Just some quick Headcanons on how your first interaction with the MOTA men would go. Set up as you’re a nurse or ‘Red Cross Girl’, mechanic, etc, you get the vibe, stationed at Thorpe Abbots… Including: John Egan, John Brady, James Douglass, Harry Crosby, Rosie Rosenthal, Everett Blakely, Curt Biddick, Gale Cleven, Hambone Hamilton.
John ‘Bucky’ Egan:
I think it depends at which time period you’d meet him. Like if it was after the Stalag I think he’d be a lot more serious- not that he isn’t before this experience, but it just kinda hardened him.
Let’s say it’s before, the first few months of him and the other American airforce men arriving. You’re swamped with work, but you have downtime often to socialise and interact with the men.
Bucky’s reputation during the early months is that he’s popular with the ladies, however he’s one of the best pilots around.
You’re probably cautious, and shake him off as a womaniser, however when you actually see him- uhh you’re kind of starstruck? He’s so tall and has that Hollywood look, not to mention he’s charming as hell.
Maybe you’re all interacting within the same group, you’ve both spotted one another, but the first time you actually make eye contact and laugh, Bucky is breathless.
Literally, he’d be lost for breath, and he can’t seem to tear his eyes off you, he’d be so intrigued.
Don’t be surprised if he slips into the seat beside you the second it’s free.
Would offer you a drink and a dance, but I think the two of you would get caught up conversing- like Bucky’s never been able to talk with somebody like this before.
He’d have such hazy eyes, his pupils would practically be love hearts, and even he knows this isn’t just something as a fleeting romance or attraction.
Dependent on how drunk he is I think he’d profess how much he’s in love with you that night. Lol.
The more he gets to know you, the more attached and involved he becomes, that terrifies him, but for the first time he doesn’t want to run away, and it all started that night he saw you in the mess hall.
Would remember the exact outfit you wore, down to your shoes, and underwear if the two of you didn’t want to waste time.
His arm would be resting on the back of your chair, you’d both have butterflies, leaning in so close to one another, giggling and sipping your drinks whilst your glasses clink together from the close proximity.
You might as well be breathing in one another’s air, you’re both hooked from the second.
Gale would see this coming from a mile off, and every time he sees John go all weak in the knees for you (starting from that night) he’d be like ‘oh boy’.
Slightly random but he’d smell so good, and so would you, John is obsessed with your perfume/ scent, finds his eyes lingering over you even when you’re not speaking to him.
Okay not to be cliche but John knows it’s love at first sight, he wouldn’t want the night to end. Would take you on a walk, or walk you back to your barracks, his large hand engulfing yours, being so polite and asking like a good boy if he could see you again.
“I hope I’m not overstepping, but… I really like you. If it’s alright I’d like to take you out for that dance you promised me…”
Nobody’s saying no to that.
John Brady:
You’d heard the infamous story and stood to offer medical support when Brady’s crew landed in East Anglia, on the base.
It was called Brady’s Crashwagon for a reason after that, but the last thing you expected was to see the most handsome, brooding pilot step off that plane…
Even if John spots you, I think he’d be much more reserved than Bucky. Like, he’d assume a girl like you would be spoken for, so he finds himself watching from afar.
You’d both most definitely hear a lot about one another before you actually meet.
But he comes across kinda intimidating, lol, he doesn’t mean to, but when you catch him looking at you dancing with another man, he looks like… scary lol.
You’d shoot him a smile but being bashful as he is, I think he’d blink down to the floor, thinking you’re just being pilot. He’s probs panicking that he’s made himself look like a weirdo.
After a few weeks like this, watching you from afar and secretly hoping to see your face after each mission, he starts to question why he’s wasting the possible little time he has. With some good natured pressure from the other guys, he finally approaches you, maybe it’s outside where celebrations are taking place.
Uhhh he’s nervous as hell.
Would apologise when getting your attention, and you’d jump twice, the first because he snuck up on you, the second because out of everybody you didn’t expect to see the man you’d had heart eyes for, for the past several weeks.
No matter how he introduces the first conversation, he’d beat himself up over it after, thinking it could’ve gone different.
Maybe it’s a lil awkward at first? But with the stuff you have in common the conversation just kinda keeps you both outside- eventually the ice would break and Brady would show you his ‘Crash Wagon’ up close and personal.
I don’t think you’d have a kiss that night, maybe not a hug, but you’d certainly set yourselves up to the next meeting. After that it gets easier and you realise John Brady isn’t as broody and intimidating as you initially thought…
Would giggle to himself when he holds your hand lol.
James Douglass:
See’s you with a drink in your hand, chatting with other girls.
“Boys I’m diving in.” A girl like you, as beautiful would get swooped up painfully fast, and the minute the bombarder notices you, he can’t keep his eyes off you. Eyes go kinda wide and bright.
Confident swagger walk over to you, but when your friend points out the American coming closer, you turn to look, your lips stretching into a smile at the handsome stranger moving closer.
Then it hits him- oh fuck, you’re so stunning and now he’s nervous as hell.
Masks his nerves.
Eyes remain fixed to yours, smile perking slightly as he approaches. He can hear the men behind him saying he’s gonna choke and then they’re gonna take his spot- but uh, uh, he’s already decided from that meeting that you’re his girl…
Probably charms you with some cheesy joke or pick up line.
Ugh his eye contact is insane, he oozes aura and you’d find yourself being sucked into him.
The two of you would remain super close the whole night, like your chairs would be budged as close as can be, your knees pressed to his thigh, hands all over one another (in the most respectful way).
The two of you would remain talking way later into the night, you’d be the last ones in the hall, still talking way after everybody had gone.
“Can I say somethin’?” Proceeds to tell you you’re the most beautiful angel he’s had the fortune and pleasure of setting his eyes on ever. These pick up lines aren’t rehearsed, they come straight from the heart (and maybe from the alcohol boosting his courage).
Boasts about his role up in the plane, by the end of the night he’ll tell you he’ll take you up there one day, and teach you all the tricks of his trade.
Yeah I can imagine you’d be hot and heavy before the night takes you your seperate ways- and there’s no shame in that, the two of you are genuinely perfect, and Douglass is enchanted by you from the second he laid eyes on you.
Harry Crosby:
Uhhh kinda like with Bucky, it’s practically love (and panic) at first sight.
Grapples Rosie’s shoulder next to him. “Who-who is that?!” Eyes are wide and fixated on you moving across the base. Maybe you’ve had an interaction with Rosie before, working on his plane or the jeep engines. Rosie would be so nonchalant and without warning, he’d call you over.
Uhhhh he’s nervous, and maybe that makes you nervous- but you’re so giggly and talkative, Harry finds it impossible to not be hooked.
He’d deffo stumble over his words a little, especially when Rosie leaves the two of you- it’s painfully obvious he’s trying to set you up.
When you tell him you’ve heard of him before, praising him for his hard work he’s soooooo bashful and would literally turn bright red.
“Oh, I don’t know about that- now my friend Bubbles, he was the real navigator around here…”
So cute and kinda buzzing around your first meeting, if anybody interrupted and called him over he’d be mentally cursing them out.
“I’ll uh- well I’ll see you around here, I’m- I guess?”
“Yeah, I’ll be seeing you, Harry.”
Ummm you saying his name does something for him, his lips would tug up immediately and from that second you’re smitten with the bumbling, quirky navigator.
Would cheer to himself for even having the confidence to speak to you.
Probably replays in his head over and over again how he’s gonna ask you out, because a girl like you needs to be snapped up fastttttt.
Rosie would see Crosby subtly fist bump the air and smirk, knowing he’d just pretty much set up the start of a very successful relationship.
Robert ‘Rosie’ Rosenthal:
The second you saw this dancing pilot, aka Robert ‘Rosie’ Rosenthal, aka Twinkle toes, you’re fixated.
He’s new crew, and you’re perched with one of your other nursing friends sipping on a drink. You’d immediately feel your stomach flutter and a giggle work its way up in your throat, asking your friend ‘who the handsome pilot is’ (ofc you can just tell he’s a pilot before you even know for sure, he’s just got the face for it that’s all).
Maybe the men he’s with, Nash and Pappy kinda point out the ‘pretty nurses’ at 6 o clock, then, Rosie would spot you and he’s going pink in the cheeks.
I don’t think it’s out of character for Rosie to show the odd moment of confidence, even if he has to build up the courage. He knows around the dance floor there’s plenty of other men eyeing you up, but Rosie announces to the men, “I’m going in.” Before anybody else can.
Lucky sod.
Ummmm so this man would be spoiling you from the second he met you, he’d be so warm and inviting, buying you drinks, taking you for a spin.
You’d have to point out he’s a wayyyy better dancer than you are, to which he might get a little shy.
Seeing you up close, similar to Douglass, makes him nervous, and suddenly in dawns on him that he’s got the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen dancing in his arms.
Wants to make sure to you that he thinks this is something serious, and you’re not just a bit of fun for the night. Maybe he gets a little in his head about making sure he puts this across respectfully to you- he’d kinda stumble on his words but maybe if you’re feeling confident, you’d silence him with a kiss or a giggle.
