern, a command, but you felt a slight tremble in it. 

Wheezie, uncharacteristically, left without arguing, disappearing from the doorway.

"Rafe did this?"

You nodded mutely. You didn't exactly know how much you could trust her, confide in her. You couldn't count on anyone in this family, because at the end of the day, they would do anything to protect the Cameron name, to protect Rafe. Their sympathy, however genuine it might seem, felt like another trap.

"I'm gonna talk to Ward about this. I'll deal with Rafe—" Rose began, her voice firming with a resolve that, under different circumstances, might have been comforting.

"No!" The word burst from you, raw and desperate. 

The last thing you needed was to get Ward involved, to expose your near encounter with the police. You had no idea what his reaction would be if Rafe told him, and you certainly didn't want to find out. 

"Please don't say anything to Ward or Rafe," you pleaded, eyes wide and terrified. "It'll only make things worse. Please."

Rose's lips pursed, her brow furrowing with concern. Her gaze softened, but held a trace of frustration. "Then how can I help?" 

"You can't." 

"Listen to me," Rose insisted, her grip firm on your shoulder, her fingers digging in slightly. "Let me help you. I can—"

"What are you two whispering about?" Rafe appeared in the kitchen, his empty plate in hand, sauntering over to where you and Rose stood.

You shot a frantic glance at Rose, a silent plea passing between you: the conversation is over. Don't say a word.

"Just girl talk," you muttered, feigning a nonchalance that your rapidly beating heart absolutely did not feel. Your voice was a little too quick, a little too high.

"Why so secretive, hmm?" He leaned on the counter next to you, invading your personal space, his shoulder brushing yours. "Period talk?" His smirk was wide, his eyes sharp.

"Rafe!" Rose snapped, picking up the dishrag and swatting him with it. "It's not your business, stop sticking your nose where it doesn't belong."

But Rafe wasn't easily deterred. His smirk didn't falter, if anything, it widened.  

"Oh, come on, what's so top secret that's got my girlfriend and stepmom whispering together in the corner like a couple of Pogue spies?" 

His tone was teasing, almost playful, but his eyes, sharp as obsidian, burned into the side of your face as you desperately avoided them. You could feel their intensity, even without looking. He knew. Or at least, he suspected.

"Just girl problems, don't worry 'bout it," you mumbled, brushing past him, desperate to escape the suffocating interrogation. Every nerve screamed for you to run.

You didn't make it far down the hallway. Just as you picked up speed, a strong hand clamped around your arm, yanking you backward into the dim quiet of the library. 

The brutal force spun you around, shoving you hard against the closed door, the wood thudding against your spine, rattling your teeth. 

Rafe's eyes, no longer playful, were dark and narrowed, pinning you in place.

"What the hell was that?" he demanded, pressing his body against yours, trapping you, his voice a low, dangerous growl.

"It was nothing—" you began, trying to twist away.

"Liar!" he hissed, fist slamming into the doorframe right beside your head, the impact vibrating through the wood and into your skull.

You flinched, eyes pressed shut, a strangled sound catching in your throat. Your hands instinctively gripped his shoulders, a futile attempt to create distance.

"Wanna try that again?" He gripped your jaw, his fingers digging in, forcing your chin up, forcing your eyes open to meet his searing gaze.

Terror seized you, cold and absolute. Your mind scrambled, frantically searching for any plausible lie, anything to defuse the volatile rage simmering beneath his thin veneer of control. 

"Nothing! Just—" you stammered, the words tumbling out. 

"I was... I was asking her about a burning sensation I've been having. When I pee." The lie felt clumsy, desperate, yet somehow, sickeningly plausible. “Thought it might be a UTI.”

Rafe stared at you for a long, agonizing moment. The silence stretched, taut and suffocating. 

Then, slowly, the tension in his shoulders seemed to ease, almost imperceptibly. A breath, long and shuddering, escaped his lips, a sudden exhalation that released a fraction of the pressure. 

"God, baby," he sighed, managing a strained, almost tender smile, the one that used to make your stomach flutter, but now only made it clench. 

"Now, was that so hard?" He released your jaw, but his hand lingered on your cheek for a moment, a soft caress that felt more like a warning. 

"Just tell me the truth next time, alright? No secrets between us. No more lies." 

.・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・.

You were napping in the afternoon, your nightmares had become more vivid, more real. 

True rest escaped you; you'd toss and turn in Rafe's arms all night, the gagged edges of your subconscious fighting against his presence until he'd gently wake you, rocking you back to a restless half-sleep. 

But you'd lie awake, rigid in his embrace, counting down the hours until the sun rose again. In his arms, you felt the unsafest, his skin prickling you like thorns, and you were counting down the days until the dreaded doctor’s appointment.

Rafe watched you nap. You were curled into yourself, a small, frightened ball under the duvet, bathing yourself in complete darkness. He quietly drew the curtains forward, and sat down on the bed beside you, careful not to jostle the mattress. He reached out, slowly, gently, pulling the duvet back down to your chest, revealing your face.

Your features were soft, relaxed in sleep, God, he missed seeing you like this. 

He hated how you trembled like a leaf in his arms, how the raw panic flared in your eyes when he entered the same space as you. He hated how you tensed, visibly recoiling, when he moved closer to hold you, how you flinched at sudden movements. 

It wasn't always like this.

And that day in the basement... he thanked whatever unseen forces existed that had stopped him from doing anything rash.  

This baby, this sudden, unexpected bundle of cells, was a blessing in disguise for him. It had pulled him back from the brink, stopped him from making a decision he didn't know if he could have lived with.

It wasn't just the betrayal of you threatening to tell the police everything that had gotten to him in that basement. It was the raw, undeniable fact that you were willing to lose him, willing to see him locked up, to cut him out of your life forever. That was what truly broke his heart.

But he didn't want to lose you. He couldn't imagine a world where you weren't there, where you weren't his. This unexpected pregnancy had brought you back to him, cemented you to him in a way he hadn't known how to achieve before.

Even in sleep, your body could sense the danger that radiated from him. You shifted, eyes peeling open to the dim light of the room. And then you saw him, sitting by the bedside, watching you. Startled, you scrambled backward, shuffling against the headboard, pulling your knees up to your chest, a frightened animal cornered.

"Hey, hey. It's just me," he whispered, his voice soft, placing his hands gently on your knees.

That did little to calm your erratic heartbeat. 

"How'd you sleep?" he asked, his finger lifting your chin up, forcing your eyes to meet his.

"Fine." 

You hated his kindness more than his psychotic rage. When he was like this, so tender and solicitous, it was impossibly hard to remember the version of him deep down, the real him—the killer.

"You've been pretty tired lately, hmm?" He pulled your legs down in front of you, stretching them out, his hands beginning to massage your calves. "It's okay, we'll ask the doctor about it. Get you some good prenatal vitamins."

Your eyebrows knit together at the thought, every muscle in your body tensing. 

"You're so tense all the time," he scolded you. "All this stress isn't good for the baby." He reminded you, his gaze dropping pointedly to your belly.

And you're not sure why, but that was when you finally snapped. "You wanna know why I'm always stressed?" you bit out, making him stop his movements, his hands freezing on your calves. "It's you."

“The fuck?"

"You're the reason I'm like this!" you snapped, your voice rising, "An emotional, sleep-deprived mess. Because of you!" You pointed a trembling finger at him, the accusation heavy in the air. "You made me into this."

His face fell, creases forming on his forehead as he stared at you, genuinely taken aback.

"I can't sleep, I can't eat, I— I— I can't breathe after what I saw–  what you did," you choked out. "And the worst part is, you don't even care about me! You don’t love me. You just keep me close, because I’m a loose end to what really happened at the airstrip!"

“Uh-huh,” Rafe muttered, his jaw clenching impossibly tight, “And what exactly happened huh?”

“You killed Peterkin–”

“Stop with this bullshit,” he cut you off, his eyes burning through yours.

But you weren’t backing down this time, “You shot her!” 

He stood up, beginning to pace around the room, "You know what your problem is?" he sneered, his voice dangerously low, then rising to a shout. 

"You're fucking ungrateful! I saved you! You were miserable, suffocating in that house, with your mom who couldn't even look at you without resentment, and your dad who acted like you were a ghost!"

He jabbed a finger at you, his eyes blazing. "I gave you everything! I pulled you out of that hell. I gave a shit about you when nobody else did! I loved you, knowing damn well nobody else could, or would!" 

"You were born a mistake, you've never been loved before in your entire godamn life! I showed you that! I gave you that!" he pointed his finger at his chest with some twisted sense of pride.

His words, sharp and poisoned, found that last tender part of your soul, the deepest insecurity you'd ever confided in him, and sunk their teeth in. 

He'd used your own whispered fears, the vulnerabilities shared under the moonlight against you, twisting them into weapons. He knew exactly where to strike to make you doubt your own worth, to make you believe that his toxic hold was the only love you'd ever deserve.

He stopped pacing, looming over you, his voice dropping to a chilling whisper that pierced through you. "Nobody will ever love you like I do. Nobody will ever tolerate you, because you make it so damn hard to love you!"

"I can't believe I ever thought I loved you," you whispered, shaking your head, not at him, but at your own past naivety.

His face, previously contorted in rage, softened into a peculiar, almost mournful expression. "What's that?" he asked, his voice low, as if he hadn't quite heard you, or couldn't quite believe it.

"You're rotten, Rafe. From the inside out. You kill everything you touch. You're poison."

A slow, unsettling smile spread across his face, cold and unsettling as winter ice. He leaned in close, his breath ghosting across your lips. "And you," he whispered, the words a tender, terrifying promise, "you're my perfect apple."

.・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・.

The next day, you stirred awake relieved to find an empty bed. You slipped out of the room, your senses on high alert. Downstairs, you found Rose in the kitchen, humming softly as she prepared coffee. She let you know that: "Ward and Rafe went to the mainland for some business. Early flight."

You didn't wait for her to finish her sentence, racing back to the bedroom, heart hammering. You didn't take anything – just slipped on your shoes and headed out. 

This was it. This was your chance. 

The cool morning air hit your face like a blessing as you stepped outside. You didn't know where to go exactly. The police station was the last place on your mind. Your only goal was to disappear, to vanish without a trace. 

You walked, and walked, and walked, the unfamiliar streets slowly morphing into something distantly recognizable. Your feet carried you, almost against your will, until you found yourself standing before the last place you expected, the very last place you ever thought you'd seek refuge…..

Home.

You had nothing on you: no phone, no keys, no car–  they had been confiscated by Rafe. 

You rang your own doorbell and prayed. Prayed your parents were home and not away on one of their frequent, distant trips. For the first time in your life, you actually wanted to see them. 

