── .✦ Toxic love . . . babydaddy!rafe x ex!pogue!reader
contains: rafe's still obsessed with you and you swear you've over him.....but you're not :3
warnings: getting back w your ex, vague smut, unresolved feelings
you’re washing your dinner plates in the sink when you hear it – that sound of rafe’s truck pulling into your gravel driveway. the same sound you convinced yourself you forgot.
you didn't look up. just kept scrubbing. pretending as if you were not wearing his old t-shirt – the one you allegedly threw out a month after moving out of tannyhill.
rafe fills the doorway a minute later. shoulders broader than last saturday, jaw sharper as if he’d been clenching it for a week straight.
the air in the kitchen gets thick the second he steps inside. you still don’t turn around, just grip the plate a little tighter, knuckles going white against the ceramic.
“you lock your door?” his voice is low, rougher than you remember. like he’d been smoking again even though you told him a hundred times to quit.
“you literally stepped in without a key. the fuck d’you think?”
then his boots scrape against the floor, slow and deliberate, closing the distance until you feel the heat radiating off his chest at your back. you don’t flinch. don’t give him the satisfaction.
“you’re wearing my shirt.” his fingers ghost over the collar where it hangs loose on your shoulder. “said you burned it.”
you shrug him off, finally turning, eyes cold even as your stomach flips.
rafe’s mouth tightens. he looks wrecked – dark circles under those blue eyes, stubble thicker than usual, like he hadn’t slept in days. like he’d been driving around kildare trying to talk himself out of coming here.
“you been ignorin’ my calls” he says. “blocked my number again.”
“maybe i don’t wanna talk.”
“you never wanna talk.” he steps closer, caging you in against the sink. his hand lands on the counter beside your hip, knuckles brushing your thigh like it used to. “but you wear my clothes. you leave the window in the laundry room unlocked. you let me in every time.”
“maybe i feel sorry for you.”
“yeah?” his other hand finds your waist, thumb pressing into the soft skin just above the hem of your shorts, turning you around to face him.
“then look me in the eye and tell me you don’t still want this.”
you open your mouth. nothing comes out.
rafe’s jaw works. his gaze drops to your lips, then back up, and there it is – that raw, possessive hunger he never learned to hide.
and then he's kissing you before you can argue. hard, desperate, tasting like expensive coffee and stubbornness and regret. your back hits the edge of the sink, a plate clattering into the basin. your hands fist in his shirt, the same way you had dreamt last night, dragging him closer, hating yourself for how good it feels.
he breaks away just long enough to mutter against your mouth, “i missed you, sweetheart.”
and you hate that you missed him too. that your body remembers every inch of his, the way he used to hold you after, the way he’d whisper 'i love you' like it was a secret he couldn’t keep. the way he used to touch you.
“don’t.” you breathe, but your voice cracks on the syllables.
rafe groans, lifting you onto the counter with his hands under your thighs, shoving plates aside without care.
“too fuckin’ late for that.”
his hands slide up your thighs, hooking into the waistband of your shorts. your breath catches, but you don't stop him. you can't stop him – not when his fingers are already dipping beneath the fabric, brushing over the damp heat between your legs.
"fuck," he groans softly, thumb pressing against your clit through the thin cotton of your panties.
"you’re already soaked for me."
your head falls back, a shaky moan slipping out before you can bite it back. "shut up, rafe."
he huffs a laugh. low, breathless, almost pained. "make me."
his fingers pull your panties aside, sliding one, then two knuckles deep inside you without warning. you gasp, hips jerking forward on instinct and he groans at how easily you take him even after all this while.
"goddamn, sweetheart. missed this pussy so bad."
your nails dig into his shoulders. "don't–don't talk like that-"
"like what? like i own this?" he curls his fingers, finds that spot that makes your knees buckle in a second cause he’s got it engraved into him as muscle memory.
"because i do. always have."
the counter digs into your ass as he works you open, his thumb circling your clit in punishing rhythm. you're already close – too close, too fast, and he knows it. he always knew your body better than you did. knew your tells before you even knew it was showing.
"'m gonna cum," you whimper, hating how desperate you sound.
"yeah, you are." he pulls his fingers out, and you whine at the loss. but then his belt's undone, jeans unzipped, and his cock springs free – thick, flushed, already leaking at the tip. he lines himself up, dragging the head through your slick folds, teasing, because even when he’s desperate for you he’s still fucking rafe cameron.
you do. his blue eyes are dark, pupils blown, jaw tight.
you hate him. you love him. you want to slap him and ride him until you forget your own name.
your answer is hooking your legs around his waist and pulling him in.
he slams into you in one brutal thrust, both of you groaning in unison. his forehead drops to yours, breath ragged. "fuck–fuck, you feel-"
"move," you beg. "please."
he does. hard. fast. the plates in the sink rattle with every snap of his hips, the counter creaking against the floor. his mouth finds your neck, teeth sinking into the juncture where your shoulder meets your throat – marking you, claiming you, like he never lost the right.
your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling, and he growls against your skin. "missed you," he grits out between thrusts. "missed this. missed you."
"i hate you," you breathe, but your walls are clenching around him, pulling him deeper.
"i know." he drives into you harder, faster, thrusts turning erratic. "hate you too, sweetheart."
it's a lie. a beautiful, desperate lie.
his free hand slides between your bodies, pressing hard on your clit, and that's it. you shatter, crying out his name muffled into his shoulder as your orgasm rips through you. he follows seconds later, burying his face in your neck, groaning your name like a prayer as he spills inside you.
for a long moment, there's nothing but heavy breathing and the ticking clock on your kitchen wall. his forehead rests against your shoulder, eyes closed, chest heaving in time with yours.
"i love you." he murmurs, voice strained but sincere.
you dont bother saying it back.
but he knows the truth. so do you.
you love him. and that lying is so goddamn hard.
taglist: @raevyng @coastalcowgirlie @bonjourjiminie @kelbrave @skankhvnt42 @rafesgreasycurtainbangs @harrrrystylesslut @raf3cam3r0n
💌: i dont know how i feel about this one.....