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itneverendshere · 3 months ago

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Could you maybe do a one shot of insecure reader x rafe? Reader doesn't believe Rafe finds her actually sexually attractive and her insecurities/bad self esteem are putting a strain on their relationship. And there is that whole ''her having a problem with him liking her, because she does not like herself so she is uncomfortable and pushes him away'' type of deal. Maybe he shots himself in the foot when she asks if he finds her attractive, and because he knows her self esteem is so low, he is trying to comfort her by answering ''Looks aren't important in life '' and she feels heartbroken. She from then is short in texts, doesn't answer his calls etc.

get to the bottom of you - r.c (+18)

pairing: insecure!reader x lover boy!rafe warnings: angst; mentions of low self-esteem; smut

His room should have been a place of comfort—a place where you felt safe—it wasn’t tonight.

You could hear him moving around in the bathroom, the sound of the faucet running, the clinking of his toothbrush against the sink. You should have been inside with him, brushing your teeth side by side, playfully jostling him with your elbow like you usually did. His laughter had echoed through the door just a few minutes ago as he’d told some joke you didn’t catch.

Normally, you’d laugh too, even if you didn’t understand the punchline, but tonight you barely mustered a smile. You couldn’t help it. You’d been feeling off for days now.

You loved him. That wasn’t in question. But the doubts mocking you—the insecurity, the voice in your head that whispered, why would he want someone like you?—were getting louder. It had been there since the start, this ever-present thought that you were out of place. That a guy like Rafe couldn’t possibly be interested in someone like you.

You loved him with everything you had, but how could you let him love you back when you couldn’t even like yourself?

He had been nothing but patient with you since the beginning, but no matter how many times he reassured you, the voice in your head—the one that whispered that you weren’t good enough, that you weren’t what he wanted—never seemed to quiet down. You couldn’t see yourself the way Rafe did. The compliments he gave you always felt empty, like he was just saying what he thought you wanted to hear.

Earlier tonight, he'd had been busy texting on his phone, and the longer you sat there, the more the voices in your head snapped at you. He hadn’t looked at you in what felt like hours, hadn’t even noticed the way you’d been shifting awkwardly in your seat.

He was the guy who turned heads when he walked into a room. Confident, self-assured, with a sharp smile and piercing blue eyes that could make anyone feel like the center of the universe.

You weren’t like the girls you’d seen him with before. They were stunning, all sharp cheekbones, and perfect hair, the kind of women that could stop someone in their tracks. You, on the other hand, had always been self-conscious—your appearance, your body, the way you looked in clothes. It wasn’t that you hated yourself exactly; you just… never felt enough. Not enough for someone like him.

That’s what kept you up at night.

The door opened, and Rafe stepped out, smiling at you, toothbrush still in hand.

His blue eyes sparkled as he walked over to you, leaning against the wall casually. His hair was damp from washing his face, and he had that easy, relaxed look on his face that usually made your heart flutter.

“You okay, baby?” he asked, his voice warm and teasing, as always.

You nodded quickly, forcing a smile,“Yeah, just tired,” you murmured, pushing your phone aside and getting up from the bed. You crossed the room to the window, feeling the cool breeze against your skin.

You hated this—hated that you couldn’t just let things be, hated that your mind was always spinning in circles, convincing you that something was wrong. But it was hard to shake the feeling that you didn’t deserve this, didn’t deserve him.

He, always so perceptive, frowned slightly and walked over to you. He placed his hands on your waist and gently pulled you back against him. His warmth should’ve been reassuring, but instead, it only made you feel more fragile. “You sure?” he pressed, leaning down to rest his chin on your shoulder.

“Yeah,” you lied again, this time a little more firmly, hoping he wouldn’t push.

But of course, he did.

“You’ve been quiet all night.” His hands slid around your waist, pulling you closer. Normally, you’d melt into him, but tonight, it felt different. Heavy.

You stared out at the darkened horizon, biting your lip. Maybe this was your moment to ask the question that had been eating at you for the past weeks, but every time you shoved it back down, afraid of the answer.

You hesitated, chewing on your bottom lip as you tried to find the right words. You didn’t want to sound ridiculous, didn’t want to admit how insecure you felt. “Rafe..”

“Yeah?” he whispered, his breath tickling your neck.