You wanted to cry in your mother's arms, wanted her to hold you, to tell you everything was going to be okay – a desperate, childlike yearning you hadn't realized you still possessed.

You were a body that would always host the parasite of yearning. 

Ringing the doorbell proved useless. With a sigh, you went around the back, and just as you guessed, with a pang of bittersweet irony at your mom’s characteristic carelessness, the back door was left unlocked. 

You slipped inside, calling out, your voice tentative, then louder, but only silence answered. You searched every room, every familiar space, but came up empty. 

Nobody was home.

You sat at the bottom of the grand staircase, until the sun began to dip below the horizon. 

Finally, the mahogany front door swung open, revealing your mother. She sauntered in, heels clutched in one hand, her expensive gown shimmering. 

She didn't smile, didn't offer a hug, her expression a mask of indifference at the sight of you after a whole 2 months.

"Finally decided to grace us with your presence," she drawled, rolling her eyes, already walking deeper into the house, towards the kitchen. 

"Don't tell me where you've been. I don't need the worry." She didn't even bother to glance back to see if you were following.

She filled a crystal wine glass, red liquid sloshing carelessly onto the white marble counter. She gulped it down in one go, then turned to you, her gaze dismissive. 

"What have you made of yourself? You look terrible." She shook her head, one hand on her hip, squinting as she looked you up and down disapprovingly. 

You were dressed in Rafe's battered sweatpants and an oversized T-shirt, a stark contrast to her polished dress she had worn to whatever Gala she had been at.

"Do you have any idea where I've been the past month? What's been going on with me?" 

You’re not sure why you even asked.

You should have expected this, you knew you should have. You'd been too hopeful, too desperate, coming back home. The least you expected was a hug, or perhaps even a flicker of concern. 

But your mother never cared about you, and she never would— she’d go to great lengths to prove it to you, over and over again 

"Oh, please." She refilled her glass, tossing the empty wine bottle into the trash with a clatter. "I've heard whispers that you've been living at the Cameron house." Her voice was flat, devoid of curiosity or alarm.

You had dreams of her asking you better questions. Her desire to know more made you feel full. Then you opened your eyes and she was never as curious as you wanted.

Your greatest pain was that your mother never got to know you and never wanted to know you.

"You could've called, you could've checked up on me," the words ached in your chest. 

You weren't exactly sure what you wanted her to say. Maybe you just wanted to hurt yourself even more, because one thing your mother never did was hold back from spitting venom at you.

"It's a two-way street, darling," was all she offered, already reaching for another bottle from the wine fridge.

"I'm your daughter!" you exclaimed, throwing your hands up in a gesture of pure frustration. "I shouldn't have to beg you to give a shit about me! I didn't have my phone—"

"Of course," her smile was more of a smirk, cold and knowing. "You always come back when you need something. So you broke your phone, and now you're back because Daddy will buy you a new one?"

"No, Mom!" Hot, angry tears pricked at your eyes. "I came back... I came back because..." you stuttered, trying to find the words.

The airstrip. Peterkin. Ward. The police station. Rafe holding you hostage. 

The bruises around your wrists that she hadn't noticed, or maybe she did but simply didn't care enough to comment on. 

It was too much to articulate, too horrific for someone who already saw you as a burden.

"You came here because you needed... what?" she pressed, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "You always need something from us. Tell me I'm wrong?"

"I came back because I need help," you admitted, the truth tearing at your pride, leaving it wounded in the dirt. "Because I need you, Mom. I need you." You choked out, "Can't you see that?"

"You don’t need me, you treat this house like a hotel, come back when you want, leave when you want. And your father? He’s just your personal ATM ” she scoffed bitterly. 

“You make your own decisions, you make your own mess, you clean it up," she said sharply, her eyes cold as ice. "Think you're all grown up? Act like it then."

"I didn't have a choice! I had to grow up because you never stepped into the role of a mother!"

"Oh, of course, pin this on me too! You've always been like this... ungrateful."

"I'm standing here in front of you, asking you for some understanding, begging you– and you're— you don't even care!" A stray tear traced a path down your cheek.

"Stop with the screaming," she scolded, clutching her temple with one hand. "You're gonna give me a headache."

"Where's Dad?" you asked, the last, desperate flicker of hope.

"Smoking Cubans with Judge Holden," she muttered, refilling yet another glass of wine, her gaze distant, already bored.

You took a deep, shuddering breath, "Okay Mom, please, I need to leave the country."

"Then leave," she said simply shrugging. 

She didn't ask for an explanation, didn't plead with you to stay. 

"You've never asked for my permission to do anything. You just do what you want, whenever you want."

"No, mom, you don't understand," you pulled at your hair at the scalp in frustration and desperation. "I have to. I have to leave because I can't stay here. I can't be on this island, it’s not safe—“

You didn't have time to tell her all the excruciating details; surely Rafe was back from the mainland now, and it was only a matter of time before he would sniff you out somehow.

"Of course…. why would you stay here?" she drawled, her voice laced with bitter cynicism. "Why would you stay here with the family that's given you everything?”

"Mom..." you whispered, heartbroken plea, the last ember of hope flickering out.

Just as you thought you were running out of time, on cue, you heard tires crunching on the gravel outside. You had a sickening gut feeling that it wasn’t your father returning home.

Your mom's head tilted, her brows raised in mock curiosity, and she gave you a dismissive wave towards the door. "I guess it's time for you to go."

The doorbell rang, and she moved to open it without a moment's hesitation. You stood frozen behind her, a statue. Rafe stood on the porch, illuminated by the fading light.

"Ah, right on time," your mom chirped, her voice light, as if exchanging pleasantries at a garden party. She gestured towards you with a casual flick of her hand. "She was getting angsty anyway."

Rafe's gaze swept past your mother, over her shoulder, settling on you. There was a knowing look in his eyes, a flicker of something almost like pity. You looked away, quickly wiping at the tears that still tracked down your face.

"I'll wait by the car," he was surprisingly subdued. He wasn't angry, not like you expected him to be. He almost seemed sad for you.

Rafe hadn't even been stressed when he saw your location at your parents' house, because he knew with a certainty in his bones that nothing good ever came of you speaking to your mom. It was something he had gotten well-equipped to, over the summer, predicting your patterns of despair. 

How had he known you were here so quickly? He had put a tracking chip in you, ofcourse. While you were passed out and tied up, unconscious, he had made a small incision, a tiny stitch placed at the back of your neck, one you still hadn't noticed.

"Well, don't keep him waiting then." Your mom's voice cut through your thoughts, utterly unbothered by the conversation you'd just had, by the tears you hadn't bothered to hide. 

She huffed, already walking up the grand staircase, leaving you stranded. No goodbye, no offer to stay, no flicker of maternal concern. Just an ushering out the door, back into the lion's den.

Your heart sank. You had come home looking for help, for protection, and were met only with the stone-cold indifference of your mother.

Rafe was waiting by the passenger door, already open. His lips pressed into a thin line.

You were calm and quiet, but there were things inside you. And he would see them, hiding in your eyes, so you looked at the ground instead.

He helped you into the truck, hand heavy on your back. The car ride was silent. He didn't say a word, his gaze fixed on the road, yet you could feel his awareness of your every tremor, every hitch in your breath. He didn't say anything when you went for a shower, the water doing little to wash away the feeling of utter abandonment. 

He didn't say anything when you finally slipped under the covers, curling into yourself, exhausted and broken. And when he heard the muffled sobs you couldn't stifle, burrowing into the pillow. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you tight against him, your back pressed against his chest.

"Sshhhh," he whispered against the skin of your neck, his breath warm and unsettling. "Shouldn't have gone there in the first place, baby."

You sobbed even harder, a bitter, broken sound, because he was right. Everytime you stepped foot in that house, you always felt a little emptier afterwards. You can't make homes out of human beings. Someone should have already told you that.

" 'Tsokay, I'm here," he muttered, his hands, so recently capable of violence, now settling with a disturbing tenderness on your belly. "I'll always be here." His words were a promise, a threat, a tightening of the invisible chains.

One of his hands began to trail upwards, sliding beneath your shirt, his fingers kneading gently at your breast. The other hand slipped beneath your cotton shorts, hooking your leg back around his side, pulling your body flush against his.

"I've got you," he breathed, his fingers, precise and deliberate, slipped inside you, one by one. You didn't stop crying; if anything, the tears flowed harder. But when a third finger slowly, painfully stretched you out, a sharp gasp tore from your throat, drowning out the sobs. 

It was his twisted comfort, his brutal reassurance that he was the only one who truly understood how to mend you, how to make you forget, even for a moment, the broken pieces of yourself.

"I know what you need, baby," he breathed, his voice a low, confident murmur. He always knew how to "fix" you. 

He could feel your walls clenching around his fingers, a silent response to his ministrations. Your back arched involuntarily away from his chest, your head pressing back into his shoulder.

But it wasn't enough for him. He needed to see your face, to witness your surrender. He moved from behind you, sitting up on the bed, tearing your shorts and panties off with ease. He then grabbed your ankles, pulling you further down the bed until your ass cheeks were perfectly slotted onto his knees, spreading your legs open.

You felt the cool air against your wetness, making you shiver, and you made a weak attempt to close your legs. But he pressed his hands flat against your inner thighs, keeping them wide.

"Uh-uh," he murmured, his eyes fixed on your pink, glistening lips with hunger. "I wanna see," his fingers trailed down your slit, parting your puffy slick lips, "wanna see this pretty pussy make a mess."

He lowered his head, his lips hovering just above you, a tantalizing torment. A string of his saliva dripped down, landing on your pearl, and his thumb followed, smearing it down, rubbing you in slow, deliberate circles, like he was rubbing a lamp, hoping for a genie to come out and grant his dark desires. You fisted the bedsheets, your eyes rolling back..

"Yeah, just like that. Relax for me, baby," his voice a low, gravelly hum, a dark command. His thumb stayed, burning against your sensitive, swollen nub, a relentless friction. His other hand pumped three fingers in and out of you, a relentless rhythm.

The only sounds in the room were the wet slickness of his movements, your broken breaths, and the desperate whimpers of his name tearing from your throat.

Your juices splashed onto his thighs with every flick of his wrist. Then, he curled his fingers just so, hitting a spot that sent a jolt through you, and you cried out, your hands clawing at his knees now, anything to ground yourself in the overwhelming sensations.

"Look at you, letting me take care of you, huh?" He watched you, a possessive admiration in his gaze. 

Your eyes were half-lidded, barely able to focus on him, your cheeks flushed a deep, vibrant pink, lips parted as you whined and mewled, completely at his mercy.

"I'm the only one who makes you feel like this, yeah?" His fingers picked up their pace, his thumb pressing down harder, a sweet, agonizing pressure. "I'm the only one that can fix you. That can love you. I can give you everything." 

