warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, unprotected p in v, rough sex, age gap (rafe is 47), degradation kink, praise kink, slight daddy kink, oral f receiving, public ish setting (kitchen), possessiveness, jealousy? slight corruption, cheating, she knows what she’s doing
☁️if you’re under 18, close this. this is not a drill
bfd!rafe
the marble counter is cold against your skin when he lifts you up like you weigh nothing.
your breath hitches, thighs tensing around his hips. you feel the towel shift when he steps between your legs again, feel him hard against you even through the thick cotton barrier. his hands don’t hesitate—one spreads across your lower back, the other gripping your thigh, pulling you forward.
your legs fall open. you let them. you want him to see.
“fuck,” he mutters, eyes dragging over you like he’s starving. “no panties?”
you shake your head, smug. breathless. “was hoping someone would notice.”
his fingers drag up your thigh slowly, knuckles grazing the slick heat between your legs.
his touch is so light it makes you whimper.
his eyes flick up to yours. dark. hot. cruel.
“what a dirty little thing you are,” he murmurs.
his thumb brushes your clit and you jolt. “wet for your boyfriend’s father.”
your lips part, eyes fluttering. “he doesn’t fuck me like this.”
“i know,” rafe growls.”he doesn’t deserve to.”
he falls to his knees without another word, towel slung low on his hips like a warning. you feel the air shift, heat roll off him like a storm. his breath is hot when he leans in.
“open wider,” he says, low and firm.
you obey.
his mouth meets you like he’s waited months for this.
his tongue is deliberate—slow at first, lazy licks against your clit, building the pressure like he’s setting a fire on purpose. then he sucks. hard. firm. messy.
your hand shoots out, gripping the edge of the counter. “oh—fuck, sir—”
“quiet,” he hisses, voice muffled between your thighs. “unless you want him to wake up and see how a real man makes you cum.”
his tongue slides down, thick and hot, licking into you like he’s obsessed. like he lives for this.
his nose brushes your clit.
his fingers dig into your thighs so hard you know he’s leaving marks.
you cum fast, hard, with a strangled cry against the back of your hand. he doesn’t stop—he licks you through it, moaning like he loves the way you fall apart for him.
like he’s wanted this since the first time you walked into his house and said mr. cameron with that fake sweet voice and tight little dress.
when he pulls back, his mouth is shiny. ruined.
he wipes it with the back of his hand, eyes never leaving yours.
“taste yourself,” he says.
you do—lick it from his thumb like a girl starved. he groans.
then the towel drops. and you forget how to breathe.
his cock is hard. thick. angry. it curves slightly, a vein running up the side, tip flushed and dripping.
he strokes it once, slow and punishing. “this what you want, sweetheart?”
you nod. desperate.
“say it.”
“i want your cock.”
“where?”
you blink. flushed. aching. “in me, my pussy.”
he growls. grips your hips. pulls you to the edge of the counter.
“look at me,” he commands, tip brushing your entrance.
you do. trembling.
“don’t look away while i ruin you.”
he thrusts in. deep.
you slap a hand to your mouth, choking on your gasp.
he doesn’t let you adjust. doesn’t give you a second to catch your breath.
he just fucks.
hard, fast, perfect.
skin slapping, cock stretching you wide, hitting deeper than you’ve ever felt.
“so tight,” he grunts. “this pussy’s been wasted on him.”
you moan, legs wrapped around his waist, nails digging into his shoulders.
he fucks you like he’s claiming you.
like he’s trying to fuck jake out of your head.
like he knows he’ll never be able to stop after this.
“you’re mine now,” he says, voice a growl against your neck. “my girl. my dirty little fucktoy.”
“yes,” you whisper. “yes, sir—please don’t stop—”
he slams into you harder.
you scream into his shoulder, cunt fluttering around him.
“gonna cum again?” he pants, cock twitching.
“do it. cum all over your boyfriend’s father’s cock.”
and you do. violently. completely.
your whole body trembles as you break apart for him, jaw slack, toes curling
he finishes a second later, spilling deep inside you with a low groan, burying himself to the hilt.
you cling to him. dazed. soaked. dizzy.
his hands slide up your back.
his lips brush your ear. “next time,” he whispers, “you’re coming to me if you want something.”
