⋆˚࿔THESUNSHINEALWAYSKEPTYOUWARMˎˊ˗tan lines. vanilla body cream. pearls. iridescent lipgloss. warm nights. everything happens for a reason. empathetic. gold jewelry. salty hair. talks too much. angel eyes. marissa cooper. new york city. everything happens for a reason. frank ocean. lana del rey. sleeping after crying. soulmates in every universe. brunette with blue eyes. saltburn. late night drives. house music.
warnings—swearing, period pain???, rafe actually being soft. for my girlies going through it rn bc i sure as shit am
“Oh baby.” Rafe tutted gently, his expression instantly dropping into something incredibly soft as he walked into the room and saw you—curled up in the sheets, face pinched with discomfort, hot water bottle to your stomach. He immediately strode over, no hesitation in kneeling down on the floor by the bed so he could properly see you, his face in front of yours. “My poor pretty girl. Cramps bad again?” He spoke gently, rough voice always sweet for you.
“Uh-huh.” Was your miserable reply, eyes fluttering open to look at him. Head still buried into the pillow, legs curled up.
“Tell me what you need.” Your boyfriend looked at you intensely, genuinely. He nudged his nose softly against yours, his large hand soothing over your blanket covered thigh. “Anything baby. Just let me know. I’ll get it.”
You hummed weakly, going to reply only for him to take out his phone with his free hand, clicking onto his notes app—into the note he’d made of everything you’d ever asked him for when you were on your period, with the number in brackets next to each thing of how many times you’d asked for it.
You couldn’t help the flutter that joined the constant ache in your stomach, a little smile twitching at your lips at his focused, concerned expression. All for you. Only for you. The blue eyes you so loved flickered between his notes app and you attentively, still rubbing your thigh with upmost care. All his attention was always yours whenever you were near him, and certainly when you were discomforted.
“I can give you a back rub and some tablets if you want baby.” He suggested gently, a worried creased between his brows as he gave you another Eskimo kiss, willing to do anything to make you feel better. “Mh, ‘can get you some MacDonalds too, even though I hate that shit. Know you love it.” Rafe smiled lightly, his hands on your thigh tracing up to your hip and gently rubbing the tender inner side without thought or question, just knowing you like it when he did.
You laugh weakly, a small breathy sound that makes his smile widen a little more. Despite it not being your usual laugh, he still loved it whenever he could bring you—well, any positive emotion really. A smile, a laugh, a blush. Anything. He kissed your head gently, wishing he could strangle your stupid fucking cramps with his bare hands. Hurting his princess. The cheek.
“No food.” You denied gently, lifting your head to look at him more, your hair a mess on the pillow. Your cramps thankfully had dulled slightly but you knew they’d kick right back up any second. “Just you.”
Rafe’s heart actually melted right before your eyes, his eyes softening and hardening with protective determination all at once. Fuck. He loved you so much.
He shifted off of his knees onto the bed beside you, being careful as to not disturb you as much as he could. Muscles tight at the worry of causing you any further pain. He pulled you into his chest lovingly, big arms wrapping around you—one veiny hand replacing yours on the hot water bottle and holding it to your stomach without question while the other soothed your hair with such a tender touch nobody would believe it was Rafe Cameron.
“Mh—ow.”
Rafe’s brows furrowed tight with concern, his heart genuinely aching at the sight and sound of your distress, knowing there was nothing he could do. His big arms held you tighter, kissing your head against as he continued to sooth over your hair. Like you were something precious—you were something so so so precious to him. He kept his grip firm on the hot water bottle against your abdomen, mentally snarling in frustration at the thing obviously not working. Cussing it out in his head and demanding it ease his girls’ aches.
“Stupid nasty cramps,” He murmured nonsense into your hair, as he soothed said locks. Relishing the feeling of you. His chest vibrated with the sound of his deep voice, sweet because of you and frustratedly gruff in sympathy for your situation, “you know I would do anything to get them to stop for you baby. Go to war wit’ the period gods or whatever the fuck. Hate seeing you like this,” he sounded genuinely distressed at your distress and the nonsense he was babbling in his voice that was just so comforting to you—as well as his soothing and the feel of him—was actually helping to relax you, your eyes fluttering shut.
He noticed this, of course he did with how attuned he was to you, a gentle flare of satisfaction warming his chest as he continued on, solely intent on making you feel better. “I’d kick their ass too. Absolutely destroy ‘em for you princess. Make sure you never experience another cramp in your life. They wouldn’t stand a chance, I’d take ‘em all out with—“
You slowly dozed off, lulled into a sense of semi-peace finally, against the warm broad chest of your boyfriend with his arms encasing you. His hand soothing gently through your hair—his gentle, deep voice in your ears as he continued on for you. Encompassed completely in his love, in his care and—god, you loved him so much too.