Yeah he’s so cool he’d easily get a kiss by the end of the night, maybe he wouldn’t rush into anything more, but he’s the king of respect and a massive gentleman- but the kiss was bound to happen.
Offers you his blazer, twirls you around under his arm (even when there’s no music and he’s walking you back to your barracks.
When he’s in bed himself, oh god he’d be smiling like a mad man, trying to retrace every feature in his mind, wanting to think of you and your face even whilst he slept- before he can see you next.
Thinks of you the early few missions he has, trying to retrace your face again- this continues until he’s finally brave enough to ask for a picture of you- just for ‘good luck’ that is.
Everett Blakely:
You’re a mechanic, leaning on a jeep as you stare over the B-17 you’ve just been tasked with fixing. This isn’t any other plane, however, this is Blakely’s plane.
Little do you know the pilot is also stood inspecting the plane, but now his eyes are caught on something else… you.
Might accidentally mistake you for a Red Cross girl, or a nurse, despite your completely different uniform. Either way, he’s practically stunned by how beautiful you are, the way the winds blowing your hair perfectly, the way you’re just fixated on the B-17, his prized possession. You’re all alone, and he figures he can offer some assistance…
“Nurse. Can I help?” Heads over all cool and collected. Your eyes narrow, but you’re forever polite.
“I’m um… a mechanic, I was fixing the plane.”
Okay despite the initial ‘omg I’m mortified’ reaction from Blakely, he’s instantaneously impressed.
Would save all the stupid “but you’ve got the face of a god damn pin up model.” Or “you’re too pretty to be getting dirty under there…” comments. Straight away he’s intrigued, and wants to genuinely find out more about you.
I feel like it’s a wholesome interaction, like he’s showing so much interest into you, bonding with you over your knowledge about the plane. Has to hide his smirk, but he’s super impressed, he genuinely feels like he’s met a saint- I mean you’re beautiful and intelligent.
He’d make you laugh soooo much, and every time he does he couldn’t hide the grin that broke. Asks you if you’d fix his plane more often lol.
Probs says he owes you big time, and owes you about 500 drinks to make up for it.
Coffee, wine, beer, water, hell you name it, but Everett is sweeping you off your feet and taking you out on a ‘date’ before you know it.
Holds your hands across the table and all that kinda sweet stuff, ugh he’s such a sweetheart.
Brags about you alllll the time, he knows he’s bagged the woman of a lifetime, and genuinely can’t get over your skills and passion for your job.
Sorry but he’s check you out constantly in your mechanic uniform, even on the days you felt gross and covered in oil, he never forgets that first day Joe hooked he was by you.
Curtis ‘Curt’ Biddick:
Curt makes it back ok, because this is fanfiction and I want it to be happy :( (still not over that episode, clearly).
But I think it would be a really stereotypical nurse/ soldier trope. He comes back to Thorpe Abbots infirmary, maybe not in the best shape. He’s not horrifically injured, but it’s enough to score him a bed in there for a couple weeks or so.
One day (his lucky day, as he likes to call it) you’re assigned to the patients in the area where Curt is. You’re young and beautiful, ever wanting to help and you’re sweeter than cherry pie.
“Nurse…” you’d hear an American call out from behind the closed curtains. “I’ll be right over.” You announce, Curt doesn’t think much of it and starts speaking before you appear around the corner.
“If it’s not too much to ask, nurse- woah.”
Yeah whatever he needs is cut off short, because you walk in.
For a second, he’s genuinely speechless, sat up on the bed, mouth agape, thinking he’s met an angel.
“Are you an angel, or?” Awkwardly giggles, but it’s so charming, it makes you laugh. Score, he thinks. You’d introduce yourself and he’d hold out a potted arm, broken from his previous accident.
“Not quite an Angel, sir. It’s Biddick, right?”
“Call me Curt, or whatever you’d like…” that awkwardly charming giggle again.
He wins you over with his American charm and there’s just something about him, he’s confident but he’s not cocky. The more you speak to him, the longer you want to be around him.
Maybe it’s not appropriate, but you start to find out ways to speak to him, or to be the one that’s helping him out/ on duty for his area.
That night when it’s all quiet, and you’re tending to changing his bandages, he’d tell you he’s gonna take you out, to the best place in London (he’s never even been), because you deserve it.
Calls you his angel, and best believe that sticks. Falls in love with you, would grin like the Cheshire Cat whenever you’re on the ward.
May or may not call you over and pretend somethings hurting when it’s actually not, sometimes he just wants a kiss from you lol. It works.
Gale ‘Buck’ Cleven:
You work for the Red Cross, enjoying building the men’s spirits up and offering them a shoulder to lean on when needed.
You’re handing out drinks after a particularly difficult mission, when you swing around to offer the next man walking in.
“Well done, drink for-” before you can blurt it out, the most handsome man you’ve ever laid eyes on is standing inches above you. Your lips part and your breath hitches, losing your trail of thought quicker than it began.
Weirdest of all, the man is looking back to you, with the exact same stare you have, his breath stuck somewhere in his chest, half holding a hand out to retrieve the drink from you.
It’s a good couple seconds until you regain any sense of reality, the two of you practically staring into one another’s souls. He’s so handsome, you’re a little intimidated at first, but he’s actually just shy and unusually reserved, especially for a pilot.
“-here’s your drink. Well done, sir.” You manage out. “Thank you.” Buck nods, voice low and watching you as he steps away. Even when he’s ahead he’s glancing over his shoulder to take a better look at you, and you’re doing the same.
Gale is modest and a gentleman, so he doesn’t want to make a bold move that could come across disrespectful. For a start he’d make sure you’re single, through other people, then, he’d find out your name and how long you’ve been working here. He’s genuinely interested, but nervous.
Let’s be honest, after a couple of hours and some drinks later during a celebration, Bucky would lead Buck over, dumping him in front of you, and trapping you both with no other option other than to speak.
“Uh… hi.” He’d be so shy skksksksks but he’s so cute at the same time. It’s luckily you’re talkative in that moment, because this interaction would solidify everything for Gale.
He’s all in, not too eager, he still plays it cool, but he’s not afraid to let you know how he feels. Sooo secure and cool, he’s so unproblematic, the two of you would make such a chilled out couple.
Howard ‘Hambone’ Hamilton:
Watches you from afar for quite a while.
You’re a popular and well known nurse amongst the base, knowing everybody and everyone, you’re beautiful and chatty, endlessly kind and sweet, something which reels Hambone in.
He has one experience with you, and that was getting a quick medical, but he was so nervous he could hardly speak to you lol.
Now, it feels like everybody has had chance to speak to you apart from him. Ugh he would be yearning but also kinda holding back, because what if he’s not good enough for a girl like you?? He genuinely believes that too :(
“Just go speak to her, Hambone, she’s not gonna bite.”
“Dammit, are you gonna stare at her all night or do something?”
“If you don’t do anything, I will.”
Douglass calls you over, Hambone goes to protest out of panic but freezes when you come closer, grinning and waving towards ‘Douggie’ as you call him.
Douglass would introduce you, nudging a hand into Hambone’s back to insist he goes forwards and speaks to you.
He’s grinning like the Cheshire Cat- and so are you.
Maybe Hambone hasn’t noticed it, but everybody else has- you always steal glances of him, ask your friends about him, finding yourself attracted towards the handsome stranger. Little does he know, despite the outward confidence, you’re just as shy as him.
When he talks to you one on one, he notices this and it somewhat puts him at ease??
Talks about anything and everything with you, and by the end of the night he’s admitting he didn’t think you’d be interested in him, so he never bothered before.
“Now why wouldn’t I be interested in you?”
He’d blush so much lmao.
Manages to throw a few cheeky flirtatious comments in there, ones that have you speechless with adoration for the ruggedly handsome man.
After you share your first kiss, that night, he’d be a little nervous and mutter out something like; “I outta thank Douglass for this.”
Ugh he’s so charming and effortlessly funny, you’d end up admitting you wished he’d made a move sooner.
The smirk doesn’t leave his face for the rest of the night- or his life for that matter (not to be cliche lol).
NDA: Finally, after a year, here’s the continuation!! Thanks for your patience!
YN MCKAY
Whether you liked it or not, Rafe had an effect on you. Just being seen with him at that party had boosted your popularity — even though that was never your goal.
But Nate hadn’t changed.
Same clingy stare, same endless questions.
He’d tried to get you to spill what really happened at the party, and out of boredom — or maybe exhaustion — you eventually told him the truth.
Mistake.
He should’ve been disgusted. Instead, he got obsessed.
And the more he pushed, the more you wanted to make him pay for his sick curiosity.
You had no choice left. You had to strike. Strike hard, where it hurts.
That afternoon, you were waiting for Rafe outside the stadium.
You knew Nate could see you.
That was the whole point.
You wanted him to burn with rage, to feel powerless.
When practice ended, the players started coming out one by one. Sitting right next to the entrance, you could feel their eyes on you — almost every single one staring, their gaze inevitably drifting down to your chest, even though you’d tried to hide it under a plain t-shirt.
Finally, you spotted Rafe and ran toward him. Backward cap, shirt clinging to his skin, that cocky smile already curling on his lips.