You weren't even listening to whatever he was blabbering on about. Your thighs trembled against him, still spread wide, pinned by his knees.

You threw your head back, hair tangled and pressed against your damp forehead, fingers digging into his thighs, drawing tiny crescents of blood. Your toes curled, your body tensed, a building storm, and he could feel you coming even before you did.

"Yeah, good girl," he purred, his fingers never stopping, relentless in their pursuit of your climax. "So good for me, aren't you?"

You finally came crashing back to earth, gasping for air. "You're mine to keep," he whispered, his eyes piercing yours, his thumb burning against your sensitive bundle of nerves, a brand. "Mine."

"Please, it hurts.” You cried out, grabbing his hands, desperate to stop the overwhelming hypersensitivity. 

"Say it," he demanded, applying a firm, unyielding pressure, placing a firm, heavy hand on your sternum to keep you down. "Say it, baby. Tell me."

"I'm yours," you winced, the words a final, complete surrender.

Perhaps he was destined for you. As a punishment.

.・。.・���✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・.

You sat on the crinkling paper of the examination table. Rafe, of course, had forced himself into the room with you, despite your wishes. He had pulled a chair up beside the examination table, his hand clamped firmly around your thigh, as if you were a flight risk even now. 

You could feel the tremor in your own leg, counting the seconds until your lie would unravel. The silence in the room was deafening, amplified by the frantic thump of your own heart. 

Your eyes were glued to the ceiling, but your brain was doing somersaults, listing every single thing you'd miss out on if Rafe found out the truth. Basically, your entire life. 

How would your parents even react when they found your body at the bottom of some creek? You actually wondered if your mom would cry, or if, in some dark, twisted part of her, she'd just feel relieved. Finally, that burden's gone.

No 21st birthday. No legally drinking a ridiculously sugary cocktail with your friends. That was a real bummer. You hadn't seen them in months, their faces now just hazy memories. If you'd known that last "see ya" was going to be it, you would've hugged them tighter, held on longer, etched their warmth into your damn soul.

And all those travel dreams? Gone. No backpacking through Europe with a backpack double the size of you and a map you'd probably lose. No trying authentic pasta in Italy or seeing the Eiffel Tower sparkle at night. No volunteering with sea turtles in Costa Rica, no climbing some huge mountain, no dancing under the Northern Lights.

You'd never get to finish college, to pursue that obscure major you were passionate about, or find a job that felt like more than just a means to an end. You'd never live in your own small apartment, decorating it just how you liked, without anyone watching or controlling.

You'd never adopt a stray cat, or learn to play the guitar, or finally read all those classic novels sitting unread on your shelf.

You'd never meet your soulmate. 

You actually thought you had back in summer. What a clown. You really thought Rafe was him, your other half, your person. You truly believed you were done going to bars to meet guys, because you had found the one person who saw who you truly were, despite everything, all your flaws. 

There was a little girl in your head and she screamed "unloved! unloved! unloved!" every moment of your life.

You were always hungry for love. Just once, you wanted to know what it was like to get your fill of it, to be fed so much love you couldn't take any more. 

Just once.

So you let Rafe touch you, let him love you, because he was the only one who ever offered it to you. It was a pathetic attempt to fill the hollow ache in your chest.

You truly did fall in love with the false image you had of him when you first met him. You were still in love with that version of him. But he wasn't real, just a made-up fantasy.

The phantom sensation of his gun, cold and hard against your temple, was a constant, chilling reminder of his true nature. His version of "love" was seriously fucked up, twisted, and terrifying, and you definitely didn't want it anymore.

You just wanted to live.

"Okay," the doctor's voice broke you from your morbid thoughts, as she entered the room with your test results.

You squeezed your eyes shut, bracing for the inevitable, for the quiet pronouncement that would seal your fate.

"I've got your test results back and congratulations, you’re expecting."

The words, gentle and clear, punched through the ringing in your ears. Your eyes flew open, staring blankly at the ceiling. 

Expecting? 

Relief should have flooded you, a tidal wave of sweet, intoxicating survival. But it was anything but that. Instead, a wave of profound, crushing dread washed over you, heavier than any fear of death. 

You were pregnant. With Rafe's child…..

Tears, hot and unstoppable, burned in your eyes. You weren't saved; you were bound. Bound to him, to his madness, to a life you never wanted. This wasn't a reprieve; it was a life sentence.

Rafe's smile was blinding, stretching from ear to ear as he squeezed your hand, intertwining your fingers with his. He leaned over, placing a soft, chaste kiss on your forehead.

“Hey, come on now. I've got you, baby." he muttered, his voice thick with overwhelming joy. “I've got you both.”

And that was the worst part. He did have you now. He had you for life.

"Okay, we need to get you started on some prenatal vitamins." 

The doctor scribbled a list of supplements and vitamins, some prescribed, some over-the-counter. You were moving, nodding, feigning comprehension, but you hadn't processed a single word. 

You were pregnant. 

[adoringaffliction]

Mascara Pt. 2

Rafe Cameron X Naive!Reader

"It's too bad… it's too bad you're married... to me."

Series Warnings: Manipulation to the highest degree, toxic!rafe, naive!reader, reader just wants love bro, other warnings to come…

Series Summary: Rafe's in a bad situation and needs a way out, and his ticket to his generational wealth comes in the form of a shy naive girl that would make the perfect trophy wife. Rafe just needs to whip her into shape, that's all. 

MDNI +18

1, 2, 3

Rafe's POV

I pulled out of the hotel parking lot grinning. It was all falling into place. She was perfect. Naive, young, and seemingly untouched. She acted like she’d never seen a real man before. And so obedient too. I laid it on thick for her dad. Something I was so used to doing on my own. Feigned politeness and concern. Such a sweet girl. Sarah really knew how to find them. Y/n would be my way out. Something I’d been looking for for a long time. I don’t think she realized that when I saw her from across the room, that that was it. That she was mine the moment she entered my vision. Looking so timid and out of place. No doubt I’d make her the happiest girl in the OBX. I had anything a young girl could want. And she had everything I needed. She would make the perfect trophy wife. I knew a diamond in the rough when I saw one.  

Meeting Top and Kelce

She woke up in the morning to find a text from a number she didn’t recognize. 

“Hey, I’m coming to pick you up, be ready by 11:00.” 

She furrowed my brow and wondered who it was. Could it be Rafe? Would he have texted her? 

“Rafe?” she messaged. 

“The one and only.” 

“🙄.”

She got up when she saw the time read 10:05. She got dressed and groomed herself, making sure she looked decent enough to see him. 

“Where are you going?” her dad asked. 

“Rafe’s coming to pick me up, is that okay?” 

“I suppose, but please be back by the agreed time tonight, I don’t want to have a panic attack again,” he chuckled. 

“I won't do that to you again, I’m sorry,” she said. 

“It’s alright, it happens.” 

There was a knock on the room door. Her dad went to open it and there stood Rafe. He stood solidly, wearing board shorts and a white polo. 

“Hi Mr. Y/l/n,” he smiled. 

“Call me y/d/n,” her dad stated. They shook hands like they had the night before. “Where are you taking her?” her dad asked. 

“I wanted to show her around the country club here,” he smiled at her. 

“Wow. Fancy,” her dad turned to her with an approving look. Rafe smirked in triumph.

“Alright dad, I’ll be back before curfew I promise!” 

“Alright,” he said. “You kids have fun.” 

When the door had been closed Rafe wrapped his arm around her shoulder. 

“I didn’t think you’d text,” she said incredulously. 

“Why wouldn’t I?” 

“Because you’re mister cool guy,” she giggled.

He rolled his eyes,”whatever that’s not my MO anymore.” 

“And what is your MO now Mr. Cameron?”

“I think I’m gonna make it ‘Rafe Cameron Y/n Y/l/n’s Man for all effects and purposes.’”

“Oh really? Did you ask her what she thought of this?” 

“No not really, she doesn’t really have a choice.” 

“Oh wow, here I was thinking that I was an independent and free thinking human being.” 

“Not anymore you aren’t,” he opened the passenger door for her,”When you’re with me you don’t have to think sweetheart.” 

She got in and giggled. He slid into the driver seat and drove them out of the hotel parking lot. 

“Can I have aux?” 

“Sure,” he handed her a cord to plug into her phone. 

She picked something that she thought fit the moment. 

“This The Backseat Lovers?” 

“Oh my god you know them?” 

“Yeah, a girl I used to know was obsessed.” 

“Oh,” she stated with disappointment. 

“But she was crazily obsessed, thought she was literally the Kilby Girl,” he scoffed. He looked over at her and noticed her frown. “You remind me of the girl in the song, not that other chick.” 

“That song’s the reason I got a nose piercing,” she replied softly. 

He smirked and took her hand and held it on the center console. “You look good with a nose piercing, it seems very you.” 

“Thanks,” she smiled blushing a little. 

“‘Course beautiful.” 

“Alright you have got to stop saying things like that to me,” she buried her face in her hands, letting his go. He was being so sweet. She didn’t know how to handle it. She didn’t know if she could handle going back home after meeting him. 

“And why should I do that?” 

“Because I live all the way across the country Rafe, and you are notoriously known for bad things.” 

“Okay first of all, I don’t care that you live across the country, I’ll fly you out here every weekend if I have to. Second of all, I’m not the bad guy everyone makes me out to be.” 

“Oh really so both Sarah and Kie were lying then?”

“God, you have got to stop talking to them, they're fake and liars y/n/n. You don’t want to be associated with those people do you?”

She looked down at her hands. Something was telling her he was wrong, but another part of her didn’t want to fight him. He knew more about them than she did, she guessed. 

“No…” she responded meekly. 

“That’s what I thought.” He pulled into the parking lot of a huge building. “Alright, we’re here.” He flashed a smirk at her and hopped out. She quickly unbuckled, but before she could open her own door Rafe was standing there with it open waiting for her to get out. He held out his hand for her to take. She took it and hopped out of the Jeep. 

When they entered the building she looked around in awe. Everything was so pristine and the place oozed of upper class energy. There was a bar off to the side where two guys were sitting, both looked around Rafe’s age and dressed similarly to him. Rafe looked down at her and winked. He dragged her with him up to the stand in the middle of the room. A young girl was sitting there looking up at him. 

“Hey Jenna, I’m just checking in,” he flashed his card and she nodded. She looked at y/n and then back up to him. Her face read confusion as she turned back to her computer screen. 

“Rafe, where’d you go last night?” One of the boys called from the bar. The boy looked at y/n with surprise and elbowed the boy turned around next to him. 

The other one whipped around,”Rafe my man, who’s this?” As y/n and Rafe made it to the bar, the boy sitting gestured to her. 

