#military!rafe

[lindsaynathi0n]

Rafe hates your apartment. He really hates it. The insulation is poorly done, the walls have ears, and it's falling apart.

Tonight, you and Rafe were supposed to have a normal evening. Rafe had returned from one of his top-secret missions that he never talks about. 

You have no idea what he does, but he disappears for months at a time but you're happy when he can call you.

Your father invited you both over for dinner. Rafe wasn't happy about it, but you knew it was important to make your parents happy.

During dinner, Rafe was quiet, not as if it wasn't normal on the contrary Rafe was very quiet. He kept glancing at his watch, clearly impatient. 

Your mother notice and tried to engage him in conversation, asking about his latest trip. "Nothing much to tell," he replied gruffly, cutting off any further questions.

He really didn't want to be here.

Then your father asked the question that made everyone slightly uncomfortable, "And the baby? When are you having one?" 

You looked at Rafe, the situation was quite awkward. "Rafe and I aren't ready yet..." you said, trying to deflect the question.

Rafe wanted a family with you, but being in the military wasn't easy. He was constantly deployed, and the thought of starting a family while he was always away weighed heavily on him.

Your parents exchanged knowing looks, clearly not convinced by your answer. Your mother smiled politely, "Of course, dear. You two are still young." She paused, then added with a wink, "But don't wait too long, okay?"

"Don't wait too long" Those words were the breaking point for Rafe. He had been struggling with the idea of having a family, always pushing it to the back of his mind due to his demanding career. But hearing those words, seeing the expectation in your parents' eyes... something snapped inside him.

As soon as you got back to your cramped apartment, it didn't take much for Rafe to lose control. He grabbed you roughly, tearing off your little white dress with a feral growl. His hands were suddenly everywhere, his mouth crashing against yours in a desperate, almost violent kiss.

Rafe towered over you, his military training evident in every perfectly toned muscle. He was literally a beast— powerful, intense, and completely focused on you. The contrast of his rough hands against your delicate skin sent shivers down your spine.

You struggled to pull down his pants, your trembling hands betraying your desperate need. "Fuck." he growled, helping you by kicking off his boots and ripping down his pants. "Lift your legs." he ordered gruffly, lifting you up against the wall.

You wrap your legs around his waist. "Don't talk to me like I'm one of your soldiers." you snap. He chuckles, grinding his hard length against your wet panties. His big hands squeeze your ass cheeks, pulling you closer. "Sorry, ma'am." he teases, voice dripping with sarcasm, rubbing harder.

Rafe hooks your panties to the side. "Your parents basically told you to go get knocked up." Rafe jokes, his thick length rubbing against your wet opening. You throw your head back, moaning loudly as he spreads your thighs wider apart. “Maybe we should give them what they want.” he says with a smirk, and without warning, he thrusts into you.

It takes Rafe a few seconds to adjust, his cock throbbing intensely within your tight heat. He hasn't been with a woman in months, his body overwhelmed by the sudden intimate contact. “Shiiiiiiiit.” He groans, brows furrowed as he grits his teeth, trying to regain control.

You gasp, your nails digging into his shoulders as he fills you completely. He's so large, stretching you in ways that can make you come right out. "Rafe!" you cry out, your voice trembling with pleasure and slight discomfort. He's unmoving for a moment, letting you adjust to his size.

"Fuck, you're so tight," Rafe groans, his forehead pressing against yours. "I forgot how good it feels." He pulls out slowly, his hands gripping your hips tightly, and then thrusts back in, harder this time.

You look up at him with a vulnerable expression, the pity he loves so much evident in your eyes. He starts his thrusts, fast and a bit too rough, his body taking over as he chases his release. He's not making love to you —he's fucking you like an animal.

He's not being gentle, his fingers digging into your thighs to spread you wider. He knows he's being rough, his body slapping against yours loudly. He sees your small body absorb each thrust without complaint, making him even rougher.

You moan loudly, your neighbors likely hearing everything but you don't care, and neither does Rafe. Some couples are literally trying to get pregnant here!

Rafe's breathing is ragged, his face contorted with primal need. He wraps his arms around your thighs, pulling your legs up to his shoulders, hitting impossibly deeper spots within you.

Rafe's thrusts become more erratic, his voice dropping to a hoarse whisper as he leans down, his mouth near your ear. "Imagine if I got you pregnant right now…" he growls, his pace faltering for a moment. "One of these rough fucks knocking you up..."

"Please..." your voice is soft and pleading, your high-pitched moans driving him wild. Before he even realizes it, he bursts inside you, pouring his seed deep. Your small body trembles with pleasure, convulsing around his cock as the orgasm hits you both hard. 

"Look what you do to me," he pants, still pumping slowly as he finishes inside you. "One of these days, your belly's really going to show." His hands move down to your hips possessively, imagining you pregnant with his child. "Such a good girl, taking it all..."

He gently sets you down on your feet, but you're still shaky so you cling to him for support. You look up at him with those big doe eyes and pout. "I want a kiss..." It's so innocent and cute after the rough sex he just had with you.

Rafe chuckles softly at your adorable request, his stern features softening. He cups your face gently, He leans down to press a gorgeous kiss on your lips.

From that moment forward, Rafe's new life goal was to get you pregnant as quickly as possible.

[lovlidollie]

author’s note ; bit of an alternative universe, ward sent rafe away after he killed peterkin in s1, timeline is slightly accelerated. i’m imagining s3!rafe as who he comes back as :3

thinking of military!rafe who comes back after hearing about ward’s death, looking nothing like the coke addicted, wiry little frat boy that had left kildare. he’s matured. he’s grown. long gone are the greasy bangs, a smooth buzz in its place. he’s taller, broader, stronger. his biceps pull at all his shirts, threatening to tear and his thighs are thicker, fuller. he exudes confidence, dominance, a (not so) quiet sense of authority.

he couldn’t give two shits if ward was dead. he was the one that had forcibly enlisted him after the drugs and the alcohol and everything got too much. after the … peterkin incident. he’d been sent away, without even getting to say goodbye to you. little old you.

you were his everything of course. the one constant in his life. when you’d heard rafe was on his way back, you didn’t know how to feel. you’d tried to ignore the anxiety, the stutter in your heart; what if he didn’t want to see you? what if he’d found someone else? it’s not like you guys were together in the first place. back then it had been so fragile, so complicated, caught between the lines of friends and something more. rafe had never said the words and neither had you.

unbeknownst to you, rafe had been thinking about you every single second of every single day he was gone. during grueling drills and physical training. during meals and free time. especially during late nights in his bunk where he’d fist his cock at the memory of your face, biting his lips to stop your name from slipping between his teeth.

he’d told himself that when he got back, he’d make things right. he didn’t care how long it took or how hard it’d be — he’d do whatever it took to prove to you that he was a man now. a man who could appreciate all you did for him, everything you sacrificed. a man who was deserving of your attention. a man who could provide and take care of, and love you.

[hvnlygrl]

hii can you pls make a moodboard for ur celebration on that military!rafe thing you were talking about the other day

military!rafe moodboard.

notes — hi!! omg yes i’m literally so obsessed w this concept

[nativegirltapes]

dakotaaaaa i’ve been thinking of military!rafe. think of after the events of season 2. i imagine season 3 and 4 with that fucking buzz🤤🤤. imagine got sent off to military school after ward figured it would solve his problems and make him more disciplined. what do we think. i believe im COOKING💜

no you are cooking ........... HELLA

𐙚 ⟡ ݁₊ . 🪷 ✴︎˚｡⋆

i can sooooo see this because imagine s2 rafe getting sent off to the military and you're both in a terrible spot of your relationship because his addiction has hit an all time low and you're both just struggling with your own shit. you both don't realize how much this no contact is going to benefit you individually and together ♡. and when he comes home you realize how much he's changed, for the better. his hair is all buzzed and he looks soooo good, you want to pounce on him the minute you two are finally home alone (you do, best dick of your life btw). but aside from his physical changes, you see how much he's changed mentally. he seemed to have mature a lot and realize what's important to him, that being you of course. he's so disciplined and wayyy nicer for some reason (because it literally just made him realize he doesn't want a life without you in it) but he's also still the same ole mean rafe, but this time it's the perfect amount of mean.

[cameronsprincess]

i love this 😍

nobody cares but dad!military!rafe x mom!housewife!reader. i need this so bad (moodboards and aesthetic only !)

PLEASE THIS AU LET A CHANCE TO EVERYTHING, SMUT, ANGST, BITTERNESS, LOVE AND FLUFF.