Your fingers twisted in the fabric of your shirt, his shirt, and you turned around in his arms, meeting his focused gaze. “Do you… do you find me attractive?”

His brows furrowed at your question. It was such a simple question, but to you, it felt like everything. Like the entire foundation of your relationship was resting on his answer. Your heart was pounding now, and you could feel the burn of tears threatening to surface.

“What?” he asked softly, “Why would you even ask that?”

You felt a lump in your throat, and you swallowed hard. “I just… I need to know.”

Rafe’s hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing softly across your skin. He opened his mouth to speak, but then hesitated, as if trying to find the right words. You watched his eyes flicker with uncertainty, and that hesitation made your heart sink.

“Looks aren’t everything, y'know,” he said quietly, his tone careful, as if he was walking on eggshells.

You froze.

His words echoed again in your head, and your worst fear—the one that had been brewing inside you for so long—solidified in front of you.

Looks aren’t everything.

He wasn’t saying yes. He wasn’t reassuring you, telling you how beautiful you were, how much he wanted you, how much you meant to him. Instead, he was saying that it didn’t matter. That it was irrelevant. Your chest tightened, and you couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think past the heartbreak that was building in your veins.

You pushed him away gently, stepping back out of his embrace.

“Right,” you whispered, your voice breaking. You couldn’t look at him now, not with your vision swimming and your throat closing up.

“Wait, that’s not—” Rafe began, stepping forward, his hand reaching for you. “That’s not what I meant. You know I didn’t mean it like that.”

“C-Can you please let me go?”

He didn’t want you, not in the way you needed him to.

He must have seen the change in your expression, because his eyes widened, and he immediately backpedaled. “No, no, you know hat’s not what I meant,” he said quickly, his voice tinged with panic. “I didn’t mean—”

You pulled your hand away from his, shaking your head as the tears welled up in your eyes. “It’s fine,” you whispered, even though it wasn’t. Your voice cracked, and you hated that you couldn’t keep it together.

Rafe reached for you again, but you stood up before he could grab your hand. “Hey, wait,” he said, standing up as well, his voice pleading now. “That’s not what I meant. You know that’s not what I meant.”

But you couldn’t listen to him, not when every insecurity you had about yourself had just been confirmed. You didn’t want to hear him explain, didn’t want to hear whatever excuse he was going to give you. You needed space.

Without another word, you turned and walked to the door, your hands trembling as you reached for the handle.

"Please don’t go," Rafe's voice was quiet, a vulnerability in it that you weren’t used to hearing. He sounded scared, and that hurt even more because you knew this wasn’t his fault. Not really. It was you—your insecurities, your doubts, your inability to believe that someone like him could truly want someone like you.

"I just need a minute.”

The hallway felt cold compared to the warmth of his room. You pressed your back against the wall, sinking to the floor, your knees pulled to your chest. You could still hear him moving around inside, pacing maybe, and it made your stomach twist in knots.

How had things gone so wrong so quickly?

You buried your face in your hands, trying to calm yourself but it was no use. The tears came, hot and fast, burning your cheeks as you sobbed quietly. You hated this. You hated feeling so unsure of yourself, so small, so unworthy. And you hated that Rafe, the one person who made you feel safe, had unknowingly thrown all of that into question.

Looks aren’t everything.

It wasn't about whether you thought he was shallow—Rafe had never been that type of guy—but the way he hesitated, the way he tiptoed around your question.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket, and you pulled it out, your vision still blurry from the tears. It was a group chat notification from the friends you had been out with earlier that week. A picture had been sent, one of the group photos taken during the event. You scanned through it, your attention landing on a figure that made your heart sink further—her.

Rafe’s ex, standing tall and confident beside him, her radiant smile lighting up the frame. Her beauty was undeniable—perfectly coiffed hair, a jawline that could cut glass, and an air of effortless poise that seemed to draw everyone in. Adriana Lima, but real.

And next to her? You.

The contrast between you two felt overwhelming. How could you, with your insecurities and imperfections, ever hope to measure up to someone like her? The thought that Rafe had once been with someone like that, someone who seemed flawless in every way... it killed you.

It wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t even hers. It was you.

You needed to leave. You needed space. Without another glance back, you pushed yourself off the floor and slipped out his house, the hallway eerily quiet as you hurried toward the stairs, wiping at your tear-streaked face.