You straightened up and called out: “Cameron!”
He turned instantly, eyebrow raised, that usual mix of surprise and arrogant calm he wore like a cologne.
He jogged over, towel slung across his shoulder.
“McKay? What are you doing here?”
He towered over you by at least a head. You could smell him — the locker room, sweat, and some sharp cologne. Your heart pounded. You forced yourself to stand straight, to hide the nerves eating you alive.
Rafe tilted his head, tongue brushing his gum — his tell, a tic that meant he found the situation funny, or was holding back a laugh.
“Didn’t get enough last time?” he said with a smirk.
You shot him a glare and sighed, your foot tapping against the pavement. “.Seriously, Rafe, I really need your help with this.”
He sighed back, ran a hand through his hair.
“You’re the one who offered to help me first, remember?” you snapped.
Why was he acting like this, when it had been his idea in the first place?
“Alright, calm down, drama queen,” he said, raising his hands.
You tapped your foot even harder, annoyed, which made him frown.
“Give me your phone,” he said, holding out his hand.
“Why?” you asked, mostly because you needed to feel in control — even though you’d lost that a long time ago.
“I’ll give you my address. Come by tonight, we’ll talk it over properly.”
The house already looked like a trap before you even rang the bell. Big facade, team flag flapping in the wind — the kind of place built to impress.
“After you,” he said simply.
Inside smelled like beer, sweat, and cheap disinfectant.
Trophies lined up on a shelf, red cups scattered across the coffee table. You walked past the living room where two massive guys were playing a zombie video game.
One turned when he heard your steps. You slowed down, raising a hand timidly.
“Hi…” you said, voice small.
The guy took a drag from his joint and raised an eyebrow. Rafe turned around too.
“Oh, Y/N, this is Vincent,” he said, pointing at him.
Vincent frowned. “Y/N… as in Y/N McKay?”
You nodded quickly. He turned to Rafe, annoyed.
“Dude, what the fuck, why are you bringing Nate’s girl here?”
The door swung open to reveal Rafe, closer and more intimidating than ever. Gray sweatpants hanging dangerously low on his hips, tight black t-shirt, eyes locked on you like you were prey. He gestured you inside with an exaggerated bow.
His friend beside him looked you up and down before whistling.
“Damn, Nate wasn’t lying about you, doll.”
You were about to answer, but Rafe stepped closer, resting his hand on your shoulder like you were some trophy he was showing off. The gesture was both protective and humiliating — he was claiming you in front of them.
“Tell Nate he’s welcome to come by, Rafe said. But Y/N and I have… stuff to settle upstairs.”
Without waiting for a reply, he pulled you along, guiding you upstairs.
His room was just like him: organized chaos. Clothes everywhere, trophies, a baseball bat propped against the wall.
“Nice place,” you muttered, sitting on the bed, arms crossed.
Rafe opened a drawer, pulled out a joint and a lighter, lit it, took a few drags, then offered it to you. You ignored it. He sighed.
“What’s your thing with Nate?” he asked.
You turned to him.
“My “thing” is a guy I never encouraged, but who doesn’t understand what no means.”
Rafe laughed softly — no humor in it.
“Yeah, he put a veto on you.”
You frowned. “A what?”
“Like… no one’s allowed to touch you. You’re his property.”
You looked at him, puzzled. Your faces were close now. His blue eyes searched yours, unreadable. You let out a nervous laugh.
Pathetic.
He said the word veto like it was funny, and your throat tightened. The idea that someone thought they could own you made you sick.
“Seriously? That guy’s insane.”
Rafe looked at you for a long moment, his blue eyes cutting through you. Then, out of nowhere—
“You sleep with Nate?” he asked, breaking the silence.
You blinked, stunned.
“Excuse me?”
He raised his eyebrows. “I mean, that’s the only explanation. Dude’s obsessed with your pussy.”
You shot to your feet, furious.
“No, I didn’t sleep with him, Rafe! Are you insane?”
Rafe burst out laughing and flopped back onto the bed.
Your “no” was sharp, almost hysterical. You wanted to slap him for even asking — and because the look in his eyes suggested he thought you might be lying.
He chuckled, took your silence as proof.
“He’s obsessed. Obsessed with the idea that you’re his. Talks like you’re some prize he’s gonna win back.”
His lips twisted, like he was chewing bitterness.You stood, anger flooding your veins. His words made you want to puke.
“Stop talking about him like that. You don’t even know him.”
You wanted to scream that you didn’t want any of this either — but anger spoke louder than fear.
He watched you, almost amused, like he was surprised to see you finally show some fire. Then he straightened up, smoke curling around his face.
“ Alright. No more half-measures. If you want him to back off, we gotta give him something to choke on. Make him believe you’re mine — go full force.”
He grinned. “Sleep with me.”
You stared at him, speechless, then threw one of his t-shirts at his face. He caught it easily, laughing.
“Worth a shot,” he said, tossing it back at you.
You sat down next to him again.
“If you ask me, we should pretend to be dating.”
You rolled your eyes.
“This isn’t some cheesy teen show, Rafe.”
It was completely stupid. Dating Rafe was like walking into the wolf’s den. He was only doing it to piss Nate off — you were sure of it.
And yet, Nate was getting unbearable; your roommate had to lie for you multiple times just to keep him from showing up.
“We fake date?” you repeated, the words echoing like a sentence.
“Yeah. We go public. Make it official. Shut him the fuck down.”
He said it like it was a game he’d already won. His smile was hungry — the kind of smile that belonged to someone who loved breaking things.
You wanted to spit in his face. You wanted to scream that this was a terrible idea, that you refused to be a pawn.
But you also knew Nate wouldn’t stop without something drastic.
And Rafe, for all his disgusting arrogance, might be your only weapon — he knew how to manipulate attention, how to press people’s buttons.
You realized you were negotiating.
Here, in this room that smelled like sweat and smoke, you could choose to expose yourself just to get a little space back.
It made your stomach twist, but it was the dirtiest, most effective move.
“Fine,” you muttered, voice low, almost to yourself.
You felt the sting of the decision — shame mixed with adrenaline. You said yes not because you liked him, but because you wanted it to stop. You wanted Nate gone. You wanted the pressure to end.
You stared at the ceiling, thinking about the stupidity of it all — and the necessity. You imagined Nate pacing, raging, begging; Rafe grinning, feeding off the chaos he’d helped create.
And you — caught in between disgust and power.
Rafe smiled, not kindly. He knew you’d agreed, that the play was his now.
And for a moment, you felt the air around you split. Everything was about to get bigger, messier, darker.
You let yourself fall back on the bed, heart hammering. You knew you might’ve just sold a part of yourself to breathe again.
But maybe, if you played it right, you could flip the script.
Rafe was dangerous.
Nate was sick.
And you — you might just be smart enough to survive both.
A car engine roared outside. You didn’t need to look to know whose it was.
Rafe took one last drag, then stubbed the joint out in the ashtray by the bed.
“Guess Prince Charming’s here”, he said with a mocking grin.
You turned to him, nervous. He stood up.
“Take off your shirt”, he ordered, pulling his own off.
You froze. “Are you out of your mind?!”
You stopped dead when you saw his torso — not six, but eight perfectly sculpted abs.
“You wanna piss Nate off or not?” he asked with a smirk.
“Yeah…”
“Then take off your shirt.” You groaned, but did it.
Rafe arched an eyebrow, genuinely surprised. He realized your chest really was that full, not just boosted by a bra. His surprise turned to a flicker of admiration, his gaze lingering for a second on the beauty mark above your left breast.
Footsteps sounded in the hallway — and before you could say anything, Rafe crushed his lips against yours.
Staying at a posh New York manor while Callum films in town, you indulge him in the morning before he goes to work on set.
*couples dynamics, fluff, breakfast in bed, couples (work) holiday, teasing ,edging, oral on fem, fingering overstimulation, size kink, morning sex, p in v, orgasms
Breakfast in Bed
The morning light filters through the heavy damask curtains of the New York manor, casting a golden glow across the sprawling four-poster bed where Callum lays, his broad frame dominating the space.
The room is a study in opulent history: white paneling, a cavernous fireplace still warm from last night’s fire, and a chandelier dripping with crystals that reflect the morning light.
The bed and breakfast is a restored 18th-century mansion in the heart of Millionaire Row, a perfect retreat for Callum’s downtime between filming scenes for his latest movie.
You’ve joined him for the week, relishing in a chance to steal moments of intimacy during his chaotic work schedule.
You stand at the foot of the bed, your silk maroon robe slipping slightly off one shoulder, the fabric sliding against your skin
The faint scent of lavender lingers from your morning bath, and you adjust the tie at your waist, watching Callum with a soft smile.
He’s propped against a mountain of pillows, his raven hair tousled from sleep, his piercing blue eyes half-focused as he speaks into the gray corded phone tethered to the nightstand.
His voice, rich with that London lilt, carry’s a mix of authority and exhaustion as he discusses logistics with his manager.
“Yeah, mate, tell ‘em I’ll be on set by 3. No, no, don’t let them push the call time later.” His large hand gestures vaguely in the air, the other cradling the receiver.