[rotteneldritchhorror]

somehow barry survives on like 5-6 hours of sleep cause hes always the last to go to sleep and the first to wake up

[rafesballet]

ballet flats. lipgloss. bunnies. precious moments. baby pink. hearts. pouty lips. frilly socks. blush blindness. leg warmers. fresh blowouts. early 2000’s rom-coms. bows, lace & ribbon. tutu’s. older men. sparkles. pink peonies. natalie portman. music. stuffed animals. pinterest. soft, cutesy things. hailey bieber core. glazed donuts. did i mention pink? starbucks. lana del rey. thought daughter. paris, france. girl blogging.

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₊˚⊹♡ reminder !!

this account is a hobby, i have a life. i write occasionally, but not very often, and not all my work gets published on here. if you have a request, question, etc – feel free to send it in! but please don’t expect an immediate response, i’m only human. i mainly only write for rafe cameron, but check out this list to see who else you can request! i usually use my ballerina!reader (hence the username) for fics as she’s my favorite, but i do have other readers you can request work from. please remember to be kind on my account or you will be blocked and unadded, thank you! <3

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[small-spark-of-light]

heres some thoughts on Infectat from evadare!! i dont think he can talk, so he uses sign language :0

[rafesgiirl]

AHHHHHHH I WASN'T EXPECTING THE LAST LINE

𝓻𝓪𝓯𝓮𝔂𝓼𝓬𝓾𝓻𝓽𝓪𝓲𝓷𝓫𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓼

𝙽𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝙻𝚒𝚜𝚝 | 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐦𝐚𝐬 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐬

𝔻𝕒𝕪 𝕊𝕚𝕩𝕥𝕖𝕖𝕟: 𝔽𝕝𝕪𝕓𝕠𝕪

𝚃𝚘𝚙𝙶𝚞𝚗!𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚡 𝙱𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚊!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

warnings: angst, pet names, swearing

📖 This is based on a prompt from bloodibambiidoll. Thank you for thinking of me, baby! TopGun!Rafe x Ballerina!Reader have been dating for years. Rafe is stationed across the country on the West Coast, and the reader has landed her dream role in the New York City Ballet, playing The Rose Queen in The Nutcracker on the East Coast. A running joke between the two is Rafe asking the reader if she’s ready to get married yet… that joke is starting not to feel like such a joke anymore. The reader isn't ready to give up her dream.

Masterlist

Rafe’s POV:

I catch my reflection in the truck's rearview mirror as I pull into the base parking lot. My flight suit is still on from morning drills. Captain Rafe Cameron staring back at me in neat letters above my heart.

Split-second decisions in a fighter jet… Fuck it. That shit’s simple, but with her, I just can’t seem to get it right. I don’t even know if I’m brave enough to keep pushing the issue because the more I push, the farther she slips away.

I want her here with me… I don’t want to give her an ultimatum because I know that if I do, there’s a chance that she won’t choose me.

And I don’t blame her.

I didn’t get into the military because I loved it… I got into the military because I had to, and I started to love it along the way. She has always loved ballet.

I toss my keys to my desk, quickly pulling up my laptop for our nightly chat. She catches me while I’m making dinner; I see her while she snuggles up in bed.

Her smile brightens as she sees me on the screen, making my stomach flutter. "Hey, Captain," she breathes, her voice light and sweet. "How's my favorite flyboy?"

I rub my hands across my smile, feeling those thoughts that were plaguing me before fading away just seeing her pretty face. “Busy…” I hum. “Thinkin’ about you as always.”

She giggles and bites her lip, feeling that feeling too. “I love you, baby.”

“I love you too,” I assure.

“I miss you,” she pouts through a gentle smile.

I throw my gaze away, nodding as I take in her words. “Well, you know. We could make it easier if we wanted to,” I answer simply. I watch her features change, my tone colder than I intended, I am sure, but it was hard to push down how I was feeling. I swallow thickly, waiting for the repercussions of my words, but she rolls her eyes away and looks toward the door.

“Don’t start, Rafe,” she whispers weakly.

"I'm not startin’ anything," I mumble, but I know that's a lie. "I'm just sayin’ it wouldn't be so bad here. It's warm. It's quiet. There’s a ballet company here too-“

“Rafe,” she cuts me off, her voice sharper than I’ve ever heard before, making the hair on the back of my neck stand straight.

“M’sorry. I am sorry,” I respond quickly and submissively, hoping for grace as I anxiously run my fingers through my hair. "Forget it, please. I’m sorry, princess.”

The tension between us settles. She knows me… She knows It’s coming from a place of love, but her patience with me is wearing thinner by the day.

The New York City Ballet isn't just a job—it's her dream. The Nutcracker is a ballet she's danced a dozen times since she was a little girl, but here she is, getting to do it on one of the biggest stages in the world. And here I am, selfishly asking her to walk away from it all.

But then again, I have dreams too… I have orders, and unlike most men, I can’t just get up and walk away. I have dreams outside of this as well... And they’re all about her.

We never hang up on bad terms… but this conversation feels different. There’s a weight on my chest I just can’t lift.

The next couple of days pass by like a daze, a blur of drills and paperwork, but this aching feeling that I was going to lose her was tearing at my heart.

And then it happens, four days before Christmas…

"I don't see why you need to bring this up anymore, Rafe,” she snaps, her voice laced with tears, cracking on the other end of the line.

“Because I’m lonely, alright? I’m tired of being alone,” I yell back. “I’m tired of seeing you a few days every few months when you have the time. I want to be just as much a priority to you as you are to me. Do you know how embarrassing it is to talk about the future and you shoot me down each time? Don’t you understand how hard it is for me to keep askin’ you to marry me, and you treat it like a joke?”

“You’re not being serious when you say that, Rafe,” she scoffs.

“The first, second, and third time… I was serious, but yeah, I supposed after hintin’ at it for the hundredth fuckin’ time it feels like satire to you,” I sneer.

The other end of the line goes silent, and at that moment, I know I lost her. I shut my eyes tightly, feeling the tears roll down my cheeks, picturing her looking the same way.

"That's not fair, Rafe," she whimpers.

"I feel the same way.”

And then the line goes dead…

I told myself to give her space, but it was torture. I kept staring at my phone, pulling up her number, begging her to call me. She didn't… And I didn't, because I was too ashamed of what I said.

The guilt was crushing. I could still hear the damage in her voice, the sharp silence that followed my cruel words. I'd said she didn't care as much as I did, but that was a lie. Of course she fuckin’ cared. She taught me what that meant. I didn't know what it meant to be cared for. I wasn't strong enough. It wasn't her fault. It was mine.

I lay awake, staring at the darkness of my room— my mind, replaying memories of her laugh, her smile, the sweet names she called. I missed everything about her: her voice, her eyes, even the little huffs and sighs she'd give when I teased her too much. She was the best part of my day, whether she called right after her rehearsals or when I watched her drift to sleep.

I kept thinkin’ about all the times I’d joked about marrying her, the way she’d laugh and roll her eyes, saying, “Not yet, Rafe.” That “not yet” wasn’t just about me—it was about her, about the life she’d fought so hard to build. Just last week, she had called me, nearly bursting with excitement after the review in the New York Times praising her for her performance in the Rose Adagio. Raving about her strength and form in the series of promenades in attitude. Her joy had been infectious, and I couldn't stop smiling as I listened to her gush about upcoming shows. I couldn't help but brag about her the next day to my co-pilot like he gave a shit—like I knew more about ballet than what left her perfect lips.

I want to share my life with her outside of our jobs. I want to belong to her, be there for her when she gets home, and when she wakes up.

I need her.

The theatre is packed, not an empty seat in the house. I clutch a bouquet of roses in my hand as I make my way to the middle seats. I stare up at the stage, unbuttoning my white service dress, hoping to see a glimpse of her.

The house lights dim within moments— my split-second decision to fly across the country for the Christmas Eve show leaves me only minutes to get my feet under me.

The orchestra strikes its first note, making me straighten up in my seat. “The Minature Overture” into “The Decoration of the Christmas Tree”—I smile to myself as I recall the many nights she played the music for me, telling me the little intricacies they were having with that variation as she sat behind the computer scene. And then I heard it… “The Waltz of the Flowers,” her song.

Any troubles she told me about all those nights she was rubbing the pain out of her feet or bandaging her toes up after practicing on end were null. There was no falter. Sheer perfection— she always has been.

