[angelicstarkey]

fizzie | twenties. march aries. moon child, star girl. lovebird. drew starkey and rafe cameron mdni

⋆.˚☁️⋆ masterlist notif blog ⋆☁️˚.⋆

⟡ i am a corporate girlie working a 9-5 so fics will come out whenever i’m able to!

⟡ please respect that this is a strictly 18+ page due to the sheer amount of explicit content. I understand that while I am not able to control who consumes my content, I am not responsible either.

[angelicstarkey]

I actually lose my shit every time you write about bsf rafe in a good way ofc

naurrrr that’s insane nonnie boo wtf 🥹 thank you so much, literally made my day bc he’s my fav to write too :’)

in bsf!rafe we trust ✊🏻 🙂‍↕️

[angelicstarkey]

Hi! Not sure if you’re still taking requests, but numbers 2, 24, 43, and 88 from the nsfw list would be great for a wealthy businessman Rafe and stripper reader. Seeing how, even though she’s not a new stripper, she gets tripped up by Rafe’s confidence, possessiveness, and prescience…. Spicy!!

no pole

businessman!rafe cameron x stripper!reader

prompts: "are you just going to watch?", "i can see you staring at my tits, thigh/ass", "why are you being so shy? it's not like i haven't already seen all of you," "dressing room, now"

content warnings: explicit sexual content 18+ MDNI

a/n: hope this suffices, nonnie! i really enjoyed how challenging this was :)

in part of my one year celebration!

The Onyx club was dimly lit, the air thick with expensive perfume and the sweet smell of liquor. You had been dancing here for three years, long enough that the regular faces blurred together and the new ones rarely caught your attention anymore. You knew how to play the game, how to command a room, and exactly how to milk wealthy men for every single cent they were worth.

Until Rafe walked in.

He sat in the VIP section, separated from the main floor by velvet ropes and two burly security guards. Rafe Cameron. Even in a city like this, his name carried weight that was felt heavier than the pole you wrapped your hands around. Whispers followed him wherever he went, the billionaire investor who was nothing short of a ruthless businessman, and, according to the gossip columns, a man who always got what he wanted.

You had seen him before from afar, but tonight, his piercing blue eyes were locked on you as you moved to the rhythm of the music. But Rafe didn’t just look at you, he anchored you to the spot with a dark, heavy stare that made you feel completely exposed before you’d even taken off a single layer. Your body swayed with practiced ease, hips grinding against the pole as you descended into a split. The routine was muscle memory, your hands trailing down your own body, teasing the audience with glimpses of skin they paid to see, except the mere remembrance of whose eyes were on you made the light cast upon you feel hotter than it actually was. 

Though Rafe wasn't like the others—he didn't throw money or shout crude comments that you’d become accustomed to, even if it did sting at times. He just watched, his intense gaze making your skin tingle in a way that had nothing to do with the stage lights. You found yourself stumbling slightly, a move you'd performed thousands of times, suddenly feeling foreign under his scrutiny.

When your set ended, you collected your tips with forced smiles, your eyes occasionally darting back to where he sat. He hadn't moved, still watching you with that unnerving intensity, with one tailored trouser leg over the other. He didn't smile; he just tracked the nervous twitch of your fingers, his eyes darkening.

"Rafe wants a private dance," your manager whispered, nudging you with his elbow.

“Huh?” You looked at him, wide-eyed, with your anxiety peaking as you took in what he said.

 "Go,” he urged, pushing you towards the room. “He's paying triple."

Your heart raced as you nodded, making your way toward the VIP section. The security guards parted for you without a word, and you then found yourself standing a few feet away from his leather chair, the synth-heavy bass of the club vibrating through the soles of your platform heels. 

Usually, you’d already be in his lap, spinning a web of practiced charm. Instead, you found your fingers nervously plucking at the sheer fabric of your robe. His sheer presence, dripping with absolute confidence and an unspoken, terrifying possessiveness, completely tripped you up.

"H-hi," you managed, your voice steadier than you expected but still not the same confidence you usually managed to exude.

He turned to face you fully, and up close, his presence was even more overwhelming. He was dressed in a tailored suit that probably cost more than your monthly rent, his hair perfectly styled, his blue eyes seemingly able to see right through you.

"Your performance was... adequate," he said, his voice low and smooth. "But I think you're holding back."

"I don't know what you mean," you replied, though you did. You had felt off since you first noticed him watching.

Rafe leaned closer, his cologne—a mix of sandalwood and something that screamed rich—flooding your senses. "Hmmm, I know you’re a smart girl. I know you do.”

"Are you just going to watch?" you asked, your voice betraying a slight tremor that made you internally curse. You tried to recover your usual swagger, shifting your hips and bracing a hand against the velvet wall. "I can see you staring at my tits."

Heat flooded your cheeks as you began to move, your body swaying to the distant music from the main floor. You tried to focus, to slip into the professional persona you usually wore so easily, but his eyes kept distracting you. A slow, wicked smirk finally broke across Rafe’s handsome face. It wasn't a gentle expression; it was the look of a predator who knew he’d already won, and he absolutely didn't deny it. Instead, he unbuttoned his suit jacket, letting it fall open as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. The sudden proximity made your breath hitch.

As you turned, your back facing him, hear a dark chuckle. "I am staring," he murmured, his deep voice cutting through the thumping bass of the club music. "I mean, can you blame me? They’re magnificent." 

Your breath hitched as his eyes slid down to your thigh, the sight making you feel phantom-squeezing of the soft flesh there. "And your thighs... been imagining them wrapped around my waist since you first stepped on stage."

You turned back to face him, trying to regain control of the situation. "Mr. Cameron, there are rules about—"

"Rules?" he chuckled, a dark, delicious sound that made your core clench. "Y’think I care about rules? Come here.”

His confidence was overwhelming, the kind of absolute certainty that came from a lifetime of never being denied anything. You found yourself faltering again, your usual stripper bravado deserting you completely. 

It wasn't a request. Your thighs felt heavy, almost liquid, as you took the two steps toward him. You straddled his lap, the expensive fabric of his trousers a stark contrast against your bare skin. You meant to grind against him, to take control of the interaction like you always did, but the moment your hands rested on his broad shoulders, he gripped your hips. His fingers dug in, bruisingly tight, staking a claim that sent a shockwave of heat straight to your core.

"Why are you being so shy?" he asked, his thumb stroking the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. "It's not like I haven't already seen all of you." You froze, your heart hammering against your ribs. You looked down, suddenly unable to hold his intense gaze. Rafe chuckled, a low, gravelly sound that vibrated against your chest. He tilted your chin up with his thumb and forefinger, forcing you to look at him. Before you could form a coherent response, he was standing, pulling you up with him. His grip was firm but not painful, leaving no room for argument.

"You're... distracting," you breathed out, honesty slipping past your defenses before you could stop it.

"Good," Rafe growled. He slid his hands down to the meat of your ass, lifting you slightly just to come down harder against the thick, rigid length hidden beneath his trousers. You let out a soft whimpering gasp, your head dropping onto his shoulder. He owned you in this moment, and the terrifying part was how badly you wanted him to.

He leaned into your ear, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine as his teeth grazed your earlobe. He didn't care that there were other people in the club, or that you were supposed to be working. His possessiveness was a suffocating, intoxicating wave.

"Dressing room, now," he commanded, his voice dropping to a tone that brokered no refusal. You didn't even think about arguing. Your knees were weak, your core was aching, and as he led you toward the back hallway, you knew you were completely at his mercy.

The walk to the dressing room felt endless, his hand possessively on the small of your back as he guided you through the crowded club. Employees and patrons alike stared, but no one dared question the man who owned half the city.

Once inside the privacy of the dressing room, he locked the door behind you. The space was small, cluttered with makeup and costumes, but suddenly it felt charged with an electricity that made your skin hum.

"Turn around," he ordered, and you found yourself obeying without question.

He stepped behind you, his body pressing against yours as his hands roamed freely. "You're even more beautiful up close," he murmured, his lips tracing the line of your shoulder. "Knew you would be."

Your reflection in the mirror showed a version of yourself you barely recognized, flushed and breathless, eyes dark with desire. This wasn't supposed to happen. You were the one in control, the one teasing and denying. But with Rafe, all your carefully constructed defences were crumbling.

"I want to see all of you," he said, his fingers deftly untying the strings of your outfit, the non-existent constraint finally being lifted. "Every inch."

As the fabric fell away, leaving you exposed before him, you expected to feel vulnerable, ashamed. Instead, a thrill ran through you as his eyes raked over your naked form, appreciative and hungry.

"God, you’re perfect," he breathed, turning you to face him. "Absolutely perfect."

His mouth claimed yours in a kiss that was nothing like you expected—possessive, demanding, yet somehow tender. His hands explored every curve and hollow of your body, learning your shape as if memorizing it.

You were lost in sensation, your body responding to his touch with an eagerness that surprised you. Years of performing, of pretending desire for strangers, had never prepared you for this—the real thing, overwhelming and all-consuming.

When he finally lifted you onto the vanity, spreading your legs to stand between them, you were already aching with need. "I've wanted this since I first saw you dance," he admitted, his voice rough with desire. "Watching y’ move, knowing I had to have you."

As he entered you, slow and deliberate, you gasped at the stretch and fullness of his member. It was different from anything you'd experienced before, something that wasn’t transactional, nor a performance, but something truly real.

"Look at me," he commanded, and your eyes met in the mirror as he began to move, setting a rhythm that quickly had you trembling. "I wanna watch you fall apart for me."

And you did, spectacularly, your body arching against his as waves of pleasure washed over you. His name was a prayer on your lips as you shattered, the intensity of your release leaving you breathless and boneless.

He followed soon after, his grip tightening on your hips as he found his own release, his face buried in the crook of your neck. For a long moment, you stayed like that, tangled together in the aftermath of passion. The club seemed miles away, the world reduced to just the two of you in this small room. When he finally pulled away, he helped you dress with surprising gentleness, his fingers lingering on your skin as if memorizing the feel of you.

"I'll be back tomorrow," he said, his tone leaving no room for doubt. "And the night after that."

You nodded, unable to form words as he straightened his suit, once again the composed billionaire you'd first seen. But as he unlocked the door and glanced back at you, those blue eyes held a promise that made your heart race.

You were in trouble, deep, yet thrilling, trouble. As you watched him walk away, you knew with absolute certainty that you wouldn't—couldn't—resist when he returned, already thinking about how you could impress him next time.

taglist: @raf3cam3r0n @bonjourjiminie

dividers: @cursed-carmine

[angelicstarkey]

euphoria series finale spoilers below

truly gobsmacked and bawling my eyes out.

a show that was once beautiful and a journey to redemption from addiction, as well the chain effect stemming from teens (and adults alike) who suffer from addiction, being reduced to now a porn-with-plot gimmick is genuinely devastating and honestly disappointing to see. this felt more like sydney sweeney propaganda than what the show started off with.

it’s worse that whatever tf the director (i refuse to use his name) and writers believed in their minds that the direction they took for each of the characters was good enough is astounding. like how fucking ridiculous and delusional do you have to be to hype each other up and genuinely lose the plot

AND RUE DYING?!?!?! WITH LITTLE TO NO SORROW OR REMORSE FROM ANYONE IN THE SHOW?!?!? NOT EVEN HER MOTHER OR SISTER SHOWN?!?!? nah that was just cruel, genuinely why were the amish girl and ali the only sympathetic ones who mourned for her? a bird got a funeral but she didn’t, in-fucking-sane

perhaps i find rue’s ending devastating and upsetting as a whole because of how i lost a friend to substance abuse (not with drugs, so not entirely relatable) so it’s somewhat realistic, but there are so many stories of addicts who are able to carry on, and rue deserved to have her happy ever after

n e ways what an absolutely saddening and heartbreaking way to end such a beautiful show. s*m l******** i hope you never touch another fucking script again

[angelicstarkey]

I genuinely believe that no one can write smut the way you do like you always bring it home wtfff

reading this felt infinitely better than finding out i got my first job out of uni

genuinely in so much awe that you feel that way nonnie 🥹 imma give you the biggest kiss on your forehead and then write you into my will

[angelicstarkey]

omg i just wanted to say that the sarah fic is perfect, you captured the tension between them and what would be like being closeted in a place like that perfectly. it’s honestly one of the best wlw fics i’ve read on tumblr in a long time. thank you so much for taking my request 💖💖💖

🥹🥹🥹 this truly made my day, i was so scared that it wouldn’t be good enough or encapsulate that feeling yk? thank you so much for trusting me with your vision nonnie

[angelicstarkey]

ugh I know I’m a day late I’m sorry I js saw the year celebration post!! I love your work and if there’s any chance you’d let mine slip through just in time I’d appreciate it!!! I’d really like #6 from the nsfw list with nerd rafe. 😋😋❤️❤️❤️

all this late night banter

mean!nerd!rafe cameron x academic rival!reader

prompt: you’re fucking soaked

content warnings: explicit sexual content, hate sex (again lol) 18+ MDNI

a/n: okay i knowwww nerd!rafe is usually innocent and subby, but i genuinely couldn't get the idea of nerd!rafe out of my head without having some sort of rivalry

in part of my one year celebration!

The library had emptied hours ago, but you were still there, back pressed against the study room door, Rafe's hand shoved down your jeans.

"You've been staring at my mouth throughout the lecture," he breathed against your jaw, his glasses askew where you'd knocked them. "All those clever fucking comments in class, all that attitude-"

"Shut the fuck up," you gasped, but your hips betrayed you, grinding against his palm.