He’s wearing a beige Luis Vuitton sweater that has an orange collar and design, the kind that accentuates his broad shoulders, unzipped just enough to reveal his chest, sparse with dark hair against his fair skin.
Below, his baby blue pajama pants peek out from the edge of the thick ivory blanket draped over his waist, his long legs stretching beneath.
A sharp knock at the door pulls your attention away, and you walk across the cool hardwood floors, the hem of your robe brushing your thighs.
You open the heavy oak door to find the manor’s butler, a wiry man in a crisp black suit, holding a silver tray.
The rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee rises up, mingling with the scent of warm croissants beside the polished silver pot.
“Good morning, madam,” the butler says, his voice clipped and proper. “Breakfast for Mr. Turner, as requested.”
“Thank you so much,” you reply, offering a warm smile as you reach for the tray.
He hesitates, his gloved hands tightening briefly. “Are you certain, madam? It’s no trouble.”
“Positive,” you say firmly, your tone teasing but kind, and he relents with a small bow, stepping back as you balance the tray and nudge the door shut with your hip.
Back in the room, Callum’s eyes flick to you, a grin forming on his lips despite the serious tone of his conversation. “Oi, hold on a sec,” he says into the phone, covering the receiver with one massive hand. “Look at you, playing the dutiful little house wife in that robe. Christ, you’re killing me.”
“Shush,” you scold playfully, crossing the room with the tray. “Stay still, I’m bringing you breakfast in bed, so behave.”
His grin widens, all mischief, those blue eyes sparkling with something naughty.
“Behave? Not in my vocabulary when you’re prancing about looking like that.” He says shifting slightly, the blanket slipping lower to reveal the sharp cut of his hip bones above the waistband of his pajamas.
You set the tray carefully across his lap, the coffee pot glinting in the light. “Don’t move,” you say, leaning over him to settle it, and your robe parts slightly at the chest, giving him a full view. His eyes darken, tracking your movements, but he stays put, continuing his conversation on the phone.
“Right, yeah, I’ll look at the script changes tonight,” he says, his voice distracted as he watches you. “Just email ‘em over. Cheers.”
He hangs up the phone with a click, placing it back on the nightstand, his full attention now on you. “Well, aren’t you a sight, darling? Bringing me breakfast in bed like some bloody goddess. What’s next, you gonna feed me grapes?”
You grin, retrieving your phone from the nightstand. “Maybe if you’re lucky. Hold still, I want a picture of this. You look too good all cozy just waking up.”
He raises an eyebrow, leaning back against the headboard, the tray steady on his lap.
“Just waking up? I’m practically a ray of sunshine.” He teases all mischief, and when you lift your phone to take his photo, he tilts his head, giving you a look that’s equal parts boyish charm and pure filth.
His lips form into a smirk, eyes heavy, like he’s already planning what he’ll do to you the second that tray is off his lap.
You snap the photo, your heart skipping at the way he looks, handsome, yes, but with that edge of need that makes your thighs press together instinctively.
“You’re trouble Callum,” you grin, setting the phone down on the bed.
“Trouble?” he echoes, his voice dropping lower as he lifts the tray and sets it on the nightstand with a clatter.
“C’mere, love. You’re the one causing a scene in that robe.” His large hands reach for you, fingers grasping around your wrist and pulling you closer. You fall forward, laughing, as he pulls you onto the bed, your knees sinking into the mattress as you straddle his thighs, the blanket and his pajamas a flimsy barrier between you.
“Callum, the coffee—” you start, but he cuts you off with a kiss, his lips firm and warm, tasting faintly of mint. His hands slide up your thighs, bunching the silk until it rides up your hips, his palms rough against your skin.
“Bugger the coffee,” he says against your mouth, his accent thick, all rough edges and London swagger. “You’re the only thing I want.” His fingers dig into your hips, pulling you flush against him, and you can feel the hard length of him through the thin fabric of his pajamas, a promise of what was to come.
Callum is big in every sense, tall and broad, with a cock that makes your breath hitch every time you think about it. And he knows it, smirking as he pulls your hips to feel you press against it.
“Callum,” you gasp, trying to sound stern but failing as his lips move to your neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin just below your ear. “You’re supposed to be eating.”
“Eating?” he whispers, one hand sliding up to cup your breast through the silk, his thumb brushing over your nipple until it hardens. “Rather have you riding on my cock.” He whispers in your ear.
You swat his chest lightly, but your body betrays you, arching into his touch. “Callum you’re shameless.”
“And you love it,” he responds, his voice dipping with that cocky confidence that always makes your knees weak.
He flips you suddenly, his strength effortless as he pins you beneath him, the blanket tightening around his waist. His sweater falls open, revealing more of his broad chest and you can’t resist running your fingers over it, nails grazing lightly until he groans.
“Careful, darling,” he warns, his blue eyes glinting as he leans down, his lips hovering over yours. “Keep that up, and I’ll have you screaming my name before the coffee’s cold.”
You shiver pulling the zipper down, and he shrugs the sweater off his shoulders, letting your hands wander to the waistband of his pajama pants, teasing the edge.
“Promises, promises….” you whisper, and that is all it takes to unleash him.
He kisses you hard, his mouth moving against yours all heat and tongue, his hands, yanking the robe open, palming your breasts. He is relentless, his size and strength overwhelming you in the best way, manhandling you with a tenderness that makes your heart race.
He lowers down your body, his lips trailing kisses, until his head is between your thighs.
“Callum, you don’t have to—” you start, but he looks up at you all playful menace as he places kisses along your inner thighs.
“Don’t have to, love.” he says his lips pressing against your skin. “I’ve been dreaming about this since I woke up.”
His large hands spread your thighs, his fingers digging in just enough to make you gasp.
“Gonna tease you till you’re begging…” he says his warm breath fanning your skin, “…then eat you till you’re a mess.” He whispers close to your center, and then his mouth is on you, slow and soft, his tongue circling your clit with maddening precision.
You moan, hands fisting the sheets as he works you open, his blue eyes closed already knowing exactly what makes you fall apart. He loves this, loves feeling you unravel, loves the way you try to hide your face when the pleasure gets too intense.
The pressure builds, your body trembling as he pushes you closer to the brink, his fingers joining his mouth, thick and long, pushing inside of you, stretching you just right.
“Callum,” you gasp, your voice breaking, your hands flying to cover your face.
“None of that, love,” he chastises, nipping at your thigh as his fingers keep plunging in. “Look at me. I want to see you come.”
Your hands lower, and he returns his mouth to your clit, his tongue flicking against you, faster now, relentless.
“Oh, god,” you moan, your voice shaking. “Callum, I’m gonna—”
His thumb presses to your clit, circling hard. “Come for me, love. I want to taste you.” He says, fingers thrusting in faster slick and deep, and you orgasm, your back arching as you cry out, his name a broken chant on your lips.
He doesn’t stop until you’re trembling, oversensitive, your hands pushing at his shoulders as your hips grind helplessly to his fingers.
He pulls them out sucking them clean with a groan as he climbs up over your body, kissing you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his lips. “You’re So beautiful when you come.” he says his voice, soft and reverent.
You’re still catching your breath as he lowers his pajamas pants revealing the thick, heavy length of his cock.
Your mouth parts at the sight of it, and he grins, catching your stare teasing you as his hand strokes along the shaft before guiding himself to your entrance.
He doesn’t rush, he eases in you slowly, his size stretching you until you gasp, feeling that delicious ache deep inside that makes your toes curl. “God, Callum you’re so big.”you gasp.
“And you’re taking me so well,” he praises, his voice hushed as he settles in fully, his hips pressing flush between your legs.
“Fuck, love, you’re tight.” He grits, letting you adjust, his eyes locked on yours, searching for any sign of discomfort. “You alright?”
You nod, wrapping your legs around his waist. “More,” you whisper, and he moves, slow and deep, each thrust, hitting that spot inside that makes you see stars.
“Look at me,” he says, his voice rougher, his hand cupping your face as he picks up the pace, his hips thrusting harder between your legs. “Want to see how much you love my cock.”
You moan, your nails digging into his back as he thrusts into you, his thumb finding your clit again, strumming it in time with his pace.
“Callum, I can’t—” you gasp.
“Yes, you can,” he says, his voice a low steady. “Gonna make you come again, love. Wanna feel you lose it for me.” He angles his hips, driving deeper, hitting that spot with every thrust, sending your pleasures soaring.
You turn your face away, overwhelmed, but he won’t let you, placing his hand on your jaw.
“No hiding,” he says, his voice firmer now, almost pleading. “Let me see you, darling. Let me see you fall apart for me.”
The intensity in his eyes, the way he worships you even as he fucks you senseless, pushes you over the edge.
You come with a cry, your body shaking, moaning his name as he watches you, his own release following closely after, his thrusts becoming erratic as he spills inside of you, his full weight pressing you down.
“Fuck, I love you,” he pants still buried deep, gathering you close in his arms as he cradles you against him. His hands are gentler now, stroking your hair as you both catch your breath.
“Love you too Callum,” you whisper, nuzzling your face into his chest feeling the steady beat of his heart.