As the door slid shut, you could hear the faint sound of his footsteps, but by then it was too late. You got in your car speeding off before he could open the door.

After that night, things only got worse. You’d pulled back, distancing yourself from him in every way possible. You didn’t answer his texts for hours, and when you did, they were short, clipped replies. You stopped calling him back, ignored the missed calls that filled your phone—everything. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to talk to him; you just couldn’t. Not yet.

You hated it. You hated yourself for pushing him away, but more than that, you hated the way you couldn’t stop spiraling.

You avoided places where you might run into him. No coffee shops, no mutual friends’ gatherings. You threw yourself into work, into anything that could distract you from thinking about him, about the look on his face when you’d left him there.

You missed him—missed his laugh, missed the way he’d pull you close just because, missed the way he’d make you feel like you were the only person in the world when he looked at you.

On the third night, you were lying in bed, staring blankly at your phone screen. Rafe had sent a text earlier, and though you’d ignored it, you couldn’t bring yourself to delete it like the others.

Rafe: i miss you. please talk to me. just want to know you’re okay.

You squeezed your eyes shut, clutching the phone tighter in your hand. You wanted to answer. You wanted to tell him that you missed him too, that you were okay—but the truth was, you weren’t. You hadn’t been okay for a long time, and you didn’t know how to explain that to him. Every little insecurity, every time you’d felt like you weren’t enough.

Your chest tightened again, you wished you could be different, stronger, more secure in yourself. You wished you could believe him, that you could trust his words. Your phone buzzed again, and this time you hesitated before picking it up. It was another text from him.

Rafe: i get that you need space, but please don’t shut me out. i don’t know what else to say except i love you. i just wanna talk.

I love you.

You stared at the words on the screen. He loved you. Maybe that should have been enough. Maybe it was enough, but somehow, you still felt hollow, still felt like you were standing on the outside of your own life. You locked your phone without responding, tossing it onto the bed next to you as you buried your face in your hands.

You were terrified that if you let him in now if you finally told him how you felt, it might break something between you two. But hadn’t something already broken?

The next two weeks seemed never-ending, the hours blurring together as you went through the motions at your internship, half-heartedly responding to emails, nodding through conversations, and generally just existing.

By the time you returned home, you felt like you’d been run over by a truck. As you kicked off your shoes, there was a soft knock on your door.

Your heart sank.

You knew it was him before you even opened it. Rafe stood there, his hands in his pockets. His eyes met yours, and for a moment, neither of you said anything.

“Can we talk?” His voice was quiet, almost pleading, searching your face for any sign that you might push him away again.

You stepped back, letting him in, and closed the door softly behind him. You didn’t trust yourself to speak, so you gestured for him to sit, though neither of you moved right away. Rafe stayed standing, studying your face, and you could tell that he was trying to figure out how to begin.

“I—" he started, but then stopped, running a hand through his hair, like he’d been rehearsing those words over and over in his head. “I don’t know what to say, honestly. I’ve been trying to figure out what I did wrong, what I said wrong. But I don’t think it’s just about what I said that night, is it?”

He wasn’t mad, he wasn’t frustrated—he was just… sad. Sad that you hadn’t let him in. Sad that you had been carrying all of this on your own.

You felt a lump form in your throat, and your chest tightened again, but this time it was from knowing you’d done this to him. It was from knowing that you’d pushed him away.

You couldn’t run from this anymore.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, “It’s not you. It’s me. I know that’s such a cliché, but—I don’t know how to fix this.”

Rafe took a cautious step closer, his hands still in his pockets, like he didn’t want to crowd you but couldn’t stay away either.

“I don’t need you to fix anything. Just need you to talk to me, okay? To tell me what’s going on in your pretty head, even if it’s hard.”

“I don’t understand why you’d want to be with someone like me.”

His brows knitted together in concern. “Someone like you?” he repeated, like the concept was absurd. He stepped closer again, reaching for your hand, but this time you didn’t pull away, “You mean the love of my life?”

The love of his life.

It sounded so easy when he said it. So genuine. As if it was the most natural thing in the world, like he’d never even considered anyone else. But how could he be so sure when you weren’t?