He laughed, low and mean, the sound of someone who'd spent three semesters watching you outperform him on every assignment, every exam, every curve. His fingers dragged through your folds, deliberate and teasing, and your head thunked back against the wood.

"Christ," he muttered, pressing closer, his erection hard against your hip. "You're fucking soaked."

“Oh my god,” your fingers tangled in his collar, yanking him down. "Then do something about it."

He did. His mouth crashed into yours, all teeth and desperation, and his fingers pushed inside, two of them, rough and insistent. You moaned into the kiss, and he swallowed it, fucking you with his hand while his thumb ground against your clit.

"Been thinking about this," he panted against your lips, "since you destroyed me on the Milton presentation. Watched you walk back to your seat and got so hard I had to sit through the whole Q&A-"

You reached between you, palming him through his khakis, and he groaned, ragged and broken. "Less talking," you whispered, "more, mphf-"

He spun you around, bending you over the table. Papers scattered, your annotated readings, his colour-coded notes, all of it sliding to the floor as he shoved your jeans down and freed himself. You heard the tear of foil, then his hands were gripping your hips, positioning himself.

"Tell me you want it," he demanded, the head of his cock sliding through your wetness, teasing.

"And why the fuck would I do that?" you snarled, pushing back against him.

He slammed into you, deep and thick, and you both groaned. "Hmm," he gritted out, starting to move, hard and punishing. "You can keep hating me. Just like how you can keep taking my cock like this."

The table creaked beneath you, your cheek pressed against cold wood, your nails scoring the surface. He fucked you like he was trying to win something, like every stroke was a point on a scoreboard, his breath hot and ragged in your ear.

When you came, it was sudden yet exactly what you’d needed, your body clamping down on him, your cry muffled against your own arm. He followed seconds later, burying himself to the hilt, groaning your name like a curse against your shoulder.

After, you lay there panting, sweat cooling on your skin, his notes crumpled beneath your elbows. He pulled out slowly, dealt with the condom, and you both stared at the mess—the scattered papers, the dislodged glasses, the chaos.

You sat up, reaching for your sweater. "I'm still getting that fellowship," you said.

Rafe adjusted his glasses, smirking, already hardening again. "We'll see about that."

taglist: @raf3cam3r0n @bonjourjiminie

dividers: @cursed-carmine

[angelicstarkey]

hii queen, i’m the anon who asked if you write wlw. i saw you’re a euphoria fan too, and you know that scene in s1e8 where jules does rue’s makeup? i’m thinking a scene like that with sarah where she’s telling mc (her best friend back at figure eight) about her hanging out with the pogues for the first time while doing her makeup (like jules telling rue about when she was away). and maybe she tells mc about john b which makes her jealous, but sarah isnt interested like that in john b, but mc thinks she is after hearing about it. mc has never felt like she fits in figure eight, and sarah is trying to convince her to tag along the next time she hangs out with the pogues. they have feelings for each other but they dont know since they’re both still in the closet. and like there’s a lot of (sexual) tension, but it’s also sweet. you can pick how it ends, if they actually get together or if it’s just that tension hanging between them, i’m sure whatever you choose will be great.

and totally okay if you don’t wanna do it btw. love you work 💕

glitter haze

bsf!sarah cameron x reader

content warnings: some sexual tension 18+ MDNI

a/n: i truly hope this is good (enough at least lol), and fits your vision nonnie! thank you for sending this over <3

in part of my one year celebration!

The sheer curtains in Sarah’s bedroom offered only the illusion of privacy, diffusing the harsh Figure Eight afternoon sun into a warm, heavy haze. You sat cross-legged but perfectly still on the cushioned stool, tilting your head back to give Sarah a better angle as she leaned in. The familiar scent of her Chanel perfume, her latest fixation, enveloped you in a way that imprinted itself into your mind. 

The space between you was too small, it always was, which made you feel more and more self-conscious if you’d subconsciously given away your feelings for her. Ever since you both crossed into your twenties, the comfortable, sisterly closeness you’d shared since childhood had taken a sharp, agonizing turn into uncharted territory. What was once comfort now felt like a quiet, suffocating ache born from being completely, utterly in love with your best friend while trapped in a world that demanded you both marry country-club boys and breed people who’d end up just like them anyway. 

"Keep your eyes closed," Sarah murmured, her fingers gently anchoring your jaw. The soft bristles of a blending brush swept across your eyelid. "If you blink, I’m going to get eye shimmer everywhere."

"I'm trying," you whispered, though your heart was doing a frantic double-take against your ribs. The way she’d given you her entire attention, but it was never in the same way you’d give to her, because while she was zeroed in on making sure your eyeshadow looked good, you were more focused on her breathing pattern and the gentleness of her hands as she held onto you, wishing it’d been for different reasons. 

The way she always made sure you were her top priority made you wonder if you were the problem for considering if it teetered between platonic or romantic love, or how she’d managed to find a way to slither into your dreams at night, making you wake up flustered and sweating after imagining her head between your thighs as you’d arch off the bed. 

"Okay, look up at the ceiling," Sarah murmured, her fingers cool against your jaw. Her free hand, steady and precise, brought the fine-tipped liquid eyeliner pen toward your face.

You obeyed, staring intently at a dust mote dancing in a sunbeam, but your focus was entirely on her. You could feel the heat radiating off her body. When she leaned in to start the intricate flick of the wing, the soft linen of her tank top brushed against your bare arm. It was a faint, feather-light sensation that felt like a match struck in a dry forest.

"So," Sarah started, her voice dropping into that conspiratorial tone she only used with you. She reached for a pot of gel eyeliner, letting out a small, quiet laugh that vibrated in the air between your faces. Her gaze was focused on your right eyelid, but you could see the playful curve of her mouth. "I have to tell you about yesterday. And you cannot tell Ward, or Topper, or Rafe, or literally anyone."

"My lips are sealed. What did you do?"

"I hung out on the Cut," she said softly, dipping a fine-tipped brush into the black gel. "With the Pogues."

Your eyes snapped open. "Sarah—"

"Ah ah ah! Eyes up, look at the ceiling," she scolded gently, using her thumb to gently pull the skin of your cheek taut. You complied, but your mind was racing. The Cut? The Pogues? Figure Eight girls didn't just drift over to the marsh. "Look, I know. But Topper was being suffocating, and I just... needed to breathe. I ended up on the HMS Pogue. That's what they call their boat. It's basically a floating piece of driftwood, but honestly? It was probably the most amazing thing I’ve been on so far."

A strange, tight knot formed in your stomach. "Amazing how?"

"Just... the energy," Sarah sighed, a genuine smile tugging at the corners of her mouth as she carefully drew a sharp wing on your outer eyelid. "They don't care about who your family is or how much money is in your bank account. And John B... he’s the one who runs the place, basically. He took me out on the marsh. He’s just so entirely unfiltered. He looked me dead in the eye and told me I was sheltered, but then he showed me this secret surf spot, and we talked for hours. He’s incredibly charming in this completely reckless, messy way."

The knot in your stomach hardened into a cold, heavy lump of jealousy. You knew of him, of course. The boy with the messy hair and the unbuttoned shirts who lived on the edge of the water. Hearing Sarah talk about him with that breathless, captivated look in her eyes felt like a physical blow as your mind raced in circles about whether she liked him or not. If you’d completely lost the one person you’d yearned for to someone who’d wooed her effortlessly. The thought of Sarah being pulled away from you, not just by a boy, but by a completely different world, made you feel entirely hollow.

"Sounds like you had a great date," you said, unable to stop the sudden, sharp edge from bleeding into your voice.

Sarah paused, the eyeliner brush hovering centimetres from your face. She blinked, looking down at you, her expression shifting from excitement to confusion. "A date? No, babes, it wasn't a date."

"You just said he was charming and reckless, and you spent hours alone together," you muttered, looking down at your lap, suddenly feeling very small in your designer sundress.

"Yeah, because he's a character," Sarah said softly. She set the brush down on the vanity, the click of the plastic loud in the quiet room. She stepped closer, sliding into the narrow space between your knees. The fabric of her linen shorts brushed against your bare thighs, sending a jolt of pure static electricity straight up your spine.

She reached out, her fingers gently cupping your chin to force you to look up at her. Her hazel eyes were wide, searching yours.

"I'm not interested in John B like that, silly," Sarah murmured, her voice dropping an octave. Her thumb brushed lightly against your jawline, a slow, deliberate caress that made your breath hitch. "He's great, but... he's not my type."

Your gaze dropped to her mouth, entirely involuntary. The air between you grew thick, heavy with a sudden, suffocating heat. Sarah’s eyes flicked down to your lips, too, her thumb pausing its movement on your skin. The silence stretched, pulsing with a raw, agonizing tension. For a second, just one second, it felt like she was leaning in. Like she was going to bridge the agonizingly small gap between you.

Then, Sarah swallowed hard, blinking rapidly as she pulled her hand back, clearing her throat to break the spell.

"Anyway," she said, her voice slightly breathless as she picked up a highlighter palette. "The reason I'm telling you all this is because I want you to come with me next time."

“What? To the Cut?” You blinked, trying to ground yourself. "Sarah, I don't think—"

"Think about it," she interrupted, leaning back in, her face inches from yours as she dusted a shimmering champagne powder onto your cheekbones. "You hate it here. You’ve told me a thousand times you feel like an alien at the country club. You don't fit into the Figure Eight mold anymore than I do."

She was right. You loathed the stiff dinners, the fake smiles, the unspoken rules of the wealthy elite. You always felt like you were wearing a costume.

"They'd hate me," you whispered. "I'm just... Topper's girlfriend's best friend. I'm a kook. They’d shun me for literally everything I am."

"They won't hate you," Sarah insisted, her gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that made your chest ache. She set the palette down and leaned her hands on your shoulders, her thumbs kneading the soft skin near your collarbones. "They’re fun, and it’s so freeing over there. Like you truly get to be whoever you want to be.”

Contemplation took over you as you pondered on the thought of whether you’d be doing yourself more harm than good, seeing Sarah having fun with someone while you sat in the back, knowing you’d never get the chance to be that person. Sarah continued, trying to break the silence, “I'll be right there with you. I want you there. It doesn't feel right experiencing something that real without you. I need you there."

Something that real.

Your heart hammered against your ribs. You looked at Sarah, at the fierce, protective warmth in her eyes, at the way she held onto you like you were the only anchor she had left in this town. You wanted to tell her. You wanted to tell her that you didn't care about the Pogues or the Kooks, that the only place you ever felt like you fit in was right here, trapped in her orbit.

"Okay," you breathed out, the word a tiny surrender against the space between you. "I'll go."

A brilliant, radiant smile broke across Sarah's face. "Good," she whispered.

She didn't move away immediately. Her hands lingered on your shoulders, her thumbs tracing small circles against your skin, both of you caught in the sweet, terrifying pull of everything you weren't saying. Finally, she patted your shoulder and stepped back, grabbing a hand mirror and pressing it into your palm.

"Now look," Sarah said, a playful flush on her cheeks. "Tell me I'm the best makeup artist on the island."

You looked into the mirror, your reflection glowing, the sharp wing accentuating your eyes perfectly. But when you looked up, you caught Sarah staring at you in the reflection, her expression soft, longing, and entirely uncovered.

"You're the best," you said softly, looking right at her through the glass. "By far."

dividers: @cursed-carmine

[nchye]

Loser’s Reward

MINORS DNI! dividers by @cafekitsune

pairing: garrett graham x fem!reader (x moc) synopsis: naked. frustrated. still under the shower spray. garrett graham’s team has just lost the last game when the football captain’s girl shows up to rub salt in the wound. should he just ignore her or show her who the real loser is?

words: 3k+ disclaimer: english is not my first language! warnings: teasing, CHEATING (reader cheats on boyfriend). no use of y/n or physical description, but garrett picks her/you up. the picture is only for aesthetic purposes. S M U T!! dom!garrett, cocky!garrett, p in v (unprotected), oral (mostly f receiving), he spits, she swallows (multiple times baby!!). third person! dirty talk. caught in the act. shower sex. “hate” fucking. not proofread! be nice!!

chye's corner: this is only one of 5 drafts that i still have on my off campus boys. let me know if you want me to post all of these, i’m having a blasttttt. pls consider a reblog, a like, or a comment! thank you for choosing to read my words (((:

chye's grimoire (masterlist) requests are open!

The locker room was thick with steam and silence, the kind that pressed down after a brutal loss. Garrett Graham stood under the spray of the far showerhead, hot water pounding against his shoulders and back like it could wash away the scoreboard that still burned in his mind. 3-5. His team had fought hard, but not hard enough. Logan had scored twice, and Tucker had gone to the penalty box for fighting another player, but none of their efforts seemed to pay off.

His muscles were knotted with frustration, jaw clenched so tight it ached. Water sluiced down his broad chest, over the ridges of his abs, tracing the V that disappeared beneath the towel he’d discarded on the bench before stepping in. He braced one forearm against the tiled wall, head bowed, letting the heat beat into him as steam curled around his naked body.

“Well, that sucked,” a feminine voice made him jump. He had heard someone walk in, but he just assumed it was one of his teammates. He turned his face to look at the woman who entered his private sulking session and his expression turned annoyed. “Rough night out there, Graham?”