★. s1 rafe who loves doing coke off your tits and calling you mommy.
warnings—drug use, mommy kink, semi-nudity, pathetic pathetic boys, bit of mocking
You’re not sure why you always find yourself in this situation—you’re not together, and quite frankly you don’t even like the guy (apart from the fact he’s so ridiculously attractive the lace of your panties is currently sticking wetly to you) but you suppose being a hot, bored nineteen year old is enough of a reason for you.
Not the fact the sheer power you have over him makes the heat in your stomach burn hotter than it ever has and his desperation makes you throb.
You’re sat on the sofa in his room, frilly black skirt nestled high up your thighs, exposing the lengths of your silky smooth skin. Your shirt is elsewhere, having been torn from you the second you sauntered into his room—leaving you in your pretty lace bra, the one that made your tits sit just right. Rafe Cameron, King Kook (or whatever the fuck those braindead clowns called him) was currently nestled into the expanse of your cleveage. His slicked back greasy hair falling forward slightly from the constant movement of his or your hands through it, leaving it to tickle the skin of your tits just so.
The sounds of his loud sniffing filled the air as he snorted lines of cocaine from the plush cushion of your boobs, while you relaxed against the sofa like you owned the place, like you owned him. His cheeks were flushed a delightful shade of pink, eyes glazed over from the high. Eager whines muffled against your skin as he grappled at your waist, squeezing at you, desperation in each press of his fingers.
“Mh—fuck, mommy,” Rafe whimpered, dumbed out, the sound so needy and wanting no one would’ve believed it came from him, “been—been needin’ you so bad.”
“Yeah?” You hum softly, coaxingly. Running your bare thigh over his in slow, soothing strokes as he practically kneeled in your lap. “How much baby? How much have you needed mommy?”
A shiver ran deep through him and he whined again, at the sound of you. The feel of you. You. He pressed his face deeper into your tits, eyes fluttering shut blissfully as he inhaled the scent of you and the last remaining flecks of the coke. His brain was cloudy and disoriented—in that fuzzy place that only you could take it to. His hips squirmed slightly, seeking attention.
“So, so much,” he breathed out, his gruff voice having a constant edge of a whine in it as he nuzzled into your chest deeply, “n—never need anything more than I need you mama.”
“No?” You mock lightly, your tone soft but sharp around the edges, just enough to take pleasure in his floundering whines, just enough to make him simper like a bitch for your praise instead. “Not even your coke, baby? Almost seems like that comes before me.”
He choked out a soft protest, clinging to you tighter still and shaking his head against your cleveage—mind too fuzzy to argue verbally. He squeezed tightly at the meat of your thigh, leaving red handprints, in a subconscious claim over you almost. Trembling, pouty lips pressing into your chest reverently, a single babble of ‘mommy’ leaving his mouth.
“Not even gonna tell me I’m wrong?” You huff gently in mock disappointment, lifting a hand to run your fingers through his slick hair, the strands still tickling the skin of your exposed chest in a way that sent flickers down your spine. “Mommy needs reassurance too pretty thing.”
“I’m—I—‘s you I need, not the coke.” He murmured blearily into your chest, snuggled up so close into you it was like he was trying to get in your skin. The gentle feel of your fingers over his scalp causing his breathing to pick up, his mouth pressing more insistently into your skin as he withered lightly under your touch. So pliable for you. “You—all you mommy. You’re—so good. Nghh. So good. Can’t think.”
You cooed, pressing a kiss to his sweaty forehead. “That’s my boy.”
The praise sets him off, a whimpering thread of something almost keening leaving him as he fully moved into your lap, shamelessly. You know all his weaknesses. He buries his face into your tits, never removing himself from them once. His big arms wrapping around your waist, his large muscular stature so unlike the current whiny, whimpering, pathetic behaviour he was exhibiting.
“I’m—your boy. You’re good boy.” He sniffled through the coke and his emotions, fingers rubbing patterns into your sides as he laid on you, a melted mess of the man people thought he was. His brain was so fuzzy it was hard to comprehend but you—your boy, being your good boy. He would do that. That’s all he could do. Be good for mommy. “N’need to be—for you, mommy.”
“Oh, I know. I know,” you sooth, brushing your fingers through his hair still, your other hand on his back as you let him sit in your lap. Your boy. “And you are my boy. My good boy, my best boy—“
His brain was completely blank now, feeling floaty and trapped on the same obsessive cycle of you, you, you—he was yours. Nothing else mattered. Rafe nodded desperately into your chest, a continuous stream of whimpers leaving him. Eyelashes fluttering against your tits as he clung on tightly ‘mommy—mama—‘ and ‘need you’ being babbled from his delirious, pouty mouth.
