#Rafe Cameron angst

[starkeys-honey]

Hi! Can i pls request a rafe fic where the reader is obviously interested in him but he thinks he doesn’t like her back so he tries to avoid her. But once the reader tries to move on, rafe finally realizes his feelings for her.

No worries if you don’t want to or if you aren’t comfy! Thanks girly 💕

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬’ 𝐖𝐞 𝐃���𝐧’𝐭 𝐊𝐧𝐨𝐰 ౨ৎ

It started when you were sixteen. He’d lost his temper at a party—some stupid fight with a Kook kid who bumped into Sarah—and stormed off down the beach. Everyone else stayed behind, pretending they didn’t see the way he cracked a beer bottle against a rock like he was trying to shatter something deeper than glass. You followed him without thinking, barefoot in the dark, your sweater slipping off one shoulder.

He didn’t say a word when you sat next to him, just stared out at the water with his jaw clenched tight and his fists red from impact. You didn’t touch him. You didn’t try to fix it. You just sat there, quiet and steady, and that was enough. When he finally spoke, it was barely a whisper.

“I can’t do this anymore.”

You didn’t ask what “this” was. You just said, “You don’t have to be alone.”

And he looked at you really looked at you for the first time.

After that, something shifted. You weren’t just Sarah’s friend anymore. You weren’t just another Kildare girl in the background. You were his. Not in the way that mattered, not in the way you wanted but in the way that he’d pull you away from a crowd with his hand around your wrist, or drop his head on your shoulder after a long day like he couldn’t breathe without your silence.

Everyone else saw it. You were obvious. Too obvious. You were the one who remembered how he took his coffee, who brought him Advil when he’d been up all night, who held your breath every time he touched you, hoping stupidly, always that maybe this time, he’d feel it too.

And he knew. Of course he knew. How could he not?

Rafe Cameron wasn’t dumb. He saw the way your eyes followed him when he wasn’t looking, the way your voice softened when you said his name. He leaned into it. Used it. Let you be his lifeline without ever reaching for yours.

And you let him.

Because you thought, maybe, if you just stayed long enough if you loved him hard enough, patiently enough he’d choose you back.

But he never did.

Not really.

It was little things. The way he’d call you “sweetheart” in front of other girls, just to watch you squirm. The way he’d wrap an arm around your shoulder when he was high, head lolling against yours, whispering, “Don’t know what I’d do without you,” like it meant something. Like it wasn’t a leash.

You never talked about it. You never dared to. Because talking about it would make it real, and if it was real, then you’d have to face the fact that he didn’t want you the way you wanted him. That he never would.

So you stayed. You stayed and watched him flirt with girls at The Wreck, watched him disappear into bedrooms at parties and come back rumpled and smug. You stayed through the highs and lows and bruised knuckles, the way he pulled you close and pushed you away in the same breath.

The night he slept with that girl from the country club, you didn’t cry. You smiled at him like it didn’t break you. He leaned against the counter, shirtless, beer in hand, and said, “You good?”

You nodded. “Always.”

He grinned. “Knew you were tough.”

And you wanted to scream. You wanted to shake him and ask what the hell you were supposed to do with all this love, this aching mess of devotion that he kept pocketing like spare change. But you didn’t.

You just went home, washed your face, and promised yourself you were done waiting.

You weren’t. Not really.

But you wanted to be.

People started noticing. Sarah, mostly. She watched you closely, like she was waiting for something to snap. She stopped defending her brother around you. Stopped telling you “maybe he’ll come around.” Even she had given up on him.

The real fracture didn’t come until you met Aaron.

You didn’t even like him at first. He was too polite, too clean-cut. Nothing like Rafe. But he liked you. Earnestly, without games. He texted you good morning. He didn’t flinch when you got quiet. He asked what you wanted instead of assuming he knew. And when he looked at you, there was no question in it.

The first time he kissed you, your heart didn’t race. It was calm. Like the tide.

You didn’t tell Rafe. But of course, he found out.

And he didn’t say anything not at first. He just looked at you like he was trying to solve a puzzle he didn’t think had pieces. He started showing up more. Sitting next to you at parties again. Standing too close in the kitchen. You caught him staring, once, when you laughed at something Aaron said. Like he couldn’t believe you were smiling at someone else.

Then came the night he cornered you on the porch.

You could smell the whiskey on him, see the anger in his eyes unspoken, coiled tight like a storm about to break.

“He’s not good enough for you.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Aaron. He’s a fucking placeholder.”

Your chest tightened. “Don’t do that.”

He stepped closer. “You think I don’t see the way you look at me?”

“No, Rafe,” you said, voice low and shaking. “You do see it. You’ve always seen it.”

He froze.

“And you used it,” you said. “You let me love you, let me drown in it, and you never once gave anything back.”

“That’s not—”

“It is. And now that I’m finally trying to move on, you’re what jealous?”

“I never asked for any of it.”

That hit harder than you thought it would.

Your throat closed up. You stepped back. “Yeah,” you whispered. “That’s the worst part.”

You walked away before he could see you cry.

He didn’t follow.

And for the first time, he stayed gone.

You didn’t go home that night. Not right away. You drove to the old marina instead, the one no one used anymorejust sat in your car staring out at the docks, letting the silence press against your ribs until you felt like you could breathe again. You weren’t even crying. Not really. Just tired. Hollowed out. There was nothing left to give. Not to him.

You’d said everything. And he’d still let you walk away.

But what you didn’t know what you couldn’t have known was that Rafe hadn’t moved from that porch. He’d watched you disappear into the dark like he always did, like he’d always let you, and for once, the silence didn’t settle. It screamed.

He stood there a long time, trying to find someone else to blame. You. Aaron. Himself. But it all circled back to the same thing: you had loved him completely, and he had treated it like it was always going to be there. Like you were always going to be there.

And now you weren’t.

And it hit him, suddenly, violently, that he couldn’t live with that.

So he did something he never did.

He ran.

Didn’t think. Didn’t grab a jacket. Just grabbed the ring.

It had been sitting in his drawer for years his mom’s. He used to take it out when he was younger, hold it in his hand and imagine what she’d say if she were still around. He’d kept it hidden because he didn’t believe in the kind of love it was meant for.

But he believed in you.

He drove like a man possessed. Called Sarah in a panic when you didn’t answer your phone. She told him you had a place you always went when you needed to be alone. The docks.

And when he got there, he didn’t even wait to catch his breath. Just threw the door open and walked straight to your window, knocked onc hard, like his life depended on it.

You flinched, wiped your eyes out of instinct, even though you didn’t know you were crying. When you saw him, your stomach dropped. “What the hell”

“I love you,” he said before you could finish. His voice cracked right down the middle.

You froze.

He stepped closer to the car, face pale, rain soaking through his shirt now, but he didn’t care. “I love you,” he said again, louder this time, like if he didn’t say it now, he never would.

You swallowed hard. “Don’t”

“I know I don’t deserve to say that,” he went on. “I know I used you. I know I hurt you. But I need you to hear me anyway. Because it’s true.”

You sat there, stunned. Everything inside you still felt like it was bleeding.

“I’ve been in love with you since I was seventeen,” he said. “I was just too much of a coward to say it. Because you’re the only thing in my life that ever made sense. And I was afraid that if I touched it if I said it out loud I’d ruin it.”

Your hands were shaking.

“I never thought I was good enough,” he whispered. “So I just… took what you gave and tried not to ask for more. But I want more. I want everything, and I swear to God I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you if you let me.”

You opened the door slowly. Stepped out onto the gravel.

And he was already reaching into his pocket.

He held out the small box familiar, scuffed, something old and private.

“This was my mom’s,” he said. “She left it to me. I never thought I’d give it to anyone. But it’s yours. If you want it.”

You looked at him at the rain in his hair, the fear in his eyes, the way his hand trembled around the box and your chest cracked open in a way that didn’t hurt anymore.

You stepped into him, wrapped your arms around his neck, and said, “I’ve wanted you to say that for so long.”

His arms were around you in a heartbeat, holding you like something fragile he was terrified to drop.

“I’m not going anywhere this time,” he whispered into your hair. “I swear.”

You pulled back just enough to press your forehead to his. “Don’t make me regret this.��

“Never,” he said. “Not again.”

And when he slid the ring onto your finger, it didn’t feel like a promise.

It felt like home.

[salem-s]

FINAL ── PLAYING THE PART UNDER THE SICILIAN SUN (18+) ── RAFE CAMERON

── SYNOPSIS when your image-obsessed mother catches you and Rafe Cameron ─ your friends with benefits ─ in a compromising situation, you must lie and say you're dating. It spirals out of control when your mother invites him to your cousin's upcoming wedding in Italy, and spirals even further when he says yes. ── WARNINGS language, flufffffffff, angst if you squint, smmmmmuuuutt (unprotected...everything so don't take after them please). 18+ mdni. ── WORD COUNT 13k. legit do not say anything. this was originally 4k words but i obviously couldn't let that happen for the last chapter. so. ── NOTES edited from third person perspective to second, so let me know if there are any mistakes. please see the note at the end of the chapter!! ── SERIES MASTERLIST ── SONG OF THE CHAPTER the only exception by paramore

Rafe swears he hears pounding on his door.

He takes an ear bud out, trying to discern if the noise was real or a part of the song he’s currently listening to. After a moment’s silence, he moves to put the bud back in but one, two beats later, the knocks sound again, confirming someone is at his door so late into the night.

Irritation bubbles in his chest.

Rafe’s been at these stupid memorization cards for what feels like hours, getting nowhere close to being ready for his eight a.m. exam. His mind has – obviously – been elsewhere for the betterment of a week, and he'd be lying if he said the attempt in drowning himself in work has properly distracted him from the events of last week.

Spoiler alert: it hasn't, and it's only getting worse.

Especially now, as the handwriting on the paper started giving him a headache hours ago, so he begrudgingly put on his glasses that he refuses to let see the light of day. The specks, unfortunately, do assist in not making the letters blur together, especially when he’s so tired that his gaze falls in and out of focus.

However, he hates them so goddamn much that it only worsens his already sour mood.

But now they aren’t the only annoyance of his night.

The fact that someone is ferociously pounding on his door only augments his headache, his frustration, and his precariously bubbling temper. He glances at the time, nearing two in the morning, angry that someone has the audacity to not only interrupt his studying, but probably everyone’s sleep on his floor, careless to rhyme or reason or simple ethics. 

He wastes no time standing so quick his chair nearly falls over, stomping over, a long list of curses and horrific things to say are on the tip of his tongue, ready to viscerally berate this person until next Tuesday.

Rafe whips the door open. “The fuck is the–”

His words die in his throat when he sees you.

The air is momentarily knocked from his lungs.

Your hair and makeup are done, as if you've just come from somewhere, adorned in one of his favorite tank tops on you and jeans that hug you too tight to be anything holy. You peer up at him with wide eyes at his harsh words, hugging your basically bare frame in a feeble attempt to warm yourself from wherever you just came from.

God, you look beautiful.

He knows he’s supposed to be mad at you and giving you space and all that, but all of that fades in an instant when he notices your arms coated in goosebumps and your teeth slightly chattering.

Something ugly brews in his chest, discomforted by the thought of you bracing the cold all by yourself. Where is your jacket?

“Jesus, you’re freezing,” he grumbles, ushering you into his room without a second thought.

In an attempt to regain his cool, he frowns to keep up with his indifferent demeanor since he's supposed to be cordial and all, even though the mere thought of attempting small talk with you settles a kettlebell in the pit of his stomach. His heart aches looking at you, because you're simply a walking reminder of how he fucked it all up, said the wrong things and came on too strong with poor timing, a reminder of what he could've had if he was a little more patient, more calculated, less stupid in his endeavors.

Because the past week has been absolute torture for him.

He learned very quickly that almost everything around him reminds him of you: books with an aged spine and annotations adorning the wrinkled pages, simple parts of nature that resemble the color of your eyes, strangers hugging, the mere smell of eucalyptus, everything all at once. The day he got back, he went to the liquor store with Elliot in an attempt to distract himself, but it proved fruitless when he found himself wandering idly in the wine aisle, frozen in place when he found the same bottle that you snagged two of after that grueling dinner with your family.

From that point on, Rafe really only stayed in his room unless it was absolutely necessary to leave.

But it seems as though even the confinements of his room don't provide the solace he's been desperately seeking, as the knowledge of how your room shares a wall with his has been plaguing his conscience. There have been countless times where he's debated saying fuck it, knocking on your door, and begging on his knees to have you in his life again, but he knows he can't do that.

He needs to let you come to him, to not bombard you as he has before. That was what scared you off, his forwardness, so he's vowed to keep cool, keep a distance, and keep quiet as much as he can to give you the space you need.

So, he knows he needs to remain stoic, indifferent, guarded.

Reminding himself of this, Rafe hands you a hoodie off the back of his chair. “Did you lose your key again?”

The sound of his voice is so nice to hear, so refreshing, and you nearly sigh as you hug the hoodie close to your body before pulling it over your head, relishing in the way it smells like him, in its warmth as if he was just wearing it moments ago. Pathetically, you nearly sigh at how it feels adorning your body.

“I left my purse at Elliot’s,” you whisper, hugging your body. “Since when have you had glasses?”

Rafe freezes, forgetting he had them on. 

Ignoring his pink cheeks and ignoring your question, he moves on, putting his guard back up.

Quickly.

“What are you doing here?” His tone is harsh, so he reels it in. “Uh, it’s late. I have an exam.”

You frown at the considerable distance he’s put between you, but part of you really can't blame him since you were the one who orchestrated the falling out.

“I won’t…I won’t take too long. I just need to know if…” You trail off.

How on earth are you going to go about this? Especially when his stare is so piercing, as if he's looking right through your body and into your soul, brows pinched in what you assume is irritation at your stammering.

“Know what?” he drawls out.

Your mouth opens and closes like a fish, gaping to try and find the words. You shiver as you recover from the chilly walk, but also at his stare that you can’t quite make out the meaning behind. Is he mad? Irritated? Relieved to see you? You hate how you can’t tell.

But you take a deep breath.

You know how he feels about you, you know all of it, despite this front he’s wearing right now. If Elliot can confirm it, it must be true. 

And as if you needed the extra push, your gaze drifts slightly beyond him, fixated on his desk and noticing the sprawl of papers, his computer open to an online textbook, and notecards that have almost perfect handwriting etched onto them. What gets you, though, are the five almost professional looking photo prints laid out side by side across the top of his desk.

All of you.

You in the distance teetering your balance on a particularly precarious rock in your private cove. You walking up the dirt path to your nonna's cottage with the mountains behind you. You holding a hand up in an attempt to block the lens as your body adorns a hideous dress you only showed him for shits and giggles. You leaning forward to do your mascara in a tiny mirror hanging on the wall, wearing the perfect beaded dress. And, finally, you sitting alone in the garden chair in your nonna's yard, the moonlight hue behind you as you read your book, unknowing to his presence from the kitchen.

Just above his desk, just hovering over the photos, is his ceramic fish hanging on the wall, one of his only pieces of decor in his entire room.

Rafe follows your gaze with confusion, and his posture stiffens when he realizes what you're looking at, what you discovered. Instantly, he frowns as he side steps just enough to block your view of the photos, of the fish. But the damage has already been done, and your breath hitches as you immediately get the confirmation you need to open your heart up.

All of a sudden, you're blurting it out. 

“Elliot told me what you said to him.” The lack of clarification has Rafe raising a brow, to which you add, “About what happened with Yara.”

Rafe’s breath hitches. 

“Is it true?” Your voice is so small that it doesn’t sound like you. 

“Which part?”