There she was, his little vixen. The football captain’s girlfriend, standing just inside the shower area in nothing but an oversized football jersey that barely reached mid-thigh. The rival team’s colors. Her hair was loose, and the way the damp air made the thin fabric cling to her curves left very little to the imagination. She leaned against the wall, arms crossed under her breasts, a teasing smirk playing on her lips. She didn’t seem bothered at all that Garrett was naked just a few feet from her and her gaze never strayed downward.

“You shouldn’t be in here,” he answered, voice low and rough from the game and the lingering adrenaline. But he didn’t move. Couldn’t. He was still facing the wall, his body already reacting to the sight of her, blood slowly heading south despite the frustration still coiled tight in his chest.

She shrugged, stepping inside the showers, water now dotting her bare legs. “The entire school is celebrating our football team winning tonight. Figured someone should come check on the sore loser.” Her eyes finally dragged down his body, taking in the tension in his shoulders, the way his abs flexed with each controlled breath, the little dimple on his chiseled stomach, and she peeked just enough to have a glance of the growing hardness he made no real attempt to hide. “Tough break out there tonight, Graham. All that sweat and still couldn’t seal the deal.”

Garrett’s hand flexed against the tile. “You really came all the way down here just to run your mouth?”

“Maybe,” she said sweetly, tilting her head. “That game was painful to watch. You guys had the lead twice and still choked. What happened? Couldn’t handle the pressure?”

He let out a sharp breath, water pounding against his chest. “We played hard. Shit happens. Doesn’t mean you need to be in here gloating while I’m trying to wash it off.”

“Gloating? I’m just being honest,” she teased, crossing her arms. “You looked so pissed on the ice. Does losing always get you this worked up?”

Garrett’s eyes narrowed, tension still radiating through his shoulders as the water continued to beat down on his bare skin. “You’re wearing his jersey and walking into my locker room. You sure you want to keep poking me right now?”

She smiled, unbothered. “Why not? It’s fun watching you try to act like you’re not bothered. Tell me, Graham… what did you say to him two days ago? That you were going to enjoy seeing him lose? How does it feel now, mh?”

Garrett let out a low chuckle, tilting his head back under the spray so water ran down his face and neck. “I gotta admit, doesn’t feel like a million bucks, but you know what feels better?” He wiped water from his eyes and looked straight at her. “The fact that you’re standing here in my locker room, staring at me naked in the shower, instead of being with your boyfriend right now.”

She raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Bold. Maybe I just wanted to see the loser up close.”

“Bullshit,” Garrett shot back, his voice rough as more water cascaded over his broad chest, now fully turning towards her. He was towering over her frame and she couldn’t help but look down at his v-line. “If you wanted to be with him, you’d be at whatever victory party he’s throwing. But you’re not. You’re here. With me.” She shifted her weight. “Why aren’t you there trying to make him feel like a big man after his win? Youu snuck down here to fuck with me. Makes me wonder who you really want to be around tonight.”

Her smile grew bitter. “Careful, Graham. You sound a little jealous for someone who just got his ass handed to him on the ice.”

Garrett’s eyes darkened as he stood there, completely bare under the relentless hot spray. “Not jealous. Just observant. You’re choosing to be here with the loser instead of the winner. Says a lot more about you than it does about me.” He ran a hand through his wet hair, pushing it back as water continued to pour over every inch of his muscular frame. “So keep talking your shit if you want… but we both know why you really came down here.”

She tilted her head, a challenging smile playing on her lips. “You’re just mad I’m not stroking your ego after that pathetic loss. You have your puck bunnies for that.”

Garrett’s eyes flashed with a mix of irritation and heat. He wiped water from his face, the motion making his biceps flex under the spray. “Mad? You have no clue of how I really am when I get mad.”

She crossed her arms, the oversized jersey riding up her thighs, showing off her little shorts. “Maybe I just like watching you squirm. It’s entertaining.”

“Entertaining,” Garrett repeated, his voice dropping lower, rougher. He took a half-step forward. “Or maybe your captain doesn’t quite do it for you anymore. What? He doesn’t know how to fuck you good?”

The words hung heavy in the steamy air. A charged silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken desire. Her smirk faltered for a split second. “That’s none of your business,” she shot back, but her tone had shifted, breathier now.

“Bullshit,” Garrett said, jaw tight. “He doesn’t do it for you anymore, right? Or you wouldn’t be staring like that while I’m standing here naked. You’re not here to gloat about his win. You’re here because he leaves you wanting.”

She swallowed, her gaze flicking over his bare form before returning to his face. “You don’t know anything about us,” she said quietly.

“I know you’re not with him right now,” Garrett countered, his shoulders still rigid under the spray. “Isn’t that enough?” He finally stepped out from directly under the main spray, water dripping heavily from his broad shoulders, chest, and abs as he slowly closed the distance between them. Steam clung to his skin while his eyes stayed locked on hers, tension rolling off him in waves.

She watched him approach but didn’t back away. He lifted a hand, brushing a wet finger along her jaw. “If I kissed you here…” He leaned in and pressed his lips to the side of her neck, slow and deliberate, his mouth warm against her skin. She inhaled sharply. “… you wouldn’t like that?”

Her breath hitched. “Graham…”

“Or here?” He kissed her bare shoulder next, lingering longer this time, teeth grazing lightly before he pulled back just enough to meet her eyes. Water continued dripping down his naked torso between them. “You wouldn’t like that either?”

She swallowed, her pulse visible in her throat. “You’re really pushing it tonight.”

“Am I?” He stayed close, towering over her, his wet chest nearly brushing the front of her jersey. “Or am I just saying what we’re both thinking? Your boyfriend’s probably out there basking in his victory, and you’re letting me kiss your neck in a locker room shower. Tell me I’m wrong.”

“You’re an asshole,” she whispered, but there was no real heat behind it.

Garrett smirked, dark and tense. “Maybe. But I’m the asshole you came to see.” He dipped his head again, this time kissing the hollow just below her ear. “If I touched you right now… if I slipped my hand under that jersey… you’d still tell me to stop?”

Her fingers curled at her sides. “You lost tonight. You’re supposed to be pissed off and sulking, not… this.”

“I am pissed off,” he admitted, voice rough as he hovered close, naked and dripping. “But I’d rather take that frustration out on someone who actually wants it. Someone who walked in here knowing exactly what she was doing.”

He brushed his lips against her neck once more. “So go ahead. Tell me to stop. Tell me you’d rather be with him right now.”

She exhaled sharply but refused to melt. Instead, she gripped his shoulder and dug her nails in. “You’re really stroking your own ego tonight, Graham. Do you suddenly think you can compete with him?”

“I don’t have to compete,” he said, voice low and rough as he hovered close, breath warm on her damp skin. “You’re already choosing to be here.”

She gave his chest a firm shove, though he barely moved. “Choosing to watch you sulk in the shower is not the same as wanting you. It’s satisfying to see you all worked up and defeated.”

Garrett’s lips curved into a dark smirk. He caught her wrist, holding it against his chest. “Defeated? Funny. You’re breathing harder every time I touch you.” He kissed her neck again, slower this time, letting his teeth scrape lightly. “Tell me this doesn’t feel better than whatever safe, boring shit he gives you.”

Her free hand came up, threading into his wet hair and tugging his head back just enough to meet his gaze. “You’re so desperate to feel superior. It’s almost sad.” Her voice dropped, sharp and taunting. “Keep kissing me all you want. It won’t change that I go home to him, not you.”

Garrett’s eyes burned with frustration and heat. He stayed close, water from his body soaking into the front of her jersey. “Then why the hell are you still standing here letting me? Why aren’t you walking out that door right now?”

The hot water continued running in the background, steam curling through the locker room as Garrett slowly sank to his knees in front of her. His hands guided her hips backward until her back pressed against the cool tiled wall, putting her just under the shower’s stream. Water dripped steadily from his naked body onto the floor and her legs as he looked up at her, jaw still tight with leftover tension.

She glanced down at him, trying to keep her expression steady. “What the fuck are you doing?”

Garrett’s hands rested on her thighs, thumbs brushing lightly under the hem of the jersey. “You keep acting like you’re here by accident,” he murmured, voice low. “But we both know better.”

She threaded her fingers through his wet hair, giving it a small tug. “Are you trying to prove something?”

He leaned in and kissed the inside of her thigh, slow and deliberate, then glanced back up. “I told you, I’m just curious why you’re still here instead of with him.” His breath was warm against her skin. “If everything was perfect over there, you wouldn’t have walked into this locker room.”

Her back arched slightly against the wall as she fought a shiver. “You think too much of yourself, Graham.”

Garrett’s grip on her hips tightened gently, holding her in place. “And yet you’re letting me do this,” he said softly, pressing another kiss higher up her thigh. “You could’ve left ages ago, baby.”

She exhaled slowly, her fingers still tangled in his hair. “Don’t flatter yourself. This doesn’t change anything.”

He looked up at her through damp lashes, eyes dark. “Then tell me to stop,” he whispered against her skin. “Tell me you’d rather be anywhere else.”

She didn’t answer right away, the silence stretching between them, thick with everything unsaid. Her grip in his hair tightened just a fraction. “You’re making this complicated,” she finally said, voice quieter than before.

Garrett stayed on his knees, water still dripping from his shoulders. “You’re the one who came here.”

She pushed his head away from between her tights and Garrett let out a sigh that almost sounded like a defeated whine. His second loss of the night. Somehow this one stung more. Except that, without a word, she reached under the long jersey, hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her shorts, and slowly slid them down her legs. They pooled at her ankles, and she stepped out of them, leaving herself with just a pair of black lace panties beneath the oversized football jersey.

Garrett’s gaze followed the movement, his breath catching for a moment. He looked up at her as he let a small smile peak through. He inhaled her scent. “You’re making it harder to believe you don’t want this,” he murmured against her skin.

She leaned back against the tiled wall, her grip in his hair tightening slightly but not pulling him away. “You talk too much for someone who’s supposed to be licking his wounds.”

He smiled faintly against her inner thigh, then kissed her again, lingering longer, his mouth moving with deliberate patience. “Maybe I’m more interested in yours right now.” Another slow kiss, higher still. “You took those off pretty easily.”

Her cheeks flushed, but she didn’t stop him. “Don’t read too much into it,” she said, voice quieter, almost unsteady.

Garrett’s hands slid up the backs of her thighs, gently guiding her legs a little farther apart as he continued kissing her, his mouth teasing closer to where she was now exposed. She closed her eyes for a second, exhaling shakily as his mouth moved against her. “You’re impossible tonight, Graham.”

He looked up at her with dark eyes as he finally leaned in, pressing his mouth against the thin fabric. “Fuck… you’re already soaked through these,” Garrett murmured, voice low and rough. He dragged his tongue slowly over the lace, tasting her through the material. “And you want me to believe you came down here just to tease me?”

She gasped softly. Her fingers tightened in his wet hair, but she didn’t pull him away.

Garrett groaned against her, the sound vibrating through the lace as he licked her again, firmer this time, circling her clit over the fabric. “Look at you… Your boyfriend knows you get this wet for me?”

“Garrett…” she breathed, trying to keep her voice steady.

His back shivered at the sound of his name. He hooked one of her legs over his shoulder, opening her up more as he pressed his mouth harder against her panties. His tongue worked the soaked lace with slow, deliberate strokes, sucking gently on her through the fabric. “Does he know how to eat this pretty pussy or does leave you aching for someone who actually knows what he’s doing?” He dragged his tongue up and down her covered slit, savoring the way the fabric clung to her.

He hooked his fingers into the waistband of her soaked black lace panties and slowly dragged them down her thighs, giving her plenty of time to stop him.

She didn’t.

He pulled the ruined lace all the way off, tossing it aside onto the wet tile floor. His eyes darkened as he took in the sight of her completely bare now, glistening and exposed right in front of his face.

“Fuck,” Garrett breathed, voice rough. “So fucking pretty.”

Without another word, he leaned forward and dragged his tongue slowly up her bare pussy, enjoying the taste of her with nothing in between. A low groan rumbled in his chest as he licked her again, deeper this time, parting her folds with long strokes. She gasped sharply, her hips twitched forward forcing him to hold her upright.

Garrett looked up at her, lips shiny. “There it is,” he murmured, voice low and thick. He flicked his tongue over her swollen clit before sucking it gently into his mouth. “So fucking wet for the guy who lost tonight.”

He buried his face deeper between her thighs, eating her out with deliberate hunger. His tongue circled her clit, then dipped down to tease her entrance, lapping at her with wet, obscene sounds that echoed softly off the tiles.

“You taste even better like this,” he groaned against her, the vibration making her moan. “I think you’re the desperate one here.” He sucked her clit again, harder, before pulling back just enough to speak. “Is this what you’ve been missing?”

She whimpered, one leg trembling slightly over his shoulder as he dove back in, licking and sucking with focused intensity. Garrett’s hands gripped her hips, holding her firmly against the wall while his mouth worked her relentlessly, refusing to give her any space to think.

“Garrett…” she breathed, voice breaking.

He hummed against her pussy, clearly enjoying the way she was falling apart. “That’s right. Say my name while I’m down here tasting what’s not his.” He gripped her hips tighter and dove back in, licking slow strokes up her bare pussy before focusing on her clit with hungry circles. Her moans grew louder.

Garrett groaned against her, the sound deliciously filthy. “So fucking sweet,” he muttered, then slid two thick fingers slowly into her tight heat. He curled them instantly, stroking that sensitive spot inside her while his tongue kept working her clit with relentless pressure.