The tray of coffee and croissants sits forgotten on the nightstand, the room filling with early morning light.
He kisses your forehead, his lips lingering. “Tomorrow, you’re getting breakfast in bed,” he says, his voice teasing again. “But don’t think I’ll let you off this easy, got plans for you all day, love.”
You grin, swatting him lightly. “You’re insatiable.”
“For you?” He grins, his blue eyes sparkling. “Always.”
Ever since you had gone through his things without his permission, he’d turned cold. He still fucked you hard, brutally, but never with tenderness.
He didn’t even bother to clean you up afterwards anymore. He just left you lying there, trembling in the sheets, while he went to sleep in his office.
It wasn’t fair.
He should have punished you, made you pay for it, not ignored you like you were nothing.
You had the right to look through his things. It wasn’t fair.
Tonight, you and Rafe were going to a reception on the island.
Something at the country club. You couldn’t refuse — not with Rafe, not with what was left of his family.
So you did everything you could to look presentable: perfect makeup, designer dress. The only problem was… you could barely walk straight.
The night before, he hadn’t been gentle. Not at all. He had been too rough, too cruel. You hadn’t even seen his face because he’d shoved yours so deep into the pillow you could barely breathe.
Your eyes landed on the heels Rafe had given you months ago, meant for a dinner out.
A dinner that had never happened. Canceled for a last-minute mission, even on Valentine’s Day.
You rose onto your tiptoes with difficulty, your hips screaming in pain. Your arm couldn’t even reach the bottom of the shelf.
It must have been him who had put them away, that night you ignored him like he was nothing more than a stranger.
Stretching further, a grimace twisted your face.
No, he really hadn’t been gentle.
So lost in your own head, you didn’t hear the footsteps behind you.
A hand suddenly pressed against your hip, forcing you to straighten.
You turned your head and were met with Rafe’s chest.
Without a word, without really looking at you, he grabbed the heels and handed them to you.
"You’re limping" he said flatly, as if it were your fault.
You swallowed down your retort and slipped out of his space, ignoring him.
You sat down on the chair in the dressing room.
When he bought the house, he’d made sure you had an entire room just for yourself — a closet big enough to look like a boutique.
He knew you’d be alone most of the time, so he compensated with clothes, shoes, jewelry.
"Whose fault is that." you muttered under your breath.
You struggled to bend down to fasten the shoes yourself. The pain was sharp, but your pride kept you silent.
Rafe sighed and lowered himself in front of you.
He took your ankle in his large hand and adjusted the shoe properly.
"I love you, you know that?" he asked quietly, not lifting his eyes. "Then act like it" you shot back, arms crossed, tears threatening to ruin your makeup.
"I do—
"No, you don’t!" you snapped, louder this time.
Rafe finally looked up. His eyes held something raw, torn between desperation and need.
He didn’t break the stare as he lowered his head and pressed his lips to your ankle.
Slowly, he trailed kisses up your leg, slipping beneath your dress.
His mouth found the thin fabric of your panties, his hot breath seeping through.
A curse slipped from your lips. You yanked your dress down, covering his head.
Rafe’s hands gripped your ass, tugging your panties down.
Your breath hitched, your thighs already trembling. "Rafe… stop, we have to leave soon!" you pleaded, trying to press your legs together.
He growled, the sound low and animal.
You felt Rafe’s hot lips pressed against you, his head buried deep between your thighs.
His tongue slid slowly at first, then faster, tracing desperate strokes back and forth across your folds.
Soft, helpless moans slipped past your lips, sweet little sounds you couldn’t hold back no matter how hard you tried.
His teeth caught your clit, biting down with cruel precision, refusing to let go.
Your whole body jolted, your breath breaking in your throat, legs trembling so hard you thought they might give out.
Then Rafe hooked your shaking legs over his shoulders, spreading you open even wider, as if he wanted to devour every last piece of you.
His hot breath mixed with your wetness, his mouth relentless, forcing you to take every ounce of pleasure he demanded.
Your heart hammered, your body tightened—you couldn’t escape the delicious burn he was dragging out of you.
After a while, your legs began to tremble uncontrollably. Your moans grew louder, impossible to contain, and hot tears started to gather at the corners of your eyes. Your stomach tightened violently, heat surging through your body before it finally burst — you reached your peak, breathless and completely drained.
Rafe slowly pulled away from between your thighs, a grin spreading across his face, far too proud, like a predator pleased with his prey. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes locked on you, darkened with desire and satisfaction.
“Satisfied?” he asked, voice low and ragged, still catching his breath.
You nodded, cheeks damp, your voice trembling.
“Very...” you whispered, barely audible.
He rose to his full height, and you couldn’t ignore the hard bulge straining against his tailored suit pants. Without hesitation, he grabbed your waist and pulled you back onto your feet, your body weak and unsteady against him.
“We’re leaving in two minutes. Go get your coat.” he ordered, pressing a quick, almost careless kiss to your lips.
Then he turned and walked away, leaving you there with shaky legs, your heart pounding out of control… but undeniably happy.
The screams echoed off the narrow walls of your small apartment.
The gifts and clothes — the ones that had cost a fortune — flew across the room before hitting the floor or the walls with dull thuds.
"You lied to me, you bastard!" you spat, your voice hoarse, hurling yet another package he had given you.
Rafe didn't move.
He stood there, arms crossed over his broad chest, forearms tense, veins protruding. On his temple, a steady pulse beat, betraying the tension he kept locked inside.
Being an FBI agent meant being gone most of the time. He never traveled with much, only what was necessary. He liked order, precision, everything in its place.
But you didn't see discipline — you only saw absence. When he was home, everything came down to sex. No talks. No simple moments.
So one night, after he had left you hanging yet again, rage pushed you to go through his things.
It was reckless, unjustified. But you didn't care. You wanted answers.
At first, nothing.
Perfectly organized ID papers. His badge. His gun, gleaming.
Then, as you went to close the bag, your eyes caught something that didn't belong.
Back pocket. A pair of panties. And tucked inside, a Polaroid.
Your vision blurred instantly.
The panties meant nothing to you.
You hadn't fully looked at the photo yet, but the shapes were enough —explicit, no room for doubt.
Two in the morning.
Your voice screamed, your hands struck, your muscles burned. Every object became a weapon.
The neighbors could hear everything. But you didn't give a damn. Neither did he.
"I sacrificed everything for you!" you spat, tears blurring your vision. "I waited for you like a fucking dog, and you cheat on me with some whore!"
You grabbed a vase and hurled it with all your strength. It shattered against the wall, inches from his face.
Not a blink. Not a word.
Thirty minutes. Of yelling, hitting, throwing. Then nothing. Your legs weakened, your lungs struggled to find air.
He finally moved. One step. Two.
He crouched near his bag, reached inside, and pulled out the panties and the Polaroid. Tossed them at your feet.
Silence.
He cleared his throat, tilted his head slightly toward the objects.
"You took those pictures for my birthday. Three years ago." He picked up the photo and held it right in front of your eyes. "It was before my first mission in the field. We were going to be apart for several days. You gave them to me... with the panties."
Shame knotted in your throat, but you refused to look away. You wanted to tell him it was fear that made you snoop. But he wasn't the kind of man to be swayed by pretty words.
"I wouldn't have done it if you gave me a little attention." you said, almost like a challenge.
His jaw tightened.
His eyes darkened.
In one swift move, he closed the distance. His hand slid into your hair, gripping hard. You were forced to stand, your face tilted toward his.
"I'm not the one who cheated." he growled, voice low and controlled. You opened your mouth to reply, but his lips crashed against yours.
Not a tender kiss —an attack.
Your tongues clashed, tangled. His hands framed your face, holding you there, his heat surrounding you despite the anger.
Your legs wrapped tightly around his waist, clinging to him as if you refused to let him go.
His arm slid under your thighs with brutal ease, lifting you higher against him.
Your noses brushed, your breaths tangled, and your lips crashed together in a fierce kiss where neither you nor Rafe was willing to give up control.
Your back slammed against everything in your path with each of his steps — the corner of a piece of furniture, a half-open door, a cold wall.
But none of it mattered.
You wanted him. More than anything. More than God himself could understand.
When you reached the bedroom, he threw you onto the bed with sharp force.
You bounced against the mattress, a moan slipping out of you, part surprise, part raw desire.From above, Rafe stared down at you. His steel-cold eyes didn't blink. He looked at you the way a predator studies its prey, calculating every move before striking.
He leaned down slowly, his massive frame covering yours, the shadow of his body swallowing you whole.
Suddenly, his large, rough hands gripped the insides of your thighs, spreading them to press himself harder against you.
The heavy bulge in his pants ground against the thin fabric of your panties, sending a shiver racing up your spine.
His face was too close to yours, close enough that you could feel the heat of his breath on your skin, laced with the sharp scent of coffee and sweat.
"I hate you..." you whispered, your voice catching, your lips brushing his.
His hand slid slowly along your cheek, his fingers tracing your skin as if committing every curve to memory. His expression didn't change. No visible anger. No softness either.
"I love you," he said in a deep, unyielding voice. "And you're going to be the mother of my children."