“All of it.” You take a cautious step closer, the tequila running through your bloodstream giving you the confidence. 

Rafe doesn’t answer, instead he cocks his head to the side and lets his eyes trail down your body in calculation, gears working overtime in his head as he soaks in your words, the sliver of desperation coating your tone, the way you're playing with the hem of his hoodie, your brows etched in slight worry as you anticipate his response.

Then, it clicks with him, eyes slightly widening at the realization. The reasoning behind your acute coldness towards him wasn’t out of unrequited feelings, but rather the latter.

You cared too much, felt too much. 

The thought gives him whiplash. You must've seen him and Yara in that godforsaken closet and gotten the complete wrong impression on the matter. His heart fucking lurches at your wordless confession, and no wonder you were so apprehensive about his words, about his intentions, and pushed him away at every single opportunity that presented itself because of a stupid miscommunication, because of her stupid actions.

“Is that why you were upset?” He takes it further and steps closer. “At your nonna’s, you said you were upset about something that made you tell your mom about us. You saw us? In the closet?”

Suddenly, he’s standing right in front of you. 

“Is that why?”

You can’t speak, not while he’s practically caging you in, standing so broad and tall in front of you that it renders you speechless. He faintly smells of shampoo, an intoxicating scent, and you can almost see yourself in the reflection of his thinly wired glasses, only shielding his bright blue eyes through shiny glass. His hoodie swallows you whole, and you're grateful for the extra layer that feels like it’s warding off the vulnerability you're reeking of.

All you can manage is a small nod. 

Rafe clenches his jaw, and a part of you fears you've said the wrong thing. 

But then his eyes immediately soften as he brings a hand up to hover over your jaw, almost in muscle memory, as if he's been paining him to not do so, to not touch you.

For fuck's sake, he almost looks relieved.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

You nearly snort at the simplicity. For a number of reasons, really, but the biggest one comes first.

“I was embarrassed. I thought you didn’t mean what you said in the ballroom.”

Your voice is so quiet that you almost think he doesn’t hear it, especially when he gives no reaction for a few seconds.

Then his palm is pressing harder, fully allowing himself to touch you. And, god, you can't help but lean into the embrace with a long sigh through your nose, not breaking eye contact with him as his thumb ghosts over your bottom lip, over the wound that’s practically all healed with little to no remnants of the disaster that occurred in that bathroom all that time ago. 

A flicker of pain etches over his face at the reminder of the cut, of what your own mother did, but then his eyes trail back up to meet yours, now glossing with certainty.

“Nothing happened with Yara,” he reassures firmly. 

You nod, sure of yourself now. “I know.”

“All I could think about was you.”

You can’t breathe. 

Cautiously, Rafe leans down to test the waters, and once you make no move to pull away from his touch, he indulges in his endeavors to brush his lips against your cheek, pressing a chaste kiss there.

“About your pretty smile.” He pulls back to move to your other cheek. “Your pretty laugh.” To your forehead. “About how being with someone else made me sick.”

The air escapes your lungs. 

“I meant what I said.” Rafe pulls back so he can meet your eye, a flicker of worry glossing over his pretty eyes, but nonetheless filled with determination. “Every word.”

You can’t help your second nature and let a sliver of panic let up. 

“I thought you didn’t want to date in college.”

The excuse is meek, you know that, he knows that. It’s a last ditch effort for him to truly understand what he’s getting himself into. 

But he's serious. Not a fraction of uncertainty glosses over his pretty features, or give you any shroud of doubt that he didn't mean what he said on that ballroom floor. With the firmness of his palm against your burning skin, the narrowed yet softness gaze in his blue eyes, and the way his other fingers on his other hand twitch in your direction tell you all that you need to know: that he's fucking missed you as much as you've missed him.

And – normally – that thought would scare you and send you running for the hills with a heartbeat too erratic and a mind too gone, but now it only solidifies you, grounds you, keeps you tethered to the boy standing in front of you. He's handing you a proverbial knife and hoping you don't stab him with it, and you have once before, but now you don't dream of letting it happen again.

“I didn’t,” he confirms cautiously. “Not until you showed me what it could be like.”

If it’s possible, you lean further into his touch, frowning in your overwhelming blossom of emotions. The thought of being wanted by someone settles a foreign feeling in your gut, wavering between pride and uncertainty. 

“I want you, too,” you whisper, nearly sighing at how he visibly relaxes at your words, but your voice remains shy. “But I’m scared.”

Rafe pinches his brows in the slightest at your tone. “Of what, baby?”

The words die in your throat.

The list is endless, really, piling with a million excuses that only grow by the second. Where can you begin? How the idea of someone wanting more than just your body is evidently unheard of? How the concept of more implies putting up with the ugly parts of life, the parts you push deep down and never let see the light of day?

Your hands find his unoccupied one, holding onto your lifeline as if it'll fucking kill you if you let go. 

“I don’t know how to be more than just…a body.”

That makes him frown. Immediately. 

Despite it, you continue.

"All my life, I've just been..." You try and find the right words, avoiding his eyes and looking down at your connected hands instead at the weight of your upcoming words. "I've never been wanted, or yearned for, or anyone's first choice. It's really hard for me to believe that someone...that you...would want me..."

Rafe reels.

Have you really thought this entire time that he’s only here for the sex? That that’s all you're good for? All you're worthy of being loved for? 

How can you not see how much more you are? How much you mean to him? Don't you know that you occupy his mind at every waking moment? That you're the first thing he thinks of when he wakes up in the morning to the last thing he sees at night, and how he shuts his eyes when he’s alone and pretends you're right there beside him, holding his hand or scratching his back or playing with his hair.

Don't you know how much he loves you?

“Sweet girl,” Rafe murmurs gently before leaning forward, wrapping you in a bone crushing hug that makes you oof against his chest, getting pulled taut against him. “How can you say that? How can you even think–? When I can’t even–” He grips you tighter. “Fuck.”

Your confusion is through the roof at his desperation. “Rafe, are you–”

“Do you even know how much you mean to me?”

That silences you. 

“I’ve never felt like this about anyone,” he says in a wrangled breath. “Ever. I don’t know how to trust people. I don’t like to and I don’t know how. But with you, it’s never felt easier.”

A large hand comes to cradle the back of your head, and your heart lurches when you can feel a slight tremble. 

Especially when he murmurs your name so quietly, so ardently, that you can't help but just listen.

“You’re so much more than a body.” Rafe’s voice is quiet yet firm and it makes you fumble at the sincerity. “You’re smart. You remember things better than anyone I’ve ever met. You wouldn’t admit it, but you’re actually sweet. You take care of things and people you deeply appreciate. I’ve never seen someone so delicately handle a ceramic fish before.”

You shakily chuckle against his chest. 

“And the thought of not being around you anymore really scared me. And even if you...didn't feel the same," he says low, "I wouldn't have minded, as long as I could be in the same room or exist in the same friend group, it wouldn't...matter. As long as I could still see you.” 

Rafe finally relents on his grip, pulling back a fraction and taking his hand to gently grip your chin, forcing you to look up at him and face the ferocity of his words, as if they didn't just fucking crush you in a way you've never felt before. 

“I liked being with you.” His stare is piercing. “Existing together. Doing all of it.”

You hum. On instinct, you reach up to brush some hair out of his eyes.

Rafe’s heart pounds. “Tell me,” he says, voice dripping in desperation. “Tell me it was real to you.”

You nod instantly. “It was real. All of it.”

He sucks in a breath at the verity, and goes to say something else but you don't let him, instead pulling him down to kiss him. 

And, god, it’s exhilarating. 

All of your fears, all of your doubts, all of your uncertainties that plagues yours and his heart, mind, soul all fly out of the window. You can finally lean into one another without the steel weights cursing your shoulders or the cage locking in your hearts. The kiss is a wordless promise, an oath, a safety net. 

His hands are everywhere instantly: arms, waist, face. Not an inch goes unnoticed as he finally, finally can touch you again, feel you again, hear you again. Your hands trail up to the nape of his neck, holding yourself here in his arms as if to remind yourself this is real and happening. He’s here, right here, and he’s not going anywhere, nor is he letting you go anywhere. 

As much as it scares you, the tension in your shoulders slowly release. 

You slowly back him up until his knees hit his desk chair, Rafe taking the hint and sitting down and wasting no time to pull you into his lap. It's muscle memory at this point, molding yourself onto his body. You both sigh at the sensation of the familiarity.

Straddling him, you place your hands on his shoulders, smoothing out the wrinkles in his t-shirt as his hands trail up and down your side, settling under your – his – hoodie and skimpy tank top to feel the ridges of your ribcage, a connection he's been yearning to make ever since his hands left your body last. His palms are hot against your icy skin, sending a plethora of goosebumps up your spine.

Rafe simply stares at you, watching you admire the planes and grooves of his shoulder muscles, his biceps, anything you can get your hands on to make up for lost time spent pining in silence.

When you finally meet his eye, you shyly smile when you notice him already shamelessly looking right back at you. 

One of your hands cradles his jaw, fingers gently skimming over the lenses of his glasses. “I like these.”

Rafe groans, rolling his eyes and darting his gaze away. “I hate them.” 

“Why?” You nudge his cheek to force him to look at you. “I think they make you look handsome.”

“They make me look stupid.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes. “There’s no need to be embarrassed about it. They're glasses."

"Still stupid."

"You should wear them more often,” you demand lightly.

Rafe frowns. “No.”

“Well, don’t they help you see?”

“Obviously, but–”

You smile, and he’s having trouble focusing. “Then case closed.”

His lips twitch. “Sweet girl,” Rafe warns.

There’s no backbone to it. 

“Don’t sweet girl me,” you warn right back at him. Then, quieter, “Why didn’t you bring them?”

Instead he cocks his head to the side with a teasing smile.

“Are you really that interested in my optical choices or is this your sweet little way of getting in my pants?”

You snort. “We both know I don’t have to be sweet to get into your pants.”

Rafe laughs boyishly and you love the sound. But he’s still avoiding your question. 

“Answer.”

“Bossy.”

“Rafe.”

“Okay,” he huffs playfully, “I didn't really have to bring them. I only need them when I’m reading or writing a lot. My eyes get tired.”

You pout endearingly. “That’s, like, the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard–”

“Fuck off.”

“No.” You lean forward and press a slow chaste kiss on his lips. 

Of course, he can’t even fathom pulling away and mmrphs low into your mouth, leaning up to chase your lips again for another kiss when you lean back. You hum at his neediness, but giving in anyway and slightly parting your lips to give him all the access he wants.

Rafe wastes no time in doing so, a hand coming up to cradle the side of your neck to guide your movements as he lazily makes out with you as if he has all the time in the world to do so. The warmth of his mouth, his body, his palm nearly make you melt in your very spot, a wave of relief washing over you.

You decide that you love this spot right here on his lap. Your favorite seat. Your throne. 

When you happily hum again, Rafe kisses you harder, squeezes a little harder. 

“God,” he mumbles against your lips, “I can’t believe you’re mine.”

The possessiveness makes your stomach pool with pride. All his. All yours. No one else's but each other's.

You can’t help but tease him. “I don’t remember you asking me officially.”

“You’re still mine.”

And Rafe kisses you again. Harder. A mark of his words. 

“Say it,” he demands quietly against your lips. 

And you just fucking beam. “I’m yours.” Your fingers splay through his hair. “All yours, Rafey.”

Scoffing, he turns his head away as you chuckle at his reddening cheeks, peppering kisses on his cheek, jaw, lips, anywhere available for you to coat in markings of you, you, you.

“Stop calling me that,” Rafe murmurs, but loses all the edge in his tone because the feeling of you pressing your lips all over him sends his mind for a loop.

You simply hum. “No. You have so many names for me.”

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, but you like those.” 

“Who says I do?”

“Be so fucking for real.”

The laugh that escapes your mouth is loud and boisterous, probably waking up someone on your floor. But Rafe can care less because the sound is music to his ears, despite you jesting at his expense. Shit, you can make fun of him all you want if this is how you're gonna react, smiling and sitting pretty in his lap whilst drowning in his clothes, kissing him like he hung the stars himself. 

You playfully slap his shoulder. “Whatever. But I’m still going to call you–”

“No.”

“Yes. When you’re least expecting it.”

Rafe hums low, a warning.

Shrugging, you suppress a smile. “What? I gotta keep you on your toes somehow.”

“Shut up.” Then, softer. “C’mere.”

You laugh incredulously. “I’m already here.”

You nearly have the gall to laugh again when he ever-so-slightly pouts, but it all dies in your throat when he’s tugging you impossibly closer, resting your face in the crook of his neck as his hands splay wide and broad on your back. It takes you one, two seconds to register his actions, and you find yourself melting at the notion of Rafe Cameron hugging you.

It feels so achingly familiar that you can’t help but sigh in contentment, letting your eyes shut for a few moments as you feel his chest heave in and out with his low syncopated breaths. 

Your heart lurches at the action, pressing yourself impossibly tight against him in fear he's going to disappear if you inch back even in the slightest. He takes a particularly deep breath, one of relief almost, your chests brushing together even closer than before. It makes you hum, pressing another kiss to the soft skin on his neck.

You speak before you register it. "Thank you."

His hands gently rub up and down your back. "For what, baby?"

"For..." You swallow the lump in your throat. "For not running."

Your words make him frown, and he eases you back so he can look you in the eye, confusion glosses over his features as one of his hands reaches up to cradle your face, forcing you to look at him when you turn your head away in embarrassment.

"I'm not going anywhere," he says firmly. "Gonna take a cavalry to get rid of me."

A smile twitches at the end of your lips.

His gaze flickers down to your mouth, letting it linger there for a moment before moving back up to meet your eyes, but before he can do anything else, you're already leaning in and severing the distance.

Rafe's large hand holds you in place, reciprocating your kiss with more fervor than before that makes his breath hitch. Your hips barely – just barely – move in tandem with his that has his hand gripping your waist, stopping your moments immediately.

You lean back at his sudden apprehension, almost shy. "What?"

"Don't- Don't do that," he answers meekly.

Of course, you've never been one to listen.

You roll your hips again.

His other hand leaves your face to grab your waist, both of his palms and all of his fingers digging deep into your flesh to cease your movements. His face is uncharacteristically scrunched in pain at the reluctancy of initiating what he's been dreaming about since the last time you had him.

You notice immediately. "What's wrong?"

Rafe's eyes dart between yours, sucking in a breath as he looks at you. "I don't want to hurt you again."

The words confuse you. Tilting your head to the side, you try and rack your brain on where this sudden approach is coming from, where the sudden apprehension stems from. The expression on his face tells you that he's holding back, he's pained, haunted by something you can't conjecture.

"You haven't hurt me," you tell him earnestly, a little confused, but one-hundred percent honest.

He furrows his brows. "...The day of the wedding?"

What?

You only look at him in befuddlement, mind trailing off when you replay the course of events of the day in your head. The only thing that would pertain to his words was when he fucked you deep and rough that morning because you asked him to. It had felt good. Too good. It was when you realized you were in too deep and it scared the shit out of you.

"Rafe," you say slowly, "what are you talking about?"

He looks pained even repeating it. "You cried. After we..." He shakes the thought away. "There were teardrops on your pillow."

The confession makes your heart skip.

That's why he was so weird with you for the entire day? Why he kept himself at an arm's length and could barely look you in the eye when you lounged together on the beach? Because he thought he'd hurt you? Made you cry? When you were upset for the complete opposite reason?

You frown at his anecdote, hurt that he's had to carry this miscommunicated guilt with him for a week, unknowing to the real reason, and under the complete wrong impression of your feelings.

Before you know it, your hands are reaching up to cradle each side of his face tenderly.