“Oh my god…” she gasped, her thighs starting to tremble around his shoulders.

He pumped his fingers deeper, matching the pace of his tongue as he sucked her clit into his mouth. The obscene sounds of his mouth and fingers filled the steamy locker room. Water dripped from his hair and shoulders as he devoured her, completely focused on pulling more desperate noises from her throat.

“That’s it,” he growled against her pussy, voice muffled. “Fuck my fingers while I eat you. Your boyfriend ever make you this fucking sloppy?”

She couldn’t answer, only a broken moan escaped as her hips started rolling against his face. Garrett added a third finger, stretching her as he sucked harder on her swollen clit, his tongue flicking fast. Her breathing grew ragged, thighs clamping tighter around his head. “Garrett… fuck, I’m…” her mouth opened into a silent scream.

He didn’t stop. If anything, he grew more aggressive, fingers thrusting deeper while his mouth worked her clit with perfect, relentless suction. He groaned loudly against her, clearly loving the way she was falling apart.

Her orgasm hit hard. She cried out, back arching off the wall as her pussy clenched tightly around his fingers. Her hips bucked against his face, thighs shaking uncontrollably as she came undone. Garrett kept his mouth on her through every wave, licking and sucking greedily, letting her ride it out on his tongue and fingers while she soaked his chin and lips.

He stayed there until her trembling slowed, placing one last slow, possessive lick along her sensitive folds before finally pulling back slightly. His face was shiny with her release, eyes dark with satisfaction as he looked up at her.

“Fucking hell, you’re… that was beautiful,” he murmured, voice rough, still on his knees between her legs.

The hot water continued to pour down as Garrett rose slowly, water streaming down his naked, muscular body. His cock was hard and heavy, curving up against his abs. Without a word, he gripped her thighs, lifted her effortlessly, and pinned her back against the slick tiled wall.

Her legs wrapped around his waist instinctively. He held her there, the head of his cock brushing against her soaked entrance as steam curled around them. Garrett looked directly into her eyes, breathing hard. “I’m not going to kiss you,” he said, voice low and rough, “but can I fuck you?”

She exhaled shakily, nodding. “Please.”

That was all he needed.

He gripped her ass with both hands and thrust up into her in one smooth stroke, burying himself to the hilt. She moaned loudly at the sudden stretch, her nails digging into his shoulders as her pussy clenched tightly around his thick cock.

“Fuck,” Garrett groaned, holding her pinned to the wall as he started moving. He fucked her with slow strokes, pulling out almost all the way before driving back in deep.

He picked up the pace, thrusting harder, the wet sound of skin slapping skin echoing through the locker room. Water from the shower rained down over their joined bodies, making her jersey cling transparently to her breasts, her hard nipples clearly visible through the fabric.

“You’re a vision,” he growled, eyes dark as he watched the football jersey ride up around her waist while he fucked her. “Getting railed by the losing hockey player while you’ve still got your boyfriend’s name across your chest.” He slammed into her deeper, grinding his hips against hers on every thrust. “Does that turn you on? Getting fucked in his colors?”

She moaned and nodded unconsciously, her head falling back against the tile as he drove into her again and again, his cock hitting deep with every stroke.

Garrett leaned in closer, lips brushing her ear. “You came so hard on my tongue and now you’re letting me stretch this pussy while you’re dressed like his property.” He thrust harder, almost punishing. “Bet he doesn’t fuck you like this. Bet he doesn’t make you shake the way you’re shaking right now.”

He adjusted his grip on her ass, spreading her wider as he pounded into her, the force of his thrusts making her breasts bounce under the soaked jersey.

“Say it,” he demanded between heavy breaths, still refusing to kiss her mouth. “Tell me whose cock feels better.” His hips snapped forward relentlessly, fucking her rough against the wall as water continued to cascade over their heated bodies. The wet slap of skin on skin mixed with the sound of the running shower as he held her pinned against the wall, her legs locked around his waist.

He suddenly slowed his thrusts, grinding deep inside her instead, eyes locked on her parted lips. Without warning, he gripped her jaw firmly with one hand, tilting her face up toward his.

“Open your mouth,” he ordered, voice dark and rough. She obeyed, lips parting. Garrett leaned in and spat directly into her open mouth, a thick string of saliva landing on her tongue. “Swallow,” he growled, watching her closely as he started fucking her hard again.

She moaned, swallowing his spit as he drove his cock even deeper. Garrett’s eyes flashed with satisfaction.

“That’s it,” he rasped, slamming into her again. “Such a dirty little slut for me tonight.” He picked up speed, fucking her relentlessly against the tiles, the force of his thrusts making her whole body jolt. Her hard nipples were rubbing against the wet fabric with every movement.

Her moans grew louder and more desperate, echoing off the tiled walls as she lost control. “Fuck, Garrett!” she cried out, voice breaking into shameless moans. “Oh my god, right there baby. Right there.”

“Yeah? You like that?” he growled, her eyes rolling back as he pounded into her.

Just then, the locker room door creaked open unexpectedly for the second time that evening. “Garrett? You in here, man? I know you’re pissed about the game, just wanted to check…” Logan stopped dead in his tracks.

From his angle, he could only see Garrett’s bare ass flexing as he thrust powerfully between a pair of legs wrapped tightly around his waist. The girl’s moans were unmistakable, loud and filthy, her ankles locked behind Garrett’s back as he fucked her against the shower wall.

Garrett turned his head slightly, still buried deep inside her, and let out a low, breathless laugh. “Shit… bad timing, bro,” he said, not stopping the deep rolls of his hips. She tried to muffle her moan against his shoulder but failed miserably.

Logan stood frozen for a second before averting his eyes. “Uh… yeah. I’ll… catch you later.”

Garrett grinned, still holding her up as he gave one particularly hard thrust that made her cry out again. “I’ll tell you about it back at the house,” he called out, voice casual despite how hard he was fucking her. “Just give me a bit.”

Logan muttered something and quickly backed out, the door shutting behind him.

Garrett chuckled darkly, turning his full attention back to her as resumed his relentless pace.

She glared at him, breathless and flushed. “You are not telling him about this,” she snapped, voice sharp even as she moaned again when he drove into her. “Don’t you dare, umphf”

Garrett cut her off instantly. He grabbed her jaw roughly with one hand, forcing her mouth open as he leaned in and spat directly onto her tongue again, thick and deliberate. “Swallow,” he ordered, voice low and commanding. “And shut that pretty mouth up before you ruin the mood.”

She moaned indignantly but swallowed his spit, her pussy clenching hard around his cock. Garrett smirked and immediately dropped his hand between them, finding her swollen clit with his thumb. He started rubbing firm circles over it while continuing to fuck her with long, powerful strokes.

“That’s better,” he growled, watching her face contort with pleasure. “Getting mad at me while you’re creaming all over my dick. So. Fucking. Cute.” A word for each thrust.

Her moans turned frantic as he worked her clit faster, never slowing the deep thrusts of his cock. The combination was too much: his thick length stretching her, his thumb rubbing her relentlessly, and the filthy taste of him still on her tongue.“Garrett, holy fucking shit”

“Come,” he demanded, spitting into her open mouth one last time as he pounded into her. “Come on my cock while you’re still wearing his jersey.”

Her orgasm crashed over her violently. She cried out loudly, body shaking as her pussy spasmed hard around him. Her legs tightened around his waist, nails digging into his shoulders as she came, soaking his cock and thighs. Garrett kept rubbing her clit through every wave, drawing it out until she was whimpering and trembling against him.

Garrett groaned deeply as her pussy pulsed around his cock, her walls squeezing him rhythmically. He kept thrusting through it, slower but still deep, savoring the way she fluttered and soaked him. His own breathing was ragged now, muscles tight with building pressure.

“Fuck… I’m close,” he rasped against her ear, voice strained. “So fucking close.”

He gave her a few more powerful thrusts before suddenly pulling out of her with a wet sound. He set her down on shaky legs, his cock glistening with her release and throbbing hard against his abs.

Before he could say anything, she dropped to her knees in front of him on the wet tile floor, water from the shower cascading over her shoulders and the soaked football jersey. She looked up at him with flushed cheeks and hazy eyes, then wrapped her hand around his slick cock and guided it straight to her mouth.

Garrett let out a rough moan as her lips parted and she took him in eagerly, sucking him deep without hesitation.

“Shit,” He threaded his fingers through her wet hair, hips jerking forward. “That’s it… good girl. You didn’t even need me to ask.”

She moaned around his cock, the vibration traveling straight through him as she bobbed her head, taking him as deep as she could. Her tongue swirled around the head on every upstroke, tasting herself on him. Garrett’s abs flexed, his grip tightening in her hair as he fought to hold back.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he growled, voice rough and strained. He pushed deep into her mouth one last time and held her there as he came hard. Thick ropes of cum spilled across her tongue, filling her mouth with pulse after heavy pulse. He groaned loudly, hips twitching as he emptied himself completely, watching her take every drop.

When he finally pulled out, a thin string of saliva and cum connected her lips to the head of his cock. She swallowed visibly, breathing hard.

Garrett looked down at her with a satisfied, almost cocky smirk. He reached down and gently patted her cheek twice, then cupped her face with one hand, thumb brushing over her swollen lips. “Good fucking girl,” he murmured. “Now go back to your cuckold boyfriend.”

He leaned down slightly, still holding her jaw as water poured over them. “This is our dirty little secret. You can wear his jersey and pretend to be his good girlfriend… but we both know whose cum you’re tasting right now.”

[angelicstarkey]

hiiiiiii! do you plan on putting out any more long fics like stuck with’chu or until you showed up? obsessed with your work btw!

hi!! i do have two wips that should be long but not sure when that’ll be coming out.

on the contrary, i have a lil special project on the way that should be coming out in june so be sure to keep an eye out for that :)

[angelicstarkey]

double feature

bsf!rafe cameron x reader

summary: aka yall get freaky in a drive in theatre

content warnings: pwp, unprotected piv, car sex, fingering, semi-public sex, rafe can't ever seem to get his hands off bsf!reader like goddamn, nor can either of them confess their feelings smh 18+ MDNI

w/c: 3K

Rafe stared at the movie in boredom and disgust as he watched the two main characters fight with each other in the rain, his chin resting on his fist with a drink gripped by the other. You’d insisted that it’d be more fun to watch a movie at the drive-in theatre, except Rafe had lost all interest in the horror movie he’d chosen after rigging the coin toss done to avoid watching the chick flick you usually opted to watch.

“They do the same predictable shit in every movie,” he muttered as he watched the exasperation painted on the male lead’s face. “He’s gonna blurt out that he’s always loved her in a minute, then the motherfucker’s gon’ be slashed in half.” Rafe turned his head to you as he swatted him square in the face, seeing the look of adoration in your face that almost made his torture worth it. Almost.

“Hate to break it to ya, but you chose the movie, dumbass.” You turned to look back at him, your smirk giving away the fake annoyance you’d tried to give him. “If you hadn’t cheated like I know you did-” 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, but I didn’t cheat.” Rafe retorted as he watched you turn your attention back to the screen. A few minutes passed in silence as the movie continued its predictable plot. Rafe shifted in his seat, the leather of the expensive car making an annoying sound against his jeans. He glanced over at you again, noticing how the light from the screen illuminated your features, making your eyes sparkle.

He let the silence stretch for another moment, the flickering blue light of the screen casting shadows across his sharp jawline. He watched you more than the movie, the way you bit your lip during a tense scene, how your eyes widened. He was so bored, he could feel his brain turning to mush, but watching you was truly something else. Something that he knew what it implied, but he wasn’t going to analyze it any more than it should be. Something that teetered a line that he wasn’t sure if either of you was willing to cross yet.

"Alright, that's it," he suddenly declared, tossing his now-empty cup into the backseat. It landed with a soft thud. "This is officially the worst movie I've ever seen. And I've seen some real shit." You laughed, not taking your eyes off the screen. "Serves you right, you rigged that coin toss."

“Nah, Peaches. I'm mad because I'm wasting m’hard money on this garbage," he said, but his tone was playful. He shifted in his seat, turning his body fully towards you; the expensive leather creaked with the movement. “Y’know what would be more entertaining than this?”

“Hmm?” you hummed, still distracted. Rafe glanced down, smirking at the sight of his hand, which had been resting on your thigh. Slowly, he began to move, his fingers tracing a slow, deliberate path upwards, inching under the hem of your shorts. The warmth of his hands on that area was suddenly gone and now cold, while the chilling path his fingertips left against your skin was a stark, thrilling contrast. You shivered, your body already responding to him, a familiar ache beginning to build low in your stomach.

“Rafe,” you softly breathed out, unable to fight the urge. “Quit it.”

Rafe watched your face, his gaze predatory and satisfied as he saw the effect he had on you. His fingers danced along the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, teasingly close to where you wanted him most but never quite touching. It was torture, infuriating, even. You squirmed in your seat, a soft whimper escaping your lips.

"Quit squirmin’," he taunted, his voice a low whisper against your ear. He knew exactly what he was doing; he always did. 

"Oh my god, stop teasing," you managed to let out, your voice shaky.

He chuckled, a deep, smug sound. "Where's the fun in that?" But he finally relented, his fingers pressing against the damp fabric of your panties. You gasped, your hips bucking involuntarily at the contact. He rubbed you slowly through the thin cotton, his touch maddeningly light, a perfect, frustrating circle that had you seeing stars. He was toying with you, enjoying every second of your desperation, of the way your breath hitched with every pass of his thumb over your clit.