You bit back any sounds of your own, continuing to hold him in your lap and murmur cooing praises as he babbled needy pleas and nothings, completely yours to do whatever you wanted to—your lips tugged into a little grin as you allowed yourself to bask in the sheer power rush running through your veins right now, something oddly satisfying in the filthy fire in your stomach and the throb in your clit. Fuck if it ever felt good to do this to this man. Beyond good.
he’s the quiet, awkward trust fund kid at your college who’s always in the back of the lecture hall, wire-frame glasses sliding down his nose, hoodie sleeves tugged down over his knuckles, sketching formulas or mindlessly writing your name in the margins of his notebook like a loser.
and when you finally hook up with him? ohhh he’s feral in the most pathetic, desperate way. all shy touches and bitten-off whimpers at first until it just spills out of him—
"g-gonna fill you up, baby... fuck, y-you’ll let me, right? let me make you all mine... wanna see you looking so pretty and round f’me."
he gets obsessed. practically orships the idea. the thought of getting you pregnant totally fries his genius little brain. suddenly he’s spacing out in class thinking about it, adjusting his sweats constantly because he’s so hard under the desk imagining you swollen with his baby.
oh and he babies you like crazy after:
“shouldn’t be lifting that, angel… not when you’re carrying my baby.” “y’know i studied genetics for years but i swear you’ll be the most perfect thing i’ve ever made.”
and god forbid you tease him about it — sweet little giggle like, "what if it actually happened, rafe?" because he’ll damn near cum in his pants just hearing you entertain the idea.
would you write a blurb about bf rafe x reader with who struggles with anxiety & nightmares? where she gets really shaken up and needs him? maybe angsty like he’s gone away on a work trip & she calls him?
you stared at his name on your screen for maybe twenty minutes, thumb hovering over it, your chest tightening more with every second. the apartment was dead quiet except for the tick of the clock, but it all felt loud. overwhelming. like the whole world was pressing in on you while you sat curled up on the couch in your oversized hoodie and fuzzy socks, knees pulled tight to your chest.
you’d had nightmares before. you’d dealt with anxiety before, it was nothing new, unfortunately. but it never hit like this when he was home.
you told yourself you didn’t need him. you could handle this. he was only gone for a few days for a job thing, and he deserved to go without worrying about you every five seconds.
but the dream had shaken something in you, the kind of fear that sat in your bones and didn’t let go. you’d jolted awake with your heart racing, every shadow in the room suddenly a threat. and now you couldn’t breathe, couldn’t calm down. couldn’t stop the way your fingers shook or the way your mind kept playing worst-case-scenarios on repeat.
so you called, and it only rang once, he picked up quickly.
“hello?” his voice was thick with sleep, low and quiet, but just hearing it cracked something in you.
“i’m sorry,” you blurted out, already tearing up. “i didn’t mean to wake you, i just—i had a nightmare and—and i can’t calm down, and i know i said i’d be okay, but—”
“hey, hey. baby.” his voice sharpened with concern immediately. “breathe, yeah? slow down f’me. are you safe? are you hurt?”
you shook your head even though he couldn’t see you. “i’m- i’m okay. i just… it felt real, rafe. and i can’t stop thinking about it. i keep hearing things and i know it’s nothing, but i—i can’t turn it off.”
his breath came through the phone, steady and soft. “okay. you’re alright. i’m right here, alright? i’ve got you.”
you clutched the phone tighter, grounding yourself in the sound of his voice.
“wanna talk about it?” his voice was soft, cautious. he always did this—gave you the option. because sometimes, saying it out loud helped loosen the grip your thoughts had on you. but other times it made everything worse, made it feel more real. and rafe knew the difference, so he always checked first.
you tried, you really tried to speak, but all that came out was a broken little, “n-no—s-sorry—
you were already shaking your head, even though he couldn’t see you. words felt too heavy in your mouth, like even trying to explain it would pull you under again. your chest was tight, heart pounding like it was trying to escape. the kind of fear that wasn’t rooted in anything real anymore but still felt impossible to outrun.
“hey,” he murmured immediately, voice dropping even gentler, “it’s okay, princess, don’t apologize, just breathe for me, slow… can you try that? in through your nose. hold it. yeah, just like that, now let it out slow, that’s it.”
his voice was like a tether, steady, grounding, warm. and even though your thoughts were still spinning too fast and your stomach was in knots, just hearing him helped settle the worst of the storm.