“Top, Kelce, this is Y/n.” “Y/n, these are my friends Topper and Kelce.” 

She nodded,”Nice to meet you guys.” 

Rafe squeezed her hand,”How about we get a table?”

“Sounds good to me man,” Topper shrugged.

When they’d all settled down at a table the boys all started talking. None of it pertained to y/n so she sat and listened for a while. Rafe had ordered her water and she gradually sipped on it. About an hour in she felt the need to pee. 

She tapped Rafe on the arm,”Hey I have to use the restroom where is it?”

“Down the first hall and to the left, there’s a sign you’ll see it,” he responded. 

She got up and left the table. 

She found the bathroom and went in to take care of business. When she was in the stall two girls came in. 

Y/n could hear them talking. A nasally voice spoke,”Oh my god do you know her?” 

The other responded,“No I’ve Never seen her before.” 

“Amy’s gonna be so upset.” 

“I’ll bet she’s just a distraction.” 

“Maybe… they did meet literally last night.” 

“She looks nothing like any girl he’s ever dated before. I mean she’s pretty, but you know…”

“No she’s not at all at Amy’s level. I don’t know what Rafe’s playing at.” Rafe? What about Rafe? Oh my god. They were talking about her. 

“You’re right, but I kinda feel bad for her.”

“Why?” 

“We all know how he is. He’s gonna fuck her and drop her like the last fifteen girls.” 

The girls giggled and y/n heard the sink run, ”Poor girl. She has no clue.” The one with the nasally voice hummed in agreement with the other and they both left the restroom. 

Y/n left the stall and washed her hands. She looked at herself in the mirror. 

She was her. Just her. Nothing extraordinary. Nothing super hot or different. She always thought she was okay looking, but now she was thinking maybe she didn’t even make it to that caliber. She left the restroom trying to breathe and fight back tears. 

She made it back to the table and Kelce was in the middle of a story.

 “And then he looked at me like he wasn’t on my property, so I cocked my gun and he scattered,” Kelce animatedly spoke. 

Rafe looked up at y/n and smiled,

”Hey y/n/n, you were gone for a while.” 

“Had a hard time finding the bathroom,” she pressed her features into a strained smile. 

Rafe chuckled under his breath,”my dumb girl.” 

She sat down in her seat next to him and went back to thinking about what the girls in the bathroom were saying.

[mrsdarkandyandere7]

🟌 Rafe Cameron being the type of boyfriend who insists in paying for everything (Pogue!reader)

Female reader

WARNINGS: Toxic Relationship.

-

Not only is he the one paying out the money for your dates, but he’s also taken upon himself to cover the charges of your phone bill, whatever clothes you pick, groceries you buy for your family and more. 

Rafe always acts as if it’s no big deal, brushing it off because he wants to make sure you’re being taken care of. 

Besides, his family is filthy rich while yours is filthy poor, so there’s not even a point when you weakly try to convince him not to spend so much money on you.

But ultimately, Rafe is persistent enough to force you to accept the money.

But then, he uses it against you in fights. You think he’s controlling? Possessive? Toxic?

Baby, you better keep those opinions to yourself, cause Rafe is gonna throw to your face how much he does for you.

He’s given you so much money just to make sure you’re not starving to death and this is how you repay him? By being a complete brat?

Rafe could be with a Kook girl, instead of you - he reminds you, spitting the words to your face. Someone who wouldn’t need his money to survive and yet - here he is - with you.

So you might as well tone down that indocile side of yours. 

[s0lidar1ty]

The Beginning

pair: toxic!rafe cameron x fem!eader cw: Toxic relationships, emotional manipulation, verbal abuse, angst, mentions of grief/loss, slight profanity.

Rafe had never been taken care of before. After his mother's death, he always fought for Ward’s attention. He tried being a good kid, showing up to school, doing his work, and cleaning up around the house, but the only thing Ward cared about was when something went wrong. That's when he finally paid attention. So, Rafe does the only thing he can and starts acting out. 

He stayed out later than he was supposed so, damn near flunked out of school but somehow managed to graduate, stopped taking care of things. He didn’t want to, but it got his dad's attention.

Deep down, Rafe is just a little boy in need of love. Of nurturing and comfort.

That’s where you came in.

You had been a family friend of the Camerons from when you and they were small. You practically lived with them. You came over every day and stayed till night, rinse and repeat. Eventually, you moved in. Your mother thought it best since she couldn’t afford to house you and deal with the expenses of a funeral. Ward was fine with it, he loved you like one of his own. 

After their mother's death, Rafe and Sarah closed themselves off from friends, Everyone gave up on them for a while, everyone but you. You knew what they were going through. You hated that you could relate, but that wouldn’t bring your father back, would it?

You insisted on being near them and helping them when they needed it but refused to ask. You were always there. Even as you three grew up and Sarah began to heal. Sarah started to do good. She helped around Figure 8, cared for the little animals and rodents the best she knew how. She found her happiness in nature. She was fine with that; she wasn’t angry or sad anymore. She was just. She was okay.

Rafe, on the other hand, went down the exact opposite path. He became selfish. He got mean, saying hurtful things to everybody, even his sister. You didn’t recognize the person you were seeing. What happened to the sweet boy in 5th grade who stood up to bullies? When did he become one himself? 

Sarah stayed out more and more just to avoid Rafe and his outbursts. But now, with her gone, all his anger is directed at you.

You’re in the kitchen prepping dinner. You and Rafe, despite being estranged, had a lot in common. Steak bites with mash potatoes being one of them. The last time you recall him eating it was a couple of weeks before his mother's passing. 

Was this too much?

I mean, it’s his childhood favorite food—what if you made it wrong or he didn’t like it because it wasn’t like his mom's? 

You push down your overwhelming thoughts and continue, cleaning the steaks and cutting them into cubes. You move to the stove, turning it on and buttering the skillet. You hear the front door open and assume it’s Sarah coming to get more clothes before heading out again.

“Hey, Sare!” You call from the kitchen. You don’t get a response, which you find odd but shrug off, going back to the steak to season it.

“Why’re you still here?” The sound of Rafe’s voice makes you jump. You turn around, chucking off the scare.

“I wanted to make dinner-”

“So you’re a nanny now?” He interrupts.

You make a confused face. “How does cooking make me a nanny?”

“Because you’re acting like we need you to cook for us. You’re always here, always pestering somebody—why can’t you be more like Sarah and leave once in a while?” he says harshly. “I mean, fuck,” he chuckles, “We don’t even want you here anymore.”

Your smile drops. “Right,” you say simply. You turn to the stove once again, your back facing him as your eyes fill with frustrating tears.

Rafe stares at you for a minute. Usually, talking down on people made him feel better, so why was his heart hurting the way it was?

He walks away.

[prnstarmartini111]

moth to a flame ♠

Summary: Blair (I don't like using Y/N so just pretend it is) and toxic!rafe fighting but she'll always run back to him

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The late afternoon light spilled into Rafe's bedroom through the tall windows. The room was quiet except for the mellow playlist playing from the Bluetooth speaker. An empty glass sat on the table beside a bottle of tequila, already uncapped.

Rafe was slouched deep into the leather couch in his room, legs spread out. He had a drink in one hand. His shirt hang loose, the top few buttons still undone, sleeves rolled up halfway up his forearms. There was a sharpness in his eyes that didn't quite match the music.

Across the room, Blair stood infront of the full-length mirror, adjusting the straps of her dress. A tiny, tight, black thing, you could barley call it a dress. The hem stopped right where the cruve of her ass began, leaving her legs bare.

Her makeup clean but sultry, lips glossed, and her hair fell in soft waves that brushed her shoulders.

Rafe was watching her from the couch, drink still in hand, unmoving. His gaze trailed slowly up her legs. There was a grin on his face, but it wasn't just playful. It was heavier. Possesive, maybe.

Then, in the same casual tone he always uses to deliever the first jab, he said "You're really gonna wear that?"

Blair glanced at him through the mirror, half-smiling. "Yeah? Why?"

He didn't sit up. Just tilted the drink in his hand. "It's just...short, no?"

She laughed lightly, trying to keep the mood up. "You've seen me in shorter. It's a party not a funeral"

He raises his eyebrow "Sure. Just didn't know we were trying to impress the entire guest list tonight"

Her smiled faltered, just a little. She turned toward him. "I'm not. I'm just trying to look good"

"For you" She adds carefully, hoping he would just drop the discussion.

He chuckles, but it was more bitter that amused. "Right"

He sat up, elbows on knees, finishing off the rest of his drink in one slow sip. Then he reached for the bottle to refill his empty glass.

"It's just..." he said as he poured, "you know how those guys get. Everyone's drinking, people forget they have boundaries. You're gonna be stuck with them staring all night"

Blair turned back to the mirror "Then maybe tell them to get some manners, not me to change my dress"

She could feel how the energy in the room had shifted.

When she checked his reflection in the mirror, he was staring at her, jaw tight "It's like with that guy from last weekend"

She stopped halfway through adjusting her earring "What guy"

"Leo or whatever his name was. The one you couldn't stop laughing with."

"leo is gay, you know that"

"Doesn't matter" he said, putting his glass down on the table with a loud clink. "It's not about him. It's about you..." he said, standing now, crossing the room slowly. "You don't even realise how you come off. The way you lean in, the touching, the giggling, the fl-"

"I wasn't flirting", she snapped.

"You were. You always do this. And then you make me feel crazy for calling it out."

Her chest tightened. "Because you make a big deal out of everything. You think everything I do is flirting. I was just being nice.....I can't believe we are doing this again"

She turns back to the mirror to smooth her dress down "I'm not changing"

"Of course not. God forbid you do something for me without making a scene"

Blair whirls around "You always have to control everything. Maybe you shouldn't go if you're so in-"

He grabbed her arm, a bit too hard. Her body stiffened. The music kept playing in the background-soft, mellow, almost mocking.

"Don't start with this right now. You don't get to play the victim when you walk around like this"

"Let go of me" She tries to yank her arm out of his grip.

His hand shifted from her arm to her jaw, gripping it just enough to keep her still.

"You think you can keep testing me like this? You think I'm gonna let you humiliate me, huh?"

"Rafe, stop. You're scaring me"

"Oh now you're scared?" he snapped. "You weren't scared when you were acting like a sl-"

"What the hell is going on here?"

They both froze.

In the doorway stood Ward. His eyes locked on Rafe's hand on Blair's face. She looked like a deer in headlights.

Rafe dropped his hand and stepped back, like he wasn't aware of how close he had gotton.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"It's not-" he tried to explain but he was cut off.

"Get out. Now"

Rafe's jaw was clenched, his fists curled at his sides. He looked at Blair once, then he stormed past his father and disappeared down the hall.