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there was pathetically sick part of rafe that got off on knowing that he still had it — especially with such a young girl like you who was an absolute knockout, absolutely eager and willing to bend to his every whim. he had watched you bloom into the young woman you were today, but the moment you turned eighteen, you became a bit more forward with your intentions. from wearing skimpy bikinis whenever you joined his sweet son on family trips, to the thin satin dresses that tented with your hard nipples on thursday dinners — you made sure to always look your best for mr. cameron.
but what made rafe melt was the way you were so immersed in him, you completely dismissed how his son was head over heels in love with you — and you can call rafe a sick man, but he always craved being the center of attention, no matter the costs. his little boy would just have to move on, not that he ever stood a chance against his overpowering and domineering father.
so, when rafe’s son asked if you could spend the summer at tannyhill, rafe was eager to oblige, masking his reasoning with ‘wanting his next of kin to be happy at home’, despite his true intentions of having you surrender all of yourself to him, now running rampant is his tainted and somewhat deranged mind.
on the first night of your extended stay, you found yourself sat beside your best friend’s father, your tooth-achingly sweet and doting best friend seated directly across from you, completely oblivious to the way his father stared at you with that same sense of longing and desire.
you liked mr. cameron — he was always so sweet to you, he bought you the finest birthday presents, complimented your girly, but borderline inappropriate outfits, and he always seemed to know exactly what you needed at any given time.
and maybe, just maybe there was a part of you that knew he felt the same way about you too.
carelessly leaning over the dining table, you fought back a knowing smirk as your swollen tits bulged against the hem of your sleeveless romper, the ribbed fabric clinging to your warm frame as you reached for a piece of bread, “thank you for having me, mr. cameron,” you sang, your sweet voice all light and airy as you glanced at the older man, your heart jumping as you caught his eyes stuck on the fat of your plush ass cheeks that managed to swallow the romper.
masking his faux pas with a forced clearing of his throat, mr. cameron licks over his lips with a smile, “well — ahem, f’course, my wife and i really appreciate how good of a friend you’ve been to our boy, isn’t that right, honey?”
rafe knew exactly what he was doing, his trained blue eyes carefully taking in the way your plump smile faltered into a brief frown and how the sparkle in your eyes dimmed. your bubble of security had been popped in that very moment as you tugged on the top hem of your romper, your nailed fingers lightly grazing over the baby pink bow that had been sewn between the valley of your breasts.
your oh so pretty and fake smile only intensified as mrs. cameron sauntered into the dining room. you absolutely hated how your shared likeness towards mr. cameron had soured your perception of the clueless woman who still viewed you to be the daughter she always wanted.
placing a manicured hand atop of mr. cameron’s shoulder, you watch as the woman leans down to capture rafe’s lips in a quick kiss, “mhm. you know that we love having you over, sweetie. you keep us on our toes, dolly” she laughs, gently nudging the apple of your cheek as she makes her way to her seat, directly across from mr. cameron.
dolly — the dear nickname that you’d been given by mr. cameron, you’d always been so wet behind the ears, dainty, and entirely too vulnerable. but, it didn’t feel right coming from her.
answering with a short nod, you are a bit too eager to change the topic of discussion, a silent huff of stress leaving your faded plum stained lips as your best friend furrows his brows at your standoffish behavior, “y’okay?” he mouths, softly nudging your shin with the tip of his converse.