"That wasn't because of you," you whisper ardently, almost pained that he's been thinking that the whole time. "Not at all."

But Rafe doesn't seem to believe that. "I was too hard."

"No," you say immediately, shaking your head to emphasize your point. "No, you were too gentle."

That makes him furrow his brows.

At his silence, you continue with a deep breath.

"I thought that if I asked for it rough, it would let me get over my feelings for you, to remind me that it had to just be sex." Your voice is impossibly quiet yet firm. "But you didn't treat me like another fuck, you made sure I had what I needed, said all of these beautiful things, treated me impossibly gentle afterward."

The pad of your thumb brushes over his cheekbone.

"I cried because I was scared," you admit gently. "Not of you. Never of you. But of my feelings. You didn't make it easy for me to try and stop liking you."

A smile twitches at the end of his lips.

"So," he says quietly after a moment, "I didn't hurt you?"

You shake your head earnestly to confirm. "No. I'm sorry that I let you believe that you did."

His eyes blink, soaking in the weight of your words with a slow nod, the gears in his head turning as he gradually lets himself understand that it wasn't his hands that orchestrated your tears. He didn't hurt you. You are fine.

"You're okay," Rafe drawls out cautiously. "Right?"

Your nod is immediate. "Yes. Always with you."

That seems to make the tension in his shoulders release bit by bit, relaxing under your touch and allowing himself to believe you, believe that it wasn't what he thought it was, believe that he didn't hurt you.

"Okay?" You ask gently, confirming that he understands what you're saying.

Now he does, nodding against your touch and letting his hands experimentally skim your waist, easing up on his grip, and letting them venture over the smoothness of your skin. He waits a beat for you to pull back, to tell him to stop, but you don't.

Instead, you press yourself down onto him, making his breath catch.

It's out of clarity, certainty, especially when you lean forward and press a chaste kiss on his lips, a confirmation of your truth. He leans up to chase your mouth, and he's successful when you close the distance, allowing his tongue access to your mouth as teeth clashes against teeth, a wave of passion emerging like a tidal wave at the notion that he didn't hurt you. He didn't hurt you. He didn't hurt you.

"Fuck," Rafe mutters against your lips when you roll your hips once more. "You're going to fucking kill me. I swear."

Experimentally, he grips your waist and moves you back and forth against his already hardening dick, and when you don't pull back or voice your discomfort, he allows himself a deep exhale, allows himself to soak into the moment, allows himself to enjoy the feel of you, you, you.

"I missed you," you nearly whisper before you can stop it, the vulnerability feeling foreign on your tongue. "Missed this."

Rafe groans against your lips. "Me too, baby." He kisses you again as you moan quietly into his mouth as he continues guiding your movements against him. "Let me show you, mhm?"

Anticipation pools in your stomach, blossoming in your gut and sending warmth down to where your body touches his.

You're barely nodding before his hands venture down to your ass, holding you taut against him as he stands, your grip tightening around his neck like a koala and wrapping your legs around his middle. In seconds, your back hits the mattress, his knee is slotting between your thighs, and his lips are on yours again.

It's so familiar, so achingly familiar that you cannot believe you went so long without it, without him.

You arch into his chest, bodies molding together as puzzle pieces connect. A hand flies to his hair, tugging the strands gently that makes him omit a low groan into your mouth, one hand shamelessly groping one of your breasts under his hoodie and the other bracing himself over your body, barely hovering.

Rafe pulls back just slightly, a flicker of irritation coating his pretty face as he leans up to take his glasses off, ones that have slid down the bridge of his nose just enough to annoy him.

But you react before you realize it.

"Wait," you say, leaning up a tad for emphasis, a hand coming up to cradle his face and gingerly skim the metal as he freezes. "Keep them on."

A teasing smile twitches at his lips. "Seriously?"

You sheepishly nod, biting your lip.

Rafe stares at you for a moment, amused gaze darting between your eyes at the request.

"Please?" You add sweetly.

The scoff that leaves his mouth makes you suppress a grin, knowing how that one word makes him feel and using it to your advantage. He shakes his head in disbelief at you, but his faux irritation proves to be fruitless as a smirk can't help but grow on his lips.

"Can't say no to that, hm, sweet girl?" He murmurs, half in playfulness and the other half in adoration.

You shake your head slowly at him, your grin fading into something shy, as if asking for what you want proved to be difficult.

But he wouldn't dream of denying you that. Ever. Especially when you asked so nicely, so sweetly, just for him. Who is he to say no? Hell, you could've asked him for a car in that same tone and he wouldn't hesitate to ask what color, make, and model.

So Rafe indulges your request, pushing the glasses up further on the bridge of his nose and leaning down to connect your lips for the umpteenth time, nearly grinning when you let out a satisfied mmrph at him letting you get what you want. His hands are everywhere they can reach, groping and mapping out the curves of your body and nearly moaning at the softness of your skin.

"Can't believe you're mine," he murmurs against your lips, sending a shockwave down your spine as his thumb brushes over your nipple. "All mine."

"Yours," you whisper sultry, needy, desperately, nearly bucking up into him.

Rafe's eyes roll back at the sound of it, pushing the hem of your – his – hoodie to reveal your chest, and you sit up to aide him in taking it off. The act is deliberately thorough, as his calloused palms smooth over your skin, gingerly pushing it up over your head. Your tank top is next. Then, your bra. Then your jeans. Before you know it, you're almost completely nude, simply left in your light blue underwear and exposed in the cool air of his room.

All he can do is stare at your bareness, letting out an appreciative hum as one hand grabs a breast, his cool ring ghosting over your nipple that causes you to sigh deeply, eyes raking from your stomach, to your chest, and eventually back up to your face, where you peer up at him in anticipation. His hand gropes you meaningfully, as if he's studying the feel of the swell in his palm, relishing in your warmth.

"You're so beautiful," Rafe admires gently, almost to himself, before leaning down and taking the other breast in his mouth.

The words make your heart skip a beat, but you shove down the feeling as you arch into his mouth that licks and bites and sucks against the soft skin, a hand in his hair to keep yourself grounded, keep yourself tethered to him. No inch of your chest goes unnoticed, untouched, ignored.

Rafe is thorough in his appreciation, and as lovely as it is, you're growing impatient with need as you writhe underneath him.

"Want you," you whine under your breath, not like he can hear you anyway as it comes out as an incoherent babble, but figuring it's better than saying his name over and over like a mantra, but it proves fruitless when he albeit hums. "Rafe?"

"Yes, baby?" He asks lazily in between kisses as if he has all the time in the world.

"I want... I..."

He etches lower and lower on your body until his mouth is ghosting over your clothed cunt, a low hum emitted from his mouth as he presses a kiss against the wet patch on your underwear, greedily inhaling and exhaling hot breath that makes you squirm. By the looks of it, he's pleased at the sight of you eager for him, ready for him, squirming for him.

Instead of responding, he licks and sucks against the cotton of your panties, against the spot he knows makes you crumble all the same. You moan raggedly, almost embarrassed at the volume given the fact that you've just started, given that he's doing this over your clothes.

"Words," Rafe mumbles teasingly, the baritone of his voice vibrating your core with such fervor that it makes your back arch and your fingers grip a little harder in his hair. "What d'ya want, hm?"

"You," you manage to say, breathless and writhing. "Need you."

His nimble fingers hook under the waistband of your panties, sliding them down achingly slow until they're fully off, discarded somewhere carelessly as he resumes his position between your legs, taking in the sight of you: so pretty looking down at him, cunt glistening with need, face flush with anticipation.

One of your legs hooks over his shoulder as his mouth ghosts over your core.

"You have me," is all he says before closing the distance.

You moan at the contact, as his tongue plunges deep where you need him and his nose brushes against your clit. The taste of you has him groaning into your heat, the rumble causing your eyes to roll back at the sensation. The sound is obscene, especially when he eats like a starved man, like he's been depraved of his favorite meal, like he's ravenous.

"Taste so good, princess," he practically moans into your heat.

It's almost unbearable. You've been so worked up this past week at the thought of him, the thought of never being able to make things right, the thought of losing something you can't help but love. The wave of relief that washes over you only augments your pleasure, because your worries dissipate and you allow yourself to enjoy this, enjoy him, enjoy what he can give you.

One of his hands venture up your body to grab a breast, as if he can't allow his hands to be unoccupied, to not feel and dote on you with every fiber of his being. The added pleasure makes your eyes roll back involuntarily.

"Oh my god, Rafe," you whisper so quietly that it's barely audible.

Your other hand covers his, gripping the back of his hand and squeezing tight to wordlessly reciprocate your want, your need, your appreciation.

His other hand comes to aide his mouth, maneuvering his body so he can both use his fingers as they glide in with ease, and his tongue that can't bear to separate just yet. It makes you whine so beautifully that his hips stutter forward against the mattress, groaning low into your cunt at the sudden sensation.

As Rafe sucks and laps and fingers you so brazenly, you let out a ragged breath at the plethora of pleasantries, suddenly hit with how nice everything feels, how the combination of his mouth, plunging fingers, and the hand fondling your breast start the familiar coil bubbling in your core.

"Fuck," you curse at the intensity, and how quickly it builds. "Please, I-I-"

Your hips writhe under his touch as you let out a particularly broken whine, chest heaving as you get closer and closer to your release.

"I know, baby," he murmurs low, almost strained.

Gasping, you momentarily lose breath at the speed of it, gripping his hand that's on your breast tighter, affirming how quickly you're approaching your high with your body language, one that he seems to understand quite well, something he's come to know better than a lot of other things in life. He's well versed in your tendencies, a pride he wears with his chest.

"Rafe," you whine as your orgasm comes closer, and closer, and closer. "I'm-"

You don't finish the sentence, and you don't even hear if he responds, because your orgasm hits you so quickly, so blindly, that your back arches off the mattress, a tidal wave of ecstasy flooding your veins and searing hot in your core. Your heartbeat is up to your ears, and he could be saying the secrets to the universe and you'd simply have no idea. It's pulsating, inebriating, because you don't hide behind a curtain of shame of how much you need him, not anymore, and that makes the release tenfold.

Despite your writhing hips, Rafe is able to lap up every drop, groaning deep into your cunt at the taste of you, of how nice you feel against his fingers, against his tongue, how pretty you sound as you let him hear you louder than ever.

Lazily, he licks and sucks you through the aftershock, nearly grinning at how your thighs tremble against his head and your ragged breaths ease from the intensity. Your thumb rubs absentminded circles on his hand, a gesture so fucking sweet that he reciprocates by placing a chaste kiss against your cunt, eyeing it for a moment as a brief goodbye before he sighs a hot breath against it.

"You did so well, sweet girl," he praises, trailing kisses up your body while turning his palm in your hand to gingerly lace his fingers through yours, squeezing once, twice, three times until his mouth is against your neck, sucking that sweet spot that makes you shiver.

You practically shake underneath him, still attempting to return to planet earth.

Rafe's nose nudges your jaw. "You okay?"

You exhale a noise that you think is affirmation, but frankly you're still trying to screw your head on straight after hearing your heartbeat in your ears, shuddering under his grounding touch that sends electricity through your already amplified veins.

"Yes," you start breathlessly, "I-I've just been– my brain– I couldn't... I need to..."

Rafe's face is suddenly inches from yours, practically beaming down at your incoherent babbling with a knowing glance, one that affirms just how nice he fucks you (your words, not his, as you've so graciously told him once). It's proving true now, as he takes in the sight of your gazed expression and bleary eyes, chest swelling with pride.

Watching you attempt to figure out your words all breathless and pouty, he can't help but let his gloating simmer into something more affectionate, something softer that he seems to only reserve for you. It's fascinating to see you like this, completely unguarded and fucked out and beautiful, nonetheless.

"Couldn't what?" He eggs on, heart blooming at the state of you.

"It doesn't matter," you mutter absentmindedly as you slip your hand out of his to paw at his chest, still recovering from the dizziness of your brain, movements sluggish as you reach down for the tent in his sweatpants while your eyesight slowly returns to normal. "C'mere, I–"

"Easy," he drawls out amusingly, taking the trembling hand that reaches for his dick and lacing his fingers through yours instead. "You're shaking."

You blink through your frustration, your vision returning (almost). "I'm not– I– You're being withholding."

His grin is impossibly wide. "I'm sorry, sweet girl." He doesn't sound apologetic in the slightest. "I'll give you another, just catch your breath, yeah?"

Your struggle is obvious, and your desperation even more, because you've missed him so fucking bad and all you want to do is feel him irrevocably, completely, ardently. The realization is pathetic, you know, but you figure that you're past the point of being shy, especially with him, who has seen you at your all.

You frown, spluttering, utterly flustered at his nonchalance, especially when his unoccupied hand comes up to cradle the side of your face, running the pad of his thumb on the corner of your mouth. "Wh– No, I don't want another, I want–"

"You don't want another?"

Groaning, you flush under his piercing stare. "No, I– Ugh, Rafe. I want you."

"Me?" Rafe repeats in faux surprise, brows raised playfully. "Could've just asked."

You roll your eyes so hard it only makes you a little more dizzy, trying really hard to appear angry but it goes nowhere when a hint of a smile ghosts your lips. And it only grows when he leans in, placing a long, chaste kiss on you, and you melt into it when you taste yourself, lungs wound tight. You figure you can breathe later.

He notices immediately, pulling back with a boyish chuckle that makes your chest feel funny. "Sorry. Couldn't help it."

"Do it again," you mumble shyly, eyelids heavy with desire. "Please."

And he does. Immediately.

You albeit whine into his mouth as he reciprocates the noise at the sound of it, squeezing your hand once more and the gesture nearly kills you as you practically pout into his mouth at the sweetness of it. With your mind airy and lungs breathless, all you can think about is Rafe, Rafe, Rafe, how he kisses you, how he touches you, how his voice sounds reverberated against your body.

It's incriminatingly intoxicating to be surrounded by him in all of your senses: his hand laced in your own, his breathy whimpers against your lips when your hand trails to the hem of his shirt to brush against his bare abdomen, teasing the waistline of his sweats. You're caught in a whirlwind of him, drowning in his scent and caged in by his arms.

You realize quickly, as you've noted before, that Rafe Cameron should come with a warning.

He pulls back, and you're about to protest until you see he's moving to take his shirt off in one swift motion, sick of the cotton barrier between your chests. As he begins to take his sweats and boxers off, you sit up, idly waiting for him as you tuck your legs underneath you. The sight of his cock hard and aching, dripping pre-cum off the tip, has you shamelessly staring, as you let out a small breath you didn't realize you were holding.

Rafe notices your change in position, patiently waiting all pretty and breathless and brazenly looking at his dick, and he can't help but tilt his head and stare at you with an amused gleam in his eye.

When he makes no effort to move, your eyes travel back up to meet his to see that they're already staring at you, a piercing gaze that has you biting your lip at the notion of being caught.

"What?" He asks teasingly, searching your face for any indicator of what you want.

But you're apparently good with your words now, or at least better than before.

"Wanna ride you."

The sentence makes Rafe scoffs in disbelief, shaking his head at you as he runs a hand through his hair, practically in awe of you, of your words, of how good you're being for him tonight, how you're starting to ask for things. It makes his chest swell with pride, proud that you feel comfortable enough around him to start voicing your needs, your wants, things that he'll give to you in less than a heartbeat.

Nonetheless, once he's learned how to use his brain again, he leans forward, turning his body so he's sitting up against the headboard and extending an arm for you almost immediately.

Which you graciously take, gripping his forearm as you crawl onto his lap, sucking in a breath when his dick is the only thing in between your two stomachs. You can't help but stare down at it, bringing a hand to grip his length like you've been dreaming about for days, letting out a deep sigh that makes your hot breath fan over his tip.