Rafe hates your apartment. He really hates it. The insulation is poorly done, the walls have ears, and it's falling apart.
Tonight, you and Rafe were supposed to have a normal evening. Rafe had returned from one of his top-secret missions that he never talks about.
You have no idea what he does, but he disappears for months at a time but you're happy when he can call you.
Your father invited you both over for dinner. Rafe wasn't happy about it, but you knew it was important to make your parents happy.
During dinner, Rafe was quiet, not as if it wasn't normal on the contrary Rafe was very quiet. He kept glancing at his watch, clearly impatient.
Your mother notice and tried to engage him in conversation, asking about his latest trip. "Nothing much to tell," he replied gruffly, cutting off any further questions.
He really didn't want to be here.
Then your father asked the question that made everyone slightly uncomfortable, "And the baby? When are you having one?"
You looked at Rafe, the situation was quite awkward. "Rafe and I aren't ready yet..." you said, trying to deflect the question.
Rafe wanted a family with you, but being in the military wasn't easy. He was constantly deployed, and the thought of starting a family while he was always away weighed heavily on him.
Your parents exchanged knowing looks, clearly not convinced by your answer. Your mother smiled politely, "Of course, dear. You two are still young." She paused, then added with a wink, "But don't wait too long, okay?"
"Don't wait too long" Those words were the breaking point for Rafe. He had been struggling with the idea of having a family, always pushing it to the back of his mind due to his demanding career. But hearing those words, seeing the expectation in your parents' eyes... something snapped inside him.
As soon as you got back to your cramped apartment, it didn't take much for Rafe to lose control. He grabbed you roughly, tearing off your little white dress with a feral growl. His hands were suddenly everywhere, his mouth crashing against yours in a desperate, almost violent kiss.
Rafe towered over you, his military training evident in every perfectly toned muscle. He was literally a beast— powerful, intense, and completely focused on you. The contrast of his rough hands against your delicate skin sent shivers down your spine.
You struggled to pull down his pants, your trembling hands betraying your desperate need. "Fuck." he growled, helping you by kicking off his boots and ripping down his pants. "Lift your legs." he ordered gruffly, lifting you up against the wall.
You wrap your legs around his waist. "Don't talk to me like I'm one of your soldiers." you snap. He chuckles, grinding his hard length against your wet panties. His big hands squeeze your ass cheeks, pulling you closer. "Sorry, ma'am." he teases, voice dripping with sarcasm, rubbing harder.
Rafe hooks your panties to the side. "Your parents basically told you to go get knocked up." Rafe jokes, his thick length rubbing against your wet opening. You throw your head back, moaning loudly as he spreads your thighs wider apart. “Maybe we should give them what they want.” he says with a smirk, and without warning, he thrusts into you.
It takes Rafe a few seconds to adjust, his cock throbbing intensely within your tight heat. He hasn't been with a woman in months, his body overwhelmed by the sudden intimate contact. “Shiiiiiiiit.” He groans, brows furrowed as he grits his teeth, trying to regain control.
You gasp, your nails digging into his shoulders as he fills you completely. He's so large, stretching you in ways that can make you come right out. "Rafe!" you cry out, your voice trembling with pleasure and slight discomfort. He's unmoving for a moment, letting you adjust to his size.
"Fuck, you're so tight," Rafe groans, his forehead pressing against yours. "I forgot how good it feels." He pulls out slowly, his hands gripping your hips tightly, and then thrusts back in, harder this time.
You look up at him with a vulnerable expression, the pity he loves so much evident in your eyes. He starts his thrusts, fast and a bit too rough, his body taking over as he chases his release. He's not making love to you —he's fucking you like an animal.
He's not being gentle, his fingers digging into your thighs to spread you wider. He knows he's being rough, his body slapping against yours loudly. He sees your small body absorb each thrust without complaint, making him even rougher.
You moan loudly, your neighbors likely hearing everything but you don't care, and neither does Rafe. Some couples are literally trying to get pregnant here!
Rafe's breathing is ragged, his face contorted with primal need. He wraps his arms around your thighs, pulling your legs up to his shoulders, hitting impossibly deeper spots within you.
Rafe's thrusts become more erratic, his voice dropping to a hoarse whisper as he leans down, his mouth near your ear. "Imagine if I got you pregnant right now…" he growls, his pace faltering for a moment. "One of these rough fucks knocking you up..."
"Please..." your voice is soft and pleading, your high-pitched moans driving him wild. Before he even realizes it, he bursts inside you, pouring his seed deep. Your small body trembles with pleasure, convulsing around his cock as the orgasm hits you both hard.
"Look what you do to me," he pants, still pumping slowly as he finishes inside you. "One of these days, your belly's really going to show." His hands move down to your hips possessively, imagining you pregnant with his child. "Such a good girl, taking it all..."
He gently sets you down on your feet, but you're still shaky so you cling to him for support. You look up at him with those big doe eyes and pout. "I want a kiss..." It's so innocent and cute after the rough sex he just had with you.
Rafe chuckles softly at your adorable request, his stern features softening. He cups your face gently, He leans down to press a gorgeous kiss on your lips.
From that moment forward, Rafe's new life goal was to get you pregnant as quickly as possible.
If someone had asked Rafe what his favorite part of your body was, he probably would have said your face.
But if you were the one asking, he would have likely raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips, before replying: “Your thighs, baby. Why do you ask?”
WHY ?
Rafe and you had been together since high school, surprising as it may be, he had always been faithful to you.
When Rafe went off to college, everyone was talking about eating out a girl's pussy. Unfortunately, Rafe was miles away from you since you weren't in the same college.
When you finally saw each other again for a weekend together, Rafe wasted no time before wanting to try it out. He had heard all the talk at college and now he was finally reunited with you, eager to experiment. His faithful nature was about to be put to the test.
Initially, you were frightened and kept insisting that it was dirty and unhygienic. But let's be real, did you actually think Rafe would really care about that?
Given his eagerness and the temptation after hearing about it constantly at college, hygiene concerns might not have been high on his priority list.
Rafe was a spoiled brat who always got what he wanted when he wanted it, so it didn't take him long before he managed to convince you. His persistence and determination won out over your initial reservations. Before you knew it, you were giving in to his demands and letting him experiment with you.
Rafe had your thighs over his shoulders, your bare pussy right in front of his face. He looked up at you, your head hidden under a pillow to avoid waking up his parents.
Then gently he began to kiss your clit. You could have died from that sensation alone. Your hands found their way into his hair, nervously playing with it.
Rafe's gentle kisses took you by surprise. You had already touched and fingered yourself thinking about him, but this was a completely different sensation.
He was calm and gentle, not rushing, wanting to savor the moment. His big tongue didn't take long before it could lick your entire little pussy.
His warm, wet tongue parted your folds, delving deeper with each slow, deliberate lick. He could feel you trembling above him, your fingers tangling in his hair. He looked up, seeing your face buried in the pillow, muffled whimpers escaping your lips.
Your nipples were hard and even with the pillow, Rafe could hear the muffled sounds of your moans. Fuck, he thought he might die right there on the spot. The feeling of your wet heat on his tongue, the sounds of your pleasure, it was almost too much for him to handle.
He continued his slow, sensual assault, his tongue lingering on your clit before slipping back down to your entrance. He pushed his tongue inside, feeling your walls clench around him. Rafe let out a muffled groan against your pussy, the vibration causing you to arch your back.
Your hand gripped his head tighter, pulling him deeper against your pussy as his hands gripped your waist tighter. He could feel your body shaking with pleasure, your moans growing louder even through the pillow. Rafe didn't mind the muffled sounds, he found it incredibly hot.
Your legs tightened around his head, trapping it securely between your thighs. Rafe felt like he was drowning in your wet heat and it was the best fucking sensation he'd ever experienced. He wanted to stay there forever, suffocated by your legs or your pussy.
His tongue worked faster now, driven by your desperate movements and the way you were practically suffocating him with your thighs. He could feel your orgasm building, your body tensing above him.
Rafe redoubled his efforts, his fingers digging into your hips as he tried to push his tongue even deeper.
Your breathing became rapid and uncontrolled, your moans now completely unmuffled. Rafe could feel your thighs trembling around his head as you neared the edge. He wrapped his arms around your thighs, pulling you impossibly closer as his tongue circled your clit at a relentless pace.
Then suddenly, your sweet, addictive juice began to coat his chin. He straightened up, catching your release with his mouth.
He growled softly, then peppered kisses up your stomach, your ribs, before capturing one of your hard nipples in his mouth, sucking softly. Your body jerked with aftershocks.
You pulled the pillow off your head, and he moved so their faces were level, his hands caressing your sides. "You didn't speak to me..."
Rafe laughed softly, kissing you deeply before running his fingers through your hair. "Sorry, babe but I think I was just too focused on having your clit in my mouth…" he murmured with a playful smirk. His other hand trailed down your side, giving your hip a gentle squeeze.
You laughed, hitting his shoulder. He caught your hand and kissed your knuckles. "Jerk." you said softly. He chuckled, capturing your neck with his mouth. "Your jerk." he murmured back.