They heard the front door slam. The low rumble of his car engine. Then silence.

Blair was still pressed against the mirror, her chest risisng and falling.

-----------------------------------

Blair sat down on the couch, the fabric of her dress now feeling tight and uncomfortable against her skin. Her arms were wrapped tightly around her body.

Ward settled beside her. He didn't immediatley speak, just watched her, like he was waiting for her to break the silence.

She didn't look at him. She stared down, fidgeting with her fingers.

"So...what happened? His voice low and calm. "what did he do?"

Blair's throat tightened. Her heart was still racing, but now, there was a quiet panic under it all.

"I-" she cleared her throat. "It's my fault. I pushed him. We were just talking. And we were both drinking and-"

The words died in her throat. She didn't know how to explain what had just happened. Rafe and her fought all the time. It wasn't a big deal.

"You sure?" he asked, there was no anger in his tone, just...concern.

"Yes. It's nothing...Just a stupid argument, you know?"

He didn't look convinced. He exhaled through his nose, his gaze softening slightly.

"Yeah, well...we were both kinda tipsy. It was nothing"

Another long pause.

"Alright, then" he said standing up "You don't have to deal with thaat right now. You're going to that party, okay? Go out, have fun, forget about it for tonight. Don't let it ruin your night"

She looked up at him "I don't know..."

"It's just a party. You've got a life outside of whatever the helll he's doing, alright?" You need tlo be around people who don't make you feel...like that"

She didn't respond right away, her mind still spinning. Something in her wanted to argue, but she couldn't get any words out.

"What about Rafe?" she asked, her voice barley above a whisper.

Her question hung in the air between them for a moment "He's probabaly staying at some motel again. You know how he is.

----------------------------

The music was thumping loud, voices mixed in with the music. The house was packed-people everywhere, laughing, talking, the occasional shouts of excitment. Red cups littered every surface.

Blair stood off to the side, watching it all from the distance. Her dress clung to her skin uncomfortably now, not the sexy statement it was when she's put it on, but something too revealing, too exposed. The voices felt distant, liek she wasn't really there.

She caught a glimpse of Kelce, pushing through the crowd toward her.

"Hey B. You look good"

"Thank you" she forced a tight smile.

"Where is Rafe?"

Blair hesitated for a moment, her fingers running along the edge of her cup. "Something came up. He couldn't make it"

He nodded but his eyes narrowed down as he glanced at her chin, noticing something. "What's that?You have somehting on you chin"

Her hand shot up instinctively to her face, brushing over it quickly. "Oh, it's nothing. Probably the lighting"

Kelce didn't seem conviced, but he let it slide "Alright, I'm gonna go grab a drink. The others are outside"

But Blair wasn't listening anymore. Her mind was elsewhere. She kept replaying the argument in her head.

She slipped out of the house, heading toward the back door, feeling the cool night air hit her skin. The contrast of the quiet outside with the conflict inside made her head spin.

-------------------------------

Blair sat in her car, the engine purring softly beneath her. The lights from the party were distant now, the sound of the music muffled. She was tipsy, feeling the weight of the alcohol in her system and the emotions she'd been trying to bottle up all night. Her hands gripped the steering wheel, the reality of the situation creeping in.

She stared ahead, debating what to do.

A long breath escaped her as she glanced at the clock on the dashboard. The seconds felt like hours, each one dragging her deeper into indecision. She closed her eyes for a moment, feeling the weight of everything.

She opened her eyes and reached for the keys on the passenger seat. Her fingers brushed them lightly before she took a deep breath and slid the keys into the ignition.

---------------------------------

Blair stood frozen in front of the motel door, her heart pounding in her chest. She had no idea why she was standing here.

Her hand hovered over the door, trembling slightly. She could turn around now. Leave. Go back to the party, or head home, or do anything else.

But everything inside her pulled her forward.

With a shaky breath, she finally lifted her hand, knocking once, twice, the sound sharp against the stillness of the night.

The door swung open.

Rafe stood there, his hair messy, clinging to his forehead, sweat still visible on his skin. His shirt was nowhere to be found, and his pants hung low around his hips. He looked... surprised. Like he wasn’t expecting her.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The tension between them hung heavy.

Finally, she took a step forward, closing the space between them. Her arms wrapped around him, pulling him to her like she hadn’t seen him in years.

Rafe’s arms immediately went around her, pulling her into him, his hands firm against her back as if making sure she wasn’t going anywhere. His breath caught, and for a moment, everything in the world faded except for the warmth of his body, the way she felt safe in his arms, despite everything.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered against his chest, the words barely audible.

Rafe exhaled slowly, pressing his lips against her hair. “I know,” he said quietly, his voice low and steady. His hands moved slowly up and down her back, trying to comfort her, like he was trying to erase the tension between them.

Blair pulled back just enough to look up at him, meeting his eyes. His gaze softened, and without a word, he pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, his lips lingering for a brief moment. Then, slowly, he kissed her cheek, letting his lips travel down her face in a tender path until they met her lips.

The kiss was soft at first, then growing more desperate, more urgent, as if neither of them could stop it anymore.

Rafe’s hand slid to the small of her back, pressing her body closer to his. His fingers traced the edge of her dress, and in the middle of the kiss, his voice was a quiet murmur against her lips.

“That dress isn’t that bad now,” he said, his breath warm against her skin.

[simpforboys]

masterlist for frat!perv!manipulator!rafe x topper's dumb gf

summary: Rafe is just obsessed with his best friend’s girlfriend… and it only gets worse when she’s constantly in their shared room. Luckily, she’s always willing to be his helper.

warnings: manipulation, dubcon (?), cheating, ditsy/dumb!reader, kissing, dirty talk, praise, swearing, oral (f+m), handjob, unprotected piv sex, dryhumping, fingering, groping, lmk if I miss anything

𝗽𝗮𝗿𝘁 𝗼𝗻𝗲

𝗽𝗮𝗿𝘁 𝘁𝘄𝗼

𝗽𝗮𝗿𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗿𝗲𝗲

𝗽𝗮𝗿𝘁 𝗳𝗼𝘂𝗿

𝗽𝗮𝗿𝘁 𝗳𝗶𝘃𝗲

[tjsweetheart]

RAFE TRABBLE

notes; rafe is genuinely an ass here, reader is hella dumb; for those who don't know what a trabble (triple drabble) its, its a fic with exactly 300 words in it

Thinking about RAFE CAMERON begging for your forgiveness. His distain towards everyone is obvious, and no one is exempt from it. Not even Sarah Cameron, his own sister. He would never, ever apologize to someone. No one but you. He was quite hostile to you at first; pushing you away, cursing at you, humiliating you, calling you a 'pogue' as if it were a derogatory term. Still, deep down, he knew he liked you. Your soft and kind demeanor made it nearly impossible to. But the moment- the second he saw one tear drip down your face, his chest hardened. Your eyes would pool up, and would eventually overflow. You were a sensitive person after all, and with Rafe throwing a drink on your new dress you bought specifically to attend his party, there was no way you wouldn't cry. You immediately take off, running out of the party. Sarah, who was beside you when the incident took place threw her drink at Rafe, screaming at him to go apologize to you. He follows you, grabbing your wrist and pulling you tight to his chest.

"M' sorry," he whispers.

You scowl at his half-assed apology, and push him off you- opting to sit at a nearby bench instead.

"Apologize for real. I want you to mean it."

Rafe gets on his knees if front of you, resting his chin on your lap.

"I'm really sorry." His eyes are pleading, and you feel shocked seeing Rafe in this state. "Please. I didn't mean it, I swear. Come on, you know I get bad sometimes."

You nearly swoon, and being the kind-hearted and forgiving individual you are, you hug him tightly.

"It's okay, Rafe. I know you didn't mean it."

Rafe smiles, unbeknownst to you. It was just too easy for him

[rafesdespair]

taking care of rafe ☆ imagine

when rafe loses control of his temper, he turns to self-destruction or aggression. sometimes he comes to you with bruised and bloodied fists, and you're always there to bandage him up and kiss his wounded knuckles. he doesn't always tell you how he got hurt, and it's probably for the best that you don't know. you know you likely shouldn't trust him as much as you do, but you can't help but want to take care of him. he loves you for it. he didn't get much of that support growing up; he feels safer with you than anyone else.

[overlygoin]

is your pussy indica or sativa

[lorasdolly]

ɪɴᴛʀᴏᴅᴜᴄɪɴɢ: ᴅᴏʟʟʏ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

Dolly!reader exists right between light and dark, constantly playing with the boundaries of control and freedom.

(scroll for master list)

She’s a contradiction, a direct oxymoron. Sweet and seductive right on the surface, but hunger and craving for more underneath.

She’s easy to give into her desires, playing into power dynamics, temptation, and pushing the limits of what is deemed acceptable. Addicted to control, whether it’s in her hands or somebody else's.

Her interest run deep and many would shy away from them.

She enjoys dark or haunting music, Nine Inch Nails, The Cure, or Siouxsie and the Banshees. It matches her internal intensity, constantly listening to it.

She desires control loss, weakness, and vulnerability. She’d prefer to be guided, and wouldn’t mind if the guidance is over the top.

She's truly strange, her hobbies consisting of playing with knives and making strange looking dolls.

Her clothes is always baby pink and white, contrasting with her dark persona.

Drugs or intoxicants are appealing to her, serving as tools to deepen her sense of surrender and submission. She’s borderline addicted, enjoying the haziness and blur created by them.

She enjoys the loosening of inhibition, the ability to be coerced into a state of substances that overtake her senses. She’s fascinated by the taboo. She wants to be pushed into uncomfortable or morally ambiguous situations.

Dolly!reader is often torn between what she wants and what she is made to want. She has a dissonance that is encouraged by her partner, being made to do things she wants to resist only to be made feel like she needs to follow through.

Dolly!reader’s partner doesn’t need to speak nor raise their voice to dominate, the control is in the subtle action. A glare or a hand on her shoulder can easily assert firmness and strictness.

Her partner encourages emotional dependency to make her feel like she needs them for validation and direction. Playing on her fears and insecurities creates a manipulated bond between her and her partner.

Physical dominance follows naturally, being pushed into situations almost forcefully. Her partner could take control of her body without permission, whether it be gently or with brute force.

Her partner will use Dolly!reader’s guilt against her, making her feel filthy or dirty for her desires that they play into. It compells her to please them more.

But of course, they only do this 'cause they love her. Her partner is attentive, whether it may seem like it or not.

They understand her and her needs, even if he goes against them at times.

Her partner only wants to show her their twisted love.