Rafe lets out a low moan, gripping your hips impossibly tight as he watches you spread the pre-cum off his tip with your thumb, spreading it down his length and jerking him off at a painfully slow pace that nearly has his hips bucking at the sensation of it. The sight of your hand wrapped around him nearly makes his brain shut off, dumbifying him to the point where all he can do is pathetically whine as you hold his dignity in the palm of your hand.

A particular tight squeeze makes him tense underneath you, eyes screwing shut for a moment to compose himself as one of his hands leaves your hips to wrap around your wrist, stopping your movements altogether.

Your head whips up, pouting. "What?"

Rafe just shakes his head, almost pained as he can't even get the words out.

But you understand him, and you pout. "But I want to."

"Sweet girl."

You hum, looking back down as you feel his hand push your wrist down, down, down until, with some adjusting, his cock is sliding in between your folds.

The sensation makes you both moan shamelessly, your lashes fluttering as your eyes roll shut. Your stomach pools in warmth for the anticipation, especially when your hips rock back and forth against him to coat his cock with the remnants of your previous orgasm, mixing it with the pre-cum that you graciously spread on him. The feeling, almost on command, makes him practically shudder underneath you.

Rafe whines out a curse, and if you weren't so light-headed you'd think he's begging. "Feel so nice already, making me go crazy."

Frankly, the stubborn part of you wants to elongate this as much as possible, but as you feel your prior orgasm practically dripping onto his length, it's clear that you're in no position to withhold him from experiencing the same euphoria. All you want to do is give back what he did for you, how he made you feel, to wordlessly tell him how much you appreciate him, yearn for him, want him to be taken care of.

With shaky hands, you guide his cock to your entrance, not wasting another second before you're slowly sinking down onto his length.

"Shit," he murmurs shakily against your lips, his grip iron tight on your hips – borderline, your ass – as he feels you lower inch by inch. "Oh my fucking god, holy fuck. Taking me so goddamn well."

It isn't until you feel him fully bottom out when you're letting out a ragged breath, one that you were unaware you were holding at the intensity of the feeling, of the stretch, of how much more you can feel him in this position, his cock hitting places unknown as you still on his lap, soaking in the moment of simply being full of him, relishing in the notion of how nice it is to be in your favorite spot.

Your arms sling around his neck, draped over his shoulders to impossibly taut yourself to his chest as you place a chaste kiss on his lips, one that he can't even reciprocate because he's still sharply breathing, still not over how well you're taking him and how perfect you feel around him. It's, understandably, making his brain all fuzzy, and all he can try and concentrate on is not coming in this given moment.

So, no, he doesn't kiss you back. He can't.

Instead, he shakily exhales against your lips, gently shaking his head when you cheshire-cat grin at him, attempting to roll your hips in retaliation but his grip on your hips is iron. Part of you relishes in the marks you're going to wake up to, imprinted by him, and greedily want to and move again to get him to dig deeper, to be able to feel the reminders of him in the morning.

You try. He holds you still even harder.

"Just- Fuck," Rafe groans. "Gimme a minute, wanna feel you."

You pout, ignoring the way your heart thumps at the simplicity of his words, yet find yourself obeying. Leaning back a fraction, you take a moment to take a selfish peek at him: blue eyes blown black with lust, hair falling onto his forehead in messy waves that you brush back gingerly, his glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose that you fix silently, lips parted and swollen from all the activity he's been engaging in with them.

He looks unequivocally fucked out. You assume you look equally as such.

Without thinking, your arms retract from their position around his neck, slithering up the sides of his neck and letting your hands cradle each side of his jaw, holding his face in place as your thumbs absentmindedly trace circles, squares, triangles on the soft skin. You simply stare at him, admire him, wait for him to give you the green light to continue moving.

And Rafe doesn't think he's ever been held like this before.

It does something irreversible in his chest, a pang of an unknown emotion jolting through his skin like electricity as he simply sits under your touch, teetering between wanting to explode with admiration and shutting down altogether to sulk in the feeling. He's sure you have no idea what you're doing to him, and whether you mean to or not, he's sure there's nothing better on the planet than this, than the feel of you wrapped around him, holding him, grounding him.

His hands move up and down your spine, tracing vertebrae bone by bone in a delicacy he never knew he possessed. As his heart pounds in his chest, his mind morphs to mush, and the only thing he can conjecture is that he is, irrevocably, yours for the rest of his life. There's frankly no doubt about it, and the thought makes his lashes flutter shut to truly soak in the physicality of it all.

He feels you place a feather-light kiss on his lips, and before you can pull back to continue to give him the moment to gather himself, he's chasing the kiss and closing the distance again.

This time, Rafe's the one moaning into your mouth, especially as you accidentally shift your hips when kissing him back. At the slight movement, his impatience is suddenly through the roof as his hands venture down to your ass, slowly starting to guide your motions up and down, back and forth, taking him in ways that has his eyes rolling back.

Your thighs aide his movements for about a minute, but soon begin to tremble as your bounces get needier, kisses become breathless, sighs turn into whimpers. Calloused palms roam the entirety of your body, groping and rolling the flesh of your ass in tandem with your movements, slithering up your ribcage to squeeze and suck on your bouncing tits, down to where your bodies connect to press a firm thumb on your clit.

That right there makes you whine so gutturally deep where his hips unexpectedly jerk into you, his cock – somehow – burying deeper inside you to a spot unreached before.

Rafe moans your name like a mantra, like it's the only word he knows.

It makes your brain fuzzy, as your neediness takes over and your conscience is on autopilot. You say something, but it comes out like an incoherent babble, something insignificant and probably pertaining to how good he feels, as you continue to shift your hips up and down to take his full length, lift up to where his tip barely pokes out, only to sink back down onto him again. Over, and over, and over.

Your arms sling back over his shoulders, lazily linking behind his neck as one of his hands snakes around your back to pull you impossibly closer while the other works your clit, thumb pressing on it so firmly that you momentarily see stars at the ferocity of it all. Nails scratching the smooth skin of his back, you almost break skin at the attempt to pull him closer, as the need for more, more, more stems from the coil beginning to rumble in your stomach.

"Rafe," you gasp, sucking in a breath as you feel the familiar sensation bubbling. "Feel so full, feels so good."

"You feel like a dream," he mumbles shakily against your lips, hips jerking up into you as you recognize that he must be close. "Never gonna– fuck. Can't believe you were– and I was– oh my god, oh m– You feel so fucking nice– I'm gonna–"

Your chest is light, core on fire. "Something's– I feel– I–"

For a second, your eyes roll back as a searing hot sensation floods your lower half, and you momentarily only see white as you feel your body practically give out and lean forward onto his, gasping into the crevice of his neck as his hips slam into you from underneath. Your nails sink into the skin of his shoulder blades as firmly as you can muster with your little-to-no strength in a feeble attempt to ground yourself. Your whines are loud and straight pornographic at the branding fire feeling in your cunt.

Did you just come?

Given the heat overwhelming your core and the bundle of nerves shooting electricity through your veins, you think you just did. With your heartbeat in your ears, the sound of Rafe's shameless moans feel like they're underwater as you're practically putty in his grasp, both of his arms bear-wrapped around you as he thruuuuusts up into you with such intensity, such fervor, that you think he just came, too.

Spots blur your vision as you moan into the hot skin of his neck as he fucks you through your orgasm, only now feeling the hot spurts of his cum gushing into you with every upwards thrust of his, and you can't deny how fucking good it feels to be full of him – to be really full of him – as the sensation is burning hot and tempestuous and everything you've needed.

Your chest heaves at the intensity, clawing at his upper back for some sort of leverage that you're not sure will do anything to aide your limp body. His hips grind up into your core, and once you gain some sort of semblance back from practically passing out from the orgasm he just gave you, you realize he's been speaking the entire time.

You happen to catch the tail end of his words.

"–ve you, I fucking– I– fuck-" Rafe whines, and the sound vibrates your lips that are pressed against his vocal cord. "It's like you're made for me, feel so fucking nice, so pretty on top of me, I– fuck. How could I– When you–? With the–? Oh my god, oh my fucking god."

All you can respond with is a low moan, overstimulated as you come down from your earth-shattering orgasm as he fucks himself using you through his, his cum leaking out of you and spilling down your thighs and onto his lower stomach. The sight of it makes your breath hitch, breathless at how much you both came at the same time.

His bucking gradually ceases, becoming less and less grandiose and eventually settling in stillness as his chest heaves against yours. You register his hands trailing up and down your back soothingly, lips pressed to your hairline and placing chaste kisses with sweet nothings riddled between them. Your eyes flutter shut, butterfly kissing the skin on his neck that makes goosebumps adorn his arms.

The two of you sit like this for a minute, mentally coming down from the daze your simultaneous orgasms put you through. Once your vision returns to normal (i.e. you're no longer seeing stars every time you open your eyes to try and look at him), you gently press the palm of your hands to his shoulders, pushing yourself up off his chest to sit up and find some semblance of independence.

Your brain is foggy, no doubt, as you hazardously sway as you blink at him, heart racing as you discover he's already looking at you.

"Holy shit," you murmur, dazed and fighting exhaustion.

He exhales shakily. "I know."

You manage a wry smile. "That was-"

"I know," he repeats bashfully, a smile twitching the corner of his mouth.

With a trembling hand, you reach up to push his glasses further up his nose, letting your fingers dwell on the metal sides before bringing it down to cup his jaw. It's as if you're a ghost in your own body, feeling airy and light yet wrecked all the same, shaking as if you've been left in the freezing cold with no amenities, shaking as if he just gave you the best orgasm you've ever had.

Noticing your frailness, you laugh in a self deprecating way. "I think I passed out."

Rafe exhales a shaky chuckle, one of disbelief, as a hand travels up to the side of your neck, keeping your head in place from all the swaying. Though a flicker of concern coats over his eyes at the hazy smile you're flashing him, eyes blinking ferociously as if they're regaining sight.

It makes him frown. "Did you? Are you okay?"

You nod, lazy yet immediate. "Uhm, did you hear me? I think our neighbors are gonna kill us."

A boyish laugh escapes his lips, and he lets himself ease into the fact that you're fine, you're smiling, you're gazing at him like he hung the goddamn stars himself.

His thumb brushes a tear from the corner of your eye, one that you didn't know you had, humming low and sure as his eyes rake over the features of your pretty face. Now, you're left in the stilled silence of your own doing, basking in the aftermath of your actions, of the words that led you to this point. Your heart skips a beat at the vulnerability, knowing it's more than sex, knowing that what you're feeling right now – the gravitational pull towards him – is reciprocated, especially as his gaze softens. It's replaced by something deeper, more raw, cut open for you to do what you please.

The intensity of his stare makes your breath hitch, and, despite literally what just occurred, a wave of shyness overcomes you, averting your gaze down to his chest.

But in your bottom peripheral, you catch a glimpse of the fucking mess.

Your eyes widen, looking down to where your bodies connect. "Oh my god."

His gaze follows lazily, glancing at the sight with nonchalance for his soaked bedsheets, suppressing a shit eating grin as he continues to see small amounts of cum still dripping out of you, as if there's an endless supply of it inside you, continuously adding to the plethora of a mess on his (freshly washed, by the way) bedsheets.

You blink stupidly, attempting to fathom the sheer amount of mere sex all over your lower bodies, all over the sheets, some of it even grazing his abdomen. How did that even get there? How could the two of you produce that much? And – oh, god – is it ever going to come out of his sheets? Fuck, is it leaking through?

But he has no qualm with the matter, and instead beams at the fact.

"That was all you, sweet girl," he teases with a hand skimming the faint bruises starting to form on your hip. "You came so hard. You squir-"

Your hand comes up to cover his mouth.

Your face scrunches up in embarrassment at the word, because you fucking hate the term, and frankly assumed it was a myth for the longest time since you've never done it before, nor have any of your friends. Yet your heart thumps at the possibility that – most of – this mess is from you.

No, it couldn't be. It can't be.

Because if it is, he is never, ever going to let you live it down, and you can count on that for a fact.

Eyeing him quickly and feeling your face flush as he stares right at you, eyes twinkling with amusement, you remove your hand from his mouth and ring your fingers together, looking back down to the sheets with a dismissive scoff.

"I did not," you argue meekly because, frankly, you have no idea if you did or not. You don't even know what that was. "This is all yours."

Rafe's grin is blinding, teasing, fucking proud. "You totally did. Went everywhere, baby."

Face flushing, you groan and throw your hands up to cover your face, hating how hot your skin feels at his laugh and complete nonchalance over the matter.

"Fuck," you murmur as you take in the sight of it. "Are you serious? But I didn't– I don't even– How could I–?"

Instead of answering, he whistles low. "Holy shit, you really did pass out, didn't you?"

You refuse to answer, taking your bottom lip in between your teeth as guilt riddles your chest for ruining his sheets. Expensive ones, at that. You're assuming it has a crazy thread-count imported from god-knows-where, as he's the person to get the best of the best of material things as long as he has the means to obtain them. You've always liked sleeping in his room on the random occurrence it would happen, partly because his bed is always so damn comfortable, the sheets definitely having something to do with it.

"I'll wash them" you offer quietly, slight panic settling in now that you're – somewhat – back to normal and coherent enough to register that this is a problem. "I'll buy you new ones-"

But, of course, Rafe simply shakes his head, pressing his palms against your spine to lure you closer, letting the words die in your throat as he tugs you against his lips. He kisses you slow yet meaningful, a wordless promise that he's not mad about something like this, he's not even concerned, barely letting his beaming smile falter at the thought of having to clean it up. He's only thinking about you, you, you.

"No need," he murmurs against your mouth, still fucking grinning. "I'm framing and putting this shit on my wall."

You groan at his words, cheeks unabashedly hot.

"Gonna time-stamp it and everything," he adds just to be a prick. "Wave it around like a flag, and shit."

You want the ground to swallow you whole. "Stop."

"Wear it like armor."

"You're insufferable."

"And you're hot. I mean it, baby. I'm gonna get you to do that every time."

"Rafe."

"What?" He says incredulously as if it isn't the most embarrassing thing to ever happen to you. "You can't expect me not to go crazy over that, hm?"

You only shake your head at him, but you suppose if the roles were reversed, you'd definitely feel an inclination to drawl out the teasing to a T. After all, riling him up is one of your favorite past-times, as riling you up actually might be his number one.

Eventually, you secede. Especially when he threatens you with another orgasm.

After he cleans you up and delicately dresses you in his own clothes, with wobbly legs you attempt to help him strip the sheets (even though all he told you to do is sit at his desk and look pretty, which you wholeheartedly refused to do) and replace them with his spare set. In an effort to get your shit together, you use the communal restroom to wash up, taking one of his spare toothbrushes – because of course he has one – and using it. He goes into the restroom across the hall, stating he was bored of being alone, to freshen himself up.

When you return to his room with him hot on your tail, you slither back onto the clean sheets and settle under them as if you were made to lay there.

Getting comfortable, you quietly watch him resume his tasks of the night: organizing his notes, taking off his glasses and leaving them askew – to your utter dismay – as his shirt and sweatpants follow, leaving him in boxers, and finally turning off his desk lamp as he navigates through the dark and and climbs into bed beside you. 

It’s muscle memory the way you puzzle-piece your way into each other’s arms. Rafe tugs you impossibly close, placing a chaste kiss on your hairline as your hands splay across his bare chest, nearly sighing in relief at the familiarity. It's unfathomably inviting, it's cloud nine, it's home.

When he starts to twirl your hair with his nimble fingers, you sigh again.

“Tired?” Rafe murmurs gently. 