“want me to stay on the line?” he asked after a pause.
you nodded again. “please.”
he didn’t say much after that, just little things. his voice low and soothing as he talked about whatever came to mind — a stupid joke from work, what he had for dinner, how much he missed you and hated hotel pillows, and slowly, slowly, your breathing steadied, your body stopped shaking.
you didn’t realize you’d fallen asleep again until the sound of keys in the front door woke you hours later.
you sat up, heart leaping, only for it to stop entirely when you saw him, standing in the doorway of your bedroom, bag still slung over his shoulder, hair a mess from travel and sleep and worry.
“baby?” he dropped the bag, crossed the room in three strides, and wrapped his arms around you so tight it knocked the air out of your lungs.
“you didn’t have to come back—”
“yes, i did,” he murmured, voice muffled against your hair. “you called. that’s all i needed.”
you clung to him like a lifeline, blinking back tears as he held you close.
“you’re okay now,” he said softly, kissing your forehead. “i’ve got you, always.”
and you believed him, because even if the nightmares came back, or the anxiety got too loud again, you knew one thing for sure:
warnings: car accident, Topper and Kelce🥸, protective Rafe
You didn’t want to take Rafe’s car at first. He usually was the one who drove you whenever and wherever you needed, insisting that he felt calmer about you being okay. But he was busy from an early morning at work, and you really didn’t want to disturb him, even if you desperately needed to go.
Also, he didn’t mind you taking his car, even allowing you to practice on his favorite one. He just wanted you to be careful. Though you were always hesitant, not wanting to scratch it or accidentally break something, because you knew how much Rafe cherished his cars.
getting distracted by the tv while rafe is fucking you…
the room was warm with the weight of it all. his body pressing into yours, the rhythm of his hips steady and deliberate, every roll deep enough to make the headboard creak, every breath that passed through his clenched jaw warm against your skin. he was focused. too focused. one hand held your thigh high, the other gripping the sheets near your head, his gaze occasionally flicking to your face to catch every gasp, every twitch of your lip, every shiver when he hit that perfect spot.
you looked perfect. quiet and breathless. slack-jawed with your bottom lip just barely caught between your teeth. to him, it was obvious—he thought he had you completely fucked-out, drunk off his cock. thought you were silenced by pleasure. thought he was the only thing you could feel, the only thing you could think about.
you barely get your panties off before he notices—eyes catching the glint of silver between your thighs, breath hitching in his throat. he doesn’t say anything at first, just stares, hands parting your legs wider so he can get a better look at what you’ve done. the new piercing catches the low lamp light, a tiny ring hugging your swollen clit, and rafe can’t help but growl.
“you went and got it done without tellin’ me?” his voice low, thick, making your core moisten. “jesus christ, princess…..you tryin’ to kill me?”
his thumb’s already on it, pressing soft, careful circles around the metal like he’s trying to learn how it feels through you. you twitch, hiss, body jerking at the sharp spike of sensation that zings down your spine. it’s different now—everything’s alot sharper. every brush of his touch against the metal ring nestled on your bud makes your thighs clench and your breath catch in your throat.
"fuck, look at you," he mutters, thumb rubbing the ring slow, lazy, like he’s savoring every whimper you give him. "so sensitive now. bet you cum even easier with this pretty little thing hangin’ off your clit."
he leans in and spits on it—warm and wet—and making your whole body shudder. the mix of slick and spit makes everything ten times worse (or better), and when his mouth replaces his hand, tongue flicking at the ring, pulling it gently with his teeth, you moan so loud he has to clamp a hand over your mouth.
“you want the whole fucking neighborhood to hear how needy you are?” he grins against your cunt, breath warm, lips stretched cruel. “nah, baby. this is mine....all of this—mine.”
he sucks on it now, slow and torturous, the little ring clicking against his teeth while his fingers dig into your thighs to keep you spread. every time he pulls it with his tongue, your hips jerk up like you’re possessed.
“gonna cum just from this, pretty?” he taunts, pulling off with a filthy wet sound. “didn’t even fuck you yet. haven’t even put a single finger in you. and you’re already so fuckin’ close.”
he presses two fingers flat to your clit, grinding the ring down into you, and your body snaps, legs kicking, voice muffled and ruined under his palm as your orgasm crashes through you like lightning. and rafe just watches, smug and hungry, licking his lips like he’s tasted blood."we’re not done, babydoll," he says, already shifting to unbuckle his belt. “you went and decorated my pussy—now i’m gonna see how many times i can make it sing.”
notes: on my other acc i did one for beau (but with nipple piercings) so i thought it would be good to do one for rafe but a piercing in the nether regions!
i’m taking a break from writing. i’m so unbelievably grateful for all the love and support but i recently found out that my mom has breast cancer and it’s been very hard for me. i will still be active 24/7 on this account and i will still answer your requests from my talk to me box. just not requests for writing. i will love to still talk to you guys.
hiii there angel i’m so happy you opened up requests again, i love your writing sm. could i plz request sheep!reader and dark!rafe? he’s super rough during sex but sheep!reader is crying and she asks him if he can be soft but he doesn’t know how so she kinda guides him? sorry if this is too specific!