Her movements are smooth and polished, making tears rise in my eyes. It took me this long—it took a fight for me to come out here and see what I needed to. Each leap, turn, and gesture was a love letter to the one thing she was willing to risk it all for. Every step was met with precision and grace, making effort look completely effortless. It was the perfect combination of physical strength and softness.

A little girl leans into me, trying to get a better look at the stage as she looks through the crowd, clutching her Clara doll. I can't help but imagine my girl at that age doing the same thing. Looking up at the stage with those same wide-eyes, dreaming of herself dancing in their shoes when she grew up, and now look where she is… living it.

By the time the curtain falls, I’m not just in love with her… I’m in awe.

I step into the promenade, clutching the bouquet in my fist for dear life as the lobby fills with post-performance conversation.

I stand by where I was told she’d be… an autograph table—signing little silk ballet slipper ornaments, with a long line of little girls waiting for her to arrive.

"Rafe," she gasps, and I can hear the surprise and excitement in her voice.

"Hey, pretty girl," I drawl as I step forward. To my surprise, she buries herself in my arms, her muscles softening by the second. She breathes gently against my chest, her head pressed against my heart.

I bite my lips and look up to the ceiling, trying to keep the tears in my eyes before looking down at her again, pressing a kiss on her head.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” she says softly, and a wave of guilt rolls over me as I hear in her voice just how much that thought hurt her and how much she wanted me here.

She steps away, and I extend the roses toward her. "I wouldn’t miss this for the world, baby,” I whisper.

After we both stroll silently back to her apartment; the city lights glowing softly, making the falling snow look like glitter in the sky. She holds my hand tight, wrapping her other hand around my arm, tilting her head on me, and for the first time in days, I feel like I can take a full breath.

"Sweetheart,” I whisper, my voice weak and hoarse with emotion. She looks up at me, lips drawing to the side, already knowing what I’ll say, but she deserves to hear it. “I'm sorry," I say finally, speaking the words I should have said days ago.

“I’m sorry too,” she breathes, and I can hear the tears in her voice.

I stop and turn toward her, taking both her hands in mine. Leaning in, pressing my lips against her forehead, lingering while I listen to hear measured breaths and the city bustles around us.

“You’re amazing, you know that,” I hum.

She takes in my words, a gentle smile spreading on her lips. “Thank you, baby,” she whispers.

“I’m sorry I tried to take that away from you…”

“You’re alright… You just want us to be together, Rafe.”

"I do, baby— I do wanna be with you…”

I step a little closer, and she rests her head against me like before. My arms wrap around her waist and I know I made the right choice.

I've been thinkin’," I say. "In a few months, I’m getting my promotion… There are some jobs on the East Coast, but there’s this one ROTC spot at NYU that really caught my eye.”

“Really,” she asks weakly, not even holding her tears back anymore.

"Mhmm…” I hum. “I'm done askin’ you to give up your dreams, baby. If you wait a little longer, I'll come to you. Alright?”

She throws her arms around me, and I lift her off her feet, holding her close. “I love you, baby,” she whimpers, her voice muffled against my skin as her tears wet my neck—hitting the cold, winter wind.

“I love you too.”

"You haven't asked me today, Rafe," she says as she presses her chilly nose against my cheek.

“What, baby?” I laugh lightly, feeding off her joy.

“To marry you,” she whispers, and my heart flutters in my chest.

"Are you finally ready to say ‘yes’?" I whisper back.

“Yes… Of course, I am.”

I set her down on her feet and smile as I reach into my breast pocket, pulling out my mom’s ring. Her eyes widen on mine as she hides her smile with her wool mitten, those same tears sparkling on her waterline.

“Will you marry me, princess?”

tags: @rafesthroatbaby @bloodibambiidoll @kisses4angels @watchmerora @buckybarnessweetheart @anamiad00msday @littlelamy @namelesslosers @cades-outsider @romaescapes @starkeysprincess @oxpogues4lifexo @unrealmirrorball @sleepiibunniiii @gri959 @rafesgiirl @daryldixon83 @akobx @hyperfixationgirl @lhhlver @rrafeswhore @slut-4-gojo @blair-bears-blog @loveesiren @cameronwillow @rafegf-real @starkeyvhs

[rafesangelita]

This idea has been stick in my head but I don’t got the skills to execute it.

Rafe dating a reader he calls “Angel” bc despite growing up with Rafe reader somehow has never done half of the crazy shit Rafe did. So reader is quite literally one of the few good thing going for him.

Until *dundundun*

Someone at a party convinces reader to try some drugs (Rafe as the controlling bastard he is, though that’s a good? thing in this case, doesn’t let reader do anything that isn’t weed) because Rafe must get tired of being around someone innocent. But when Rafe finds out what’s been done he’s rightfully pissed that someone tried to taint his angel.

♡ warnings: childhood friends to lovers, drug use, peer pressure, coercion, manipulation, slight angst, crying, fighting, rafe is very overprotective, a little bit of rough handling, reader is described to be innocent and kind of sheltered, light fluff, reader freaks out when she realizes she’s high, reassurance + comfort

♡ wc: 1.3k

‘innocent little y/n’— that’s what everyone called you when you were growing up. you never lied, you never stole, you were actually a tattletale and everyone hated you for it. because of that, no one ever wanted to be your friend, all except for rafe who had no idea why he felt the overwhelming need to protect you and keep you tucked into his side where you were ‘safe and sound’ from anyone who wanted to tease or be mean to you. it was rather easy since you found yourself following him around everywhere anyways.

your dynamic changed when you two got older and he had another threat to worry about that he didn’t have once before; and that was boys. he remembered hearing some of his friends talk about you in a way that had him throwing punches and getting suspended. once ward threatened him with military school on the mainland, he decided that the only way people with ulterior motives and sick and twisted minds would back off was if he stook his claim on you and let everyone know that you were his. and of course.. it worked.

no one knew how on god’s green earth you two ended up together. rafe was a hothead with a drug habit to match, and you were just there; oblivious to it all. you didn’t know anything about rafe’s little problem since he never did any lines or took rips from a bong in front of you. except for one time when he unintentionally got you high when you two were boxed in his truck and he decided to smoke since ward was on his ass and he needed it. he didn’t snap until he looked over at you and saw you spaced out, your eyes red and glossy as you played with the ends of your hair.

rafe was quick to throw out his joint before fanning the air and rolling down the windows. for the next hour he had to deal with your nonstop giggling and even went as far as getting you snacks from the food mart in a poor attempt to shut you up. “would you quit it already?!” he scolded you every time you tried to feed him whatever sweet you had in between your fingers. rafe vowed from that night forward that weed was the only thing he’d ever let you get high on. fortunately, he never smoked in front of you again and didn’t have to worry about that problem— until now.

“do you really think rafe wants to be with someone who’s boring? a little bit of blow isn’t the end of the world, angel.” topper scooted closer to you on the couch, making sure to throw in the nickname rafe has had for you since you were kids. “i’m not boring..” you crossed your arms over your chest once you saw the way topper eyed your cleavage, your eyes searching the room for any sign of rafe. “you sure about that? why do you think rafe never does his shit in front of you? it’s cause you’re a fucking buzz kill.” topper opened up the tiny baggy of powder, a smug grin spreading across his lips once he saw you peer down in curiosity.

“rafe is a pretty crazy dude, wouldn’t he want a break from all of this ‘innocent’ shit? i bet you he’s no where to be found right now because he’s talking to another girl who actually knows how to have a good time.” he scoffed, his words making your eyes water. “just try it, baby, i think rafe would love to see you bouncing off of the walls for once,” topper opened the baggy, scooping some of the substance up with his pinky, “and you wanna know something else? this shit makes you go all fucking night long. rafe would definitely appreciate that..” you eyed topper’s hand as he brought it up to your eye level.

“i don’t know—” you backed away slightly before his fingertips were nudging your lips. “yes you do know, just snort it, come on,” you kept moving away until your back hit the armrest of the couch. topper had his pinky directly under your nostril, a sense of panic flooding your system as you attempted to turn your face away. topper only followed, cursing a ‘just fucking snort it already!’ before you succumbed and gave the substance the lightest sniff you could muster. in seconds, you screwed your eyes shut tight, the crunching sound of bone meeting bone making you yelp once you realized rafe’s fist planted into the side of topper’s face.

topper was immediately rendered unconscious, the partygoers nearby all gasping in unison. rafe grabbed your face, inspecting you quickly before he spotted the coke residue on the tip of your nose. “that sorry motherfucker..” he gritted his teeth, his vision growing blind with white hot anger. despite topper’s unconscious state, rafe still punched him until he drew blood, kelce, along with some of his other friends stepping in before things could get worse. “he’s down already bro, that’s enough!” kelce shouted, your boyfriend swatting away all of their hands until they were able to get him off.

getting out of their grip, rafe wasted no time in dragging you up by your arm, your legs shaking as he lead you two out of the crowded house and to his truck. “let me see you.” he pulled out his phone, flashing the light on your face. your pupils were blown to shit, your teeth clattering as you shivered in the chilly night air. “fuck, baby..” he felt guilty beyond words for thinking stepping away to get another drink— even if it was for a quick second, that leaving you alone was a good idea. “rafe, my heart is beating really fast!” you cried, grabbing his hand and placing it over your chest as your face twisted in horror.