"You're so fucking wet already," he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction. "All this from the movie? Or were you thinking about this the whole time?" He didn't wait for an answer, finally hooking his fingers into the waistband of your panties and pulling them aside. The cool night air hit your heated skin for a second before his fingers were on you, bare and unimpeded.

You cried out, the sound swallowed by his mouth as he kissed you again. This time it was slower, deeper, a filthy exploration as his fingers worked their magic. He slid one inside you, then another, curling them just right. Your head fell back against the seat, your eyes squeezed shut as a wave of pleasure washed over you. All you could feel was him—his fingers pumping into you, his thumb circling your clit, his other hand tangled in your hair, holding you exactly where he wanted you.

"Look at me, Peaches," he commanded, his voice rough. You forced your eyes open, meeting his intense gaze. The raw hunger you saw there sent another jolt of desire straight through you. "That's it. Let me see you."

He could feel you getting closer, your walls clenching around his fingers, your breathing coming in ragged pants. Just as you were teetering on the edge, he pulled his hand away, letting a frustrated groan from your throat.

"Rafe, what the—"

"Patience," he cut you off, his voice tight with his own need. He was just as affected as you were, his pupils blown, his jaw clenched.

Before you could understand what was happening next, Rafe leaned across the console, the space suddenly feeling charged and electric. His hand cupped your jaw, his thumb stroking your skin as he crashed his lips against yours. It wasn't gentle nor questioning; it was exactly how you’d expected it to be, a hungry, demanding kiss that stole the air from your lungs. One that tasted like the salted richness from the butter in your popcorn, with a hint of tobacco and a desperate need for distraction. 

You melted into it instantly, your hands coming up to grip the collar of his polo shirt, pulling him closer. The movie, the other cars, the whole world outside the bubble you two comfortably relished in faded away. All that mattered was the heat building between you, the way his tongue swept against yours, claiming your mouth. 

It was moments like these that made you ponder how much everything would change if you’d just told him that you’d want something more. Or if you’d confessed the way you never wanted to feel anyone else’s lips if they weren’t the slightly chapped ones that belonged to him. Or maybe, just maybe, how he’d take in the fact that for you, it was either him or no one, because how could you wake up next to someone whose smile didn’t bring you the same joy his did, or the same comfort that his hands did as he’d lead you through a crowd, or how you didn’t have to worry because you knew Rafe had it handled.

When Rafe finally pulled back, you were both breathing heavily. His eyes, usually a cool, distant blue, were dark and intense, fixed on your swollen lips. 

"Rafe," you breathed, your heart hammering against your ribs. "We're in the middle of a lot; there are people everywhere."

A slow, cocky smirk spread across his face. "Yeah, and?" His hand slid from your jaw down your neck, his fingers tracing the collar of your shirt. "Relax, baby. No one can see shit. These windows are tinted." His voice was a low, confident rumble that vibrated through you, ironic considering you should’ve gotten used to it by now. You let out a sigh as Rafe pressed his lips on your neck behind your ear, tracing an agonizingly slow path down, while small splotches of purple hues began to come to light—a subtle sign that Rafe had a chokehold over you, a reminder for you in the morning that Rafe’s possession would forever be etched in you. 

Rafe was just as overwhelmed as he took in the scent of you, the way you smelled of salt air, caramel, and the subtle hint of peaches that reminded him of what it was like to be okay. Though his eyes might’ve been closed, he knew his way around your body like it was second nature, licking the area above your collarbone just how you once confessed you liked it. It was only a matter of time until he quickly undid his own jeans, pushing them down just enough to free himself. He was hard and thick, the tip already glistening. "Come here."

He didn't have to ask twice. You scrambled over the console, settling yourself in his lap, your knees on either side of his thighs on the driver's seat. It was a tight fit, awkward yet you both slotted against each other perfectly at the same time. You positioned yourself over him, the head of his cock nudging against your entrance.

"Fuck," he hissed, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to leave bruises. "Ride me."

You sank down slowly, taking him in inch by inch. The stretch, the feeling of being completely filled by him, was overwhelming. You both let out a shaky breath when you were fully seated, your forehead resting against his. For a moment, you just stayed like that, savouring the feeling, the only sounds the distant movie soundtrack and your mingled breaths in the cramped space.

Once you’d adjusted to Rafe’s size, you started to move, lifting your hips and sliding back down, setting a slow, deliberate rhythm. Rafe's hands roamed over your body, pushing your shirt up to palm your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your nipples until they were pebbled and sensitive. His mouth was everywhere he possibly could, kissing, biting, sucking marks into your skin that added onto the collection that you knew you'd have to hide later.

"God, you feel so fucking good," he groaned against your skin, his hips thrusting up to meet yours, making you go faster. The car began to rock slightly, a steady, creaking rhythm that matched your movements. The thought of getting caught, of the car next to you hearing, only fueled the fire. You rode him harder, chasing your release, your hands gripping his shoulders for leverage.

"Rafey," you gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders through his shirt. "Shit, I'm gonna—"

"Yeah, come on," he urged, his voice strained. "Cum for me. Show me how good I fuck you," he slid a hand between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing it in tight, fast circles.

That was all it took. Your orgasm washed over you as the dam of pressure that’d been building broke open, a blinding rush of pleasure that made you cry out his name. Your walls clenched around him, your body shaking as you rode out your high. Rafe followed you over the edge a moment later with a guttural groan, his hips jerking as he emptied himself inside you.

You collapsed against him, boneless and breathless, your head tucked into the crook of his neck. The air in the car was thick and humid, smelling of sex and sweat and Rafe's cologne. You could feel his heart hammering against his chest, matching the frantic rhythm of your own.

"Holy shit," you mumbled into his skin, your voice muffled and sated. A lazy, satisfied smile spread across Rafe's face as he wrapped his arms around you, holding you close in the cramped driver's seat. The aftermath left you both sticky and breathless, the intense heat of your bodies fogging up the windows even more.

"Holy shit is right," he rumbled, his voice a low, contented gravel. He pressed a soft kiss to your temple, a rare gesture of tenderness that made your chest ache. "Told ya it'd be better than that shitty movie." 

You could feel the smug grin in his voice, making you roll your eyes as you lifted your head, a weak laugh escaping your lips as you looked at him. His hair was a mess, sticking up in every direction, and his lips were swollen and red. He looked thoroughly debauched, and it was the best thing you'd ever seen. "Okay, let’s not forget you chose this movie," you argued, though the tone in your voice was all the more playful. You took in the way Rafe’s body slightly shone in the soft, muted light,  tracing the line of his jaw with your finger. "But, yeah. You were right."

"Damn straight," he said, his hands sliding down to grip your ass possessively. "So much better, we should probably go for round two. Truck’s got a backseat for a reason." He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, and you were just about to agree, your body already humming with the possibility, when a sudden, sharp rap on the driver's side window made you both freeze.

The sound was like a bucket of ice water being dumped over your heads. Your head whipped around to see a blurry figure standing just outside, illuminated by the flickering light of the movie screen. 

“Shit,” you seethed as panic seized you. You scrambled to get off Rafe's lap, your movements clumsy and frantic as you tried to pull your skirt down and straighten your shirt. Rafe cursed under his breath, fumbling with his jeans and shoving himself back into his pants with a pained hiss. He yanked his polo down, trying to look presentable, which was a lost cause.

Another knock, this one more hesitant. "Uh, excuse me?" A young, cracking voice called through the glass. It was the voice of a boy who was probably more comfortable asking his mom for the car keys than confronting strangers about public indecency.

Rafe rolled his eyes, rolling down the window just a crack. The cool night air rushed in, carrying the smell of popcorn and gasoline. Standing there, looking profoundly uncomfortable in his red vest and popcorn-scented uniform, was a teenager who couldn't have been older than sixteen, his face littered with small pimples and prepubescent facial hair that you knew would haunt him later. He was shifting his weight from foot to foot, his eyes fixed somewhere on the roof of the truck.

"Can I help you?" Rafe asked, his voice dripping with an impatience that was pure Kook privilege, acting as if he wasn't just balls-deep inside his best friend two seconds ago.

"Uh, yeah, sir," the kid stammered, his face turning a bright shade of crimson. He wouldn't make eye contact. "My manager, he, uh... he saw the car... rocking." The last word came out as a squeak. "And, well, this is a family establishment, and we've had some complaints about, you know... the fogged-up windows." He gestured vaguely at your steamy windows. "So I have to ask you to, uh, to leave. Please."

You wanted the ground to swallow you whole. You sank down in your seat, wishing you could become one with the leather upholstery. This was mortifying, but Rafe, however, was anything but mortified. He let out an exaggerated sigh, like the kid was asking him to solve world hunger. "Fine, holy fuck," he snapped, already starting the engine. The roar of the V8 engine was aggressive in the quiet night. "We're leaving. Relax, kid."

"Okay, great, thank you," the teenager said, looking like he'd just been pardoned from death row. He practically scrambled backward as Rafe slammed the car into drive, not even bothering to wait for the kid to move away completely. The tires spun on the gravel as he peeled out of the parking space, leaving the flustered employee and the predictable horror movie behind in a cloud of dust.

You didn't speak until he was on the main road, the neon lights of the drive-in theatre’s sign fading in the rearview mirror. The silence was thick with a mix of lingering arousal and sheer, unadulterated embarrassment.

Finally, you broke it. "Oh my God," you groaned, hiding your face in your hands. "That was, single-handedly, the most humiliating moment of my entire life."

Rafe let out a short, sharp laugh, the sound echoing in the quiet car which warmed your heart, despite the embarrassment you couldn’t shake off. He reached over and pulled your hands away from your face, his grip firm. "Nah," he said, glancing over at you, a genuine, amused smile lighting up his features. "That was fucking hilarious. Did you see his face? I thought he was gonna pass out."

"It's not funny!" you protested, but you couldn't help the giggle that escaped. "He looked like he was about to cry."

"Good," Rafe said, his smirk returning full force. "Serves him right for interrupting us." He squeezed your thigh, his touch possessive and warm. "Besides, I told you. No one can see in these windows. Kid was just jealous."

You shook your head, a real laugh bubbling up now. "You're unbelievable, Rafey. D’you know that?"

"Hmmm, no," he shot back playfully, his eyes raking over your dishevelled state. "Maybe it’s because of you." His tone softened slightly on the last part, and your heart did that stupid little flip it always did when he let his guard down.

He took a sharp turn, heading not towards your house or his, but down a dark, empty road that led to the marina. "Now," he said, his voice dropping to that low, husky register that made your stomach clench.

"About that backseat..."

taglist: @raf3cam3r0n @bonjourjiminie

dividers: @cursed-carmine @saradika-graphics

[angelicstarkey]

double feature

bsf!rafe cameron x reader

summary: aka yall get freaky in a drive in theatre

content warnings: pwp, unprotected piv, car sex, fingering, semi-public sex, rafe can't ever seem to get his hands off bsf!reader like goddamn, nor can either of them confess their feelings smh 18+ MDNI

w/c: 3K

Rafe stared at the movie in boredom and disgust as he watched the two main characters fight with each other in the rain, his chin resting on his fist with a drink gripped by the other. You’d insisted that it’d be more fun to watch a movie at the drive-in theatre, except Rafe had lost all interest in the horror movie he’d chosen after rigging the coin toss done to avoid watching the chick flick you usually opted to watch.

“They do the same predictable shit in every movie,” he muttered as he watched the exasperation painted on the male lead’s face. “He’s gonna blurt out that he’s always loved her in a minute, then the motherfucker’s gon’ be slashed in half.” Rafe turned his head to you as he swatted him square in the face, seeing the look of adoration in your face that almost made his torture worth it. Almost.

“Hate to break it to ya, but you chose the movie, dumbass.” You turned to look back at him, your smirk giving away the fake annoyance you’d tried to give him. “If you hadn’t cheated like I know you did-” 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, but I didn’t cheat.” Rafe retorted as he watched you turn your attention back to the screen. A few minutes passed in silence as the movie continued its predictable plot. Rafe shifted in his seat, the leather of the expensive car making an annoying sound against his jeans. He glanced over at you again, noticing how the light from the screen illuminated your features, making your eyes sparkle.

He let the silence stretch for another moment, the flickering blue light of the screen casting shadows across his sharp jawline. He watched you more than the movie, the way you bit your lip during a tense scene, how your eyes widened. He was so bored, he could feel his brain turning to mush, but watching you was truly something else. Something that he knew what it implied, but he wasn’t going to analyze it any more than it should be. Something that teetered a line that he wasn’t sure if either of you was willing to cross yet.

"Alright, that's it," he suddenly declared, tossing his now-empty cup into the backseat. It landed with a soft thud. "This is officially the worst movie I've ever seen. And I've seen some real shit." You laughed, not taking your eyes off the screen. "Serves you right, you rigged that coin toss."

“Nah, Peaches. I'm mad because I'm wasting m’hard money on this garbage," he said, but his tone was playful. He shifted in his seat, turning his body fully towards you; the expensive leather creaked with the movement. “Y’know what would be more entertaining than this?”

“Hmm?” you hummed, still distracted. Rafe glanced down, smirking at the sight of his hand, which had been resting on your thigh. Slowly, he began to move, his fingers tracing a slow, deliberate path upwards, inching under the hem of your shorts. The warmth of his hands on that area was suddenly gone and now cold, while the chilling path his fingertips left against your skin was a stark, thrilling contrast. You shivered, your body already responding to him, a familiar ache beginning to build low in your stomach.