♡ warnings: dark!rafe, mean!rafe, unprotected sex, rough sex, hair pulling, slapping, groping, crying, dacryphilia, slight angst, a little bit of fluff
“raferaferafe!” you cried out, heavy teardrops rolling down your cheeks as your nails clawed the sheets for dear life. your scalp burned as rafe roughly pulled at the roots of your hair between his fingers, his jaw set tight as he dug crescents into your skin with his merciless grip. you hiccuped, reaching back to grab onto his wrist to indicate for him to slow down the pace of his thrusts. in hopes of muffling your screams, rafe pushed your face into the plush pillows beneath your head, your knees threatening to give out from under you.
he knew he was sick and deranged for getting off on your tears, each drop bringing him closer and closer to that high he desperately chased. he watched you as you tried to move away from him, your pathetic attempts deemed useless against his strength. “stop— fuckin’ moving,” he snaked a hand underneath you, wrapping his fingers around your neck before pulling you up against his chest, his cock still buried deep within your aching cunt, “do i have to bend you over my lap and remind you what happens when you try to run away from me?” he said through gritted teeth, a shiver running down your spine at the memory.
“no!” you shook your head, your voice shaky as rafe cupped both of your tits, your body molding to his touch like you were putty; soft and malleable. “it hurts too much—” you softly stroked the hand he had around your neck, prompting him to loosen his hold on you. “can we try something different?” rafe left a trail of wet kisses that went from the curve of your shoulders to the underside of your jaw, a dissatisfied grunt rumbling from his chest. he hated to be interjected on, the adam’s apple in his throat bobbing as he swallowed thickly. “no, i want you like this.” he whispered, taking your chin and forcing you to face him.
“please, just this once, ray..” you begged, hoping with all of your heart that he would, at the very least, consider what you wanted to propose. rafe blinked, his chest rising and falling as he scanned your face. “what do you want?” you nearly sighed in relief when he said the words, your teary gaze finding his in your dimly lit room. “can you be softer? i mean, like— not hit me and rough me up?” rafe almost laughed at the ridiculous request, the only thing stopping him being the fucked-out expression gracing your features. you looked absolutely spent. soft?gentle? those were two words that rafe has never been quite familiar with.
“you want me to be all sweet and shit?” he moved his hips slightly, the sudden movement sending a shockwave to your system. “y-yes, exactly that..” rafe felt uneasy at the proposition, the idea not sounding enticing to him in the slightest. “i don’t know. i don’t even think i could do that.” rafe pulled out of you with a hiss, a small gasp leaving your lips at the sudden emptiness. “yes you can! i’ll show you if you let me.” you turned around, that pleading look in your eyes slowly making his resolve crumble. rafe thought it over before ultimately deciding to just give it a try.
“fine.”
you laid down on your back, finally feeling some relief as you no longer had your knees pressed into the mattress. instinctively, rafe slotted himself between your thighs, his arms caging you in. “now what?” he quipped, looking at you expectantly. cupping his face, your eyes flickered between his own before the words ‘kiss me’ left your mouth in a hushed whisper. rafe wasted no time, instantly leaning in and taking your lips in a searing kiss, his teeth nipping your bottom lip as he did so. you pulled away as soon as he bit you, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion.
“you have to do it softly. no teeth.” you corrected him, your cheeks heating as he cursed under his breath. “no tongue either?!” rafe asked incredulously, slightly in disbelief. you giggled, pecking his lips. “no. just like this— the way i’m doing it.” rafe followed suit, the slowness of it all feeling completely foreign to him. it took a little bit of time, but within minutes, rafe was kissing you with featherlight touches instead of his usual bruising force, his hands staying on either sides of your head. rafe’s body weight alone provided you with a blanket of comfort unlike the way you felt when he had you on all fours.
you showed him how to caress you instead of groping and grabbing at you. rafe didn’t realize how many things you wanted to change until he was slowly rocking in and out of you, your usual sobs and screams were now soft whimpers and moans that he wished he could hear more often. the way you were looking up at him right now, like you were in pure bliss, was such a stark contrast to the way you usually looked at him; as if you were in pain and silently begging for mercy. holding him close, you stroked the nape of his neck as both of you came with a soft whisper of each other’s names.
rafe buried his face in your neck to refrain from scratching you, your tenderness pulling at his heartstrings. as much as he was above cloud nine right now, your velvety walls clenching around him and taking him for everything he had, he couldn’t help but feel a slight seed of guilt for how he’s always treated you during moments of intimacy. once you two were left panting, rafe stayed nestled inside of you as he turned you two over, wrapping his arms around your waist while you rested your tear-stained cheek on his chest. you listened to the thrum of his heart beat, your eyes fluttering in and out of sleep while rafe ran his fingertips up and down your spine.