WORKS FOR DOLLY!READER:

sevika x dolly!reader

sevika x dolly!reader

[hunzzzzz]

𖥔 Liar 𖥔 Part 1

Psycho Rafe x Reader

SUMMARY: The summer started with late night car hookups and smoking like there was no tommorrow, a desperate escape from broken homes. You and Rafe two halves of a beautiful disaster, found each other- a casual fling that became something undeniably, terrifyingly real.

You ran, but the blood followed, staining your hands and haunting your every breath.

You cared about him, maybe even loved him. But was that enough to lie for him? Enough to twist your morals into knots, to let the image of blood haunt your nightmares every single night?

And when the lines between loyalty and survival blurred, slowly, terrifyingly, a new truth began to dawn on you: Rafe wasn't the one who needed protecting anymore.

It was you.

TW: guns, blood, violence, smut, f!oral receiving, PinV sex, manipulation, corruption, coercion (idk what coercion means but just tagged it in case??), dark themes, dark Rafe

A/N: this is gonna be a short series!! I’m so excited for you all to read!! Leave me some feedback, it’s my first time writing crazy Rafe.

Comment if you want to be on the Taglist!

Your body felt like a lead weight, each muscle screaming in protest as you tried to shift. You groaned, your head lolling painfully from where it had been dangling over your shoulder. You tried to blink away the oppressive darkness, but it clung to you, thick and absolute. It was then you realized: a rough fabric was pressed against your eyes. You instinctively tried to reach for it, but your hands wouldn't obey. 

Panic flared as you discovered your wrists were bound, the rope digging into your flesh. A quick, desperate struggle confirmed your legs were secured too, likely to a chair. You tried to cry out, to scream, but only a pathetic, muffled sound escaped, confirming the makeshift gag shoved into your mouth.

One minute, you were at the police station, the next you were in this suffocating darkness, this absolute powerlessness. Your heart hammered against your ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage. You were in danger. Real, undeniable danger.

The distinct sound of footsteps, slow and deliberate, broke through the ringing in your ears. Each one echoed the thumping of your own pulse, growing louder, closer. You strained against your bonds, the wooden chair groaning under your frantic movements. The ropes bit deeper, a searing pain blooming across your raw wrists and ankles.

A whisper, chillingly close to your ear, cut through the suffocating silence. "Shhhh," he breathed, the sound sending shivers down your spine. "You'll tire yourself out, baby." A cold, hard press against your temple, and your blood ran to ice. Your struggling ceased instantly, every muscle locking in place.

Then, the world exploded into agonizing light as the blindfold was ripped away. Squinting, your eyes struggled to adjust, finally settling on a pair of wide blue eyes, shattered and wild, staring back at you.

Tears streamed down your face, blurring Rafe's manic features as you tried to mumble his name through the gag. You attempted to glance around, desperate to orient yourself, to understand your surroundings. But the cold, hard barrel of the gun pressed against your temple forced your gaze back to him, his eyes wild and unblinking.

From what you could make out, you were in a basement. A single, dingy lightbulb cast long, dancing shadows across the stone walls. You were tethered to a wooden chair in the center of the room, completely at the mercy of the man in front of you.

"Eyes on me," he snapped, his voice sharp and laced with an unsettling intensity. "Keep your fucking eyes on me, yeah?"

You nodded, a sob catching in your throat as fresh tears traced paths through the grime on your cheeks. Your entire body trembled, a tremor that started deep within your bones and shook you violently.

"Don't make me regret this," he whispered, his voice a low growl as he slowly dragged the gun's cold metal down the side of your face. Then, with a sudden yank, he tore the gag from your mouth.

"Rafe," you croaked, your voice raw and hoarse from disuse, your throat parched. "What—"

"I'll ask the questions," he cut you off, tapping the gun against your jaw, a chilling punctuation mark to his words.

"Rafe, please—"

"You know, I'm just having a hard time understanding," he mused, his tone deceptively calm, almost conversational, "how you ended up from getting your hair done at the mall, all the way to the police station?"

He reached out, his fingers brushing your damp hair off your forehead. The gesture was anything but comforting.

"I swear, I wasn't," you pleaded, your voice desperate, praying you sounded convincing. This was the performance of a lifetime, a desperate gamble for survival. This was, quite literally, life or death.

You were lying, of course. You'd been lying for months. Lying to everyone around you, lying to yourself that you were okay. But the truth was, nothing was okay. Nothing had been okay since that day at the airstrip.

The word 'okay' tasted like ash in your mouth, no matter how many times you tried to force it out, you couldn't forget what you saw.

That haunting day marked the cruel, abrupt end of what had been, in its own messed-up way, a perfect summer. 

.・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・.

At the beginning of summer you’d met Rafe at the country club, him practically drowning himself in whatever he was drinking, and you, well, you were just looking for a distraction from your own family drama. 

You knew him, of course, and he knew of you. Everyone on the island knew everyone else's dirty laundry, and you two were practically poster children for "damaged goods." The entire island knew it. You were gasoline, and he was the match. Trouble. With a capital 'T'.

In a misguided attempt to deal with your own family's particular brand of chaos, you both fell into a strange routine of seeking each other out when you needed an escape. It wasn't romantic, not exactly. But it definitely wasn't platonic either. 

You were both just each other's stress relief, a convenient, no-strings-attached arrangement you’d both explicitly clarified that first night you somehow ended up naked underneath him. 

"Just friends who sometimes… you know," he'd mumbled, and you'd just nodded, too gone to care.

But as the summer stretched on, those "sometimes" became "a lot." Especially once he started crashing at the Glissons' house while they were vacationing in Sun Valley. So it was just you and him in that huge, empty house, sometimes you wouldn’t even go home for a full week. And honestly? It was the most peace you’d ever gotten in your life.

Your days fell into a rhythm: surfing in the morning until your arms ached, then back to the house to get high, and then fuck. Sometimes you'd actually make a grocery run, begrudgingly cook something, then get right back to it when his lips pressed against your neck as you were washing up the mess from dinner.

Nights were spent by the water smoking a joint, or at some dingy bar drinking cheap beer, or sprawled on the sofa drinking wine, half-watching some terrible movie. And the night always ended with you two tangled up together under the sheets.

But the lines never blurred. You swore they didn't. You knew exactly who he was. He was Rafe Cameron, the golden boy gone bad, the one who didn't "do girlfriends." He’d made it crystal clear what this was that very first night. 

So you never let yourself think it was anything else. Not when he’d kiss you while he was buried deep inside you, or when he’d carefully brush the sand out of your tangled hair after a beach day.

Not when he’d hug you from behind as you brushed your teeth getting ready for bed, or how you both would start a movie on opposite ends of the couch, only to inch closer and closer until you were tangled together under a single blanket, and 20 minutes into the movie, the TV was long forgotten as you somehow ended up straddling his lap.

As intimate as all those moments were, you didn't let them confuse you. Because it was just a summer fling. That's all it could ever be. And you were content with that; you had enough family drama, the last thing you wanted was boyfriend drama.

.・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・.

As the summer started to fade, you stepped inside the Glissons' house one evening, bottle of wine in hand, ready to relax and unwind with Rafe. What you were met with was anything but. Rafe was pacing the sitting room like a caged animal, pulling at his hair, his face a storm cloud.

He was so lost in his own agitated world, he didn't even notice you until he practically charged past, clutching his car keys in a white-knuckled grip, beelining for the door. He glanced at you, then at the door, and before you could even process it, he was dragging you with him, half-shoving you into the passenger seat of his truck.

You didn't get many answers from him. He just mumbled a terse, "Gotta take care of something," his voice tight, barely audible over the roaring engine. 

He gripped the steering wheel in a death grip, his knuckles stark white. His eyes, usually a captivating blue, were wild, burning with a fire you'd never seen before, his skin flushed red with anger. This wasn't the Rafe you knew, the one who just needed a few hits and a lazy afternoon. This was something darker, more volatile.

"Hey! Slow down!" you scolded, the words barely escaping your lips as the truck accelerated, flying down the winding roads faster than you thought possible.

The trees blurred past the window, and you braced yourself against the dashboard, a knot of dread tightening in your stomach. You were only saying it because of the speed, of course. Not because you were worried about him. Not at all. That's what you convinced yourself.

And of course, when he pulled up sharply at the airstrip, you protested. "Rafe, what are we doing here? What's going on? Rafe!" 

But he was already out of the truck, slamming the door shut with a deafening bang after barking, "Stay in the car!"

You anxiously chewed your gum, the mint flavor long gone, replaced by a tasteless pulp. You had no idea what was going on with Rafe, or why he was acting so manic. 

You actually questioned why you'd even gotten in the car with him. But beneath the fear, a sick, persistent part of you was still worried. 

You thought maybe he was just going to drive around to clear his head, maybe get some ice cream on the way back to cool him down. You had no doubt you could fix his sour mood once you got back to the house; you just needed five minutes and a hair tie. It always did the job when he got into a spat with his dad, a quick moment of tenderness, a quiet understanding, and his anger would dissipate like smoke.

You thought this time would be no different. You were a fool to have had that hope.

Just as you were sifting through takeout menus from the dashboard, debating what to order for dinner, when a deafening crack ripped through the air. It wasn't thunder. It was the unmistakable, horrifying sound of a gunshot. Your hands flew to cover your ears, but the sound had already slammed into your chest, stealing your breath. Your entire body ignited into a frantic fight-or-flight response.

Adrenaline surged, blurring your vision as you fumbled with the door handle, practically falling out of the truck. Your heart plummeted, a cold, heavy stone in your gut, as the first horrifying thought pierced through the ringing in your ears: Rafe was hurt. But what slammed into your sight next was infinitely worse.

There he stood, Rafe, his back to you, a dark, menacing silhouette. And in his hand, a gun, still smoking faintly. Your gaze dropped. Peterkin. She was on the ground. A grotesque, widening stain bloomed beneath her, soaking into the asphalt. So much blood. So much. The metallic tang of it seemed to coat your tongue, even from a distance.

Sarah, Rafe's sister, was huddled nearby, a small, broken figure on the ground, her choked sobs barely audible over the high-pitched shriek in your ears.

The fight, whatever lingering courage you had, was instantly extinguished. It vanished, replaced by an overwhelming, primal urge to flee. Every fiber of your being screamed run! You didn't think; you just turned and ran.

You didn't know how long you ran, each ragged breath a desperate gasp for air. You didn't notice the sun dipping. You didn't stop until the world around you was swallowed by absolute darkness, until your lungs burned and your legs threatened to give out. You had no idea where you were, lost in the unfamiliar marshlands, your phone forgotten in Rafe's truck, a distant, useless artifact.

You finally collapsed onto the cool, damp grass by a murky creek, your body trembling uncontrollably. Your hands, still shaking, clutched at the rough blades of grass, desperate to feel something real, anything to ground you in the terrifying reality. 