“Rafe,” you softly breathed out, unable to fight the urge. “Quit it.”

Rafe watched your face, his gaze predatory and satisfied as he saw the effect he had on you. His fingers danced along the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, teasingly close to where you wanted him most but never quite touching. It was torture, infuriating, even. You squirmed in your seat, a soft whimper escaping your lips.

"Quit squirmin’," he taunted, his voice a low whisper against your ear. He knew exactly what he was doing; he always did. 

"Oh my god, stop teasing," you managed to let out, your voice shaky.

He chuckled, a deep, smug sound. "Where's the fun in that?" But he finally relented, his fingers pressing against the damp fabric of your panties. You gasped, your hips bucking involuntarily at the contact. He rubbed you slowly through the thin cotton, his touch maddeningly light, a perfect, frustrating circle that had you seeing stars. He was toying with you, enjoying every second of your desperation, of the way your breath hitched with every pass of his thumb over your clit.

"You're so fucking wet already," he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction. "All this from the movie? Or were you thinking about this the whole time?" He didn't wait for an answer, finally hooking his fingers into the waistband of your panties and pulling them aside. The cool night air hit your heated skin for a second before his fingers were on you, bare and unimpeded.

You cried out, the sound swallowed by his mouth as he kissed you again. This time it was slower, deeper, a filthy exploration as his fingers worked their magic. He slid one inside you, then another, curling them just right. Your head fell back against the seat, your eyes squeezed shut as a wave of pleasure washed over you. All you could feel was him—his fingers pumping into you, his thumb circling your clit, his other hand tangled in your hair, holding you exactly where he wanted you.

"Look at me, Peaches," he commanded, his voice rough. You forced your eyes open, meeting his intense gaze. The raw hunger you saw there sent another jolt of desire straight through you. "That's it. Let me see you."

He could feel you getting closer, your walls clenching around his fingers, your breathing coming in ragged pants. Just as you were teetering on the edge, he pulled his hand away, letting a frustrated groan from your throat.

"Rafe, what the—"

"Patience," he cut you off, his voice tight with his own need. He was just as affected as you were, his pupils blown, his jaw clenched.

Before you could understand what was happening next, Rafe leaned across the console, the space suddenly feeling charged and electric. His hand cupped your jaw, his thumb stroking your skin as he crashed his lips against yours. It wasn't gentle nor questioning; it was exactly how you’d expected it to be, a hungry, demanding kiss that stole the air from your lungs. One that tasted like the salted richness from the butter in your popcorn, with a hint of tobacco and a desperate need for distraction. 

You melted into it instantly, your hands coming up to grip the collar of his polo shirt, pulling him closer. The movie, the other cars, the whole world outside the bubble you two comfortably relished in faded away. All that mattered was the heat building between you, the way his tongue swept against yours, claiming your mouth. 

It was moments like these that made you ponder how much everything would change if you’d just told him that you’d want something more. Or if you’d confessed the way you never wanted to feel anyone else’s lips if they weren’t the slightly chapped ones that belonged to him. Or maybe, just maybe, how he’d take in the fact that for you, it was either him or no one, because how could you wake up next to someone whose smile didn’t bring you the same joy his did, or the same comfort that his hands did as he’d lead you through a crowd, or how you didn’t have to worry because you knew Rafe had it handled.

When Rafe finally pulled back, you were both breathing heavily. His eyes, usually a cool, distant blue, were dark and intense, fixed on your swollen lips. 

"Rafe," you breathed, your heart hammering against your ribs. "We're in the middle of a lot; there are people everywhere."

A slow, cocky smirk spread across his face. "Yeah, and?" His hand slid from your jaw down your neck, his fingers tracing the collar of your shirt. "Relax, baby. No one can see shit. These windows are tinted." His voice was a low, confident rumble that vibrated through you, ironic considering you should’ve gotten used to it by now. You let out a sigh as Rafe pressed his lips on your neck behind your ear, tracing an agonizingly slow path down, while small splotches of purple hues began to come to light—a subtle sign that Rafe had a chokehold over you, a reminder for you in the morning that Rafe’s possession would forever be etched in you. 

Rafe was just as overwhelmed as he took in the scent of you, the way you smelled of salt air, caramel, and the subtle hint of peaches that reminded him of what it was like to be okay. Though his eyes might’ve been closed, he knew his way around your body like it was second nature, licking the area above your collarbone just how you once confessed you liked it. It was only a matter of time until he quickly undid his own jeans, pushing them down just enough to free himself. He was hard and thick, the tip already glistening. "Come here."

He didn't have to ask twice. You scrambled over the console, settling yourself in his lap, your knees on either side of his thighs on the driver's seat. It was a tight fit, awkward yet you both slotted against each other perfectly at the same time. You positioned yourself over him, the head of his cock nudging against your entrance.

"Fuck," he hissed, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to leave bruises. "Ride me."

You sank down slowly, taking him in inch by inch. The stretch, the feeling of being completely filled by him, was overwhelming. You both let out a shaky breath when you were fully seated, your forehead resting against his. For a moment, you just stayed like that, savouring the feeling, the only sounds the distant movie soundtrack and your mingled breaths in the cramped space.

Once you’d adjusted to Rafe’s size, you started to move, lifting your hips and sliding back down, setting a slow, deliberate rhythm. Rafe's hands roamed over your body, pushing your shirt up to palm your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your nipples until they were pebbled and sensitive. His mouth was everywhere he possibly could, kissing, biting, sucking marks into your skin that added onto the collection that you knew you'd have to hide later.

"God, you feel so fucking good," he groaned against your skin, his hips thrusting up to meet yours, making you go faster. The car began to rock slightly, a steady, creaking rhythm that matched your movements. The thought of getting caught, of the car next to you hearing, only fueled the fire. You rode him harder, chasing your release, your hands gripping his shoulders for leverage.

"Rafey," you gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders through his shirt. "Shit, I'm gonna—"

"Yeah, come on," he urged, his voice strained. "Cum for me. Show me how good I fuck you," he slid a hand between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing it in tight, fast circles.

That was all it took. Your orgasm washed over you as the dam of pressure that’d been building broke open, a blinding rush of pleasure that made you cry out his name. Your walls clenched around him, your body shaking as you rode out your high. Rafe followed you over the edge a moment later with a guttural groan, his hips jerking as he emptied himself inside you.

You collapsed against him, boneless and breathless, your head tucked into the crook of his neck. The air in the car was thick and humid, smelling of sex and sweat and Rafe's cologne. You could feel his heart hammering against his chest, matching the frantic rhythm of your own.

"Holy shit," you mumbled into his skin, your voice muffled and sated. A lazy, satisfied smile spread across Rafe's face as he wrapped his arms around you, holding you close in the cramped driver's seat. The aftermath left you both sticky and breathless, the intense heat of your bodies fogging up the windows even more.

"Holy shit is right," he rumbled, his voice a low, contented gravel. He pressed a soft kiss to your temple, a rare gesture of tenderness that made your chest ache. "Told ya it'd be better than that shitty movie." 

You could feel the smug grin in his voice, making you roll your eyes as you lifted your head, a weak laugh escaping your lips as you looked at him. His hair was a mess, sticking up in every direction, and his lips were swollen and red. He looked thoroughly debauched, and it was the best thing you'd ever seen. "Okay, let’s not forget you chose this movie," you argued, though the tone in your voice was all the more playful. You took in the way Rafe’s body slightly shone in the soft, muted light,  tracing the line of his jaw with your finger. "But, yeah. You were right."

"Damn straight," he said, his hands sliding down to grip your ass possessively. "So much better, we should probably go for round two. Truck’s got a backseat for a reason." He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, and you were just about to agree, your body already humming with the possibility, when a sudden, sharp rap on the driver's side window made you both freeze.

The sound was like a bucket of ice water being dumped over your heads. Your head whipped around to see a blurry figure standing just outside, illuminated by the flickering light of the movie screen. 

“Shit,” you seethed as panic seized you. You scrambled to get off Rafe's lap, your movements clumsy and frantic as you tried to pull your skirt down and straighten your shirt. Rafe cursed under his breath, fumbling with his jeans and shoving himself back into his pants with a pained hiss. He yanked his polo down, trying to look presentable, which was a lost cause.

Another knock, this one more hesitant. "Uh, excuse me?" A young, cracking voice called through the glass. It was the voice of a boy who was probably more comfortable asking his mom for the car keys than confronting strangers about public indecency.

Rafe rolled his eyes, rolling down the window just a crack. The cool night air rushed in, carrying the smell of popcorn and gasoline. Standing there, looking profoundly uncomfortable in his red vest and popcorn-scented uniform, was a teenager who couldn't have been older than sixteen, his face littered with small pimples and prepubescent facial hair that you knew would haunt him later. He was shifting his weight from foot to foot, his eyes fixed somewhere on the roof of the truck.

"Can I help you?" Rafe asked, his voice dripping with an impatience that was pure Kook privilege, acting as if he wasn't just balls-deep inside his best friend two seconds ago.

"Uh, yeah, sir," the kid stammered, his face turning a bright shade of crimson. He wouldn't make eye contact. "My manager, he, uh... he saw the car... rocking." The last word came out as a squeak. "And, well, this is a family establishment, and we've had some complaints about, you know... the fogged-up windows." He gestured vaguely at your steamy windows. "So I have to ask you to, uh, to leave. Please."

You wanted the ground to swallow you whole. You sank down in your seat, wishing you could become one with the leather upholstery. This was mortifying, but Rafe, however, was anything but mortified. He let out an exaggerated sigh, like the kid was asking him to solve world hunger. "Fine, holy fuck," he snapped, already starting the engine. The roar of the V8 engine was aggressive in the quiet night. "We're leaving. Relax, kid."

"Okay, great, thank you," the teenager said, looking like he'd just been pardoned from death row. He practically scrambled backward as Rafe slammed the car into drive, not even bothering to wait for the kid to move away completely. The tires spun on the gravel as he peeled out of the parking space, leaving the flustered employee and the predictable horror movie behind in a cloud of dust.

You didn't speak until he was on the main road, the neon lights of the drive-in theatre’s sign fading in the rearview mirror. The silence was thick with a mix of lingering arousal and sheer, unadulterated embarrassment.

Finally, you broke it. "Oh my God," you groaned, hiding your face in your hands. "That was, single-handedly, the most humiliating moment of my entire life."

Rafe let out a short, sharp laugh, the sound echoing in the quiet car which warmed your heart, despite the embarrassment you couldn’t shake off. He reached over and pulled your hands away from your face, his grip firm. "Nah," he said, glancing over at you, a genuine, amused smile lighting up his features. "That was fucking hilarious. Did you see his face? I thought he was gonna pass out."

"It's not funny!" you protested, but you couldn't help the giggle that escaped. "He looked like he was about to cry."

"Good," Rafe said, his smirk returning full force. "Serves him right for interrupting us." He squeezed your thigh, his touch possessive and warm. "Besides, I told you. No one can see in these windows. Kid was just jealous."

You shook your head, a real laugh bubbling up now. "You're unbelievable, Rafey. D’you know that?"

"Hmmm, no," he shot back playfully, his eyes raking over your dishevelled state. "Maybe it’s because of you." His tone softened slightly on the last part, and your heart did that stupid little flip it always did when he let his guard down.

He took a sharp turn, heading not towards your house or his, but down a dark, empty road that led to the marina. "Now," he said, his voice dropping to that low, husky register that made your stomach clench.

"About that backseat..."

taglist: @raf3cam3r0n @bonjourjiminie

dividers: @cursed-carmine @saradika-graphics

[angelicstarkey]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love 🧸

omg im lowkey freaking out, wdym a fandom celeb sent me this? truly honoured ૮ >⸝⸝⸝⸝< ა

my top five are:

stuck with’chu - a sucker for enemies to lovers and proximity

until you showed up - a man who yearns is a man who earns

little miss nothing - a very personal piece that i truly put myself into

no one compares - bc bsf!Rafe is peak

eternity - my first series, that’s my baby 🥹

[angelicstarkey]

captain's jersey

garrett graham x reader

summary: garrett shows you how much he truly loves the way his jersey looks on you

content warning: mirror sex, explicit sexual content 18+ MDNI

w/c: 827

a/n: taking an *incredibly* blind shot at this :P

The mirror in Garrett's bedroom was going to be the death of you, but perhaps it’d all be worth it. 

You'd pulled on his jersey that morning, the fabric hanging loose past your thighs as it smelled like him, cedar and sweat and entirely Garrett. It was hard to miss the way his eyes had darkened when he caught you wearing it when you came down for breakfast, but you hadn't expected this.

"Well, well," he'd drawled from the doorway, arms crossed with the same infuriating smirk playing at his lips. "Stealing my jersey now? That's a serious offence, you know. Could get you in a lot of trouble."

"Trouble?" you'd asked, turning to face him, trying to look innocent. “You don’t say.”

"Oh yeah." He'd pushed off the doorframe, prowling toward you with that loose, confident stride that made your stomach flip. "See, in hockey, when someone takes something that belongs to you..." He'd reached you then, his hands settling on your hips, tugging you close. "...you ought to teach them a lesson."

He'd spun you around before you could respond, positioning you in front of the full-length mirror, his big body crowding behind yours. You watched his face in the reflection—that sharp jawline, those heavy-lidded eyes, his gaze dropping to where his fingers were tracing the number on your back.