“how about i bathe you after this? i’ve never done that, either..”
pairing: rafe cameron x pogue!reader
cw: fluffff, crude words, nothing else really
a/n: my first fluff fic ^_^ he looks so yummy in this pic
you have been dating the kook prince, rafe cameron, for a few months now and it definitely came with its challenges. being a pogue, a lot of his friends and family disapproved. but, rafe proved himself and stood by you the whole time. your relationship with him is secure, but, sometimes, your insecurities and doubts cloud your judgement. why would he want to be with you when he can have anyone on the island?
the overthinking on this specific night went on haywire. topper and kelce invited rafe to a party, but he declined, because he promised to stay in and watched movies with you. he never declines a reason to go party. so why would he now?
throughout the movie, he kept to himself, quiet. he hums in agreement when you voice an opinion and shrugs in answer when you ask him a question. after the movie, he immediately went to sleep. on the other hand, your eyes couldn't stay shut no matter how much you forced it to. beside you, rafe was in deep slumber with his arms around you and him snoring softly behind your ears.
you usually wouldn't do this, but the insecurities were eating inside you. you slowly lifted his heavy arms off your body which forced him to turn to the other side. he begins to stir but no signs of waking up. you reached over to his bedside table and grabbed his phone. the bright screen illuminated your face and a photo of you two at a bonfire stared back. it was a selfie that he took, he was kissing your cheek as your wide-teethed smile faced the camera. you faced the screen towards his sleeping face to open it. he didn't have many notifications and only one caught your eye. it was sent at 9:16 pm.
topper : broo this party is going crazy, you're missing out
topper : hope that pogue bitch is worth it
you clicked on the notification which took you to the messages app. you scrolled up until you see the first message of the day that topper sent at 6:03 pm.
topper : yo. party at kelce's tonite. gonna be crazy asf
rafe : no thanks, spending the night with my girl tonight
topper : bro r u serious? this is the second time ure blowing us off
topper : and for what? some lame pogue bitch
rafe : don't u fucking dare talk about her like that
rafe : leave her the fuck alone before i fuck u up
you left the chat and scrolled through his other chats. you were too focused on stalking each one that you didn't realize rafe waking up. he watched you for a minute before speaking. “find anything?”
you gasped in shock, your face turned beet root in embarrassment. you slowly handed rafe his phone back. “no...” you whispered. he took his phone from you and locked it before placing it back on the nightstand. “i'm sorry, i know it's wrong but you were being so quiet tonight i can't help but wonder.”
“baby, you know i love you,” he said as he pulled you into him. “i'm not doing a good job as your boyfriend if i'm making your pretty little head doubt.”
“no, it just me. i'm sorry,” you sigh out as he combs his fingers through your hair.
“next time, if i'm not acting right, you sort me out,” he says sternly. “and stop saying sorry.”
The late summer sun was dipping below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink as you and Rafe stood on the porch of Tanneyhill, Jojo cradled in your arms. Her little giggles filled the air as you kissed her chubby cheeks one last time, her tiny hands reaching for your face. It had been three months since she’d come into your lives, three months of sleepless nights, endless diaper changes, and a love so deep it consumed you both. But with that love came a shift—your days and nights had revolved entirely around Jojo, leaving little room for anything else. You and Rafe hadn’t had a moment alone since she was born, let alone anything resembling intimacy. Sex? That felt like a distant memory, buried under exhaustion and the quiet insecurities that had crept in after your body changed in ways you hadn’t expected.
Sarah and John B pulled up in John B’s beat-up van, the engine rumbling as they hopped out with grins that promised a night of spoiling their niece. “There’s my girl!” Sarah cooed, practically sprinting up the steps to scoop Jojo from your arms. She nuzzled her nose into Jojo’s soft hair, earning a delighted squeal. “We’ve got everything—bottles, diapers, that weird baby food she loves. You two just relax, okay?”
John B leaned against the railing, smirking at Rafe. “Yeah, man, you look like you could use a break. When’s the last time you slept more than two hours straight?” Rafe chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck, but you could see the gratitude in his eyes. He handed over the diaper bag, packed with military precision, and gave John B a quick dap.