“What if you get tired of me?” your voice was so meek it nearly killed him, the fear in your voice so so vulnerable. “What if one day, you wake up and realize you could be with someone better? Someone like—”

“Stop,” he interrupted his voice firm. “There is no someone else, baby. There is no one better. M' here because I want to be here. With you. I chose you. I’ll keep choosing you. Even when you’re doubting yourself, even when you think you don’t deserve it. I’ll still be here, because I love you. And I need you to believe that, okay?”

You swallowed hard, your chest still aching from the emotion bubbling up inside you.

“But what if I can’t stop doubting?”

Rafe stepped closer, his hand moving to cup your cheek as he tilted your face up to meet his gaze, “Then we’ll work through it together,” he said softly. “M' not going anywhere. Doubt all you want. Question it if you have to. But don’t ever shut me out again, you hear me? I can’t lose you.”

Your breath hitched as his thumb brushed softly across your cheek, his attention unwavering, filled with a tenderness that nearly broke you. There he was, standing in front of you, patient, willing to wait, to love you through every insecurity you tried to hide.

“Okay,” you muttered.

A faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he brushed a tear away with his thumb. “Yeah?” he asked, his voice hopeful, as if he was waiting for a sign that maybe you were ready to let him in again.

You nodded, unable to trust your voice not to break. He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, and you closed your eyes, allowing yourself to be held by him.

“Lemme prove it to you, please.”

His eyes flickered to your lips, and then his hand was on the back of your neck, tugging you to him. Your lips met his in a hungry kiss, moving together and tongues running along one another.

He grips your waist and moved you like you weigh nothing. You could feel his warmth seeping into your skin, and for the first time in days, your insecurities started to lift. His lips never left yours, deepening the kiss as he pressed you against the door, his body flush against yours, grounding you.

His hands touched your body with a gentle urgency, pulling you closer, fingers slipping under the hem of your shirt, blunt fingernails digging into your skin.

He broke the kiss for a moment, breathless, his lips shiny with your spit, “You don’t see it, do you?” he murmured softly, his fingers tracing your lips with a reverence that made your heart burst, “You don’t know how badly I want you. How perfect you are to me.”

His hands moved lower, his fingers brushing the bare skin of your waist, his touch firm but gentle as if reassuring you that he meant every word.

“Let me show you,” he repeated, his lips brushing the corner of your mouth before trailing down to your jaw, then lower to your neck, where he placed soft, heated sloppy kisses that made you shiver. “Every inch of you, fuck—I love everything.”

His big hands moved to your ass, squeezing the flesh so hard, you were sure it would bruise. “God, you’re so beautiful,” he groaned against your lips, his hands now sliding under your sleeping shorts, feeling every inch of bare skin. “Your skin—so soft. I can’t get enough of you.”

A fervent moan slipped past your lips when his hard cock pressed against your thighs. You could feel his breath against your neck, his lips brushing the sensitive skin there, making you gasp.

“I need you,” he whispered against your ear, his voice rough with want. "I need you to believe me."

And for a moment, you did. You let yourself sink into him, his warmth, his strength, his words—all of it. You let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, he could love you the way you needed him to.

His fingers slid under the hem of your shirt, pulling it up as his lips trailed lower, over your collarbone, to the top of your chest. His hands squeeze the flesh of your ass, a sharp slap echoing through the room as you whimpered, and he chuckled before taking a nipple into his mouth and working it with his tongue.

His hands were everywhere—gripping, squeezing, exploring—as though he was trying to memorize every inch of you, to show you exactly what he meant.

Your fingers threaded into his hair, tugging softly before your nails pressed into his neck, eliciting a groan against your nipple. He then shifted to the other side, his tongue flickering rapidly against the hardening peak. The feel of his mouth on your skin, the way his hands moved over you with such care, made your head spin.

You gasped as his mouth worked its magic, alternating between teasing bites and soft licks that.

"Rafe..." you breathed, your voice shaky as his lips trailed back up, capturing yours again in a heated kiss. You could feel him everywhere, pressing into you. It was overwhelming, the way he moved, the way he held you like you were the only thing that mattered.

His fingers slid under the waistband of your shorts, teasing the sensitive skin of your hips before he tugged them down in one swift motion. You kicked them off, your breath quickening as he pressed himself against you, his hard cock straining against the thin fabric of his boxers.

“Do you believe me now?” he groaned against your lips, his voice hoarse from how long he’d been kissing every part of you.