“i know, i know, just try to stay calm, angel.” he placed you in the passenger seat, clicking your seatbelt in place before rushing around and peeling off in the direction of home. you were sweating now and panting as if you had just ran a marathon. rafe felt utterly helpless, the scared look etched into your usual soft and happy features made his gut wrench. he swore he would never do a line again even if his tolerance was already up there from years of experience. he hated seeing you like this. “he wouldn’t stop getting close to me, i didn’t know what else to do!” your leg was bouncing, your fingertips itching to move in anyway you could.

“don’t worry, we’re almost home.” he reassured you, taking your hand and pressing a kiss to your knuckles before you could panic any further. once you two were in the driveway, rafe rushed you both inside, quickly starting a cold shower and cleaning you up. neither of you went to sleep until your high subsided a few hours later. during that time, rafe made you push down a lot of water along with eating something so you weren’t on an empty stomach. “everything is okay, alright?” rafe held you in his arms, a small hum sounding from your lips before you drifted off into a much needed slumber.

rafe watched you sleep and he couldn’t help but think of everything after this incident occurred. you were the only person in his life that wasn’t tainted in any way. the only good thing he had going for him. he couldn’t handle the thought of topper forcing his way over you and you sitting there helplessly, hoping he’d turn up soon. the thought made his fists clench again as he recalled the confused yet relieved look on your face once he was in your view. he made a promise to never leave you alone like that ever again.

gone were the days of attending pointless parties..

[lovlidollie]

exmilitary!rafe who makes you “thank him for his service” by making you do all sorts of unjust, fucked up shit just for his pleasure

[hvnlygrl]

thinking about military!rafe and how he would have the worst nightmares and wake up dazed and confused just needing to make sure you’re okay by his side. and once he confirms that, he wraps his arms around you tightly, refusing to let you go even in his sleep.

[rafegf-real]

I LOVE MILITARY RAFECECE

🂱 military!rafe x wife!reader

༄ summary: rafe comes home to his pregnant wife

rafe’s boots hit the familiar soil of the outer banks with a feeling he hadn’t known in months: relief. the heavy weight of military life, the endless days in foreign lands, the absence from the one person who kept him grounded—all of it was behind him. he was home.

but the homecoming was different this time. this time, it wasn’t just about reuniting with his wife. this time, it was about becoming a father.

months ago, before his deployment, his wife had sent him a simple polaroid—her standing in their living room with her hands resting on her stomach. a soft smile on her lips, the hint of something unspoken in her eyes. On the back, the words were scrawled in her handwriting: i’m pregnant, rafe. we’re going to be parents.

he’d stared at that photo more times than he could count during his time away. the thought of her, of the baby growing inside her, had been the thing that pulled him through. the unknowns terrified him. he hadn’t expected to become a father so soon. but with every passing day, that fear turned into a steady resolve. He would be there. for her. for the child.

now, standing at the gate, his heart thundered in his chest as he searched the crowd of families and friends. and then, just like that, his eyes locked onto hers.

she was standing near the front, her hand resting gently on her round belly, her hair loose around her shoulders. she was glowing in a way that made Rafe’s breath catch in his throat. it wasn’t just the pregnancy—it was the way she looked at him like he was everything she’d been waiting for.

he stepped forward, his legs carrying him faster than his mind could process. when she saw him, her face lit up in an instant, her lips curving into a smile that sent a rush of warmth through him.

“rafe,” she whispered, her voice breaking, as if the words hadn’t quite caught up with her emotions.

he didn’t say anything in return. he didn’t need to. In two long strides, he pulled her into his arms, holding her like he’d been starved for this moment.

“i missed you so damn much,” he murmured into her hair, his voice low and raw.

“i missed you too,” she whispered, tightening her arms around him, her hands finding their way to his chest.

but there was more she wanted to say. he could feel it in the way she held him a little tighter, the way her breath hitched in her chest.

rafe pulled back slightly, his hands cradling her face as he looked at her with a mixture of love and wonder. he could see it now—the small but undeniable curve of her belly under the soft fabric of her dress.

she smiled at him softly, her eyes full of warmth. “five months,” she said quietly, her hand resting over his, guiding it gently to her stomach. “we’re halfway there, rafe.”

rafe’s heart skipped a beat. he knew, of course. the polaroid had told him, and every letter, every text had confirmed it. but hearing her say it—seeing her, feeling her, seeing the life growing inside her—it was like the weight of the world had just shifted.

he placed his hand on her belly, his fingers brushing against the fabric of her dress. there, beneath his touch, was something that belonged to both of them—something they’d created together. the reality hit him all over again. “a baby,” he whispered, a smile slowly spreading across his face. “our baby.”

her smile deepened, her eyes gleaming with a mix of joy and nervous excitement. “yeah, ours. can you believe it?”

rafe laughed softly, the sound filled with disbelief and awe. “honestly? no. but i’m ready, more than ready.”

he pulled her close again, this time holding her even tighter, as if he could somehow anchor himself in this moment. “i’m not going anywhere, you know that, right? i’m here. for you. for us.”

“i know,” she whispered back, pressing her cheek to his chest. “i’ve always known.”

rafe gently cupped her face and kissed her forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment. It was the kiss of a promise, a promise that no matter how scared or unsure he might have been before, he wasn’t running away from this. from her. from the future they were about to build together.

“i’ve been carrying this around with me,” he said quietly, reaching into his jacket pocket and pulling out the polaroid she had sent him. he held it up between them, his fingers tracing the edges.

she laughed softly, her eyes misting over. “i was hoping you’d keep it.”

“i couldn’t let it go,” rafe replied, his voice thick with emotion. “i kept it with me every damn day. it was the only thing that kept me going, knowing that when I came home, i’d have this.”

his hand moved back to her belly, his thumb gently rubbing the spot where their baby was. “this is real. we’re really doing this.”

she nodded, her voice filled with emotion as she met his gaze. “we’re really doing this. together.”

“i love you,” he said simply, his voice soft but full of conviction.

“i love you, too,” she replied, her smile only growing.

and as they stood there, wrapped in each other’s arms, rafe knew that he had everything he ever needed right here. with her. with their baby. and for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t afraid of the future. because with her by his side, he was ready for whatever came next.

[rafesgreasycurtainbangs]

pregnant reader who feels insecure about her body after giving birth

༄｡° proof - rafe cameron

series masterlist

The late summer sun was dipping below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink as you and Rafe stood on the porch of Tanneyhill, Jojo cradled in your arms. Her little giggles filled the air as you kissed her chubby cheeks one last time, her tiny hands reaching for your face. It had been three months since she’d come into your lives, three months of sleepless nights, endless diaper changes, and a love so deep it consumed you both. But with that love came a shift—your days and nights had revolved entirely around Jojo, leaving little room for anything else. You and Rafe hadn’t had a moment alone since she was born, let alone anything resembling intimacy. Sex? That felt like a distant memory, buried under exhaustion and the quiet insecurities that had crept in after your body changed in ways you hadn’t expected.

Sarah and John B pulled up in John B’s beat-up van, the engine rumbling as they hopped out with grins that promised a night of spoiling their niece. “There’s my girl!” Sarah cooed, practically sprinting up the steps to scoop Jojo from your arms. She nuzzled her nose into Jojo’s soft hair, earning a delighted squeal. “We’ve got everything—bottles, diapers, that weird baby food she loves. You two just relax, okay?”

John B leaned against the railing, smirking at Rafe. “Yeah, man, you look like you could use a break. When’s the last time you slept more than two hours straight?” Rafe chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck, but you could see the gratitude in his eyes. He handed over the diaper bag, packed with military precision, and gave John B a quick dap.

“Call us if she needs anything,” you said, your voice tinged with the familiar mom-worry that never quite went away. Sarah waved you off with a laugh.