"Look at you," he murmured, his voice dropping an octave, losing some of that teasing edge. "Fucking hell, you look so good in my colours." His hands slid under the hem of the jersey, palming your hips, his thumbs stroking soft, reverent circles on your skin. "Better than I ever did."

You'd tried to turn, to kiss him, but he'd held you in place, his mouth finding your neck instead.

"Nuh-uh," he whispered against your skin, his stubble scraping deliciously. "I want you to watch. Want you to see what you do to me."

His hands moved higher, palming your breasts through the jersey, his thumbs dragging over your nipples until you arched back against him. You could feel how hard he was pressed against your ass, and you'd ground back, needy, shameless.

"Wow. So that's the game plan?" He'd chuckled, dark and pleased, his breath hot against your ear. "Wear my jersey and pretend you didn't know exactly what you were doing?"

His hand had slipped down your stomach then, disappearing beneath the waistband of your underwear, and your eyes had fluttered shut. 

“Mhm.” You barely got out, entirely consumed by his touch, how hot it felt against your skin like he was branding you.

"Eyes open, baby," he'd commanded softly, his fingers finding you wet and ready. "Stay with me. Look how beautiful you are."

You'd forced your eyes open, watching in the mirror as his tattooed forearm moved beneath the fabric, his fingers working between your legs with devastating precision. The sight of it—the jersey hanging off one shoulder, his rough hands against your soft skin, the way your body responded to him like it was second nature—had your knees buckling.

He'd held you up, his arm banding around your waist, his chin resting on your shoulder so he could watch your face in the reflection.

"God," he'd breathed, and there it was. That softness breaking through the smugness, his voice going rough with wonder. "Look at you. You have no idea, do you? No idea what you look like right now."

"Garrett-"

"I could watch you like this forever," he admitted, his fingers curling inside you, making you gasp. "My girl in my jersey? Fuck, what’d I do to deserve this?"

Before you knew it, he was spinning you around, lifting you onto the dresser beneath the mirror, his mouth finding yours in a kiss that tasted like devotion and desire all mixed together. He'd shoved the jersey up to your waist, spreading your legs wide, and when he'd pushed inside you, you'd both moaned, loud and unguarded.

He'd fucked you slow at first, almost tenderly, his forehead pressed to yours, his thumbs stroking your cheeks. But then his hips had snapped harder, that cocky grin returning as he gripped the edge of the jersey.

"Mine," he'd grunted, his eyes locking on yours in the mirror, fierce and possessive and utterly wrecked at the sight of you falling apart against him, your moans hanging in the atmosphere of his bedroom. "You're wearing my number, baby. Means you're mine. Means I'm yours."

You'd come apart with his name breaking across your lips, and he'd follow you over the edge, burying his face in your neck, his arms wrapping around you so tight you could barely breathe.

"Keep it," he'd whispered after, his voice muffled against your skin, his hands still stroking up and down your back like he couldn't stop touching you. 

“Huh?” You hazily asked, the sex still clouding your mind.

"The jersey. It's yours. It’d be a disservice if I kept wearing it."

You'd smiled against his hair, thinking of all the times you’d have to prove his judgment wrong. And perhaps go for a few more rounds…

dividers: @cursed-carmine @saradika-graphics

[angelicstarkey]

hi, hi, hi! first off all, i really love your writing ❤❤

can I request a story based on the nsfw list #37 “you bought a vibrator?”

maybe at first Rafe was very busy and kept ignoring the reader. so, she decided to buy a vibrator, but it was Rafe who ended up receiving the package. that really hurt Rafe’s pride when he found out, thinking, “my girl bought a vibrator even though she has me right here???” or smth like that. in the end, Rafe “apologized” because his busyness had caused him to neglect her by satisfying her more than the vibrator ever could.

(note: sorry english isn’t my first language, the sentences might be messy and lot of grammar mistakes, but i hope you can understand what i mean)

thank you so much baby!! ❤❤

to vibe or not to vibe

bf!rafe cameron x reader

content warnings: explicit sexual content 18+ MDNI

a/n: a classic trope, 10/10, i will not digress further

in part of my one year celebration!

The house feels too quiet, too cold without Rafe's presence. You glance at your phone again, only to find no messages and no missed calls from him, unlike how he normally is. It's the third week this month, he's promised to be home early, and yet he's chosen work over you.

It wasn’t like you really meant to let your mind wander, but with almost a month of no action, you’d become desperate and resorted to finding other means. With a sigh, you click Confirm Purchase on the website. A sleek pink vibrator with seven speeds that’s due to arrive in two days. Perhaps it's petty, maybe a tad bit desperate, but your body has needs that Rafe has been ignoring for weeks.

Two days later, Rafe shuffles through the package of mail, 

"Hey, babe, you got a package-" Rafe slows his words as he stands by the kitchen counter, holding the unassuming brown box. His expression shifts from curiosity to confusion, then to dawning horror as his eyes scan the return label.

"Silk Pleasures?" he reads aloud, his voice dangerously low. "What the fuck is this?"

Your heart drops at the words as you just step out of the shower, his tone sinking in that settles in more fear than you’d initially anticipated. You wrap yourself in a towel and hurry to the living room, but you're too late. Before you can answer, he's ripping open the box. The sleek pink vibrator falls into his palm, and he looks at it like it's a weapon aimed directly at his pride.

"You bought a vibrator?" His eyes lock onto yours, disbelief and hurt warring with anger. "You bought a fucking vibrator when you have me right here?"

"I—" you start, but he cuts you off.

"I've been working my ass off to give us everything, and you're ordering sex toys online?" He steps closer, his presence overwhelming. "Why the hell d’you need this for when I’ve been right here? Who’s been making you finish all those times before?"

“You’ve been anywhere but home, Rafe. You were too busy, so I resorted to the next best thing.” You cross your arms over your chest, returning the same challenging glare that he was giving you. “So yeah, sue me for having needs and finding a solution.”

His hand wraps around your wrist, pulling you against him. The towel threatens to fall away as his other hand tangles in your damp hair.

"Yeah, princess? Have I been too busy for you? Let me remind you," he growls, and then his mouth is on yours—hungry, possessive, demanding. His tongue pushes past your lips, claiming you in a way that makes your knees weak.

He walks you backward toward the bedroom, never breaking the kiss. Your back hits the doorframe as his hands roam your body, squeezing your breasts through the towel, then sliding down to grip your ass.

"Rafe," you gasp as his mouth moves to your neck, biting and sucking in that way that drives you wild.

"Did you really think this fuckin’ piece of plastic could make you feel like I do?" he murmurs against your skin. "That it knew your body the way I do?"

The towel falls away as he pushes you onto the bed. His eyes rake over your naked form, dark with desire. He strips off his own clothes with impatient movements, revealing his muscular body and already hard cock.

"I'm sorry I've been neglecting you," he says, his voice softer now as he settles between your thighs. "Let me make it up to you."

His mouth finds your clit, and you arch off the bed with a cry. His tongue circles the sensitive nub, alternating between gentle flicks and firm pressure that has you seeing stars. Two fingers slide inside you, curling to hit that spot that makes you tremble.

"Rafe, please," you beg, your hands tangling in his hair.

"Not yet," he murmurs against your flesh. "I want to taste every part of you first."

He shifts position, spreading your legs wider as his tongue traces patterns against your folds. At this point, you have no clue as to where your vibrator is as Rafe devours your body with an intensity that borders on desperate. He's making a point, claiming you, reminding you who you belong to.

When he finally positions himself at your entrance, you're already teetering on the edge. He pushes in slowly, his eyes locked on yours as he fills you completely.

"Tell me who makes you feel this good," he demands, his voice ragged.

"You," you gasp as he begins to move. "Only you, Rafe."

His pace quickens, each thrust hitting deeper than the last. The bed creaks beneath you as he drives into you with renewed purpose. One hand grips your hip while the other finds your clit, rubbing in time with his thrusts.

"Cum for me," he commands. "Show me how much you've missed me."

The orgasm hits you like a tidal wave, intense, overwhelming, all-consuming. Your muscles clench around him as you scream his name, your body arching off the bed. Rafe follows moments later with a guttural groan, spilling himself inside you.

He collapses beside you, both of you panting heavily. After a moment, he pulls you into his arms, his face buried in your hair.

"'M sorry," he murmurs against your skin. "I should’ve been more present at home. Work can wait."

You turn in his arms to face him, tracing the line of his jaw with your fingertips. "Just don't forget me again."

"Never," he promises, sealing it with a kiss that tastes of apology and possession and the faintest hint of your arousal. "Never gon’ give you a chance to think you need to rely on anything other than me again."

As his hands begin to roam your body once more, you think he might just be right.

dividers: @cursed-carmine

[angelicstarkey]

hi bae, i love your writing, and i hope i’m not too late for this lol. but have you ever written anything with exbf!babydaddy!rafe? i feel like 4, 9 and 12 from the sfw prompt list would go well with a hardworking reader who’s always doing everything she can for her daughter but its always downplaying how much she needs every month because she doesnt like taking too much money from rafe (even though if it was up to him, she wouldnt need to lift a finger anymore) and she hates feeling like shes a gold digger (which is something shes heard before from ward and other people on the island, especially after getting pregnant), so she always ends up overworking herself, until it starts to noticeably take a toll on her, even if she wont admit to it when he approaches her about it because she hates bothering people (the root can be family trauma or something like that) and its not like he isnt present, he really is, way more than she ever though he would be (they didnt exactly break up in good terms), but she just hates asking for help and feeling like a burden. but he basically makes her take time off work and move in with him for the time being, with the excuse of her “taking a break” from being a mom and letting him do all the work, but mostly he’s trying to keep an eye on her, but it takes a lot of convincing and arguing until she reluctantly agrees. and they’re still in love with each other, but she wont admit to it, while he has no problem in saying it and its no secret to anyone that he still loves her, and really, theres nothing he wants more than marrying her and living together with the two people he loves the most in the world, and he cant help but feel like this is the first step (of many) to getting that. lol sorry if i got a bit carried away with the plot and asked for too much 💀

let me handle the rest

ex bf!baby daddy!rafe cameron x reader

content warnings: kids (if that scares you), other clean, good ol' fluff (?) :)

w/c: 3.5K (bc 1K wouldn't do this justice)

a/n: bae YOU should have written this bc this concept was so beautiful and well-thought out. i hope you like it!

in part of my one year celebration!

The glow of your laptop screen was the only light left burning in your house at 2 A.M., a blue glow casting sharp, exhausted shadows across the kitchen table. Between your day job, shifts at a cafe, managing the apartment, and trying to be everything your eighteen-month-old daughter needed, you were running on absolute fumes.

You stared at the budget spreadsheet, your eyes blurring with the numbers that stared back at you. Rent was going up. Diapers, groceries, daycare applications—it was a never-ending cycle that’d felt like an inching nightmare as you desperately tried to see where you could shave off another fifty dollars from your monthly expenses. More like I’m shaving years off my life, you thought. 

There was always the option to reach out to Rafe; he’d always been insistent on it ever since he’d found out that you’d given birth. But the mere thought of it made your stomach twist in an anxious knot. It almost felt like you were back where you were when you were still dating Rafe, peering over the corner and into Ward’s den as he raised his voice at Rafe, cold and dismissive.

“She’s just another nobody trying to milk you dry until she gets what she wants.” 

The words continued to echo in your mind every time you’d set foot into Tannyhill, though it was no different than what you’d soon hear from your friends at the Cut. Every single remark felt like you’d been losing your character and drive to prove to your aunt that you refused to be a burden on anyone, the way she’d always made it out to be. So once those two pink lines appeared on the stick, you were quick to cut Rafe off with no explanation. 

Those nine months truly were a blur of sleepless nights, refusing to let up your pride even when you’d wished for him to be there, simply just holding you. Every doctor’s appointment felt more and more bittersweet as the months went on, and soon enough, holding her in your arms was the closest you’d ever come to understanding what people meant when they said love could hurt. Because the second you looked down at her tiny face, all you could think about was how badly you wanted to protect her from becoming someone who had to beg to be cared for the way you once did.

Which was exactly why Rafe finding out months later had gone as horribly as it did.

You still remembered the sound of his fists slamming against your apartment door at nearly midnight, loud enough to rattle the thin walls, as your newborn cried softly against your chest, and fear grew in you. You’d barely managed to pull the door open before Rafe was standing across from you, chest heaving, eyes bloodshot and wild with something between heartbroken disbelief and fury.

“You were seriously never gonna tell me?” His voice cracked harshly. “I had to hear from fucking Kelce that you disappeared because you were pregnant?”

You remembered tightening your hold on your daughter instantly, maternal instinct overriding everything else as you stared at him in stunned silence. Rafe’s gaze dropped then, finally landing on the baby in your arms. And just like that, he stopped breathing. 

The anger drained from his face so quickly it was almost frightening, replaced instead with something so devastatingly soft it made your chest ache. 

“She’s mine?” he whispered, the fragility in those two words striking harder than they should have. You hated that you started crying the second he asked it because, despite all the anger and hurt and fear, some horrible, selfish part of you had wanted this. Wanted him to be right here, looking at her like she was something sacred, like he once did with you.

Rafe stepped forward carefully, like one wrong movement might make you disappear again. “Why didn’t you call me?”

The question had shattered something in you immediately, because there was no answer you could give him that didn’t sound pathetic.

How were you supposed to explain that every time you almost picked up the phone, you heard your aunt’s voice in your head, reminding you that needing people always came with consequences.