All you do is nod against his neck, placing a ginger kiss on his vocal cord.

He hums at your sweet gesture, nearly melting at the implication. “Okay, sweet girl. Go to sleep. I'll be up early tomorrow but you can sleep in, m'kay?”

Tomorrow. Early morning. Notes. Glasses.

Fuck. Exam.

Your eyes flutter open as you remember his night before you arrived, all the papers scattered on his desk, the reason he was wearing those godforsaken glasses in the first place, the open textbook on his computer, the entire reason he was up so late in the first place.

A kettlebell settles in your gut.

“Wait.” Rafe hums lazily in response. “What about your exam?”

With a chuckle, he nuzzles into your hair, unbothered.

“Baby, if I don’t know it by now, there’s no use.”

Part of you feels guilty. Guilty about plaguing his conscience for the betterment of a week and – no doubt – pulling his focus from his studies and all of the important shit going on in his life. Guilty about arriving at his door in the middle of the night and – again – pulling his concentration from what he needs to pay attention to in order to get the marks he needs to pass.

Guilty about everything you've put him through, him, Rafe, your Rafe, who's been so patient with you in your journey of self discovery or whatever bullshit.

“I can help,” you offer weakly, as he rubs soothing up and down your back. “I’m a good teacher.”

Rafe chuckles quietly and you nearly frown, unsure of his nonchalance. 

“Best teacher I know,” he murmurs. His voice is deep and baritone and it practically lulls you to sleep. 

Your eyes are already closed. “Let me help. Please.”

“Very sweet of you. Go to sleep.”

“‘M really smart. You said so.”

“I did.”

You yawn. “What’s the class?”

Rafe doesn’t answer for a minute, and you soon believe he falls asleep. But then, quietly, “Art history.”

Your heart flutters. “I know about that.”

A warm hand rubs up and down your back. “I’m sure you do, baby.” Then, it cradles the back of your head in brazen laziness. “Sleep.”

His voice emulates a lullaby, low and alluring and smooth. Impossibly, you nuzzle closer to him with a stupid smile on your face. Grinning against his neck, you press the lightest kiss you can muster as your hands gently skim over the hills and divots of his chest, grounding yourself, a reminder that this is real. He’s here, right here, holding you, reciprocating your love, your want, your need. 

“Stop smiling,” he says above you, but his tone is far from authoritative. Instead it’s softer, as if he’s suppressing a smile as well. “I can feel it.”

You squirm when he pinches your side, reciprocating the act and attempting to tickle him, but he doesn’t budge in the slightest.

Suddenly, Rafe grabs your wrists lightning fast and pins them high over your head, the motion forcing you on your back as he hovers over you. Despite the darkness, you can feel his face inches from yours, breath fanning over your lips. 

“I thought you wanted me to go to sleep,” you challenge. 

Rafe snorts. “You’re being a brat.”

Ah, that word. That sort of behavior has gotten you in trouble before, and the thought of annoying him makes you grin even harder. 

“Rafey, that’s hardly nice.”

The guttural groan he lets out makes you laugh quite unattractively, letting out an oof when he collapses against your body and therefore crushing you. Nuzzling his face in the crook of your neck, he shakes his head and mumbles something incoherent against your soft skin that feels like a million pin pricks to each nerve.

His hand leaves your wrists and slowly drags down your arm, settling on the top of your ribcage just under the swell of your breast, lazily rubbing his thumb over the grooves and curves of the bone with little to no shame whatsoever. 

The act gives you goosebumps. “What? Nothing to say?”

“Go to bed.”

You hum, kneading your fingers through his hair and smiling when he lets out a content sigh. “Okay, fine.”

Rafe practically clings to you, breathing in your scent and unabashedly nestling into your embrace. Your fingers through his hair feel so achingly familiar, and he doesn’t realize how much he’s missed it until now. He feels your lips gently press on the crown of his head, his heart skipping a beat as he involuntarily lets out another sigh, a wordless thank you for trusting him, believing in him, and – most importantly – letting yourself have this. Trusting him. Trusting yourself.

Exhaustion seeps through his pores, eyelids heavily shutting as his body seems to sink deeper into the mattress, deeper against your body. Your nails lightly scraping his scalp and back quickly lure him to sleep, so gentle and adorning that he’s so close to–

"Hey."

"Sweet girl, I said go to bed."

You pause for a moment, elongated the silence in the darkness as he can practically hear you thinking. After a second, he frowns as he just now analyzed your tone, which was far from teasing.

He's about to prompt you to continue when you shift slightly above him, and his heart fucking melts when he feels your lips press a kiss against his hairline.

"Those photographs are beautiful."

Despite the complete darkness, and despite the fact that even if the light was on, you wouldn't be able to see his face anyway given his position, his face flushes hot.

Because you weren't really supposed to see those. They'd been the final prints he submitted for his photography class, tasked to photograph the pleasantries of life that may emulate beauty in everyday life. And, to him, he wanted you as his everyday muse since you already occupy almost every waking thought of his.

Rafe sat on the prompt for the entire semester, never once finding a muse meaningful enough to him to make him feel like he could complete the assignment. However, once Lorenza had given him the camera, the task seemed like the easiest thing he's ever done. Plus, you made it pretty simple. You emulated effortless beauty. All day. Everyday.

"I had a pretty model," is all he responds with.

And your thanks is translated enough when you press another kiss to his forehead, ticking his soft skin with your gentle breaths, and all he can think is sweet, sweet, sweet girl. It's concerning, really, how he really only thinks of you. He thinks of you when he wakes up, when he sees something funny, when he's scribbling down notes, when he goes to sleep.

So. Yeah. You are his everyday beauty. By a longshot.

He continues to think of your pretty, of how warm you feel pressed against him, how sweet you smell. He remembers how you looked in the moonlight, the candlelight, under the Sicilian sun with a glisten he could swoon over. It lulls him to sleep. Simply the image of you, you, y–

“Rafe?”

Rafe’s pulled from his slumber, barely lifting a finger and humming in response. He can’t even open his eyes, bloodshot and tired from all the studying. 

“Do you want me to come home with you for Christmas?”

Out of all the things he expected you to say, that has to be the last topic on the list. 

All exhaustion comes to a halt as his eyes blearily blink open, unsure if he’s heard you right, as the question is so out of left field that he doubts you actually said what he thinks you said. Despite his head feeling like a million pounds, he manages to lift it so he’s looking at you in the darkness.

Rafe can just make out the outline of your face. “What?”

He hates how small his voice is. 

But your fingers continue to massage his scalp and he feels you shrug underneath him.

“I dunno, I was thinking I could do for you what you did for me." Your voice is impossibly shy, almost as if you didn't mean to bring it up but now there's no going back. "Provide some moral support, I don’t know. Just a thought.”

Yes, he wants to scream. Of course he wants you to. 

It would make life incredibly easier, not to mention he’d get to spend more time with your undivided attention and shower you in a ridiculous amount of appreciation now that you're officially his. He can show you off to his friends and family and flaunt you around, shamelessly hold you and kiss you and not have to feel the slightest bit guilty about it. 

He'd tell you to bring that beaded dress he bought you, take you out to dinner on the mainland and fuck you for the whole island to hear. There's no doubt he's going to buy you anything under the sun that you express interest in, shower you with the kind of love you've been aching for for so long. He'd have to be assertive, though, because you're exactly the girl his sisters will immediately love, and there's no way he's going to be able to share you.

Rafe needs to relax.

Instead of saying all of that, he takes a deep breath. “You’re not going to Lorenza’s?”

“No,” you respond quietly. “I was supposed to go home so she’s already going on a trip with her girlfriends. But now I'm just...” You take a breath. "No, I'm not."

He frowns at the idea of you spending winter break alone, because there’s absolutely no way you're going to go home and face your family again, and the long haul across the Atlantic feels like a chore after just recovering from doing so. 

“You can say no,” you murmur playfully. “I have a sublet lined up for December, and I’ll come back to the dorm when they open on the new year.”

That makes Rafe scoff. “You’re not doing that.”

“I’m not?”

“No,” he commands. “You’ll spend it with me.”

Suddenly you clear your throat, almost shyly. “I didn’t mean to, like, invite myself. You seriously can say no–”

Rafe is sitting up before he knows it, leaning on an elbow and finding your jaw with his other hand to navigate through the darkness, and kissing you firmly enough to let it do all the talking for him. 

You mmrph in surprise into his mouth, effectively shutting you up and assumingely shutting down any doubts you have about the entire idea. Rafe kisses you certainly yet deliberately slow, as if to reassure you of his answer, that you don't have to stress about being too much, especially around him. In fact, he wants you to be too much, yourself, unapologetically you. He craves it, utterly deprived every second you're acting shy as if he wouldn't give you anything you asked for.

Pulling away, Rafe resumes his previous position and lowers onto your body, his original position. His lips find the soft skin of your neck and place a kiss there, sucking ever so slightly to emphasize his point, to stake his claim, to wash away your doubts. 

“I want you to stay with me,” he murmurs quietly. “Okay?”

You hum shyly. “Okay.”

Rafe runs his hands over your ribcage. “I need you to know something, though."

"Yeah?"

Your tone is so fucking sweet that it makes his upcoming words difficult, understanding you can completely hold your own against a family full of narcissists yet wanting to shield you from it all anyway. He wants to hide you away from it all, but he knows you're tough, you're strong, you're too kind for your own good.

"My dad probably won’t be the friendliest.” Rafe figures that's the nicer term for Ward. "He'll be charming and inviting when you first meet him, but behind closed doors..."

He trails off, not necessarily wanting to get into the specifics of his father's tendencies right now with you, laying pretty beside him and body exhausted with earlier passion. To subject you to this all over again, it makes his chest pull, knowing that his father will probably say or do something to remind you of the obscenities of your own family, to remind you of the darkness that shrouded you a week ago.

Before he can continue, you gently massage his scalp. "I understand. I'll be alright."

It makes him nearly swoon. "You're too sweet for your own good, hm? You can be mean to him if you want."

You laugh and he swears he's never heard a prettier sound.

"I'm not doing that."

"If I asked you nicely?"

Chuckling again, your nails rake down to the nape of his neck and back up to his scalp, making him sigh low into the confinements of your hold. But it's much more than physicality, it's almost a promise, reaffirming your stance and wordlessly convincing him that you have his back. Now and always.

"Still no," you murmur, and by the tone of it he swears you're smiling. "You're the one who said I'm incapable of being evil."

Rafe snorts. "I did."

You hum happily, content with 'winning' the conversation as you continue to massage absentmindedly. "Besides, I’m great with parents.”

This conversation feels all too familiar, full circle, echoing his words that he spoke to you all the time ago when your mother stormed into your dorm room, the catalyst for all of this, the start of the spiral to where you lay now with limbs entangled and hearts out in the open.

Shaking his head slightly and allowing himself to shut his eyes, Rafe murmurs in agreement, almost tauntingly.

“I’m sure you are, sweet girl.” Then, quieter, “Sleep.”

The words are like a command, and despite every effort to not do so, you find yourself babbling something incoherently, words soon dying in your throat as you fall asleep, but not without being lulled by the sound of his syncopated breaths, and that, somehow, his hand has found yours in the darkness, lacing your fingers together and squeezing gentle enough for it to be a long lasting reminder: he's here, and he's not going anywhere.

You let yourself succumb to that. You let yourself deserve it.

© salem-s please do not copy or replicate work without permission. mdni

notes holy shit???????? i have a few (more like a hundred) things to say. legit where do I begin.

thank you for 900 followers FIRST OF ALL i only started posting laaaaaate march (practically april) so this is absolutely incredible, thank you for all the support it's been so overwhelming in the best way. half of the comments genuinely make me lol and the other half make me legit spiral bc huh???? you like my stuff??? anyway.

for those who have sent me inbox messages: I SEE YOU!!! I APPRECIATE YOU!! I HAVE NOT IGNORED YOU!!! i'm gonna try to get around to answering them but trust i see y'all!!!!

on the topic of inbox messages, a few of you have been asking about if i'm open to blurbs, and i 100% am. i cannot guarantee i will be able to answer all of them (i started a full-time job??? crazy) but i would love to try and provide that.

okay i think that's it from me. again. THANK YOU FOR ALL THE SUPPORT i'm legit sad this is ending but, again, im open to blurbs about them so TRUST this def won't be the last time we read about them. GODSPEED!

[acaibcwl]

💭 a lil’ angsty thought. being fresh “out of the woods” with rafe. wasn’t as peachy as you thought it was to be. especially after your sudden departure to rehab, not to mention the fact your relationship was already deteriorating, and then you needed to go to rehab? and he couldn’t necessarily leave you, because that was wrong.

‘cos you needed a shoulder to lean on during these hard times.

and with it being partially his fault you overdosed. he got you hooked, and while you were hooked on cocaine, always finding time to hit a line, wether in a public bathroom, or in a room when you could get alone. but that wasn’t the point. because you were addicted to, and he didn’t do anything. you were supposed to be his partner—the person he was supposed to solely fight for, no matter the circumstances. yet he was petty enough to let you spend one too many hours away, with the knowledge you probably carried cocaine that he provided through barry.

but you timidly walked out the hospital, the moonlight illuminating your features as you approached rafe—who managed to meet you half way. your face was empty, holding no expression as you leaned into your boyfriends sturdy chest. “missed you.” he whispered half heartily. the necklace he got for you last december still hanging from your neck.

so at least you haven’t gave up that aspect of your life. even though your last thought of race was being in the middle of an argument, and he let you leave.

and you locked yourself in your room when you got home. making it all the worse when he found your convulsing body, foam dribbling from your mouth as you let out a death rattling breaths. yet now you stood before him, your lips still discolored, the same color when he saw you. although your face and went back to it’s original color. not when it was discolored, but normal again. yet you carried that empty expression.

are we out the woods yet? are we out of the woods yet? are we out in the clear yet? are we in the clear yet?

[itneverendshere]

what’s lyayw!reader and rafe doing for her first mother’s day?

also, what did bartender!reader and rafe do for mother’s day

can't reply to lyayw portion bc i'd be giving out spoilers. based on this prompt + rafe trying to surprise you with a new bag, but he lowkey forgot you get notified about charges to the card.

MOTHER'S DAY BLURB

It’s hardly 7 AM when you hear the muffled rustle of fabric, the bedroom door opening, and then the softest thump as it clicks shut.

You stir but stay still—half-asleep, one arm cradling the little heater curled against your chest. Your six-month-old daughter, Autumn, born on a cold Thanksgiving day—is still asleep, her tiny hand gripping the neckline of your oversized tee as if she owns the entire place.

Which, arguably, she does.

You don’t wake up properly until a little past eight, when she starts babbling against your skin, lashes fluttering as she kicks her socked feet into your stomach. There’s drool on your shirt. Her hair’s doing that feathery halo thing, all staticky and fine.

You press a kiss to the crown of her head.

You don’t remember the date until you’re halfway through the skincare aisle at Target, three hours later, clutching a cold green tea and trying to ignore the fact that your baby is chewing on the corner of the shopping list in her car seat.

Your phone buzzes.

“Thanks for your purchase at CHANEL.”

You frown.

Another notification.

$7,128.94.

You blink at the total. What the fuck? You’re genuinely thinking your card’s been stolen, seconds away from calling the fraud line when another notification rolls in:

Rafe Cameron Memo: “don’t look at this. ily”

You stop dead in the middle of the feminine hygiene aisle. Autumn shrieks delightedly like she knows something you don’t.

You FaceTime him immediately.

He answers after one ring, forehead already creased, face angled down, knowing he’s been caught.

“Hi, baby.” he grimaces. “You weren't supposed to see that yet.”