“i’m okay,” you mouth back, a soft smile on your pillowy lips as you steal a quick glance at mr. cameron who catches your sneaky gaze, sending you a quick wink as he takes a sip from his glass of chilled red wine.
licking over your dry lips, you swallow thickly, popping a warm and fluffy piece of bread into your needy mouth as mr. cameron’s long and slender leg brushes against yours. fighting back a smile, you remain silent as mrs. cameron enlightens the table about her new endeavors at cameron development, your eyes glazed over as you quietly hook your leg over his firm thigh.
honing your focus into chewing the piece of bread in your mouth, you watch from the corner of your bambi eyes as rafe inconspicuously slides a large hand over the smooth skin of your waxed leg.
now lost in the sensation of mr. cameron’s hand gently kneading soothing circles around your ankle, your eyes widen as rafe’s voice cuts into your dazed state, “y’seem pretty sleepy over there, dolly — everything a’ight?” he questions knowingly, his buzzed head tilted to the side as his pink lips part in anticipation of your next words.
feverishly nodding, you send rafe a forced courteous smile, “yes, mr. cameron — just sleepy,” you answer politely.
returning his attention to his son and wife, rafe keeps a tight hold on your small ankle, the cold bite of his wedding band digging into your warmed and bronze skin. you always loved to prance around tannyhill barefoot, you’re pretty pink toes on full display, ever since your younger days.
and rafe was painfully reminded of that, a feigned smile of interest on his handsomely structured face as he gave your cute little toes a gentle squeeze, every now and again.
all while his poor son and unsuspecting wife sat and ate their overly priced steak dinner.
✧ he opens the door in low slung sweats and nothing else. bare chest, gold chain, a towel slung over his shoulder like he forgot you were coming(he didn’t)
✧ eyes you like he’s never seen a girl your age wear that before. ✧ has a tan line from his wedding ring, he hasn’t worn it in years. ✧ calls you sweetheart in a tone your boyfriend never uses. ✧ smells like bourbon and pine✧ he sees his wife, sofia, maybe twice a week. ✧ she’s always somewhere else. always out, always dressed up, always fucking someone that isn’t him and he’s stopped pretending to care. ✧“you’re early, sweetheart.”
♡ two years with jake. 23. frat boy energy. charm that wore off fast.
✿ he still thinks a “gift” means stopping by the gas station and grabbing you a flower and a scratch off ✿ “wait—today’s our anniversary?” every single time ✿ calls you “babe” instead of your name. all the time. even when he’s mad. even during sex. ✿ leaves his dirty socks on your side of the bed ✿ forgets you hate pickles. still orders your burger with extra
💌 things you wanted from him:
✧ good morning texts that actually came in the morning ✧ someone who listens when you talk about your nightmares ✧ effort. just effort. once.
things you got:
✧ a boyfriend who says “you’re just being dramatic.” ✧ more apologies than affection ✧ a dinner reservation he forgot to make—again
and yet, you stayed. why?
✧ because leaving after two years feels like failure ✧ because sometimes he makes you laugh ✧ because it’s easier than starting over
…until his dad, rafe, started looking at you like he knows you deserve better. like he wants to show you what better means.
warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, dom!bfd!rafe, masturbation, reader watching rafe jerk off, voyeurism, degradation/praise, cheating, age gap (rafe is 47), filthy dialogue, rafe’s obsessed, reader touches herself, extremely NSFW, it’s a mutual thing now — things are spiraling (in the hottest way possible) absolutely unholy smut, mirror sex, sir kink, daddy kink, degradation, corruption, possessiveness, rough unprotected sex, spit, hair pulling, light dumbification, he keeps her hand on her lower back the whole time, mean filthy dirty talk
☁️ minors — seriously. go. this is not for you. ☁️
bfd!rafe
you wake up to sunlight and silence.
jake’s still snoring beside you, twisted in the sheets like a child, drooling on the pillow. his arm flops across your stomach, and your first instinct is to shove it off.
you stare at the ceiling.
your thighs still ache. your lips are sore. you’re sore
last night was real.
your pussy throbs remembering the weight of rafe’s body against yours, the way he groaned when he came inside you like he meant it, like it wasn’t just fucking—it was a claim.
your throat’s dry.
you slip out of bed quietly. still in that tiny tank top and the same shorts he pushed to the side. you pad down the hall toward the bathroom, legs shaky, heart heavier than it should be.
you don’t expect to hear it.
the low groan. the steady sound of skin on skin.
wet. slow. desperate.
you pause.
the bathroom door is cracked open. just a little.
you shouldn’t look. you do.
and there he is.
rafe cameron. your boyfriend’s father. the man who fucked you on his kitchen counter less than ten hours ago.
he’s standing in front of the sink, hand wrapped tight around his cock, head tilted back, jaw clenched. his towel is slung over the edge of the tub. water’s still running from the shower, steam curling around him like smoke.
and he’s saying your fucking name.
your mouth parts. your knees lock.