“She’ll be fine. Go enjoy yourselves. You deserve it.” With one last wave, they piled back into the Twinkie, Jojo’s little head peeking out from Sarah’s arms as they drove off into the dusk.

The house felt eerily quiet without her, the absence of her babbling like a void you weren’t sure how to fill. Rafe closed the door behind you, turning to face you with a soft smile that made your stomach flip. “Just us,” he said, stepping closer, his hands settling on your hips. “Feels weird, huh?”

“Yeah,” you admitted, leaning into his touch. “Good weird, though.” His thumbs brushed against your sides, and there was a spark in his eyes you hadn’t seen in months—a hunger tempered by tenderness. He leaned down, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to your lips, and you melted into it, your hands sliding up his chest. But as his fingers dipped beneath the hem of your shirt, grazing the skin of your stomach, you tensed, a flicker of self-consciousness pulling you out of the moment.

Rafe noticed immediately, pulling back to look at you, his brows knitting together. “What’s wrong?” His voice was gentle, but there was an edge of concern you couldn’t ignore.

You swallowed, stepping back slightly, your arms crossing over your middle instinctively. “It’s just… I don’t look the same, Rafe. My body’s different now. Stretch marks, the extra weight… I don’t feel sexy anymore.” The words spilled out before you could stop them, raw and vulnerable, and you dropped your gaze to the floor, unable to meet his eyes.

He was quiet for a beat, and then his hands were on you again, warm and steady, guiding you gently toward the couch. He sat you down, kneeling in front of you so you had no choice but to look at him. “Hey,” he said softly, cupping your face. “You think I don’t see you? That I don’t want you? Baby, you’re more beautiful now than you’ve ever been.” His thumb brushed over your cheek, wiping away a tear you hadn’t realized had fallen. “You gave me Jojo. This body? It’s a fucking miracle. Every mark, every curve—I see you, and I want you so bad it hurts.”

Your breath hitched, his words sinking in, but the insecurity still lingered. “I just… I don’t feel like myself,” you whispered.

Rafe’s hands slid down to your arms, then your waist, his touch reverent. “Then let me show you,” he murmured, his voice low and coaxing. “Let me prove how much I love you—every inch of you.” He leaned in, kissing your jaw, then the corner of your mouth, slow and deliberate, giving you time to pull away if you wanted. But you didn’t. You couldn’t. You needed this—needed him.

He guided you upstairs, his hand never leaving yours, and when you reached the bedroom, he turned off the harsh overhead light, leaving only the soft, amber glow of the bedside lamp. The room felt warm, intimate, the shadows dancing across the walls as he stepped closer, his hands trembling slightly with the weight of his want. He undressed you with a patience that made your chest ache, peeling away your shirt first, his fingers brushing over your shoulders as the fabric fell away. His breath caught when he saw the stretch marks on your breasts, fuller now from nursing Jojo, and he traced them with his fingertips, his touch feather-light. “These are beautiful,” he whispered, his voice thick. “You’re beautiful.”

Your sweatpants came next, his hands sliding them down your thighs, taking your underwear with them in one slow, deliberate motion. You tried to cover yourself—your stomach, softer and striped with faint pale lines—but he caught your wrists, pinning them gently to your sides. “Don’t hide from me,” he said, his eyes locking onto yours, dark with desire and something deeper, something that made you feel seen. “You’re perfect.”

He stood then, shedding his own shirt, the muscles of his chest and arms flexing as he tossed it aside. His shorts followed, and when he stepped out of them, you couldn’t help but stare—the hard planes of his body, the evidence of his arousal straining against his boxers before he slid those off too. He was gorgeous, raw and real, and the way he looked at you made your insecurities waver, if only for a moment.

Rafe pulled you to the bed, laying you down gently on the cool sheets, his body hovering over yours as he kissed you again—deeply this time, his tongue sweeping against yours, coaxing a soft moan from your throat. His lips trailed lower, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses along your neck, your collarbone, pausing to suck lightly at the sensitive skin there until you squirmed beneath him. He moved to your breasts, his hands cupping them reverently, thumbs brushing over your nipples—still tender from feeding Jojo—before he lowered his mouth to one, his tongue swirling around the hardened peak. The sensation shot through you, a mix of pleasure and a faint ache, and you gasped, your fingers tangling in his hair.

“Rafe,” you breathed, and he hummed against your skin, the vibration sending a shiver down your spine. He kissed every inch of your chest, your ribs, then lower, his lips tracing the stretch marks on your stomach with a devotion that made your throat tighten. “These?” he murmured, his breath hot against your skin. “These are proof you’re a badass. My badass.” His tongue darted out, licking a slow stripe along one of the lines, and you arched into him, heat pooling low in your belly.

He settled between your legs, parting your thighs with his hands, his fingers digging into the soft flesh as he spread you open. For a moment, he just looked—his gaze hungry, reverent, taking in the slickness already gathering there, the way your body responded to him despite your doubts. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” he muttered, almost to himself, before dipping his head to kiss the inside of your thigh, his faint stubble grazing your skin. He licked a slow, teasing path upward, stopping just short of where you needed him most, and you whimpered, hips lifting instinctively.

“Patience,” he murmured, his voice a low growl, but there was a tenderness in it too. When his mouth finally found you, it was gentle at first—soft kisses against your folds, his tongue flicking out to taste you, slow and deliberate. You moaned, the sound loud in the quiet room, and he groaned in response, the vibration making your toes curl. He licked you open, his tongue dragging through your wetness, circling your clit with maddening precision before sucking it gently between his lips. Your hands fisted the sheets, your back bowing as he worked you, his fingers joining in—one, then two, sliding inside you, curling just right to hit that spot that made you see stars.

“Rafe—oh God,” you gasped, your thighs trembling as he pumped his fingers, his mouth relentless, his eyes flicking up to watch you unravel. He didn’t rush you, didn’t push too hard—just built you up slowly, savoring every sound, every shudder, until you were teetering on the edge, your body begging for release.

But he pulled back, kissing his way up your body again, leaving you panting, desperate. “Not yet,” he whispered against your lips, his own slick with you, and you tasted yourself when he kissed you, deep and filthy. He shed his boxers fully then, his cock springing free—thick, hard, the tip already glistening—and you swallowed, a mix of want and nerves tightening your chest. He saw it, sensed it, and paused, his hand cupping your face. “We don’t have to,” he said, his voice soft but strained with his own need. “But I want you. All of you.”

“I want you too,” you admitted, your voice small but sure. “Just… go slow.”

He nodded, kissing you again as he lined himself up, the head of his cock brushing against your entrance, teasing, testing. He pushed in inch by inch, stretching you open, and you gasped at the fullness, the slight burn as your body adjusted. “Fuck, you’re tight,” he groaned, his forehead pressing to yours, his breath ragged as he held still, letting you acclimate. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you breathed, your hands gripping his shoulders, nails digging into his skin. “Keep going.” He did, sliding deeper, his cock filling you completely until he was seated to the hilt, his hips flush against yours. For a moment, he didn’t move—just stayed there, buried inside you, his chest heaving, his eyes locked on yours.

Then he started to move—slowly at first, a gentle rock of his hips, pulling out only to ease back in, the drag of him against your walls igniting every nerve. You wrapped your legs around him, pulling him closer, and he groaned, his hands sliding under your hips to tilt you up, hitting deeper with each thrust. “So good,” he murmured, his voice rough with pleasure. “You feel so fucking good.”

The pace stayed slow, sensual—every movement deliberate, every thrust measured, like he was savoring you. His hands roamed your body, squeezing your thighs, your hips, cupping your breasts as he kissed you, his tongue mimicking the rhythm of his hips. You could feel every inch of him—the heat, the hardness, the way he pulsed inside you—and it drove you wild, your body arching to meet his, your breaths mingling as you climbed together.

“Rafe,” you whimpered, your fingers digging into his back, and he shifted, one hand sliding between you to circle your clit with his thumb, the added pressure making you cry out. “I’m—I’m close.”

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, his thrusts deepening, his thumb relentless, and you shattered—your orgasm crashing over you in waves, your walls clenching around him, your whole body trembling as you moaned his name. He watched you through it, his eyes dark and awed, and when you started to come down, he slowed even more, dragging it out, making you feel every ripple.

He wasn’t far behind—his rhythm faltered, his groans growing louder, and with a final, deep thrust, he came, spilling inside you with a shuddering, “Fuck, baby,” his body tensing, then collapsing against you, his weight a warm, welcome press. He didn’t pull out right away, just stayed there, softening inside you, his lips brushing your temple, your jaw, your mouth.