“Seven thousand dollars?”

“It’s not just one bag,” he adds defensively. “There’s one for you. And one for—”

“You did not.”

“I did.” He sounds smug. “It’s her first Chanel. She’ll thank me later.”

“She can’t sit up by herself.”

“She will soon. Our girl’s a prodigy.”

You close your eyes, fighting a laugh. “I’m at Target. She’s eating a receipt.”

He grins. “So you’re saying she could use a purse.”

You hang up on him.

By the time you get home, the apartment smells like waffles (burnt), the kitchen is suspiciously clean (you don’t trust it), and there’s a giant black box sitting on the bed with an even smaller box beside it, both wrapped in a thick white ribbon like it’s Christmas morning.

Rafe is nowhere to be found until he peeks in the doorway, holding a single daisy from the bodega in the other. Your favorite.

“Happy Mother’s Day,” he sings. “I know it’s not the same as, sleep, or sanity, or alone time, but... I thought you deserved something you didn’t have to share. Well—except the second bag. That’s hers. Technically.”

Your throat gets tight. You don’t cry—you’re too tired to cry—but you press your face into your daughter’s cheek and breathe her in. She squeals and grabs your nose like it’s a button.

He grins, eyes so in love with you it hurts.

“Look at you,” he says. “Six months in and already the best mom in the world.”

You’re still scolding him for the baby-sized luxury bag when Rafe steps closer, brushing a piece of hair from your cheek with a look that’s suddenly dangerous for your hormones.

“There’s one more thing,” he says.

You narrow your eyes. “If you tell me you bought her a baby Rolex, I’m going to throw the waffle maker at your head.”

“I booked us a hotel on the mainland. Just for the weekend. You and me.” He pauses, gauging your reaction. “Autumn’s staying with JJ and Kie. They said they’d bring her to the beach, and JJ already bought one of those ridiculous baby sunglasses and called dibs on bedtime duty.”

“You… booked a hotel?”

“For you,” he says. “For us. I thought you missed having time where we weren’t just swapping off who gets to shower first.”

Your mouth opens, but nothing comes out and then you’re crying. So much for being too tired! It turns into a full-on, ugly-face, can't-catch-your-breath crying. You press your palm to your mouth hoping it’ll stop the sob that escapes anyway, and Rafe’s already wrapping his arms around you, placing Autumn on the bed, before you can make another wailing sound, that weird noise of relief and guilt and love all at once.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he murmurs, his voice flooded with worry. “Is that a bad surprise? I thought—baby, I thought you’d want—”

“I do,” you cry into his shirt. “I miss you so much. I haven’t shaved my legs in threes weeks. And—and we never sleep at the same time and she’s perfect, I love her so much, but I miss you and now I’m going to miss her and I—why would you do this to me on Mother’s Day?”

He chuckles, rubbing your back, trying to soothe you through the whole hormonal meltdown.

You sniffle into his chest. “You should’ve just gotten me a massage. Or, wine. Not a full-blown identity crisis in a Ritz-Carlton suite.”

He laughs again. “It’s not the Ritz. I couldn’t get us in last-minute.”

You smack his chest through your tears.

Autumn squeals on the bed beside you, arms flapping like a baby bird, oblivious to the absolute emotional hurricane her mom is having over the idea of sleeping without her for two nights and also finally getting railed in a bed that doesn’t have spit-up on the comforter.

Rafe kisses your temple. “It’s just a weekend. She’ll be fine. And we need this. You need this.”

You exhale shakily, nodding and then laughing through your tears. You wipe your face on his sleeve, and reach for your daughter—because yeah, you’re going to miss her. You’re going to ache for her the whole damn weekend.

But you miss Rafe more right now. The yearning keeps building when you’re both too tired to kiss properly at night; when he brings you coffee the way you like it without asking; or folds your laundry even though he sucks at it; or stares at your stretch-marked hips with the same old devotion.

You sniff, wipe your eyes again, and glance at the little Chanel box your daughter is now enthusiastically chewing on like a teething toy.

Rafe notices.

“Don’t worry,” he gloats. “I made sure her bag has the gold hardware. She deserves the best.

You groan. “She spits up on her own hands, Rafe.”

Your eyes linger on the boxes. The old you would’ve torn him a new one for spending that much on bags—especially one for a baby who thinks her feet are edible—but things have been good lately. You’ve both been trying so hard, loving harder. Giving each other grace. It doesn’t piss you off like it used to. It feels… kind. Thoughtful, even, in a weird, over-the-top Rafe Cameron kind of way.

He leans down and kisses your shoulder. "Can’t be caught in lambskin and silver like a peasant.”

You snort—an undignified, exhausted sound that gets muffled as Autumn yanks your hair. Still, the warmth is there, as always. That's what happens when someone loves you this fully, this dumbly.

You glance up at him. “You’re lucky I’m too tired to throw things.”

“You always say that. We’ll leave Friday. You can cry in the car if you want. Or wait until after check-in.”

You nod, pressing a kiss to Autumn’s cheek as she starts to drift again, thumb curled against her lip, her tiny breaths hiccuping with sleepy satisfaction.

“And when we come back,” you murmur, “I want to sleep with her on my chest for twelve hours straight. No one’s allowed to touch her but me.”

“Deal,” Rafe says. “As long as I get you on my chest for at least four hours before that.”

You give him a tired, squinty-eyed glare. “You’re disgusting.”

“Married me anyway.”

[rafeygirly]

Rafe who comes home from a long day of work just to find housewife!reader pouting. He sighed as he asked; "What's wrong now, baby?". You started to complain about how you were so tired and how the house work was just oh-so-grueling. "Oh, stop whinin'." Rafe retorts with a groan. "You know how lucky you are? Plenty of girls would be dyin' to be at home with only some chores to worry about, not even no kids to take care of." He says. "You're being mean. It is-" You start to whine but he cuts you off. "Shut up and get your purse. We'll go out for dinner." Rafe then says, giving in a little by not having you worry about dinner. You storm off and grab your purse, making him roll his eyes. When you come back even more pouty, he just kisses your forehead and pats your butt as you both walk out the door to his pickup truck.

𓇼 alt rafe cameron au masterlist

[rafesbabygirlx]

✧ Blurb- toxic!rafe runs into his exgf!reader at a bar

✧ Warnings: MDNI 18+ smut (public sex, squirting) mention of smoking, mention of past mental manipulation

✧ .8k words

✧ 𝙼𝙰𝚂𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙻𝙸𝚂𝚃 | 𝚃𝙰𝙶𝙻𝙸𝚂𝚃

It wasn’t supposed to happen. You weren’t supposed to see him. He wasn’t supposed to catch you alone in the dim hallways at the back of the bar. You had gone back there to smoke really quick not wanted to step outside the bar, when he appeared behind you.

“Whatcha doing all by yourself?” He walked over, pressing his back against your chest. You could see the smirk without having to turn around.

“I was just leaving.” You go to brush past him but he grabs your arm yanking you back. His nose grazing through your hair. Giving it a slight sniff.

“I missed you.”

“Sure you did. Just like when you’d leave me for days to go see Barry. Where is your boyfriend?”

Rafe chuckled at that. “You fell in love with a mess. Don’t act all surprised when I act like in. Just admit it.”

“Admit what?” You try your hardest to yank your arm from his grasp.

“That you miss me too.”

“I miss no part of you. Not that way you’d manipulate me, or make me doubt myself, or use my vulnerabilities against me, or make me feel small so you could keep me like a little puppet. Should I keep going?”

A small flare erupted in Rafe’s expression. In a split second you were now pinned between him and the wall. “I’m pathetic, I know,” he rolled his eyes, hinting at the clear sarcasm. “But I know you think about me, I know no one can make you feel as good as me. I’ve been doing better y’know?”

He was right and you hated it. You missed him no matter how shitty he was. You missed the good in him that constantly pulled you back in. The bad outweighed the good, but the good was so good, that’s what made you not care.

Before you knew it your lips were on his. Gripping the back of his neck so hard, you were sure it’d leave a bruise. His mouth traveled down your neck. Leaving behind a bruise of his own.

He spun you around, your face pressing into the wall. He tugged up your dress, exposing your ass to the humid air of the stuffy hallway before giving it a harsh slap. His lips brushed against your earlobe as he whispered,

“Let’s see how much that little cunt is dripping for me.”

His fingers dove underneath your panties and into your folds. Not surprised to see how soaking wet you were. “Always fuckin ready for me.”

He removed himself from you and you heard the clanking of his belt as he freed himself from his pants. He spread your thighs with his knee before rubbing his tip, coating it up in your juices.

He buried himself balls deep inside you, while letting out a loud groan. The music from back in the bar was loud, no one would know what you’re doing. He immediately back to thrust in and out of you. Gripping your waist like you were going to slip away.

“S’ fuckin tight baby, I bet you haven’t had anyone else in this pussy. No one could compare to me and you know that. All for me. Even when I’m crazy.”

All you could do was moan. Because once again he was right. This was one of the things you missed about this man. The only one who could make you feel this good. You felt his hand snake up your back and into your hair. He pulled you off the wall and into his chest. His breath in your ear.

“Tell me. *thrust* This is pussy is mine. *thrust* That right?”

His continuation of his thrusts made you gasp. “F-fuck yes. Always Ra-Rafe.”

“That’s fuckin right.”

You felt your body tense. The coil in your lower stomach about to burst. Rafe’s hand came around to your front making tight circles in your clit. He knew what was doing and what worked on you.

“C’mon baby let that little cunt soak me.”

And it did just that. Hard. Your legs shook as the juices rushed out of you. Rafe came just as you started, pulling out but still rubbing circles on you making sure to get every last drop. Your breath was heavy and you swore you saw stars. The pants that sat on his thighs now soaked and it ran down your legs pooling around your heels. You can hear him slurp the excess off his fingers behind you.

He tugged down your dress and spun you back around to face him. Like a flip of a switch his eyes were soft, his expression full of admiration and longing. His fingers softly stroked your cheek as he looked down at you. “I wish you were still my girl.”

You were not shocked by the sudden change. It’s what he did. You wanted him so bad but you hated what he could become. You steadied yourself and walked off to a bathroom without saying a word. Half broken hearted half confident that he’ll get you back all Rafe could you was chuckle.

“See you soon baby!”

an: not my typical format but I think my blurbs aren’t bad this way. I kinda like the idea that longer works get their own looks but little blurbs and maybe requests always stick to my blog theme

Tags: @rafestoothbrush @weluvwbb @itsforeverandalwayz @butterfly-ibuki @megiiite @siredbtches @bigenergy777 @aupernatural-teenwolflover @rafegf-real @skywalker0809 @snowtargaryen @kieeslove @leather-n-velvet @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @diasnohibng @slurpdew @alphabetically-deranged @runawayrafetrain @currentresidentinhell @slut-4-rafey @akobx @rafesheaven @laniirackssss @jjmaybankmylovee @slut4you @larema121 @sc05 @k4yr14 @nemesyaaa @littlelamy @inthelibrarybtw

[kissylec]

LOST AND FOUND ──── a rafe cameron smau.

a social media au by kissylec

young james dean, some say he looks just like his father... rafe cameron was a peculiar human being. he's grotesque, a kook, rude, but above all, he's your best friend, or at least he was. abruptly and without warning, he pushed you away, you'd love to understand why, since you were seventeen. but after many dead ends, you came to accept that maybe rafe didn't belong in your life, that he was just a thorn in your shoe and that he was just like all the kooks. or was he?

pairing . . . rafe cameron x routledge!reader warning .ᐟ . . . obx spoilers, half canon half not, curse words, angst, friends to enemies to lovers, sexual innuendo, allusion to smut, kooks v.s pogues, kook behaviour, reader is john b's older sister, english is not my first language so bear with me kissylec says . . . hey guys... 😘 OK so, new smau, keeping the love you goodbye format, so i really really hope you guys enjoy it. taglist is open people, do your thing, i love u 💕

masterlist .ᐟ 𝜗𝜚 navigation .ᐟ

TAGLIST IS CLOSED.

chapter one. chapter two.

chapter three. chapter four.

chapter five. chapter six.

chapter seven. chapter eight.

chapter nine. chapter ten.

chapter eleven. chapter twelve.

chapter thirteen. chapter fourteen.

chapter fifteen. chapter sixteen.

chapter seventeen. chapter eighteen.

chapter nineteen. chapter twenty.

chapter twenty-one.

more to come...

© KISSYLEC. 2025 — please do not plagiarize, repost, translate or claim any of my work as your own.

[moondustbaby]

Best Friend Rafe

Mood Board

Fics

Yours Without Asking

Baskets, Banter, and Almost's (Easter Sunday)

Saltwater and Something More (Beach Day)

Somewhere Between the Pines (Camping Trip)

Almost Didn't Say It (Angst to Fluff)

Where The Quiet Lives (Late Night Drive)

Only You Could

Smells Like You (Night at the County Fair)

The Line We Crossed (Steamy Night After a Party)

Too Much, Never You

You're So Annoying

Just Friends?

Backseat Confessions smut mdni

Sunlight Torture and Other Love Languages

Country Club

Totally Chill About It

Cruisin’ for a Bruisin’ (and a BJ) smut mdni

Headcanons & Extras

Bsf!Rafe x Bsf!Reader: thoughts

Bsf!Rafe x Bsf!Reader: rafe's clingy

Bsf!Rafe x Bsf!Reader: pet names

Soaked Through (blurb) mdni 18+

𝒯𝒶𝑔𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉 | 𝒩𝒶𝓋𝒾𝑔𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃

[cameronsbabydoll]

Sorry about not enough context for Bambi. I didn’t want to be to detailed because I know some writers hate that.

Could you do Bambi and Rafe based off the fic you just posted on like the emotional manipulation. It would be there relationship before that all takes place and basically Rafe starts being mean/arguing with her and she starts to dissociate?

When she dissociates she just starts to look up at him with like big brown eyes that are like glossed over. His reaction could be starting to be nice or continuing to be mean IDK.

stay with me

rafe cameron x bambi!reader

warnings: emotional manipulation, dissociation, verbal conflict/arguing, trauma response, emotional dependency, soft!rafe aftermath, codependent dynamic

he’s pacing again. loud shoes against the old wood floor of your bedroom, hands running through his hair, voice pitching up every few seconds.

“you don’t fuckin’ listen. you never listen—i tell you what i need and it’s like you float off somewhere else.”

you’re sitting on the edge of the bed, small hands curled in your lap, your sweater sleeves pulled down past your fingers like you’re trying to disappear into them. your eyes are wide. soft brown, glazed like glass, staring past him. through him.

not crying. not blinking. not even breathing that deep.

“you hear me?” he snaps, and that’s when he notices it.

you’re gone.

your body’s here, but your brain’s somewhere far away. somewhere safe. that soft dissociative fog settling over you like a blanket. it happens when he gets like this. when his tone goes mean and he starts sounding like your mom did after her third glass of wine. you don’t fight. you just leave.

you blink up at him once. slowly.

he’s breathing hard, nostrils flared, and you think he’s going to yell again—but instead, something shifts.

“fuck,” he mutters under his breath. it’s quiet. almost guilty.

he kneels in front of you, palm resting on your thigh. “hey. baby.” softer now. coaxing. like nothing just happened.

your gaze doesn’t change, not at first.

he rubs a thumb over your knee. “come back, c’mon. i didn’t mean it like that.”

you blink again. the fog starts to crack, just barely.