Your breath came in shallow, ragged gasps. Every time you squeezed your eyes shut, it was there: Blood. So much blood. And Rafe’s figure clutching the gun. The memory was a relentless loop, playing over and over behind your eyelids.

If you could turn back time, you would have stayed home that evening. You would have just sat and listened to your mom berate you, taken it all in stride. You could have dealt with that. But you didn’t. You wished you’d never gotten in the car with Rafe, never seen what happened at that godforsaken airstrip.

What were you to do now? You couldn't run forever. Not on this small island. You couldn’t hide from him, not from him.

Should you go to the police? Tell them what you saw? Tell the truth and get Rafe locked behind bars? It was the right thing to do, you knew that. The logical, moral thing. But could you really do it? 

You cared about him. There was no point in lying to yourself about that anymore. You'd gone to great lengths all summer to cheer him up, to pull him out of his darker moods. And he always, always returned the favor for you.

And there were moments, so many moments, where it wasn’t just about convenience, or the drugs, or the casual sex. There were raw moments, moments that were real, too real.

Like the time your stupid dog, Skipper, bolted during a thunderstorm. Rafe, who usually couldn’t be bothered to tie his own shoelaces, stayed out with you all night, flashlight in hand, trudging through the soaking wet marsh until you found Skipper shivering under an oak tree. Rafe didn't complain once.

Or when you were being a total piss-baby with him because you were on your period, being moody and snapping at every stupid thing he said. He just disappeared for a bit, only to return with a tub of your favorite ice cream—mint chocolate chip, the one he swore tasted like toothpaste—and a bag of your favorite Reese's Peanut Butter Cups. You hadn't even told him you were on your period. He just knew.

Then there were the tender moments, late at night in bed, long after your bodies were slick with sweat, a cool drift coming in through the open window, carrying the salty ocean air. You would talk for hours, just whisper-talking about everything and nothing. 

Your messed-up childhoods, where you grew up, his almost-obsession with basketball, your desperate dream of moving away one day and never looking back. His weird, irrational fear of sea urchins, your ridiculous collection of Labubus, the time he broke his ribs cliff diving that one summer. He even told you about his mother, a soft vulnerability in his voice you rarely, if ever, heard.

All those whispered dreams and secrets, shared under the pale glow of the moon, you kept them all, locked away in your heart. 

You knew him, truly knew him, beneath all the Kook bravado and the reckless abandon. 

.・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・.

You sat by the creek until the sun, a cruel artist, painted the sky a sickening blood orange once more. Dried tear tracks crisscrossed your cheeks, and you hugged your knees, burying your head, wishing you could disappear into the earth.

The crunch of footsteps behind you, the sound of your name carried on the damp air. You didn't need to turn around. You knew.

"Been lookin' everywhere for you," Rafe's voice, surprisingly soft, reached you. He crouched down beside you, his fingers gently cradling your jaw, turning your face to look up at him. His thumb stroked your cheekbone, 

"Don't run off on me like that, you had me worried." His eyes were now somber, filled with a deep, unsettling tenderness compared to the fire you'd seen just hours before.

You tried to speak, but your throat was a knot of fear and raw emotion. No words came.

"You scared me, y'know," he continued, his gaze never leaving yours. "Can't lose you. Don't ever wanna lose you……  I love you."

Those three words. They hit you like a physical blow, stripping away the last shreds of your composure. You bit your trembling lip, because deep down, in the fractured mess of your heart, you felt them too. You had dreamed of hearing him say them, yearned for it, despite everything. Now, they felt like a heavy chain.

You pulled away from his searing touch, the vision of Peterkin's lifeless body flashing behind your eyes. "Rafe, what happened at the airstrip, you— you—" Your voice broke, a raw sob tearing from your throat. You covered your face with shaking hands, desperate to blink away the horrifying images.

"Hey, hey, listen to me, okay?" His voice was insistent, as he pulled your hands away, forcing you to look at him. "I love you, you hear me? I fucking love you." 

The intensity of his confession was was met with another ragged sob from you. He cradled your face with both hands, his thumbs meticulously wiping away your tears, each stroke a subtle reassertion of control. 

"And I know you love me too, don’t you?" he spoke softly, a persuasive whisper, layered with an unnerving confidence. "I know you feel it too, I know you do. This thing between us, it's real. We got something here, something rare, and I'll be damned if I let anything... or anyone... mess that up."

You shook your head weakly, your mind a whirlwind. Was this a calculated lie? A desperate ploy to keep you quiet? Or was it... genuine? You couldn't tell. 

But he was right about one thing, a truth that burned through the haze of shock: you did love him. That was the most dangerous part.

"You had a gun—" 

Rafe didn't let you finish. He cut you off, his voice firm and unwavering, like it was a fact set in stone, a new reality being hammered into place. "John B shot Peterkin." He paused, letting the words hang in the air, allowing them to sink in, to replace what you actually saw. "It was John B, okay? I was there. You were there. We both saw him. It was John B."

"Rafe—"

"Do you love me?" His wide eyes searched yours, demanding an answer, a pledge. He took one of your trembling hands and placed it on his chest, right over his heart. "You feel that? That's all for you. My heart. My truth. Tell me you feel it too. Tell me we're in this together." 

The steady thumping against your palm was a stark contradiction to the chaos in your mind.

"I do, I feel it too." you finally admitted, the truth tearing itself from your lips, there was no point in lying about it.

He pressed his forehead against yours, a profound sigh escaping him, a sound of relief and triumph. "I love you," he muttered.

“But—“ before you could say anything else, his lips crashed onto yours. It was a kiss of desperation, an open flame pressing against your lips, burning you.

"I love you," he kept repeating, a relentless mantra, a spell he was casting, using those three powerful words to bend your will, to rewrite your memory. "Say it, baby. Say it."

"I love you," you whispered back, the words tasting like ash and surrender, your voice barely a breath. A small, chillingly triumphant smile spread on Rafe's face.

"What happened at the airstrip?" he asked, his voice now a soft test, watching you, waiting for your compliance, for your full submission to his narrative.

"John B shot Peterkin." 

"Good girl," he murmured softly, a dark warmth in his eyes, before kissing you again, more deeply this time, devouring your lips, consuming your protests, solidifying his victory. 

He wrapped you in his arms, pulling you impossibly close, tucking your head under his chin. "I love you," he muttered again, stroking your hair, his hand felt like a lock. “I’ve got you, baby. I’ve got you. It’s okay.”.

.・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・.

You were drowning, not in water, but in crimson. The world around you was a swirling, opaque red, thick and viscous. Your head was held beneath the surface, pressed down by an unseen force, unable to break through the current. You thrashed, desperate for air, for light, but the crimson enveloped you, pressing in from all sides.

Finally, your lungs screamed, and you had no choice. You gulped it in, swallowing ungodly amounts of the warm, metallic blood, feeling it fill your throat, then your chest, expanding, burning. The world went dim, the only sensation left an agonizing ache, a crushing weight in your chest.

Guilt. So much of it. A suffocating, relentless guilt. Your silence was a crime itself. Blood was on your hands too.

A faint sound, your name being called from a distant, muffled place, began to cut through the oppressive red. 

Then, a firm shaking. You jolted upright, gasping, eyes snapping open to the inky darkness of the room. Your skin was slick with cold sweat, your hair plastered to your forehead, your legs clammy beneath the duvet. You looked around wildly, your heart hammering, until two pale, concerned slits of white appeared in the darkness, gazing back at you.

"Another bad dream?" Rafe's voice broke the silence. He sat up with you, immediately wrapping your trembling body in his arms. The warmth of his skin, did little to soothe the cold terror still gripping you. You were trapped, not just in his arms, but in the nightmare you couldn't escape.

It wasn't just ‘another’ bad dream; it was the same suffocating nightmare that had plagued you all month, your body's visceral protest against the lies forced down your throat. 

An innocent person was dead, the sheriff of your town, her life brutally extinguished. And another innocent person, John B, forced to take the fall, his freedom snatched away. 

You, meanwhile, were in bed with the real killer, protecting him, lying for him, a complicit silence that felt heavier than any spoken word.

"It's okay, I've got you." Rafe murmured against your neck, a siren's song. He gently guided you back down onto the bed, kissing your neck, his fingers pulling the straps of your nightdress down your shoulders, peppering hot kisses down your body, a deliberate trail that left a searing, possessive path in its wake. 

"I love you," he murmured, as his lips found the soft skin of your thighs, kissing between them until his face was nestled there, hooking your legs over his shoulders.

This was his go-to move, his perfect distraction. Whenever the guilt became too much, whenever you started questioning everything, he knew exactly how to pull you back, how to make your mind go blank. After all, this is how it had all started with him at the beginning of summer.

He was a distraction, the ultimate escape from your own chaotic life. A mother who saw you as nothing more than a burden, a mistake that had shattered her dreams. She never hesitated to remind you of the life she lost because of you, a life meant for adventure, not motherhood.

You were the daughter she never wanted, couldn't love, because the hate in her heart was too vast, too consuming, fueled by a marriage she was forced into with the man who got her pregnant, binding her to a life of perpetual unhappiness.

Your father, on the other hand, gave you everything tangible: money, a lavish roof over your head, a steady dinner on the table, a car, anything your heart desired was at your fingertips. But love was a currency he simply didn't trade in.

While your mother regularly got drunk and vomited cruel, venomous words at you, your father was a man of chilling few words, his silence a different, colder kind of neglect.

Love was a foreign term, a language you’d never heard spoken, a feeling you’d never truly experienced. And when Rafe offered it to you—those three simple words—you thought that's what it was. You didn't know any better. How could you? 

After being starved of it your entire life, how could you not run towards the one person who was dangling it, shining and tempting, right in front of your face?

You threw your head back, a moan escaping your lips, part pleasure, part surrender, part desperate attempt to breathe.

Through the murky darkness of the room, you could make out his blue eyes, intently fixed on your face, watching the erratic rise and fall of your chest, a silent, chilling vigilance. His tongue worked relentlessly, slowly, expertly, turning your brain to a hazy mush until you finally came undone.

But he didn't stop there. He never stopped. He would keep going, he always did. No matter how much you tried to push his face away, pulled at his hair, tried to writhe away from his engulfing touch, he held you firmly in place. He didn't stop until you were a whimpering, sobbing mess, until the only coherent words that tumbled from your lips were broken pleas of his name. 

He wanted you completely, utterly fucked out of it, every sharp edge of reality dulled, every horrifying image washed away until there were no coherent thoughts left in your mind. 

Only then could you sleep peacefully, and in turn, only then could he sleep peacefully. It was a small price to pay for him, this erosion of your will, this silencing of your conscience. You were the last loose string in his carefully constructed freedom, and he would be damned if he let you unravel.