You nodded, but it wasn’t enough for him. He wanted to hear you say it. His hand gripped your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze.

"Tell me," he demanded.

"I believe you.”

His hands roamed over your body, tracing every curve, every dip, like he was worshipping you. He lifted you easily, carrying you over to the couch and laying you down gently, his eyes never leaving yours. You watched as he stood, pulling off his shirt and boxers in one fluid motion before climbing over you, his body hovering just above yours.

His skin was warm, his muscles tense as he held himself back, waiting for your permission. You reached up, your fingers tracing the lines of his jaw, his chest, his abs, before pulling him down to you. He settled between your legs, his cock pressing against your heat, and you moaned softly, your body arching into his.

“God, I need you,” he groaned, his hips rolling against yours in a slow, torturous rhythm, his head nudging your clit, "Tell me you need me too."

“I do,” you breathed, your nails digging into his shoulders as you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. “I need you, Rafe.”

That was all he needed to hear.

With one swift motion, he lined himself up and pushed inside you, filling you completely. You gasped, your back arching off the bed as he stretched you, the feeling of him inside you so intense it made your head spin. He paused for a moment, his forehead resting against yours, his breath ragged as he gave you a second to adjust.

“You’re perfect,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. “So perfect for me.”

His breathing was already ragged, soft moans filling your ears as moved with him.

“Fuckin’—You were made for me, weren’t you?” He murmured against your ear, nipping at your earlobe as he gripped your hips.

His words made your head spin, and you felt your breath stutter as you clamped down around him. He grinned against your ear, using the grip on your hair to tug your head back and look into your eyes.

You nodded, nails digging into his shoulders. “Yes, f-fuck—”

His smile widened and he thrusted into you faster, the slap of skin on skin growing louder, “Atta girl. That’s my baby.”

"Rafe," you gasped, his name falling from your lips in a breathy moan as he hit a spot deep inside you that sent a wave of pleasure rolling through your body. He growled low in his throat at the sound, his hips rolling faster, driving deeper, his breath hot against your skin.

"Say it again," he urged, his voice a low rasp against your ear as his teeth grazed your neck. "Say my name."

You complied, your fingers digging into his back as you whispered his name again and again, each time more broken, more desperate. He groaned in response, his movements becoming rougher, more frantic as if he couldn’t get enough of you.

“I love you,” he breathed out, the sincerity of his words almost lost in the haze of pleasure that surrounded you both. But you heard it—you felt it—and it was enough to push you closer to the edge.

His hand slipped between your bodies, his fingers finding your clit and rubbing tight, deliberate circles that made you cry out, your back arching off the couch as the pleasure built, spiraling higher and higher until you could barely breathe.

"I-I love you," he said again, the words spilling out between ragged breaths as his thumb pressed harder against your clit, sending sparks of pleasure through your body. "God, I love you so much. You're everything to me."

Your body trembled beneath him, teetering on the edge of release. The way he was holding you, like you were the most precious thing in the world—it was all too much, too perfect. Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him down so that your lips met again, your need for him matching his in every way.

"Rafe," you gasped against his lips, your body arching into his as the tension coiled tighter inside you, ready to snap.

“I got you,” he murmured, his voice soothing yet rough, his forehead pressing against yours as his fingers worked you closer to the brink. “Come for me, baby. I need t’feel you.”

And you did—your body tensing, pleasure crashing over you in waves as you cried out his name. Rafe groaned as you clenched around him, his thrusts becoming erratic as he chased his own release, his grip on your waist almost bruising as he buried himself deep inside you one last time, moaning your name as he came.

He stayed there, hovering above you, his face buried in your neck, his lips pressing soft kisses against your damp skin as you both came down from the high.

You didn’t speak right away, your body still humming with the aftershocks of pleasure, but when he finally pulled back to look at you, his eyes were soft, full of that same tenderness you’d seen earlier. His thumb brushed your cheek as he gazed down at you with a look that made your heart swell.

He reached up, brushing a stray strand of hair away from your face as he traced your cheek.

“You okay?”

You nodded, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you met his gaze. “I think I am.”

For the first time in what felt like forever, you believed it. You weren’t perfect, and maybe you never would be. But right now, in this moment, wrapped in his arms, you felt like you were enough.

And that was more than enough for him.

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