“You’re everything,” he said after a while, his voice hoarse with emotion as he finally eased out, rolling to his side and pulling you against him. His fingers traced lazy patterns on your back, his breath steadying against your neck. “Don’t ever doubt that.” And as you lay there, tangled in his arms, the insecurities didn’t vanish—but they faded, softened by the raw, vivid love in his touch, his gaze, the way he’d poured himself into you, body and soul.

©RAFESGREASYCURTAINBANGS ⋆˙⟡ est. 2025

[alanisstonedd]

almost beat my shit tew this whewwwww lawddd!! maybe tmi anyways thank God for marine!rafe amen

cw: MDNI, pussy eating, masturbation [m] + [f receiving], good old titty suckin

after years of being in the service, marine!rafe has the patience of a literal flea. like it has actually gone to complete shit.

from getting orders barked at him constantly, that are expected to be fulfilled immediately, to being the one barking the orders, expecting they be completed even faster than he did as a private. everything is so fast paced in the military, he’s conditioned to be SHARP & fucking EFFICIENT. he’s always been a proactive guy!

the man tries his absolute hardest with you. and sometimes he actually does get frustrated. but every time without fail he remembers that… you? you can be persuaded in a way his recruits cannot.

all he has to do is climb over you, slowly ofc, kissing his way down like it’s nothing, like he’s just being cute, and start to DRAG your panties down with his teeth.

or, you know what, sometimes hes too efficient even for that. he’ll just mouth at you OVER the panties. fucking you through them with his tongue. sucking your clit through them like a piece of candy. he’ll pull away blow on you, the chill from the huge wet spot sending the most delicious shock up your spine. i think the panties actually give him more traction.

i mean after that shit, you’re attention is not only on him, but by that point it’s floating off into the wind somewhere. you’re slipping into the fog girl…

but no worries, marine!rafe will always do what it takes to have your attention. why not drag you into his lap and suck at your nipples through your tank. it’s so thin, the fabric is soaked in seconds, not that rafe isn’t a drooler. every part of you is wet once he’s got his mouth on it. but that’s just better for him honestly, your nipples start to show through it and he lovesssss that shit. rlly gets him going, so he starts to nip at them in between sucks. his tactics work - you’ll do whatever he wants in this state.

the man is a pro. he’ll find your clit OVER your leggings and just sit there rubbing. just chilling on the couch and you’re about to cum with your pants fully on. your writhing in front of him and he’s just content having his hand on your pussy, speeding up every now and again just for the noises you make. and he’s not concerned at all - bcs he’s got your attention now.

you wanna give silent treatment? just wait til he pulls his dick out all nonchalant. he’ll stroke it like he’s alone, just looking at you. head leaned back, thighs spread, looking you up and down like YOU’RE the porn. has the nerve to moan, loud, licking his lips like he’s imagining what he’d do to you if you weren’t doing something else. the lip bite is what does you in, rubbing your thighs together, clenching he’s not right there. the smirk on his face says.. oh i know you’re paying attention now

[itneverendshere]

INVISIBLE STRING - r.c series (seven)

pairing: pogue!rafe x sweetheart!kook reader. chapter warnings: angst; mentions of domestic violence; unhealthy relationships;

For the first time in years, you wake up peacefully. 

No racing heart, no threats lurking behind your closed eyes.

Just... calm. The type of quiet that lets you sink into the warmth of the blankets without a single worry. You’re so cozy, so perfectly at ease, you almost forget where you are and what led you here.

For a blissful moment, all you know is stillness. But then it hits you—this isn't your bed. No footsteps are stomping down the hall, no harsh voices insulting you through your morning peace. 

You blink your eyes open, and it’s a simple little room. Not much here but a heavy old quilt over you, a plain dresser, a lamp that looks like it's been there forever. A small window where the sun is streaming in, bathing everything in a golden glow. 

It’s almost funny, you realize with a little smile. You ran as far as you could, with no real plan except to escape, and somehow, by some twist of fate, you ended up here.

And then you remember why it feels so familiar. 

It’s Rafe’s. 

Your heart flutters around like it’s waking up for the first time in a while, too. You found him—or maybe he found you. After all those years of wondering what happened to him, your first love, the boy with grease-stained hands and the brightest smile was back.

He still looked at you like he cared, that was a given after what he did for you yesterday, between taking you to the hospital and offering you a place to stay, as if the years hadn’t put a single dent in the way he used to see you.

You’d half-expected him to just...look through you like you were a stranger. But Rafe—well, he’d always been different, hadn't he?

You let out a small, relieved sigh and curl up a little tighter under the quilt, sinking deeper into it, because today, you don’t have to run.

Back then, everything about Rafe felt like some secret only you were lucky enough to know. The scrapes on his knuckles, the stains that never really washed off his clothes, the way he’d sneak you out to the pier after dark to talk under the stars like you were the only two people on earth.

The entire world disappeared when you were with him—the line between Kook and Pogue didn’t mean a thing.

You remember his laugh, this loud carefree sound that would just bubble up, surprising even him. He’d make fun of how out of place you looked on the back of his old bike, but then he’d smile in this crooked, lovestruck way and kiss you so hard it didn’t matter. 

God, you were in so deep, and you didn’t care. All you knew was that he was yours, and you were his, and nothing else could touch that.

Your mind is a mess of memories, all those nights you used to slip out to meet him, sneaking around with this thrill in your chest, like you were getting away with something impossible. 

It all changed so fast.

One night, he was there, laughing with you in bed and calling you "princess" in that teasing way only he could get away with. The next, he was gone. You had no warning, no explanation—just this space where he used to be. Your parents finally admitted what they'd done, talking about him like he was a problem they’d finally got to fix. They had tried to break him, ship him off to some military school hours away, like he was just… trash.

But Rafe had always been too smart for them. He ran instead, left everything he knew behind, including you, before anyone could try to cage him. You didn’t understand it fully at first. You couldn’t.

Before college started, you’d waited at all your old spots, hoping he’d show up, that he’d come to you in the middle of the night, even if it meant climbing in through your bedroom window just to say goodbye.

But he never did, when the days turned into weeks, then months, you realized he’d left for good.

You never let him go, not really.

While everyone else told you to move on, you dug in. You spent so much, countless weekends sneaking off with the cash you'd save, paying people in shady corners of town, anyone who might know where he’d gone. You chased whispers and rumors and stray leads, but none of them ever led you to him. You used to lie awake at night praying he was okay, safe, wondering if he was ever thinking of you the way you still thought of him every single day.

You can’t shake the déjà vu now, lying here in his bed, realizing that somehow, by some freak chance, the universe led you back to him.

You think about yesterday, the look on his face when he saw you in his shop, like he couldn’t believe it was real either. He’d dropped everything, no hesitation. 

You call back to those years without him— you’d try to keep going, but every day was like you were carrying a dead weight no one else could see. Nights were the worst. 

You’d lie in bed, staring up at the ceiling, replaying all those stolen moments with him, pieces of a dream you were desperate not to forget. It was like trying to hold water in your hands; no matter how hard you tried, bits of him kept slipping through, fading with time, until you started to wonder if maybe you’d imagined how it felt to be that close to someone.

And God, you tried to let go, eventually.

You told yourself over and over, it was time to stop chasing after someone who’d left without a goodbye, who didn't want to be found.

You even went on dates, pretended you could replace him, like it would be so easy to “find someone else.” But no one else ever remotely compared to him.

No one else ever made you feel seen like that. 

Certainly not Frederic and it's like a stab to your heart to even think about it now.

You’d never planned to be with someone like him. He was handsome, polite when you met him; everyone around you liked him, and your parents might as well have handed you over to him in a silver platter the second he moved to town.

They’d called it “the perfect match”—his family’s money, your family’s reputation. They belived it would keep you distracted, and finally help you forget the boy they’d done everything to erase from your life.

You went along with it.

What choice did you really have? Rafe had been gone for almost three years, and you were supposed to move on, fit into this life they wanted for you. So you played along, smiled through dinner parties and gatherings, told yourself you could settle for this.

He wasn’t cruel, not in the beginning, just possessive. You’d told yourself it was almost flattering, that it meant he cared about you, wanted you to be his in some way.

Until the day he found that old picture, the one you’d kept hidden away in your wallet all those years.

That’s when everything changed and he never looked at you the same after that. Suddenly, each glance, every small thing you did, the little freedom you had was a threat to him. You weren’t allowed to go out without him or talk to anyone he didn’t approve of.