When Rafe found you that morning by the creek, he took you straight back to his home. You should have been surprised that his dad, Ward – a man Rafe usually spoke of with disdain – welcomed you with unsettlingly open arms. They insisted you stay with them, a suggestion you hesitantly accepted, preferring the peace of Tannyhill over the chaos of your own home.

You were too naive, too broken, to understand it then, but it was painfully clear now: they were overcompensating, trying desperately to keep you happy, no matter the cost. Rafe kept you satisfied and distracted, while Ward watched you like a hawk. 

Every move you made, every whisper you uttered, was under scrutiny. If you were on the phone with a friend, either Rafe would abruptly appear, suddenly needing something in the same room, or you’d hear the tell-tale creak of floorboards in the hall, a subtle sign that Ward was listening, always listening.

They didn't just watch; they controlled the flow of information. Suddenly, your phone seemed to have terrible reception whenever you tried to call anyone outside Tanny Hill. 

Messages would mysteriously fail to send, or calls would drop mid-sentence. You'd often find Rafe "charging" your phone for you, or "cleaning" it, always returning it with a knowing look that implied he'd been through your recent calls. Texts from your friends asking to hang out never came through to you.

If you mentioned wanting to go into town alone, Rafe would suddenly have an urgent errand, or a "surprise" outing planned that conveniently overlapped with your intentions. Your car keys had a tendency to disappear, only to reappear in Rafe's pocket, or on a hook in the kitchen "for safekeeping." There was always a plausible excuse, a soft smile, a reassuring squeeze of your hand.

Rafe insisted on tagging along with you everywhere. If you were getting your nails done, he'd come and wait patiently, scrolling on his phone, occasionally offering a comment on your color choice. He’d drop you off at your friends' houses, then pick you up again, always right on time.

He even came with you for your wax appointment once, hovering just outside the door, chatting up the receptionist.

You weren’t given an inch of space. Any other time, you would have found it completely overbearing, a suffocating invasion of privacy. But you were a fool in love, desperate for any semblance of care. 

You took all of this as Rafe being cautious, caring for you after the traumatic scene you’d witnessed. You mistook his control for concern, his manipulation for love. And he knew it. He counted on it.

.・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・.

"The girl," Ward's voice was a low, conspiratorial rumble, "She won't be a problem, will she?"

"I got it, Dad," Rafe replied, his tone surprisingly calm, almost dismissive. "I'm taking care of it. You don't have to worry about her—"

"Listen to me," Ward interjected. "I'm handling everything right now. I'm cleaning up this entire mess, so tell me this won't backfire!"

"It won't."

"Because if she's a loose cannon," Ward hissed, his voice dropping to a terrifying whisper, "then we need to deal with her before she can become a bigger problem.

Your blood ran to ice overhearing Ward and Rafes conversation. ‘Deal with her’. They weren't talking about gently persuading you. If you decided to tell the truth, if you dared to expose them, they would take you out. They would probably make you disappear, just like they had Peterkin. 

You scrambled away from Ward's office, your heart hammering a frantic rhythm against your ribs, urging you silently back to Rafe's room. You practically dove into the attached bathroom, locking the door.

The perfect, shimmering mirror of his 'love' that you had so desperately clung to, now cracked into a thousand jagged, ugly edges, sharp enough to draw blood.

He didn't love you. He didn't care about you. You were just a problem he was keeping at bay, a ticking time bomb he was afraid would explode and expose the truth, the insidious web of their lies. You were a loose end, and the Camerons always tied up their loose ends.

There was no way out. 

The door handle rattled violently, followed by a loud knock. "Baby, everything okay?"

You sniffled, frantically wiping your tear-streaked cheeks, then stumbled to unlock the door. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," you mumbled, turning away from him to face the mirror. 

One look confirmed it: your mascara-stained eyes and flushed cheeks were a dead giveaway. You weren't fooling anyone, especially not him.

He  turned you around, his brows raised in question. "What's wrong?" 

Before you could even formulate a word, he hoisted you onto the cool bathroom counter, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. His gaze was so intensely endearing, that your train of thought derailed completely. 

"What's got my beautiful girl like this, hmm?" he asked, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone.

You wanted to scream a million things, to voice the fears and doubts clawing at your gut, but after hearing his conversation with Ward, you bit your tongue.

"Hate to see you like this," he began peppering kisses across your face—your wet cheeks, your jaw, your forehead, before finally settling on your lips.

His hands, warm and knowing, began a slow, delicate dance up and down your thighs, then, with a subtle shift, slipped under the hem of your dress.

It was almost impossible to focus on anything beyond the fire he was creating on your skin. His tongue slipped into your mouth, his fingers brushed teasingly over your panties. "You know I love you, yeah?" he whispered into your ear, sending a shudder through you that had nothing to do with desire. 

"You're my everything, y'know that." He pushed the fabric to the side, his fingers doing what they always did when you were crying, when the ugly truth threatened to surface.

But now it was all tainted. As his fingers began their work, every touch, every soft murmur, vividly resurrected the images you so desperately wanted to forget: the airstrip, Peterkin shot dead, the chilling crimson seeping into the asphalt, Rafe clutching the gun.

And that was it. That was the moment of chilling clarity. He couldn't distract you anymore. You couldn't look past what he'd done, no matter how hard he tried, no matter how good his mouth was, how skilled his fingers were. 

He wasn't a distraction anymore; he was the chaos itself, the root of all your terror. You let out a choked sob, your thighs clenching around his hand. Your head fell onto his shoulder, heavy. 

"I love you so much," he groaned, unbuckling his pants, his hard tip tracing a scorching line up and down your slit. "I love you," he repeated, a low growl, as he slipped into you, the sudden fullness making you cry out. 

"I'll always take care of you," he blabbered on, his forehead resting against yours, thrusting into you with slow, deliberate precision. Each movement of his hips was sharp, calibrated, punctuating his empty words.

"We take care of each other," he kissed the corner of your mouth, his grip on your hips tightening as he sped up his pace. 

He whispered praises into your ear, but you barely heard him, the words dissolving into the ringing in your ears. Tears streamed silently down your face, hot and endless. You weren't really there; you were dissociating, floating above your body, back at the airstrip.

"I love you," he groaned, spilling into you, wrapping his arms around you, still buried deep inside. He tucked your head under his chin as you continued to cry, his hands stroking soothingly up and down your back, holding you captive.

.・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・.

"Liar," Rafe's hot breath fanned across your face, the word a venomous whisper. "Don't lie to me, baby." He slowly uncoiled from his crouched position, rising to his full height, a terrifying shadow looming over you.

"I'm not lying, please— please just untie me, Rafe," your voice was barely a whisper, desperate and trembling.

Rafe blew out a breath, his mouth forming a perfect 'O', lips pouted together in mock contemplation. "Now you're lying about lying?" 

"I'm not!" The denial ripped from you, a desperate, futile sound.

"Go ahead," he urged, a chilling invitation. "Tell me another lie. I dare you."

"I don't like this, Rafe. This isn't funny, untie me. Now." You swallowed hard, trying a new tactic, attempting to project an authority you absolutely did not feel. You tried to strong-arm him, to command, but his gaze, sharp and knowing, cut right through your pathetic bluff.

"Oh, you wanna know what I don't like?" He tapped his chin with the cold steel of the gun, a sickening rhythm that echoed the frantic beat of your heart. 

"I don't like when my girlfriend lies to me. I don't like it when she runs to the police station. I trusted you, and you ran the first chance you got." He sighed dramatically, a theatrical display of disappointment.

And now, you were genuinely, utterly terrified. His eyes, wide and unblinking, held no emotion. No anger, no sadness, just a chilling, bottomless emptiness that promised nothing but pure, unadulterated madness.

"You think I’m stupid, huh?" he spat, the words laced with a sudden, sharp venom. 

He began to circle your chair slowly, a predator assessing its trapped prey. The gun in his hand moved with him, its cold barrel tracing a terrifying path across your shoulders, a light touch that made your skin crawl. He stopped directly in front of you, the gun now aimed precisely, deliberately, at your carotid artery. 

"ANSWER ME!" he roared, his voice erupting, making you flinch violently against the ropes. 

He pressed the cold metal harder, a sharp, cutting pressure against your pulsing skin, a silent promise of the imminent end. The stakes were no longer just freedom, but life itself.

"No." 

"Liar."

He had planned for this type of betrayal. Not expected it, not entirely, but he was always prepared. 

That afternoon, when you had insisted he drop you off at the mall alone, telling him to pick you up in two hours, he'd played along, feigning compliance. But he hadn't left the car park. Not really. He’d watched, his heart sinking in his chest when he saw you step outside again, checking your surroundings, then hailing a cab.

He’d tried to give you the benefit of the doubt then, a flicker of hope that you wouldn't betray him. But that flicker had died the moment he tracked your phone, watched the little dot move inexorably towards the police station.  

Just before your foot could cross the threshold, he'd been there, a ghost in the shadows, grabbing you, the prick of the needle, the swift, silent push of the sedative.

"I loved you," he whispered, the words sounding like a eulogy for something already dead. 

He trailed the gun slowly up your face, the cold metal dragging across your skin, until the barrel rested precisely between your eyes. With a thumb that trembled almost imperceptibly, he clicked off the safety. The soft click echoed in the silence, a death knell.

He never thought it would come to this. He truly hadn't. And now, he didn't know which stung more: your betrayal, raw and burning, or the cold, bitter realization that his father, had been right about you all along. 

"Please don't do this. I won't say a word, I swear. I won't. Just... please."

"I trusted you," Rafe's voice cracked, and tears, real tears, brimmed in his eyes. He pulled the gun away from your face, rubbing his hands over his eyes, scrubbing at the moisture. "I fucking gave you everything, and what do you do in return, huh?" 

His instability was palpable, his mood swinging from scalding fury to choked despair in a heartbeat. He was a volatile mess, and you knew, with a terrifying certainty, that you were treading on a razor-thin wire.

"No— no, please just give me another chance," you pleaded, desperately searching for any crack in his fractured sanity.

"Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me," he clicked his tongue, a soft, sickening sound. His face hardened, the brief vulnerability vanishing. "I'm not taking the risk, baby."

He pointed the gun between your eyes again, the barrel an inky black void staring back at you. "I really did love you. I never lied to you. Can't say the same for you." 

"I do!" you screamed, anything to survive, anything to delay the inevitable. "I do love you! Rafe, I love you!"

"Liar," he whispered, a single, stray tear tracing a path down his cheek, even as his eyes narrowed, staring down at you from over the gun, waiting for you to say your final words. 

His finger, steady now, began to press on the trigger.

You squeezed your eyes shut, bracing for the impact, the finality. And then, a desperate, impossible whisper tore from your lips: 

"I'm pregnant."