“baby,” he murmurs, eyes flicking over your face. “you always do this—look at me like that it’s making me feel like a fuckin’ monster.”

your lips part, but nothing comes out. not yet.

his jaw clenches. “don’t shut down on me. not you.”

you know he doesn’t mean to scare you. you know he gets mad because he’s scared too. but sometimes it’s like he wants to break you just to see if you’ll come crawling back.

and you always do.

your fingers finally twitch, curling around his wrist. “m’here,” you whisper, like you’re convincing yourself.

he kisses your knuckles, mutters something against them you can’t quite hear.

you don’t say anything else. you just let him hold you. it’s easier than talking. easier than breaking again.

[starkeys-honey]

𝐁𝐚𝐛𝐲 𝐁𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐲 𝐅𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

Dumb!Ditzy!Reader x Rafe Cameron <3

౨ৎ

The big house was so quiet it felt like it echoed every time you sighed and today you’d sighed like a hundred times. Maybe more. You were laying on your stomach across the big fluffy pink rug in the living room your legs swaying in the air behind you as you stared at the little baby onesie on your iPad screen. It had frilly little lace sleeves and soft pastel flowers and you could already see it on a little baby with soft cheeks and a big gummy smile and probably the cutest laugh in the world

Your finger hovered over the screen as you whispered to yourself in your syrupy sweet voice

“If I just buy one onesie that doesn’t mean I’m like actually having a baby right it’s just like manifesting or whatever”

You giggled to yourself and tapped the screen and added it to your cart right next to the baby booties and the tiny pacifier with a rhinestone bow. You’d also pinned seventeen nursery ideas earlier and half of them were pink clouds and teddy bears and one had a tiny chandelier and you had bookmarked it twice on accident

That’s how your days usually went lately. You floated around the house in your frilly slippers with your lip gloss always a little too shiny and your brain bouncing between baby names and outfit ideas and what kind of diaper bag you’d get. You’d even practiced holding a pillow like a baby sometimes and talked to it like it was real. You got lonely. Like really lonely. Rafe was always out working or yelling at someone on the phone and even though you had this big beautiful mansion with a walk-in closet bigger than your old apartment it still felt so empty

So of course you wanted a baby. A tiny little person who would need you and love you and cuddle you all day long. You were made to be a mommy you just knew it

But Rafe didn’t think so

It started again that night at dinner. You’d made spaghetti because it was the only thing you didn’t burn too often but you forgot to make garlic bread and also forgot to tell Rafe the noodles were gluten free because they were cute and pink and you liked the box

And Rafe had one bite and set his fork down with that tight-jawed look he always gave you when he was trying not to lose his temper

“Baby we’ve talked about this. You can’t just buy things because they’re cute and not check the label”

You blinked at him fork halfway to your mouth and your lip started to wobble

“But it’s not like it’s poisoned Rafe it’s just little pink noodles and they’re so aesthetic and like I was thinking it’d be so cute if our baby had pink food too like matching lunches”

Rafe’s eyes narrowed

“There’s no baby”

You gasped a little like he slapped you and set your fork down too now suddenly not hungry

“Well not yet but like maybe soon if you weren’t so mean about it all the time” you pouted folding your arms under your chest and looking away dramatically “I’d be such a good mommy Rafe you don’t even KNOW how good I’d be”

He pushed his chair back and stood up running a hand through his hair already pacing and that meant he was really mad

“Babe last week you lost your phone for two hours and it was in the fridge. The fridge”

You gasped again more offended this time

“Well I was putting the soda away and then I had to check if the strawberries were still fresh and I needed to see if my lipstick melted and I just forgot for a little bit!”

“And two days ago you left the bath running and flooded the guest bathroom. Again”

“I was gonna come back but then Legally Blonde was on and I got distracted and also I thought the bubbles would like know when to stop!”

He looked at you like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to laugh or scream

“I’m not saying you’ll never be a mom I’m saying you’re not ready right now. I can’t just leave a baby with you and hope you remember not to feed it glitter cereal”

You gasped even louder and slapped a hand to your chest

“Okay first of all glitter cereal is literally edible I saw it on TikTok and second of all I would NEVER forget the baby I’d put it in one of those cute little slings and we’d match outfits every single day and I’d love it SO much and—”

“You’re not listening” he snapped and now he was mad really mad and you flinched just a little “Being a mom isn’t just about buying cute stuff and cuddling something all day. It’s hard work. Real work. And you don’t exactly have the best track record with responsibility”

That stung. And you hated when he talked like that like you were some dumb little girl who couldn’t do anything right and your eyes started to fill with tears even though you were trying really really hard to be strong

“I’m not dumb” you whispered voice shaky “I just get distracted sometimes and I love pretty things and I forget stuff but that doesn’t mean I’d be a bad mommy. I just get lonely. And I want someone who’ll love me and need me back”

Rafe’s face softened a little but then hardened again and he looked away shaking his head

“I just don’t think it’s a good idea. Not now. Maybe not ever if you can’t prove you’re serious about it”

That hurt more than anything and you stared at him your heart in your throat

“So you don’t wanna have a baby with me. Ever”

“I didn’t say that”

“You basically did”

You stormed off before he could say anything else and cried under your favorite pink blanket until your mascara smudged all over the pillow and you fell asleep clutching your baby Pinterest board like it was your last hope

The next day was even worse. Rafe left early without kissing you goodbye and you barely got out of bed until it was almost four and you had a bowl of marshmallows for lunch and watched baby animal videos on your phone until your eyes hurt

But then around six you heard the front door click open

And then you heard soft little noises

And then you saw Rafe standing in the entryway holding the softest fluffiest tiniest bunny you’d ever seen in your whole life

You blinked slowly in your oversized hoodie

“Am I dreaming or did you actually bring a lil cotton ball into this house”

Rafe chuckled under his breath and walked over holding it out to you

“She’s real. And she’s yours. You want a baby so bad I figured this might be a start. Bunnies are a lot of work. You gotta feed her and clean up after her and learn her moods and take care of her every single day. If you can do that then maybe we can talk about a real baby later. Like eventually. One day”

Your jaw dropped and you squealed grabbing the bunny like she was made of diamonds and immediately snuggled her to your chest

“She’s perfect ohmygod Rafe look at her little ears she’s got spots and her nose wiggles and I’m gonna name her Bemo and she’s our baby now I’m gonna be the best bunny mommy ever I swear on my lip gloss”

Rafe raised an eyebrow

“You sure? This isn’t just about dressing her up and calling her cute names”

“I already picked out six outfits in my head and a bow for every day of the week and she’s gonna have a tea party on Tuesdays and I’m gonna brush her fur every morning like a real princess bunny and she’s gonna sleep in our bed right in the middle and you better not roll over on her Rafe or I’ll cry so hard”

He laughed again and kissed your temple then led you down the hall to a room you hadn’t seen in a while

It was a full-on bunny palace

The floor was covered in soft pink rugs and there were little castle towers and heart-shaped food bowls and a playpen filled with little plush strawberries and everything was the exact shade of pastel pink you loved most

The walls even had bunny decals and Rafe had set up a little sign that said “BEMO’S ROOM” in glittery cursive lights

You burst into happy tears and fell to your knees hugging Bemo close and sniffling

“She’s so lucky I’m her mommy. I’m gonna love her so much and brush her and feed her and talk to her every single day and we’re gonna have matching outfits and ohmygod I wonder if she likes lullabies”

Rafe knelt beside you and wiped your cheeks gently

“Just take care of her baby. That’s all I’m asking. Show me you can do it. And then maybe one day… we’ll talk about adding another little someone to the family. For real”

You sniffled again and nodded so fast your hair bounced

“I promise I’ll be the best. Just you wait Rafe. Mommy’s gonna make you proud”

And that night Bemo slept right in the middle of the bed with you and Rafe and even did a little angry thump when Rafe turned over too fast and you giggled and kissed her tiny ears and whispered

“You’re the beginning of everything Bemo”

[cherrygirlfriend]

omggg, congrats on your 4k!!! 💗

may i request a cassette player with rafe cameron + loml and my boy only breaks his favorite toys (both from taylor swift) + angst, pleaseee? 😭

you're the one

thank you for the request!! based on loml + my boy only breaks his favorite toys by taylor swift. angst! check out my masterlist.

my 4k celebration!!

you watched the flames flicker in front of you, the crackle of the fireplace replacing the silence you'd tried to fight against, only for said fire to remind you more and more of the man you tried to forget.

everything shone when you were with him, when you were doing good, when you were sure that rafe loved you. but when you argued, when you were doing bad, when you questioned whether the man even saw you as a person, the entire world went black.

you saw him everywhere; everything suddenly smelled like his cologne, every store was suddenly owned by 'cameron industries', every person you talked to suddenly spoke in his voice.

suddenly, in every dream you had, the man you loved was there, holding you, just like rafe had done a hundred times, his hand stroking your head as you read. every single favorite movie was stained by the memory of your laid in rafe's arms, babbling about the plot of the movie, telling him all the strange facts you'd googled after the first time you'd watched it.

your bedsheets didn't smell like him anymore, but every time you laid down, you couldn't help but think of rafe, of all the nights he spent holding you in his arms, whispering sweet nothings in his ear…

you can't help but miss him, no matter how many times he hurt you, because he chose you to hurt over anyone else.

[drewsstars]

S1 rafe x reader

S1 Rafe, who needs to be the center of your world.

if your attention shifts even for a second, your phone buzzes, you laugh too hard at someone else’s joke, you forget to text back, he spirals. not loudly at first, just that cold silence. that look.

and then the comments start

“So you’re just... too busy for me now?”

“Cool. Guess i know where i stand.”

“Glad i came all this way just to watch you pretend i’m not here.”

he questions every photo you post.

“who’s that for?”

“You forget you have a boyfriend or what?”

“You want people looking at you like that?”

“Guess you need attention that bad.”

and god, when he takes you to parties, it’s like you’re a trophy. His hand on your waist, his arm around your shoulder, like a warning. But the second someone glances at you wrong, or a guy says something he doesn’t like, it’s on. Suddenly he’s whispering in your ear with that sharp edge in his voice, pulling you away from the crowd, ready to explode. he’s possessive. intense. makes you feel like you’re the only thing holding him together.

and maybe you are.

but being with Rafe feels like walking on glass barefoot, and you're still convincing yourself that the blood is worth it.

[charemics]

Moonlight

pairing rafe cameron x touron!reader

summary an unpredictable local who was never meant to be more than a fling, but suddenly feels like the one thing worth staying for.

content mild sexual themes, substance use, angst/fluff

(inspired by moonlight-chase atlantic)

You weren’t supposed to stay long.

Just a few weeks in the Outer Banks, sunburnt days, ocean-soaked hair, and the kind of nights meant for forgetting.

But then you met him.

Rafe Cameron: the local with danger in his smile and blood on his knuckles. Everyone told you not to get involved. And that just made you want him more.

“You’re not from here,” he said that first night, leaning against your rented Jeep like he’d already claimed it. Claimed you.

“No,” you answered. “Is that a problem?”

He grinned. “Only if you make it one.”

You danced under neon lights and kissed in back alleys. He showed you places the tour books never mentioned,places the locals feared. You never asked what he was running from, and he never asked how long you were staying.

Because under the moonlight, none of that mattered.

He looked at you like you were a secret he wasn’t supposed to tell anyone about. You looked at him like you were already trying to memorize his face for when it was gone.

“This doesn’t feel real,” you whispered once, tangled in his arms, salt on your lips.

“It’s not,” he said. “But I want it to be.”

And maybe it was the way he said it, or the way his hand gripped yours like you were his last lifeline,but in that moment, you wanted it too.

The clock was ticking. Summer would end. You’d leave. He’d stay.

But for now, the moonlight was yours.

And so was he.

[itneverendshere]

baby autumn loooobes her uncle jj. thinks he’s the funniest person alive, and rafe is so jealous

uncle jj vs dada prompt

Today, it starts with a childish fart noise.

One obnoxiously loud, undeniably juvenile fart noise made with the palm of JJ’s hand against his mouth, and suddenly Autumn is screeching with laughter in the middle of the living room, witnessing the peak of stand-up comedy.

You’re bent over folding laundry on the couch, half-listening, until you glance over and see her practically convulsing in her bouncer—tiny fists in the air, drool on her chin, blue eyes crinkled in delight.

You swear she snorts.

JJ does it again, louder this time and she completely loses her mind. Meanwhile, Rafe is seething across the room.

“She thinks he’s hilarious,” you tease, smirking.

“She has no standards,” He mutters, arms crossed, watching his six-month-old daughter howl like JJ’s the second coming of Jim Carrey.

The blonde sends him a smug look as he scoops Autumn up, balancing her easily in one arm while bouncing her, still making sound effects with his mouth.

“Say it with me, baby girl,” he coos, kissing her chubby cheek. “Uncle JJ’s the funniest person alive.”

“Don’t gas her up,” Rafe snaps. “She’s impressionable.”

“She has taste,” JJ shoots back. “Sorry not sorry.”

“She’s a baby.”

“She has instincts.”

You shake your head, amused at the pout on his lips. It always goes like this. JJ and Rafe, acting like frat boys fighting over who gets picked first—only now it’s over a baby who eats her own socks and thinks peekaboo is a full-length feature film.

JJ still looks up to Rafe, even if he hides it in sarcasm and endless shit-talking. Rafe pretends JJ’s a nuisance, but he’s the one who always makes sure there’s extra food when he shows up unannounced.

He’s the one who slipped cash in JJ’s glove box the winter his truck almost died and stopped asking questions when the kid was seventeen crashing on your couch for the third night in a row.

You have the softest spot for JJ that’s carved out of shared history and hard-won freedom. So when Autumn lights up for him like that—like he hung the moon—you don’t get jealous.

But Rafe does.

“She’s gonna start calling him Daddy,” he grumbles, watching JJ lift her into the air like she’s Simba.

“She can barely say da,” you reply dryly. “Relax.”

"She’s obsessed with him.”

“She’s a baby. She’s allowed to have a favorite person of the week. Next week it’ll be the ceiling fan again.”

Rafe scowls, continuing. “He’s corrupting her.”

You give him a look. “He gave her a carrot stick and told her it was a tiny lightsaber.”

“She tried to stab herself in the eye with it.”

“With a carrot?”

Autumn squeals happily from JJ’s arms, cheeks flushed, hair a wild puff of static from all the excitement. You glance at Rafe, who’s still pouting, then lean in and press a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“She loves you most,” you murmur. “She just likes that he lets her be chaotic.”

“I taught him that fart noise.”

You snort. “So technically, she’s laughing at you.”

He scowls harder, “Should’ve known he’d use it against me.”

You chuckle shifting the laundry pile to your other side. “It’s not espionage. It’s a fart noise.”

“It’s psychological warfare,” Rafe grimaces, watching him cradle Autumn like a football while making increasingly ridiculous sound effects. “He’s trying to brainwash her."

“Uh huh.”

"I don't like it."

“She’s allowed to have multiple people she loves,” you remind him but you’re still smiling. You’re used to this version of him—the one that acts like every new milestone is a competition.

“She doesn’t laugh like that for me,” Rafe says under his breath.

And that—ugh. That makes your heart squeeze.

“She does,” you say, getting up from the couch to press your hands to his chest.

He huffs and puffs. “I’m gonna teach her to fake snore when he talks.”

Nevermind.

“I’ll make you sleep on the couch.”

“She’s my daughter. I deserve to win.”

He stares at JJ for a second, expression split between a grudge and a mission. Then he walks forward with purpose.

“Alright,” He says finally, “That’s enough. Gimme my daughter.”

JJ clutches her tighter, one hand protectively over her diapered butt, shielding her from a custody battle. “Uh, no? I just got here. We’re bonding. Go away.”

Rafe steps forward, narrowing his eyes. “Maybank.”

JJ narrows his eyes right back, pivoting on socked feet like a quarterback. “Rafe.”