“Call us if she needs anything,” you said, your voice tinged with the familiar mom-worry that never quite went away. Sarah waved you off with a laugh.
“She’ll be fine. Go enjoy yourselves. You deserve it.” With one last wave, they piled back into the Twinkie, Jojo’s little head peeking out from Sarah’s arms as they drove off into the dusk.
The house felt eerily quiet without her, the absence of her babbling like a void you weren’t sure how to fill. Rafe closed the door behind you, turning to face you with a soft smile that made your stomach flip. “Just us,” he said, stepping closer, his hands settling on your hips. “Feels weird, huh?”
“Yeah,” you admitted, leaning into his touch. “Good weird, though.” His thumbs brushed against your sides, and there was a spark in his eyes you hadn’t seen in months—a hunger tempered by tenderness. He leaned down, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to your lips, and you melted into it, your hands sliding up his chest. But as his fingers dipped beneath the hem of your shirt, grazing the skin of your stomach, you tensed, a flicker of self-consciousness pulling you out of the moment.
Rafe noticed immediately, pulling back to look at you, his brows knitting together. “What’s wrong?” His voice was gentle, but there was an edge of concern you couldn’t ignore.
You swallowed, stepping back slightly, your arms crossing over your middle instinctively. “It’s just… I don’t look the same, Rafe. My body’s different now. Stretch marks, the extra weight… I don’t feel sexy anymore.” The words spilled out before you could stop them, raw and vulnerable, and you dropped your gaze to the floor, unable to meet his eyes.
He was quiet for a beat, and then his hands were on you again, warm and steady, guiding you gently toward the couch. He sat you down, kneeling in front of you so you had no choice but to look at him. “Hey,” he said softly, cupping your face. “You think I don’t see you? That I don’t want you? Baby, you’re more beautiful now than you’ve ever been.” His thumb brushed over your cheek, wiping away a tear you hadn’t realized had fallen. “You gave me Jojo. This body? It’s a fucking miracle. Every mark, every curve—I see you, and I want you so bad it hurts.”
Your breath hitched, his words sinking in, but the insecurity still lingered. “I just… I don’t feel like myself,” you whispered.
Rafe’s hands slid down to your arms, then your waist, his touch reverent. “Then let me show you,” he murmured, his voice low and coaxing. “Let me prove how much I love you—every inch of you.” He leaned in, kissing your jaw, then the corner of your mouth, slow and deliberate, giving you time to pull away if you wanted. But you didn’t. You couldn’t. You needed this—needed him.
He guided you upstairs, his hand never leaving yours, and when you reached the bedroom, he turned off the harsh overhead light, leaving only the soft, amber glow of the bedside lamp. The room felt warm, intimate, the shadows dancing across the walls as he stepped closer, his hands trembling slightly with the weight of his want. He undressed you with a patience that made your chest ache, peeling away your shirt first, his fingers brushing over your shoulders as the fabric fell away. His breath caught when he saw the stretch marks on your breasts, fuller now from nursing Jojo, and he traced them with his fingertips, his touch feather-light. “These are beautiful,” he whispered, his voice thick. “You’re beautiful.”
Your sweatpants came next, his hands sliding them down your thighs, taking your underwear with them in one slow, deliberate motion. You tried to cover yourself—your stomach, softer and striped with faint pale lines—but he caught your wrists, pinning them gently to your sides. “Don’t hide from me,” he said, his eyes locking onto yours, dark with desire and something deeper, something that made you feel seen. “You’re perfect.”
He stood then, shedding his own shirt, the muscles of his chest and arms flexing as he tossed it aside. His shorts followed, and when he stepped out of them, you couldn’t help but stare—the hard planes of his body, the evidence of his arousal straining against his boxers before he slid those off too. He was gorgeous, raw and real, and the way he looked at you made your insecurities waver, if only for a moment.
Rafe pulled you to the bed, laying you down gently on the cool sheets, his body hovering over yours as he kissed you again—deeply this time, his tongue sweeping against yours, coaxing a soft moan from your throat. His lips trailed lower, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses along your neck, your collarbone, pausing to suck lightly at the sensitive skin there until you squirmed beneath him. He moved to your breasts, his hands cupping them reverently, thumbs brushing over your nipples—still tender from feeding Jojo—before he lowered his mouth to one, his tongue swirling around the hardened peak. The sensation shot through you, a mix of pleasure and a faint ache, and you gasped, your fingers tangling in his hair.