"Round 2?" he inquired calmly, eyebrow arched. You pretended to ponder the question intensely before suddenly grabbing his head and shoving it forcefully between your thighs with an impressively convincing air of innocence.
He choked out a laugh, the sound muffled by your flesh.
Since that, Rafe was in love with your thighs and what’s between them.
Rafe preferred to make love to you slowly and gently after a long day of work, just wanting lazy, peaceful sex.
But you... you preferred when he was a bit more rough. So, of course, the infamous phrase "Are you sure you're inside?" really got under his skin.
Rafe knew his dick was large; he had lost count of the times you had gagged on.
So when you said that famous phrase, Rafe looked at you with a completely disconnected expression. "Excuse me what did you say?" he asks.
You look at him with that fucking innocent expression. "Are those your fingers or your dick inside me, Rafe?"
Rafe really wanted to do everything right, he wanted to take care of you, truly. But you had to provoke him.
He flipped you onto your stomach and positioned your ass in the air, before you could even comprehend what was happening, he was buried deep inside your pussy.
You moaned in pleasure as he began pounding into you violently, driven by primal instinct. Each brutal thrust shoved you forward, your ass jiggling with the force of his hips slapping against your skin.
Rafe gripped your hips tightly, fingers digging into your flesh as he lost himself in the savage rhythm.
"Feel my dick now? Maybe I should go deeper?" And he did. Those full 11 inches - all inside you. The force of his thrusts pushed you up the bed, but he held your hips firmly, pulling you back onto him with each powerful stroke.
He was deep—too deep.
Your breath hitched and your fingers clawed at the sheets as you felt every inch of him stretching you wide.
You tried to push back against him, but he held you in place, completely at his mercy. "Still wondering which part of me is inside you, sweetheart?"
It was a mess - his juices running down your legs and Rafe being feral. This was the first time you'd seen him like this.
He pulled out and spat on your dripping pussy, clearly seeking to fill it again. "Dirty little slut."
"Asshole," you muttered. That was enough to snap Rafe. "Now you're really testing my patience," he growled. In one swift motion, he grabbed your legs, flipped you onto your back, and slammed back in. "How's my big dick feel now, huh?"
He started pounding into you again, but this time, his fingers worked your clit furiously, like he was trying to break it.
His thick digits rubbing and circling the sensitive bud relentlessly as he hammered into you..
hitting that spot that made your back arch off the bed. His other hand wrapped around your throat, not squeezing, just resting there as he glared down at you. "Do you feel it ?”
He hit deeper and then—just like that. Your orgasm flooded through you unexpectedly. You gasped, your pussy squeezing his dick tightly, as a wave of intense pleasure washed over you. Rafe's eyes widened in surprise as he felt the sudden, powerful clenching around his length.
Rafe came simultaneously, completely caught off guard by your intense orgasm triggering his own. His thrusts became erratic as thick ropes of cum shot deep inside you, coating your walls. The pleasure was overwhelming, seeming to last forever as he filled you up.
After a few seconds, Rafe pulled out of you. You could barely even think straight as you lay there, trying to catch your breath and process what had just happened.
The bed was soaked underneath you from the combination of your own wetness and Rafe's heavy release.
“Who…pissed you off?…” you managed to stammer. Rafe took a moment to catch his breath and then looked up at the ceiling. “Barry.” he sighed.
You smiled and licked your lower lip. “Thanks, Barry…” you mumbled totally waste.
Ok but toxic!dad!rafe where this don’t effect the children’s life but when it come to the mother of his kids he’s still very overprotective. I mean she is a MILF.
This is the best thing I've ever heard anon I hope both sides of your pillow are cold.
Toxic!Rafe as a dad?
Surprisingly present.
His kid adores him, and in their eyes, he’s just their cool, protective father. He spoils them, takes them out on the yacht all the time, and he makes sure they have everything they could ever want. He told himself he would never be like Ward if he ever became a father, and he- for a change- was living up to his word.
But when it comes to their mom? That’s where the real problem is.
Because Rafe does not change when it comes to Y/N.
Y/N falling pregnant, certainly wasn't planned. It wasn’t supposed to happen. She was young, she had a future and more than anything, she wasn’t sure if she even wanted to stay with Rafe, let alone have a baby with him. She didn't tell Rafe right away. Not because she was hiding it, but because she knew- deep in her gut- that he wouldn’t react like a normal person. She needed time to think, to weigh her options, to figure out what she wanted before he got involved.
But Rafe found out anyway.
Y/N had been so incredibly careful, she didn't leave any trace of the positive pregnancy test in Tannyhill; but he just knew her too well, sensed that something was off when she stopped drinking.
“What?”
His voice was quiet at first, his brows furrowed, like he didn’t quite believe what he was hearing. But then the realisation hit. His blue eyes darkened, his jaw tightened, and he stepped closer, the room suddenly feeling too small. His voice was calm, but there was something dangerous underneath it.
“You were gonna tell me, right?”
“Rafe, I—I don’t know what I’m going to do yet—”
Wrong answer. His hand shot out, gripping her jaw, forcing her to look at him.
“The fuck do you mean, you don’t know?” His breath was hot against her face, his fingers digging into her skin.
“That’s my kid, Y/N.”
Her stomach churned, her heart hammering against her ribs.
“I just- Rafe, I need time to think—”
“No, you don’t.”
He cut her off, shaking his head like the idea itself was ridiculous, angrily running a hand through his messed up hair.
“You don’t need to think. It’s already decided.”
She tried to take a step back, but his grip tightened, his other hand settling on her waist, firmly keeping her closer to him.
“We’re having this baby.”
Her breath caught in her throat as the words passed his lips, tears stinging her eyes before she could stop the feeling.
“I don’t- Rafe, this is my choice—”
His fingers pressed harder, his face inches from hers.
“No, it’s ours.”
Even now when they have a child together, he still watches her like a hawk. Still gets unreasonably possessive when she dresses a certain way, still makes a scene when he catches another man looking at her for a second too long. And she knows better than to fight him on it- most of the time.
It’s a summer afternoon, and she’s lounging by the pool, drink in hand, wearing a bikini that makes Rafe’s jaw clench. The sun was high, casting a golden glow over her as she adjusted the thin strap of her bikini top. It was tiny- too fucking tiny. The black fabric barely covered her tits, which, thanks to breastfeeding, were even fuller now, spilling slightly over the edges. His jaw clenched as his gaze dragged down, taking in the way the strings hugged her hips, digging into soft, newly gained curves that had him gripping the bottle in his hand just a little harder.
His friends are over, and while they’re talking, his eyes keep flicking toward her, watching the way the fabric clings to her curves. And then- Topper nudges him, nodding toward one of the new neighbours talking to her.
Rafe’s face goes dark.
She’s laughing at something the guy said, totally unaware of the way Rafe’s grip tightens around his beer bottle. He doesn’t make a scene- not yet- but when the guy finally walks away, Rafe strides over, towering over her as she peers up from her sun bed. His voice is deceptively smooth, but she knows that tone.
"Having fun, baby?"
"Yes."
His fingers skim her thigh, tracing the edge of her bikini bottoms.
"You looked like you were having a little too much fun."
She sighs, pushing her sunglasses up to rest on her head, she had a feeling she knew exactly where this was going.
"Seriously?"
"Dead serious." He leans down, voice dropping.
"Go inside and cover up."
She scoffs, shifting to sit up, the towel underneath her crumpling slightly as she moved,
"It’s our backyard and it's a pool party-."
"-I don’t give a fuck."
"Rafe, you’re being ridiculous."
"Yeah?" His grip tightens on her thigh.
"Then why’s he looking at you like he wants to fuck you?"
Her stomach flips.
"Stop," she hisses, even as heat creeps up her neck. But Rafe just smirks, leaning in so only she can hear.
"Maybe I should remind you who you belong to, huh?"
Her breath catches.
And the way he says it? The way his hand tightens on her thigh, just enough to send a warning? It sends a shiver down her spine, even as she glares at him. Because she knows- if she doesn’t listen now, he’ll make her.
Somehow, their kid never see this side of Rafe, he makes sure of it.
To them, their dad is just protective, he just 'cares about mommy so much!'. They never see the way their mother bites her lip in frustration when Rafe pulls her away from conversations. They never see the bruises he leaves- not always from violence, but from gripping her too tight, kissing her too hard. They don’t hear the way she argues in hushed tones behind closed doors, or the way she eventually gives in and melts into him anyway.
Because as much as she hates his jealousy and his control, she loves him too much to walk away.
NDA: Sleeping with Rafe was easy until you caught feelings. Unfortunately, you were married with kids, but let’s be honest, that was never going to stop the great Rafe Cameron.
+18
People would never understand.
William was a good man—wealthy, kind, affectionate. He had given you beautiful children, cherished you, loved you in every way a husband was supposed to.
So why did you cheat on him?
William was gentle, patient, and attentive, but you weren’t in love with him. The only reason you stayed was for your children, to give them the stability of a present, devoted father.
The first time you and Rafe slept together, it was a mistake. A drunken night that spiraled into something reckless, something forbidden.
It just happened.