“She’s my baby.”

JJ whirls around dramatically, Autumn giggling in his arm. “You mean our baby.”

“Try me, Maybank. I will end you.”

“She’s my niece. And she just told me she prefers my vibes.”

“She doesn’t know what a fucking vibe is, dumbass, she eats lint.”

“Language!" Autumn chooses that moment to let out a delighted squeal, grabbing a fistful of JJ’s hair, who winces. “See? She’s on my team. Blood oaths have been made.”

She yanks one more load of JJ’s hair, tugging so hard his whole body dips forward.

“Jesus—okay, that’s new.”

Rafe smirks. “Yeah. Put her down."

JJ immediately takes off, sprinting around the coffee table, Autumn bouncing in his arms and laughing like it’s the best roller coaster she’s ever been on. Rafe chases after him, dodging a laundry basket and knocking over a throw pillow like it’s war.

“I'm gonna kill you.” Rafe shouts.

“You’ve tried!” JJ yells over his shoulder, giggling like a child himself. “Didn’t work before, won’t work now!”

You’re frozen on the couch, holding a burp cloth and a sock that definitely isn’t yours, mouth open in disbelief. “OH MY GOD—put her down! You absolute freaks, she’s a baby!”

JJ dives over the arm of the couch, landing with a grunt and shielding Autumn against his chest.

"She’s safe! She’s laughing! That means I win!”

“You are a grown man,” you hiss.

“Debatable,” Rafe mutters, climbing over the opposite side of the couch.

“Stop—no parkour while holding my child! I swear to God, Jay—”

“She’s resilient!”

“She’s six months old!”

Autumn is absolutely howling with laughter now, unaware she’s at the center of the dumbest turf war known to man. Her sock is hanging off one foot, her little cheeks are flushed, and she’s having the time of her life while her dad and honorary uncle act like this is an olympic final.

Eventually, Rafe wrestles JJ into a cushion pile and scoops her out of the chaos. He holds her up triumphantly, triumphant and slightly out of breath.

“Victory.”

Autumn lets out a sleepy giggle, head dropping to his shoulder and her dad, leans in, kissing her cheek.

JJ, from the floor. “She told me I’m the favorite.”

“She told you nothing.”

“She blinked twice. That’s Morse code for JJ is the coolest.”

You close your eyes. “I am begging for peace.”

You wrestle a pacifier from the depths of the diaper bag and pop it into Autumn’s mouth, watching her blink drowsily, eyelashes fluttering like little wings. She curls into Rafe’s chest ready to crash, all worn out from being the prize in a living room death match.

JJ groans from the floor and throws an arm over his eyes.

“I pulled a muscle.”

“You don’t have that.” Rafe retorts.

You glance between them, grabbing a baby wipe and tossing it at JJ’s face. “Can we go five minutes without turning my child into a tug-of-war rope?”

He peels the wipe off dramatically. “She loved it.”

“She also loves chewing on her own foot,” you say. “Not a high bar.”

Autumn makes a soft squeaking noise into Rafe’s shirt, fingers curling in the fabric. You reach over, brushing a tuft of hair off her forehead, your heart gushing at the sight. She’s settling.

Rafe’s rocking her gently now, swaying in place out of habit, his palm covering most of her tiny back. He snorts, glancing down at JJ.

“You’re wearing socks with bananas on them.”

“They’re lucky socks.”

“For what? Avoinding employment?”

“Exactly.”

You sigh, but there’s warmth in it. They’re always like this no matter their age, sarcasm wrapped around gratitude. JJ may act like the annoying little brother, but Rafe never lets him get too far.

Autumn stirs, fidgeting against Rafe’s chest.

“...Dada.”

Rafe freezes mid-sway. JJ’s jaw drops.

You blink. “Did she—?”

“Did she just say—” JJ starts.

“Say it again,” Rafe whispers, looking down, voice stuck in his throat. “Do it again, baby. Please.”

Autumn blinks up at him with wide, sleepy eyes. Her pacifier hangs out of the corner of her mouth. She gurgles again.

“Dada.”

Slurred, but undeniably there. Rafe’s face crumples. You reach over, your hand on his wrist, heart doing cartwheels in your chest.

He laughs, stunned, breathless. “Holy shit. She said—”

“I was holding her for two hours,” JJ groans dramatically, throwing himself backward onto the rug. “I did the work. I earned that word.”

“She said Dada,” Rafe repeats, beaming like the sun rose in his arms. He presses a kiss to her chubby cheek, then her forehead, holding her like she’s made of gold. “I win. It’s over. Game set match.”

“She said Dada,” JJ protests, rolling to his side. “Not Rafe. That could’ve been anyone’s Dada."

Rafe ignores him, smirking down at you.

"I told you she's a prodigy."

You’re laughing now, tears gathering in your eyes because your little girl, with eyes fluttering shut again, said her first word.

“She said Dada.”

“I know,” you whisper, leaning in close. “You deserve it.”

He kisses you without thinking, a quick press of lips but JJ yells again from the floor.

“Oh my god. Get a room.”

“You don’t live here,” Rafe calls over his shoulder.

“I'm here every other day.” JJ argues.

Rafe flips him off with one hand, the other still cradling Autumn.

JJ sits up like a man betrayed, squinting at the baby girl.

“Y’know what?” he mutters, brushing imaginary dust off his banana socks. “She’s a traitor. I give her my time, my talent, best material—I’m done."

“You say that every time."

“I’m gonna make my own baby. That’s right, a new heir."

You nearly choke on your own breath. “I—I'm sorry—what?”

He squares his shoulders, chin up. “A baby. A tiny me, blood loyalty.”

“Oh my god,” you wheeze. “You are not reproducing.”

“Watch me.”

“No—no no no. You think you’re getting Kie pregnant before she hits twenty-eight? She’ll feed you your own balls with a side of avocado toast.”

Your husband is gone, biting back laughter so hard he nearly drops Autumn.

JJ points an accusatory finger in your direction.

“You’re not invited to the baby shower.”

“Good,” you shoot back, grinning. “I’m already planning the funeral.”

You shake your head, standing and grabbing the baby monitor off the table. Autumn’s fast asleep now, her mouth slack on Rafe’s shoulder, one hand curled in his shirt.

JJ watches her, quiet for more than two seconds, which is rare.

“She really said it, huh?”

You smile, “Yeah."

Rafe kisses her hair, rocking a little again without realizing.

“You’ll get your moment, man."

JJ nods solemnly. “You’re right. I’ll wait. And in the meantime…”

You narrow your eyes. “What.”

He grins. “I’m teaching her how to say Uncle JJ is the GOAT.”

"Touch her again and I’m yeeting you off the balcony.”

You pinch the bridge of your noise. “Both of you, get out.”

JJ's already halfway to the kitchen.

“Do you guys still have leftover lasagna or what.”

[rafeygirly]

Sahm!reader walks around the backyard with the baby on your hip. You’re walking around, just letting the baby get out of the high chair for a change. You talk to the baby about the most random things with the biggest smile on your face.

Rafe stands at the grill, grilling burgers and hot dogs. Topper stands right next to him, his own wife sitting at the patio table, his other friends and their wife’s or girlfriends gathered here as well.

As Rafe grills, he looks over at you and his baby girl. He takes a sip of his beer and he can’t help but feel proud of himself for choosing you.

𓇼 alt rafe cameron au masterlist

[rafesbabygirlx]

ONLINE LOVE | 𝙵𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚘𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚗

𝚂𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚕𝚎𝚍𝚊𝚍!𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚡 𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑!𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝙰𝚄

✧ 𝙼𝙰𝚂𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙻𝙸𝚂𝚃 | 𝙰𝚄 𝙼𝙰𝚂𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙻𝙸𝚂𝚃 | 𝚃𝙰𝙶𝙻𝙸𝚂𝚃

✧ Summary- Rafe Cameron used to avoid love, only having flings and never getting close to anyone. Now 27 and raising his 3-year-old daughter Harper alone, he wants something more, a real connection. Tired of being judged on the island, he tries Hinge and sets his location to the mainland. After days of no matches, he finds your profile and is instantly drawn to you.

✧ Prompt- for hingematch!rafe could you do one where hes been busy with his daughter and doesnt realise hes left her on delivered and she thinks hes ghosted her?

✧ Prompted here

It had been a month. A month of back and forth texting, FaceTime calls, and learning more about each other. Rafe surprisingly opened up about a lot to you, other than the fact that he had his daughter. He still didn’t know how to bring this up. Now worried it would ruin everything.

You had off today so you and Rafe had spent all night on the phone. You had fallen asleep first so when you woke up you wanted to make it a point to text him.

9:29am: Hi, how pathetic am I fallen asleep on you like that?

9:30am: My first year residency is kicking my ass, I’m shocked that I even stayed up as late as I did.

9:31am: I’m free all day today, finally have a day off, so don’t be shy in texting me! 🥰

9:44am: I’m sure you’re at work and busy. Like I said I’m free all day. I just can’t wait to hear your voice again.

You hadn’t mean to sound desperate. This past month you and Rafe had been on top getting back to each other the second with of you had texted. You had both shared your schedules, you knew when he’d be in meetings and he knew when you’d be working at your internship. The second either was over, one of you was immediately sending a text. Unless there was an emergency meeting he got pulled in to, this was a bit of a strange break in the pattern.

You busied yourself as best as you could. You made yourself a nice breakfast, something you barely get to do anymore. Then, you caught up on some of your tv shows and when they were done you began a new book. You took a full pamper shower, cleaned up your nails, did your hair routine, your skincare, and applied some makeup.

It had been 4 hours and when you finally picked back up your phone it was still radio silence from Rafe. You let out a sigh of defeat. Mind racing that something that seemed so precious could already be over. He hadn’t even read the texts. You don’t mean to jump to conclusions, but no matter how well this seemed to be going, he was only just an online dating match who ended up living 5 hours away from you.

On the other side of North Carolina, Rafe was a mess. Harper had claimed she had a stomach ache and refused to go to school, meanwhile he caught the toddler in the pantry sneaking cookies and gummies 3 times this morning. He told her the only thing she was allowed to do was lay in bed and get rest if she was that sick. This lead to full blown tantrums and Rafe wanting to pull out the short hair of his buzzcut.

Between Harper fighting him all morning and having to rearrange his business schedule, this glued Rafe to his office desk. His personal phone was forgotten on his nightstand and he didn’t get a chance to think about it. He left the office door open, which gave him a perfect view of Harper’s and the hundreds of times he caught her sneaking out of it.

“Harper get back here!”

“No daddy, I want more snacks.”

“You said your tummy hurt, were you lying to me?”

“No.”

“Don’t lie to daddy, Harper.”

“Yes.”

Harper bowed her head in defeat. A cute way of defeat only a 3 year old could get away with. This caused Rafe to kneel in front of his daughter, lifting her chin delicately with his fingers.

“Why’d you lie Harper?”

“I don’t like school, I wanted to be with you. You mwake me safe.”

“Why would you need me to keep you safe baby?”

“Cause kids are mean and I don’t like ‘em.”

“Oh baby, I’m sorry. How about this, we spend the rest of the day doing anything you want? Snacks, movies, tea party. How’s that sound?”

Harper’s face lit up and she threw herself into her dad’s arms, wrapping hers around his neck and hugging him tightly.

“Yes daddy! Come!”

Rafe laughed as he allowed the toddler to drag him into the kitchen. She pulled out the tea set from the lower cabinet that was designated for all her stuff. Rafe put on some water to boil, then she went to pantry to pull out snacks she wanted for tea time.

They brought up everything to her room. Harper knew exactly how to set everything up. A setting for her, a setting for Rafe, and two other settings for her stuffed elephant and American Girl doll Sarah had gotten her.

They spent the entire day doing what Harper wanted. Rafe let his assistant know he would be unreachable as he just wanted to focus on his daughter. This was the first she brought up having problems at preschool. How the hell were 3 year olds already having issues. He got her to open up about it and it was 2 boys that would take her crayons and break them when she’d color or steal her gummies at lunch time.

Rafe took offense to that personally because he was always proud of himself for making her lunches every morning. But he quickly shook off the feeling of being pissed off at a 3 year old. Heloved being a dad and making Harper happy. He didn’t want to be sad or afraid to go to school. So to just do this little thing for her to see her smile, he was more than ok to do it.

When the time came around for Harper’s bedtime, he brushed through her now dried hair from the bath and tucked her into bed.

“You’re gonna have to go to school tomorrow Princess. I know it’s scary, but you’re a tough girl, I’ll come in with you tomorrow and talk with your teachers. We’ll figure this out together. Ok?”

Harper gave a soft sigh and looked like she wanted to plead with her dad to not go in another day. “Ok. Ima tough girl.”

“That’s right. I love you little one.”

“I love you daddy.”

Rafe had given her one final kiss before making his way to his bedroom and plopping down onto his sheets. He had forgotten about his phone all day and had decided to pick it up. There were notifications from Sarah, Topper, Kelce and all the way at the bottom there were four missed messages from you.

He ran his hand over his face. He never missed a text from you. He always had Do Not Disturb on and you’ve been the only one this past month that could still get through to him. He was stuck on what to say. His entire day was spent making sure his daughter had been happy. His daughter, you had no idea about. What could he even say?

It was now 8:30 at night. You had just cleaned up the kitchen from cooking dinner earlier. Mind finally at ease from the doubt and wary feeling about being ignored. You knew you shouldn’t have gotten attached, no matter how good it felt. He probably found someone closer to him and forgot all about you. Online dating has never turned out great for you. This was just another disappointing failure.

You sat on the couch, trying to push aside your thoughts as you engulfed yourself in your favorite movie. Your phone is next to you laying face down. It was almost 9 and even with a relaxing day of doing what you loved you were already feeling tired again. You rested your head in the palm of your hand as you our eyes began to close, a ping from your phone shot them right back open.

Embarrassingly, you reached for it quicker than you’d like to admit. You look at the notification and see it’s Rafe. You hold back a smile, not ready for what it says.

8:55pm: Hi. I’m really sorry about today. From the second I woke up chaos was erupting at the office. I had to get up and ready and rush out the door. I completely forget my personal phone at home and just got back. I missed you today. 🩵

You let out a breath that you didn’t even realize you were holding and smile warmly at the message. You were scared of rejection and know he feels this way you reply instantly not caring how it makes you look anymore.

8:57PM: No need to apologize Mr. CEO. Some things are unpredictable, it’s easy to get caught up, I’m still here for you.

Rafe took a sigh of relief at your response. He didn’t want to ruin this. But the gnawing guilt of lying to you about Harper made him terrified of what was yet to come. You said you loved kids. But would you love him when you found out he had a daughter?

For now the only thing to do was to continue to talk to you. Learn more about you. Hopefully you would understand why he was doing what he was doing. It was to protect Harper. You’d understand, right?

Tags + some moots: @rafestoothbrush @weluvwbb @itsforeverandalwayz @butterfly-ibuki @megiiite @siredbtches @bigenergy777 @aupernatural-teenwolflover @rafegf-real @skywalker0809 @snowtargaryen @kieeslove @leather-n-velvet @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @diasnohibng @slurpdew @alphabetically-deranged @whydoesthemirrorhateme @currentresidentinhell @slut-4-rafey @akobx @rafesheaven @laniirackssss @jjmaybankmylovee @slut4you @larema121 @tul1preads @wuluhwuhmaster @inthelibrarybtw @littlelamy @bellaballerina111 @pogueprincesa @daddyrafeslittleslut @nemesyaaa @papercranesandinkstains @frankoceanluvr11 @drewsephrry @zyafics @rafeysvenicebitch @rowdydevs @maybankslover @rafesgreasycurtainbangs

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