He made you feel like you were nothing but his property, something he could control and shape into whatever he wanted. He tore apart the dainty pieces of your younger self you’d managed to keep, as if any proof of the life you’d had with Rafe was something he needed to crush with his bare hands.

After a while, he didn’t even attempt to hide the anger.

The first time he hit you, you’d been shocked, unable to believe it was happening. He apologized right after, swore it would never happen again, but you knew. 

It was only the beginning.

From that day on, you lived in fear, knowing that any misstep could set him off, that each move you made was a risk. You learned to stay quiet, to keep your head down, to shrink yourself into a pet that wouldn’t provoke him.

Nothing was ever enough.

He’d pick fights out of nowhere, accuse you of things that didn’t make sense, twist everything around until you couldn’t tell what was real anymore. But you kept that picture.

Even after everything, he’d broken down every bit of strength you had, but you wouldn’t let it go. It was the only piece of Rafe you had, it didn’t matter that it was just a scrap. When Frederic was away doing business, late at night, you’d pull it out and stare at it, trace the edges of Rafe’s smile with your thumb, wishing you’d get to live something as beautiful again.

You’d almost forgotten was being okay felt like, to be somewhere you weren’t afraid to breathe too loud.

You sit up slowly, the quilt sliding off your shoulders as you stretch your arms overhead, your stomach is already growling with anticipation.

Swinging your legs over the side of the bed, you take a micro second to breathe in the peaceful quiet around you, then, you shuffle to the kitchen, still half wondering if it’s happening, if Rafe is really back in your life after all this time. 

As you enter the kitchen, your heart does a little leap at the sight before you. There, resting on the table is a plate piled high with pancakes, golden and fluffy, topped with a pat of melting butter and a drizzle of syrup.

It looks so delicious and so… thoughtful. It’s the kind of breakfast you’d imagined when you were younger, that felt like love poured into every bite. Next to the plate, there’s a note, scribbled in Rafe’s familiar handwriting, the same jagged loops and curls that make you smile like you’re seventeen again.

You pick it up, your fingers brushing over the paper as you read, “had to run to the shop, didn’t want you to wake up hungry. eat these and don't save some for me, okay?”. You tuck the note into your pocket, almost like a talisman, and turn your attention back to the pancakes.

You settle at the table, the chair creaking beneath you, and pick up a fork. The first bite is like heaven—soft and sweet, the syrup running down your chin as you take a big mouthful.

You can’t stop the giggles, remembering those late-night snacks where you’d sneak with him, trying to be quiet so no one would hear. 

He always ended up with more syrup on him than in the bowl.

As you devour the breakfast he made, you envision how he must have stood there in the kitchen, mixing the batter and flipping.

It's fun to picture him humming to himself, the light from the window hitting his dark blonde hair just right, making him look like some sort of guardian angel. The thought sends butterflies fluttering through your body, and after years in the dark, you feel light.

After finishing the last bite you can’t help but smile at the empty plate in front of you. Rafe really outdid himself. You feel a little giddy, a warmth spreading through you that has nothing to do with the syrup or the comfort of the food. 

With a little bounce in your step, you push back the chair and head to the sink, rinsing off the plate. You look around the cozy kitchen, taking in the mismatched mugs and the old-fashioned fridge that looks like it’s seen a hundred breakfasts. It feels lived-in and warm, like a home should, despite not being full.

You can picture Rafe here, maybe making his disgusting black coffee, playing music while he reads. You’d love to share that with him, even if it sounds silly.

You wander to the window above the sink, pull back the curtain and peek out.

Outside, the engine noises and clanking tools are a little noisy but better than the yelling you’re used to. You can see him moving around, his familiar silhouette bent over the engine of a car, grease smudged across his forearms, the sun glinting off his skin.

You’re chewing your lip to death while you admire him like he's the last man on earth. Rafe is dressed in a snug white tank top that hugs his muscular frame, the fabric slightly worn and smudged with grease from a long morning in the shop, showcasing his broad shoulders and the beefy muscles of his biceps.

His arms are covered in a light sheen of oil, making him appear even more rugged and, honestly, a little bit scrumptious. He looks so effortlessly beautiful even in the middle of a workday.

His hair is tousled, falling in soft, messy waves that occasionally cover his eyes, and you find yourself wanting to reach up and push it back just so you can see his gorgeous blue eyes fully. 

This is what you’d dreamed about, all those nights, clutching that tiny picture of him to your chest. Just seeing him like this, working hard like he used to be when you’d sneak out to find him.

You feel bad though.

He’d stayed up late with you, sat with you for hours, listening as you poured everything out, even as you broke down, sobbing so hard you couldn’t breathe. He held you until you fell asleep in his lap, his arms wrapped around you. And now, here he is, working already, probably exhausted after getting barely any rest.

You move back to his bedroom, scolding yourself for wanting to go out there and warn him to take it easy, but you know him.

He wouldn’t listen. 

And maybe a part of you doesn’t want him to, either, because having him there all night, knowing he was close by, made you feel content.

Rafe never did anything halfway, did he? Even back then, he was so… him, so all-in, with that devotion that used to leave you breathless and a little woozy.

Years later, he’s still giving everything he has to make sure you’re okay, he hasn’t changed at all in the ways that matter.

You close your eyes for a moment, just to savor it, to commit this peace to memory in case you need it again someday. You’re not naïve; you know there are things to figure out, talks that need to happen, but he didn’t leave this time, didn’t slip away in the middle of the night, no hidden messages or unspoken goodbyes. 

He’s right here, where you can see him. 

You're still lost in thought, when you hear the front door open.

You sit up, smoothing out your hair and trying not to seem as flustered as you feel.

Footsteps come down the hall, until Rafe appears in the doorway, leaning on the doorframe, one hand braced above his head, looking at you with this little smirk that’s shier than he’d probably ever admit.

There’s a smear of grease on his jaw, and his tank top’s even dirtier than before, he’s been deep in a car engine for hours already.

“Hey,” he says, his voice rough, that southern drawl warming you to your toes. “Just came in to, uh… check on ya. Make sure you ate and all.” He nods toward the kitchen, rubbing the back of his neck like he’s not sure what to do with his hands. His eyes move to the empty plate on the table, and he lets out a tiny chuckle. “Guess ya did.”

You can’t help but smile back, a little nervous, and shy. There’s this energy between you—it feels like you’re both walking on eggshells, not quite sure how to talk to each other now that the cards are all on the table. 

“Yeah,” you nod softly, clutching the quilt closer. “They were perfect. Thank you.”

He clears his throat, color creeping up his neck as he shrugs. He looks at you like he’s trying to understand every part of you that’s been ripped apart, searching for the pieces of the girl he used to know, while still seeing the woman you’ve become.

Rafe shuffles his feet, his hand drifting to rub the back of his neck, “Sorry, I should probably clean up,” he mutters, glancing down at his hands. “Lookin’ like a damn grease monkey in here.”

You laugh, and the sound seems to surprise him, making him look up with this sheepish grin that’s just so… him. For a second, no time has passed at all, you’re both still seventeen and completely caught up in each other.

Rafe’s gaze lands on the spot where the blanket’s slipped, showing a faint bruise along your collarbone. His muscles tighten just slightly, and he exhales as he asks, “You feelin’ any better?”

You nod, but he’s already moving closer, crouching down so he’s at eye level, his expression creased with worry. He reaches out to touch you, then pulls his hand back, second-guessing himself.

“They, uh… they still hurt?” He nods toward the bruises, his eyes darting over them with a pained look, like he feels every mark himself. He starts rambling, “I got some ice packs in the freezer if you need ’em or I could go grab one of those heat pads, I dunno which one’s better, but we can try both if you need. I don’t want you just sittin’ here hurtin’.” He gestures vaguely, tracing every inch of your body with this helpless, guilty look, because if he could take them on himself, he would.

“And, uh… I mean, if you’re achin’ at all, I got some Tylenol in the cabinet—not the strongest stuff, but it might help a little. Or if you need anything else, I can just run out and grab it.” His gaze darts back to your face, and he adds quickly, “Only if you want, though! I know you’re… you’re strong and all, but don’t mean you gotta sit there and hurt, alright?”

You can't stop smiling, watching him try to take care of you in his own awkward, fumbling way. His shoulders are all hunched up, his fingers fidgeting against his jeans, and there’s that endearing tint creeping up his neck again.

“Rafe…” you cut him off, and he stops mid-ramble, his mouth half-open, looking like he just got caught saying too much.

“Yeah?” he murmurs, his voice dropping, afraid he might’ve overstepped.