You weren’t happy—not romantically, not sexually, not truly—and Rafe was the only man who made you feel like more than just a wife, more than just a mother. With him, you felt alive.
Yet, you had sworn to yourself that it wouldn’t happen again.
And now, here you were, standing in his dimly lit living room at 9 PM. Just the two of you.
“Rafe, I don’t want this anymore.”
He turned to face you, eyebrows knitting together as he poured himself a glass of whiskey.
“Did I miss something?” he asked, his voice calm, indifferent, like this conversation was nothing more than a minor inconvenience.
You stepped in front of him, refusing to be intimidated by his height, by his presence.
“I love my husband. I love my kids. I have everything I could ever want,” you argued, trying to convince him—trying to convince yourself.
Rafe took a slow sip of his drink, eyes locked on you, unreadable. Then, he simply nodded.
“Alright.”
That was it. No fight, no plea. Just alright.
Your heart skipped a beat. That wasn’t what you expected. You had prepared for an argument, for persuasion, for the inevitable temptation. But not this.
“Okay,” you whispered, grabbing your things.
And then, just as you turned, he caught your wrist. Before you could react, his lips brushed against yours—just for a second. A mere ghost of a kiss.
You froze.
He pulled away, waiting. Watching.
And then, before you could think, before you could stop yourself—you crashed into him.
Rafe manages to stabilize you in a few seconds, his lips moving desperately against yours, damn it, is this what they call "love"?
He buries his head in your neck and you moan, his hands gripping your ass tightly, his breathing heavy against your neck.
"You're going to leave your husband and come spend the rest of your days with me." He carries you to his sofa and pushes you against it, you pull him in by tugging on the collar of his shirt.
"And you know why you'll do it?" He tears your tights, eliciting a loud moan from you. "Because you're completely crazy about me."
"Go to hell Rafe!" You moan, he laughs and pulls your panties to the side without warning, he thrusts deep inside you. You feel your body shake with pleasure. He curses under his breath as he pulls your legs over his shoulders, deepening the angle. "Say it," he growls, his hands digging into your thighs. "Say you'll leave him." You whimper, your nails clawing at his back. "N-no,"
He pushes harder, your pussy feeling so good around him—it's better than it was with William. "Fuck, you're so tight," he grunts, his balls slapping against your ass with each thrust. You gasp, your head tossing side to side on the sofa.
He leans down, his teeth grazing your neck. "You're so fuck up f’me, whether you admit it or not," he hisses. "Your body knows it, even if your heart doesn't." His fingers find your clit, circling it firmly. "Come on, baby. Give in."
Tears stream down your face from overwhelming pleasure as Rafe chuckles. He laughs because he knows that William has never had you like this—completely at his mercy, your body surrendering utterly.
"That's it, sweetheart," Rafe purrs, feeling your pussy clench tightly around him.
"God!.." he groans, his pace quickening. "You make me lose control." He swallows hard, then asks darkly, "Are you on the pill?" You freeze beneath him. " Answer me," he growls, "Before I put a baby in you."
you bite your lip hard and scratch his back.
"Say it," he demands, his hands gripping your hips possessively. "Say you don't care if I knock you up right now." He pulls out slightly, teasing his tip at your entrance. "Say it, and I'll do it."
"I don't care if you put a baby in me Rafe Cameron. I just want you to do it." You look Rafe straight in the eyes, there's no ounce of doubt or hesitation, only love, love that has been repressed for far too long.
His eyes darken dangerously at your words, raw emotion flashing across his face. "Fuck," he mutters, then drives into you hard and deep, each thrust deliberate. "You realize what you're saying? That you want..." He breaks off, his voice becoming thick. "My baby."
"Say it again," he demands roughly, his body shaking above you. "That you'll carry my baby, that you'll be the mother of my children." He pants, his face contorted with emotion.
You remove your legs from his shoulders and cradle his face in your soft hands. "I'll be the mother of your children." You smile, your eyes starting to fill with tears. "I'll be the mother of your children." Rafe laughs, a hint of sincerity, and kisses you deeply.
For the first time in his life, Rafe felt like he had found the right one—and he had no intention of ruining it.
warnings: nothing but fluff and that time of the month shenanigans
a/n: brain wouldn't shut up tonight, so here's some soft rafe cameron for you girlies. 🤍
You wake up to that familiar cramping sensation and immediately know.
Your eyes snap open in horror, taking in the expensive Egyptian cotton sheets beneath you – Rafe's sheets. Rafe's very white, very expensive sheets that now have a very obvious stain.
"Shit," you whisper, mortification flooding your system as you try to quietly extract yourself from his arms without waking him.
"Mmm, where are you going." His sleep-rough voice catches you mid-escape attempt. Before you can stop him, he's pulling you back against his chest, nuzzling into your neck.
"Rafe, no – I need to—" But it's too late. You feel the exact moment he realizes, his body stilling behind you.
"I'm so sorry," you start rambling, trying to wiggle free. "I know how expensive these sheets are. I'll replace them, I swear—"
"Hey." His voice has that edge to it, the one that means you're being ridiculous. "Look at me."
You shake your head, face burning. "I ruined your sheets."
"Baby girl." There's amusement in his voice now. "You really think I give a fuck about some sheets?" His lips find your temple. "You hurting?"
The gentle question beneath his usual rough exterior makes your chest tight. You nod slightly.
"Alright, here's what's happening." It's his business voice, the one that means no arguments. "You're gonna take a hot shower, steal whatever you want from my closet, and I'm grabbing you some aspirin." He pauses. "And those chocolate strawberries in the fridge? Yeah, those weren't for tomorrow's country club bullshit."
You look up at him, surprised. "You knew?"
The corner of his mouth quirks up. "Princess, you really think I don't have your cycle tracked? Who do you think keeps restocking the tampons under my sink?"
You resist the urge to roll your eyes. Of course he'd be smug about being thoughtful. Your heart then does that stupid flutter thing it always does when he shows he actually pays attention.
Later, curled up on his ridiculously expensive couch, wearing his softest hoodie, you watch him navigate your heating pad with intense focus. The chocolate strawberries are perfect, and every time a cramp hits, his hand finds your lower back like it's instinct.
"Better?" he murmurs against your hair.
"Mmm." You sink further into him. "Still sorry about the sheets though."
He snorts. "Baby, I could buy new sheets every day for the next decade and not dent my wallet." His arms tighten possessively. "Now shut up about the sheets and eat your chocolate."
You turn to look at him, this man who tracks your period in his phone but would probably murder anyone who knew about it. This version of Rafe Cameron – the one who handles period stains and midnight cramps with the same intensity he handles everything else – is just for you.
"I love you," you whisper.
"Yeah?" That signature smirk plays at his lips. "Prove it by stopping this guilt shit about my sheets."
But his kiss is gentle, and when another cramp hits, his hands are already there, steady and sure.
What Figure Eight would never believe: how the infamous Rafe Cameron keeps tampons in his bathroom and period tracking apps on his phone.
But that's okay – let them have their trust fund tyrant. This softer version is yours alone.
miss sugar is the new art teacher at kildare county elementary school.
she's all smiles and fun, loved by the children under her care, and the sunshine to someone's grumpy. and the grumpy in question? rafe cameron! however, there is more to her than meets the eye. it might be tough to figure out what, though—she's good at keeping things under wraps.
works with teacher!reader
how rafe and miss sugar met
important
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rafe with a clingy and weird girl. read part 2 here. text chain here. text chain pt. 2.
rafe wasn’t always so buff. when you two first started dating he was sorta lanky. you would pinch his thin arms and tease him. when he starts buffing out? holy shit you can’t get enough of him.
he’s come home from the gym and the first thing you do is shove your face into his chest, inhaling him as you rub your face against his pecs. he wraps his arm around your head, practically suffocating you in him. “mell goo.” you mumble into his chest. your hand slowly trails up and you squeeze his pec. like it’s a boob. he hisses and smacks your hand away, shoving you playfully.
you pout, “i wanna squeeze.”
he snickers out a laugh, smacking your hand away from him again. “leave me alone.”
this brightens you up. “are you ticklish?” your tone is teasing, fingers twiddling at him.
he lets out a full bodied laugh at this, pushing your hands away again. “get off, weirdo.”
“just let me honk your tit and i’ll stop”
“i don’t have tits.”
“dude, they’re staring right at me”
“im not your dude”
“okay my beautiful dude let me honk it”
“im feeling very sexualized”
another time when you guys are getting ready for bed. he’s brushing his teeth and you’re applying under eye cream. his arms look absolutely delicious, flexing soflty as he keeps brushing. you can’t control yourself.
you chomp down on his bicep. he stares at you completely bewildered. “did you bithe me?” mouth full of toothpaste
“you looked yummy” you say it lamely. as if it’s no big deal
“you’re like a dog”
“only like? Let’s solidify that” you chomp the air
he laughs, playfully shoving your face away from him.“get away from me”
“come on, it’s just cute aggression. I need to get it out”
“cute aggression? you think im cute??”
you shrug again, nodding. “i’ll show you cute baby,” he scoops you up trodding you over to your shared bed as you laugh happily. “it’s my turn to honk and bite you”
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