So instead, you’d looked away and whispered, “I didn’t want you to feel trapped.”

Rafe had looked genuinely sick upon hearing that.

“Trapped?” he repeated incredulously. “You think a baby with you would trap me?”

Nothing you could’ve said would’ve made the situation sound better, and yet somehow, your silence hurt him more than if you’d screamed at him.

The argument about child support came two weeks later. The floor looked like it’d had a path etched into it from Rafe pacing in your tiny kitchen while you stood near the counter, stubbornly clutching your daughter to your chest like she was the only thing grounding you.

“This is fucking insane,” Rafe snapped, dragging both hands through his hair. “Why are you acting like I’m some deadbeat you need to protect yourself from?”

“I’m not acting like anything.”

“You won’t even let me help you.”

“I don’t need help, I can do it myself.”

“Bullshit!” The outburst startled the baby enough for her little face to scrunch before soft cries filled the apartment, immediately causing your own frustration to spike.

“Can you not yell around her?” you hissed. Rafe’s expression crumbled instantly at the sound of her crying, guilt flashing across his face before he lowered his voice again.

“Baby,” he said more softly, “please.”

You hated it when he called you that back then. Hated how weak it made you feel. Hated how one word from him could make your resolve start cracking at the edges.

“Don’t ‘baby’ me,” you scolded, trying to ignore how good it felt to hear him call you by that pet name again. “I can provide for her myself.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Then what is?”

“The point,” Rafe bit out, eyes glassy now, “is that she’s my daughter too.”

The apartment fell quiet except for the baby’s soft sniffles. Rafe stepped closer slowly, then, his voice breaking when he spoke again.

“You really think so little of me that you’d rather drown than let me love the two of you?” 

A soft knock at your door shattered the silence that you’d found solace in, despite how uncomfortable it is. You jumped, your heart racing with every knock as you cautiously opened the door. To your surprise, Rafe was standing on the porch. He looked too good for someone who was up at two in the morning, wearing a soft gray hoodie, his hands shoved into his pockets. However, the relaxed look melted away the second he saw your face

"Hey," he said softly, his blue eyes instantly scanning your tired expression, the dark circles, the tense set of your shoulders. Though you were exhausted, Rafe couldn’t help but still marvel over how beautiful you were when he first met you, the same eyes he fell in love with, and the same nose that your daughter shared with you. "I saw the light on from the road. Why are you still up?"

"Just... catching up on some work," you lied, stepping back to let him in. "Why are you still out in the morning? You were supposed to pick her up tomorrow afternoon."

Rafe didn't answer right away. He walked into the kitchen, his eyes landing directly on the laptop screen, the crumpled sticky notes, and the calculator that showed a negative number, much to his dismay. He let out a long, heavy breath, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Was jus’ in the area. I came by because you forgot her favourite blanket at my place, and I knew she wouldn't sleep tomorrow without it," Rafe explained, setting the soft pink fabric on the counter. Then, he turned to you, his expression hardening with genuine concern. "You look like you're about to collapse, mama."

"I'm fine, Rafe. It’s just… been a long week." You went to close the laptop, but he caught your wrist. His grip wasn't tight, but it was firm with the same warmth that you’d once melt into. 

"Stop," he murmured. "Just stop. I look at the bank statements. I know exactly what I transfer to you every month, even though your stubborn ass always sends it back. I’ve told you a thousand times, write down the real number and let me handle it.” 

You sighed, except you weren’t sure if it was out of frustration or defeat. You could use the extra money to help provide more for your daughter, however, it’d probably cost you more mentally to deal with Ward’s judgment and inadvertently proving him right.

“If it were up to me, you wouldn't have to lift a finger again."

"I don't want your money, Rafe!" The words slipped out harsher than intended, clearly fueled by pure exhaustion. You pulled your wrist away, crossing your arms defensively. "I'm her mother. I provide for her. I am not going to let your family—or anyone else on this island—look at me and think I'm taking advantage of you."

Rafe winced, a flicker of old pain crossing his features. The terms of your breakup hadn't been clean; there had been so much distrust, so much outside noise that he always battled with, yet never handled well. But over the last year, he had truly shown up; he’d done the work his own father had never done, and perhaps even more. Rafe was a phenomenal father, way more present and dedicated than you had ever dared to hope.

"Fuck what my dad said. Fuck what anyone else thinks," Rafe said fiercely, stepping closer into your space. "This is about us. It's about you being so stubborn that you're running yourself into the ground. You're working yourself to death to prove a point to people who don't matter."

"I don't need help," you whispered, your voice cracking. The pressure behind your eyes was building, a familiar, terrifying wave of panic threatening to break through. You couldn't breathe. Your chest felt tight just thinking about the spreadsheet, bills, and judgment all crashing down at once. "I can do it by myself. I have to."

Something in Rafe’s face changed at that, as he felt the same heartbreak he’d felt for you before begin to settle in again. “You’re the mother of my kid,” he said softly. “Why do you act like taking care of you is some kind of burden?”

You didn’t answer, mostly because you didn’t have one to give back. In the meantime, Rafe scrubbed a hand over his face before looking around the apartment again — at the laundry piled on the chair, the half-finished work on your table, the half-eaten frozen dinner left on the counter that looked like it’d been more than a day since you’d eaten. Rafe could practically feel the exhaustion soaked into the walls.

“You can barely keep your eyes open.”

“I’m managing.”

“No,” he said firmly. “You’re barely even surviving as it is.” He didn't push the argument. Instead, he stepped right into your personal space, grabbed your hands, trying to relish in that fact that he could hold you once again.

"Hey, look at me," Rafe commanded softly, tugging your hands until you forced your eyes up to meet his. You let out a long breath, the tension leaving your shoulders as Rafe’s thumb stroked the back of your hand. He always knew how to pull you back from the edge. "Forget the budget. You still work at that insurance claims place?” 

“Yeah, why?” Before you could rebuild your walls, Rafe took a step back, taking charge. He closed your laptop with one hand and slid your notebooks into your bag.

"Alright. Pack a bag for the week. You and her are staying at my place."

"What? No, Rafe, absolutely not—"

“Yes, you are," he interrupted, his tone leaving zero room for negotiation. "You are taking a vacation from being the solo parent. For the next two weeks, you’re staying under my roof. I’m doing the morning routines, I’m making the meals, I’m doing the laundry. You are going to actually get some sleep for once, you’re going to read a book like you always did, and you’re going to let yourself breathe."

"I have work-"

"Take some PTO. Call in sick. I don't care," Rafe countered, stepping close again, his voice dropping to a plea. "Please. Just let me do this for you and take care of you guys. Like an actual family. You're the mother of my kid, and you're-" He cut himself off, the unspoken words heavy in the air. 

Rafe wished he could complete his thought, tell you how much he still loved you, even after everything you’d both gone through to end up where you were now. He’d tell the whole world if it meant getting you back. You, on the other hand, kept your feelings under lock and key, terrified that letting him back into your heart would mean losing the independence you fought so hard for.

“I’m…?” You stared at him, an eyebrow raised as you looked into his pleading eyes. You could feel the exhaustion take over your ability to try and keep your guard up, just wanting the conversation to come to an end before you agreed to something you knew you’d regret later. 

“You’re not a burden, okay?”

You looked at the closed laptop, then back to Rafe. "Just for a little bit?" you whispered.

Rafe’s face broke into a relieved, breathtaking smile. "Yeah. Just a bit, nothing more."

Staying at Tannyhill was supposed to be temporary, nothing more. At least that was what you were telling yourself, anyway. Yet somehow, within days, Rafe had made space for you everywhere, and even worse, it felt normal. 

Your favourite coffee creamer suddenly appeared in the fridge. Your skincare products were lined up beside his sink like they’d meant to be there. Sometimes, you’d find yourselves napping together on the couch as your daughter lay on Rafe’s chest. 

That afternoon, you stood quietly in the doorway of the nursery Rafe had painstakingly put together, watching him through a blur of conflicted emotions. He was sitting on the plush rug, entirely devoted to building a tower of blocks just to let your daughter knock it down with a squeal of pure delight. There was a gentle, unhurried patience in the way he spoke to her, a soft smile playing on his lips that you rarely saw back when the two of you were together. He truly was the type of father you’d hope he’d be for her—present, protective, and completely wrapped around her little finger.

The warmth of the scene sent a familiar prickle of panic beneath your skin. It was getting too easy to depend on him, and soon, the ghosts of old comments from Ward and your aunt began to whisper in your ear, warning you that you were getting comfortable, that you were slipping into the exact gold-digging stereotype they’d accused you of.

Stepping back into the guest room, you pulled your duffel bag onto the bed and began blindly stuffing your folded clothes inside. You needed to leave before you forgot how to survive on your own.

"What are you doing?"

Rafe’s voice broke the quiet, making you jump. He was leaning against the doorframe, his eyebrows knit together as his eyes dropped to the open bag. The warmth from moments ago was gone, replaced by a sudden, sharp defensiveness.

"I'm just gathering our things," you said, keeping your voice even as you avoided his gaze. "It’s been over a week, Rafe. I’ve had my break, and I don't want to overstay my welcome. We need to go home."

"Home?" Rafe stepped into the room, closing the distance between you until he could gently catch your wrists, stopping your frantic folding. "Your apartment is a pressure cooker, and you're working yourself into the ground just to prove a point to deadbeats who don't care about you. Look around you. You should stay here. You know how normal and right it feels."

"That’s exactly what I don’t want," you countered, pulling your hands back to your chest, your voice trembling. "It’s easy for you, Rafe. But every time I see your money transfer or stay under your roof, I feel like I'm losing my drive. I spent my whole life being told I was a burden, and I won't let people think I used our daughter to get a free ride in Figure Eight."

Rafe winced, a raw flicker of pain crossing his features before his expression hardened with intense conviction. He reached up, cupping your face in his warm palms, forcing you to look at him.

"You can call me. Day or night. I'm there for you," he said fiercely, his thumb sweeping across your cheekbone. "Whether you're ready to admit you still love me or not, I'm not going anywhere. You are not a burden to me, and you never will be. Please, just stay. Let me make this easier for you."

Rafe stepped in front of you, gently taking the blanket from your hands and tossing it onto the chair. He reached out, capping his hands over your shoulders, forcing you to stop moving.

"This is your reality if you want it to be," Rafe said, his voice thick with emotion. "I don't care about the island. I don't care about my dad. I care about you. I want you here. Every single day."

"Rafe, don't do this," you begged, tears threatening to spill over. "It's not that easy. I can't just rely on you. What happens if things go wrong again? I can’t work my way back up again that easily."

Rafe's expression softened as he reached up, his thumbs gently wiping the tears from your cheeks. “Whatever the fuck happens, I’m still going to be here for you. M’kay? It’s always been for you.” 

You stared at him, the heavy armor you’d worn for years finally cracking under the weight of his sincerity. You were so incredibly tired of fighting the current.

"Fine," you whispered, letting out a breath you felt like you’d been holding for months. "I’ll stay. But only on one condition."

Rafe’s face flooded with relief, a breathtaking smile breaking through his worry. "Anything. Name it."

"I keep my job, and I pay for my own personal expenses," you stated firmly, looking him dead in the eye. "You don't pressure me to quit, and you don't completely take over. If I'm staying here, I need to know I'm still pulling my own weight."

Rafe let out a soft laugh, pulling you against his chest in a tight, protective embrace. "Deal. No pressure. You can work as much as you want—just promise me you’ll let me handle the rest."

As you buried your face in his shoulder, listening to the steady beat of his heart, it felt strange how something you’d spent years fearing could feel so much like peace. Outside, the late evening sun spilled gold across the windows of Tannyhill, washing the room in soft amber light while distant waves crashed somewhere beyond the cliffs. Your daughter’s laughter echoed faintly from the room, pulling you back to your reality. 

Rafe’s hand slid gently up and down your back, slow and absentminded, like he was soothing something inside you that had been aching for years. There was no expectation in his touch. No condition. No looming reminder that you owed him for being loved. Simply the warmth of Rafe’s love. 

You pulled back slightly to look at him, finding his gaze already fixed on you with that same unbearable softness he’d carried ever since he found out about her. As if somewhere along the way, despite everything, you had still become the center of his world.

“What?” you murmured, trying to hide the smile creeping on your face.

A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Nothin’.”

“You’re staring.”

“Can you blame me?”

You rolled your eyes lightly, but the gesture lacked its usual bite. Rafe noticed immediately, his smile growing softer as he tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. Your daughter’s laughter rang out again, bright and careless enough to make something warm bloom painfully in your chest. Rafe glanced toward the sound instinctively before looking back at you.

“My girls,” he murmured absentmindedly.

The words settled somewhere deep inside you.

And for once, instead of feeling the urge to run from them, you let yourself stay exactly where you were, wrapped in his arms while the sky outside melted into shades of pink and gold, soft ocean air drifting through the open windows as Tannyhill slowly began to feel less like somewhere you were temporarily staying and more like home.

taglist: @raf3cam3r0n @bonjourjiminie

dividers: @cursed-carmine

[angelicstarkey]

funny storyyy but basically, i got sick but then once i got better, i went to see the fireworks that drake did in toronto for his album and then got sick again and then got a heat stroke when i went out to see my friends :P SO i didn’t want to half ass anyone’s requests hence why it’s taking a hot min to publish the rest of the one year celebration blurbs :(

apologies for the wait!