“I’m okay,” you assure him, reaching out to squeeze his hand.

His fingers curl around yours instantly, holding on like he needs the contact just as much as you do. It’s the smallest thing, just the press of his hand against yours, but after so long of being handled like broken porcelain, it’s overwhelming.

“Really, and I’m—I’m sorry I dumped all of that on you yesterday.”

You hadn’t planned on telling him every detail of your personal hell, but he made it so easy.

You were never the best at thinking while under that gaze, it’s wrapped in old memories and hope, and it scares you just as much as it soothes you. He’s close, the scent of his aftershave and engine grease making you feel dizzy with the memory of each kiss, whisper, every reckless promise you’d both made once upon a time.

Rafe sequeezes your hand tighter, thumb grazing your knuckles. 

"Don’t be sorry. Not for that.” It’s so like him, and it nearly breaks you right there. All that quiet loyalty, he doesn’t even know how much he’s giving, he thinks you deserve all of it without question. “You don’t have to go back, y’know. Not if you don’t want to.”

This is real, and he’s right here, asking you to let him in, to let him be the one who pulls you from the darkness. The hardest part is, you know he would.

He’d fight the whole world if he thought it would keep you safe, if it meant you could stay. It’s terrifying, to even hope that you could have this, have him. 

You cover your mouth, maybe if you squeeze hard enough, you can hold it in, but a choked sob escapes anyway, desperate, in a way that embarrasses you. Your shoulders start to shake, and the tears just keep coming, slipping down your jaw and dripping onto your sweater, his.

You try to wipe them away with the back of your hand, but they keep coming, your breaths are turning into these broken gasps that make you feel exposed.

Rafe’s moving without a word, sitting on the edge of the bed and gently pulling you into his lap like he had last night. He wraps his arms around you, careful not to hurt you, and you let yourself fold into him, leaning against his chest, the most familiar place in the world.

He tucks your head under his chin, his fingers cradling the back of your neck, and as your tears soak into his shirt, he leans down, whispering, his breath warm against your forehead.

 “I got you. ‘m right here. Ain’t lettin’ go of you.”

He doesn’t flinch; doesn’t make you feel ashamed for being so sensitive. 

Instead, he brushes his hand up and down your back, whispering quiet reassurances, giving you all the time in the world. He waits until your sobs taper off, left with only the shudders and hiccupping breaths, and even then, he just sits there quietly, letting you be. 

Then, almost like he’s talking to himself, he starts,“So… y’know, been kind of busy these past few years,” he says, glancing away like he’s embarrassed. “Kept up with a lot of late nights in the shop. Got good at fixing engines—real good, actually. Think I could probably fix just about anything, even if it’s been beat up and run-down more times than you’d think possible.”

Rafe’s fingers trace along your arm as he talks, and you know why he’s doing this. He’s looking toward the window, most likely remembering each late night he’s spent there alone.

“Didn’t make much of it at first—just me and Jerry. But folks kept comin’ in, one by one, and eventually, we hired a few guys to help out.” He pauses, swallowing, “Guess it’s sort of a thing now.”

You feel your lips tug up and he must notice because his grip on you relaxes, and he lets out this almost bashful chuckle.

“Got a dog, too,” he continues, scratching the back of his neck like he’s telling you something ridiculous. “Well, he just kinda showed up one day at the shop, but he kept stickin’ around, so I named him Ace. Big, goofy mutt—probably not as tough as he thinks, but he likes to act like he’s protecting the place.” He shakes his head, “You’d like him, I think. He’d probably love you more than he loves me the second you showed up, little traitor. He sleeps downstairs."

“But y’know, no matter how busy it got, or how many things kept changin’… didn’t really feel like home.” He pauses, his hand moving to brush away a stray tear that’s found its way down your cheek, “I thought maybe if I just kept busy enough, I’d stop thinkin’ ‘bout you. Thought it’d get easier with time. But…” He trails off, like he’s confessing a secret. “Turns out it didn’t. No matter where I went, or what I did, it was always just there. Missin’ you.”

You can feel the soft rasp of his thumb against your neck, “I’m sorry.”

“Hey now,” he clicks his tongue, tipping your chin up with a knuckle until your eyes meet his, blue eyes looking at you with a tenderness that almost makes you bawl again. “None of that. I told you, you got nothin’ to be sorry for.” His gaze sweeps across your features, “You been through hell and back. I know that ain’t easy to walk away from, not like that.”

His thumb brushes a tear from your cheek while you ask him, “What if he… what if he finds me?” 

Rafe’s jaw tightens, and there it is—that old, familiar fire lighting up in his eyes. It’s the same look he’d get any time someone even thought about hurting you, he’d rather throw himself in front of a train than let anything happen to you. 

“He’s never gonna touch you again, okay? Not as long as I’m around.” His voice is almost a growl, fierce enough that makes you believe him. “I won’t let him, I swear it.”

You can’t even speak. Your heart feels so full of gratitude, but you manage to force out a, “Thank you, Rafe.”

He pulls the hair back from your face, “You don’t gotta thank me,” he murmurs, “All I ever wanted was for you to be okay. That’s enough for me.”

You look up at him, fingers sweeping against his skin as you ask, “Tell me more? About everything? I feel like I missed so much…”

You attempt to keep your voice from quivering, but there’s this misery in your chest, a deep longing to know the parts of him you hadn’t been there to witness. You tilt your head, waiting for him to continue, and then he looks down, being reluctant.

“Yeah, uh… there was one time I went to your university,” he confesses, the words coming out hushed, he’s scared he shouldn’t be admitting this. “It was years ago, but… yeah. I went up there to see you.”

Your eyes widen, “What?” The word slips out in disbelief, and you lean in, “When? Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I don’t know what I was thinkin’. I just… I wanted to see you. Thought maybe I could run into you, or—” He pauses, looking down at his hands. “Maybe I was hopin’ I’d have the guts to actually talk to you. 

Your brain can’t help but conjure up, what it might’ve happened if he’d just walked across campus that day, to you. The two of you in that place.

You picture yourself, sitting on one of those worn benches under the big oak trees that dotted the quad, maybe with a book open on your lap that you weren’t really reading, because all you could think about was him. It wouldn’t have taken much—the way his heavy boots hit the ground, the scent of his cologne. Would you have jumped up and hugged him? Or would you have sat there, staring at him, wondering if you were somehow dreaming it all up?

It’s a fantasy, you know that, but deep down, you wish that had been your reality—the two of you fighting for each other instead of letting the world and distance pull you apart. It hurts like a bitch, thinking of all those lost years, all the things that could’ve been different if you’d both just been a little braver.

“Rafe…” you breath, and there’s so much tangled in that one word.

The years, the heartbreak, the distance—you don’t even know where to begin, and yet, you don’t need to. He looks at you as if he understands every unspoken word like he’s been waiting just as long.

“I didn’t see you.”

“Hey,” he coos, pulling you just a little closer, his breath warm against your cheek. “It’s my fault, I was scared.”

You smile through the fresh tears gathering and he slants his forehead against yours, brushing one away with his thumb, his face close enough that you could count each freckle if you wanted.

“It’s okay."

“I missed you, so much.”

You hadn’t just missed him—you’d missed the way he made you feel.

Brave. Free. No matter what happened, it would be okay as long as he was by your side. He smiles, a little crooked like because he’s not used to hearing it, he feels like the lucky one here.

 “You’ve always been my girl, y’know that? Ain’t nothing gonna change that. Not then, not now, not ever.”

Rafe’s slowly stitching up something inside you didn’t even know was still bleeding. You wonder if he knows that you're still shattered, that you’re not sure how to feel whole again, but you want to try, for him.

The way he talks tells you that he still can see you as the girl he fell in love with and it makes you hopeful that maybe she’s still somewhere inside you, waiting to be found.

Does he feel the same? Does he mean it, all this talk of missing you, of always coming back to you? Or is he just being kind, because he thinks you need to be treated like a wounded animal?

He’s got his own scars, things he’s carried, and he’s been hiding them just as much as you’ve been hiding yours. 

You wonder what he’s not saying, if he’s afraid of hoping for too much, like you are. Perhaps he’s holding you like this because he’s still holding on to that invisible string that’s kept you tied to him all this time. 

You close your eyes and rest your head against his shoulder, letting yourself breathe him in, feel him under your fingertips.

His lips pucker against your temple, “Don’t overthink, sweetheart. We’ll figure it out.”

But realistically speaking, how long can you run for before the monsters in your nightmares catch up to you?