“Rafe,” you breathed, and he hummed against your skin, the vibration sending a shiver down your spine. He kissed every inch of your chest, your ribs, then lower, his lips tracing the stretch marks on your stomach with a devotion that made your throat tighten. “These?” he murmured, his breath hot against your skin. “These are proof you’re a badass. My badass.” His tongue darted out, licking a slow stripe along one of the lines, and you arched into him, heat pooling low in your belly.
He settled between your legs, parting your thighs with his hands, his fingers digging into the soft flesh as he spread you open. For a moment, he just looked—his gaze hungry, reverent, taking in the slickness already gathering there, the way your body responded to him despite your doubts. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” he muttered, almost to himself, before dipping his head to kiss the inside of your thigh, his faint stubble grazing your skin. He licked a slow, teasing path upward, stopping just short of where you needed him most, and you whimpered, hips lifting instinctively.
“Patience,” he murmured, his voice a low growl, but there was a tenderness in it too. When his mouth finally found you, it was gentle at first—soft kisses against your folds, his tongue flicking out to taste you, slow and deliberate. You moaned, the sound loud in the quiet room, and he groaned in response, the vibration making your toes curl. He licked you open, his tongue dragging through your wetness, circling your clit with maddening precision before sucking it gently between his lips. Your hands fisted the sheets, your back bowing as he worked you, his fingers joining in—one, then two, sliding inside you, curling just right to hit that spot that made you see stars.
“Rafe—oh God,” you gasped, your thighs trembling as he pumped his fingers, his mouth relentless, his eyes flicking up to watch you unravel. He didn’t rush you, didn’t push too hard—just built you up slowly, savoring every sound, every shudder, until you were teetering on the edge, your body begging for release.
But he pulled back, kissing his way up your body again, leaving you panting, desperate. “Not yet,” he whispered against your lips, his own slick with you, and you tasted yourself when he kissed you, deep and filthy. He shed his boxers fully then, his cock springing free—thick, hard, the tip already glistening—and you swallowed, a mix of want and nerves tightening your chest. He saw it, sensed it, and paused, his hand cupping your face. “We don’t have to,” he said, his voice soft but strained with his own need. “But I want you. All of you.”
“I want you too,” you admitted, your voice small but sure. “Just… go slow.”
He nodded, kissing you again as he lined himself up, the head of his cock brushing against your entrance, teasing, testing. He pushed in inch by inch, stretching you open, and you gasped at the fullness, the slight burn as your body adjusted. “Fuck, you’re tight,” he groaned, his forehead pressing to yours, his breath ragged as he held still, letting you acclimate. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” you breathed, your hands gripping his shoulders, nails digging into his skin. “Keep going.” He did, sliding deeper, his cock filling you completely until he was seated to the hilt, his hips flush against yours. For a moment, he didn’t move—just stayed there, buried inside you, his chest heaving, his eyes locked on yours.
Then he started to move—slowly at first, a gentle rock of his hips, pulling out only to ease back in, the drag of him against your walls igniting every nerve. You wrapped your legs around him, pulling him closer, and he groaned, his hands sliding under your hips to tilt you up, hitting deeper with each thrust. “So good,” he murmured, his voice rough with pleasure. “You feel so fucking good.”
The pace stayed slow, sensual—every movement deliberate, every thrust measured, like he was savoring you. His hands roamed your body, squeezing your thighs, your hips, cupping your breasts as he kissed you, his tongue mimicking the rhythm of his hips. You could feel every inch of him—the heat, the hardness, the way he pulsed inside you—and it drove you wild, your body arching to meet his, your breaths mingling as you climbed together.
“Rafe,” you whimpered, your fingers digging into his back, and he shifted, one hand sliding between you to circle your clit with his thumb, the added pressure making you cry out. “I’m—I’m close.”
“I’ve got you,” he whispered, his thrusts deepening, his thumb relentless, and you shattered—your orgasm crashing over you in waves, your walls clenching around him, your whole body trembling as you moaned his name. He watched you through it, his eyes dark and awed, and when you started to come down, he slowed even more, dragging it out, making you feel every ripple.
He wasn’t far behind—his rhythm faltered, his groans growing louder, and with a final, deep thrust, he came, spilling inside you with a shuddering, “Fuck, baby,” his body tensing, then collapsing against you, his weight a warm, welcome press. He didn’t pull out right away, just stayed there, softening inside you, his lips brushing your temple, your jaw, your mouth.
“You’re everything,” he said after a while, his voice hoarse with emotion as he finally eased out, rolling to his side and pulling you against him. His fingers traced lazy patterns on your back, his breath steadying against your neck. “Don’t ever doubt that.” And as you lay there, tangled in his arms, the insecurities didn’t vanish—but they faded, softened by the raw, vivid love in his touch, his gaze, the way he’d poured himself into you, body and soul.
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