Rafe Cameron Imagines//Oneshots

Teach Me pt.3 🌶

Summary = Given the context of the previous parts Rafe and y/n find themselves makign excuses for more 'lessons'

The Cameron house is alive with chaos. Voices overlap, footsteps echo down the hall, and the summer heat seeps through the open windows, clinging to your skin.

Everyone is home today, which means Ward is pacing through the house on back-to-back phone calls, Rose is barking orders, and Sarah is parading her friends around like it's a personal showcase.

There's no privacy, no escape—and definitely no room for you to be alone with him.

Which makes everything worse.

You sit on the edge of the kitchen counter, pretending to scroll through your phone, but every muscle in your body is tense, hyper aware of the space around you.

You've been waiting—watching the hallway that leads to the back stairs, the ones that wind right up to his room. Every time you hear footsteps, your breath catches, thinking it might be him.

It started off as lessons. Rafe agreed, casual as ever, with that cocky grin and a glint in his eye that you should've known better than to trust. You were inexperienced—he saw that. Said he could help you, teach you a few things so you'd be ready.

When it mattered.

It had sounded harmless.

But nothing with Rafe is ever harmless. And somewhere along the way, the lessons stopped feeling like lessons at all.

After the first time you fucked he's been finding more excuses lately. And you know he likes it too much—the way he brushes too close, touches you a little longer than necessary when people are around, it's risky.

He's not just teaching you anymore. He's enjoying you.

And worse? You're letting him.

The sound of his voice makes your stomach flip.

"Hey, Y/n."

You look up, pulse racing before you can stop it.

Rafe Cameron, leaning casually against the counter, one hand braced on the marble like he owns the place. He's wearing a plain white T-shirt, soft and stretched just right across his chest, with those tousled blond curls that scream trouble. He looks effortlessly put together in the way only someone like Rafe can, like he's trying not to try.

That stupid, smug smirk is already on his face, like he knows exactly what's running through your mind.

"Got a minute?" His voice is low, just for you, making heat pool in your chest.

You glance toward the hall. The house is full, people coming and going—Sarah's laughter echoes from the living room, the sound of someone's footsteps thumping upstairs.

There's no way this is a good idea.

Rafe follows your gaze, smirking like he knows exactly what you're thinking. He steps closer, close enough that you catch the clean scent of his cologne, the warmth of his body hovering just out of reach.

"Come on," he murmurs, voice smooth and coaxing. "Five minutes. I'll show you something new."

Your pulse kicks up, and you hate how easily your body betrays you. "Here?" you whisper, your voice barely audible. "They're everywhere—"

"They won't even notice," he interrupts, brushing the back of his hand against yours, casual but deliberate. "Besides..." He leans in, his lips just a breath away from your ear. "Don't you want to get better?"