“fuck, baby…” his voice is hoarse. ruined. “tightest pussy i ever had… fuckin’ ruined me…”
he strokes harder. precum smearing across the head, hips twitching with every pull.
“that little voice—sir, it’s not right…”
he laughs. low. “wasn’t saying that when you came all over me.”
your hand falls between your thighs before you can stop it.
your fingers slide under your waistband.
you’re soaked.
you bite your lip. stay hidden in the shadow of the doorway.
he’s close now. muttering. “should’ve finished in your mouth.”
stroke. stroke. tighter. “should’ve made you swallow every drop like a good little girl—”
his eyes open. he sees you.
and he doesn’t stop. his lips curl, slow and wicked.
“you like watching, sweetheart?”
his voice drops to a growl. “look at you touching yourself. dirty girl.”
you don’t move. don’t speak.
you just rub harder. faster. shameless now.
he steps closer. cock in hand. still fucking himself to the sight of you.
“come here,” he says, low and firm.
you step into the bathroom.
he spins you around, presses you against the sink.
your eyes meet in the mirror—his face flushed, lips parted. your reflection looks fucked out already.
his cock slides between your thighs.
not inside. just there. heavy. hot. ready.
“you want it again?” he breathes against your neck.
you nod, whimpering.
he grinds against your ass, moaning deep. “then take it. right here. against the mirror. and this time, don’t you fucking dare pretend you don’t love it.”
the glass is fogged, steam clinging to your skin, your breath already shaky as rafe presses your body against the mirror.
his hand is flat on your lower back, big and firm, holding you there.
“stay just like that, sweetheart,” he murmurs, breath hot against your ear.
“you move, i stop. you understand?”
you nod quickly.
“say it.”
“yes, sir.”
his grip tightens. “fuck, you’re so good when you listen.”
his cock slides between your folds, heavy and teasing—he doesn’t push in, not yet. he lets you feel it. lets it drag across your soaking slit while you whimper in the mirror.
his other hand comes up to your throat from behind, thumb brushing your jaw, making you look at yourself.
“look at this little fucking whore.”
his voice is calm. cruel. “can’t even go a day now without begging her boyfriend’s dad to fuck her stupid.”
you moan. high, soft, shameful. your thighs already trembling.
“bet you touch yourself in his bed thinking about me, huh?”
“bet you close your eyes and pretend it’s my cock splitting you open.”
you nod, flushed and wrecked and feral.
“please, sir—”
he cuts you off with a slap to your ass—sharp, loud.
“no begging. you get what i give you.”
then lower, meaner—“and you’re lucky i’m still giving it to you after last night.”
his tip catches your entrance, and then he’s inside—deep—all at once.
you choke on your breath, eyes wide, mouth parted in a silent moan.
he doesn’t let you fall forward
his hand is still on your lower back, keeping your spine arched, your ass tilted perfectly for him.
his hips pull back. slam in.
again.
again.
again.
the slap of skin is obscene in the echo of the bathroom, your moans muffled by your own palm now. you’re drooling, trembling, your eyes rolling back as he drives into you over and over like he owns you.
and fuck, he does.
he does.
“you like being bent over for me like this?” he pants. “like being used like a little cumdump?”
“yes, sir—oh my god—”
“you like getting fucked by your boyfriend’s daddy like a good little slut?”
you nod, crying now.
“say it.”
your voice cracks. “i like getting fucked by you, sir—only you—”
his hand in your hair, yanking your head up.
“that’s right, baby. say it louder. say you’re mine.”
“i’m yours,” you gasp.“i’m fucking yours.”
“yeah, you are. this pussy’s mine now. you feel that?”
he thrusts harder. meaner. “he’ll never make you cum like this. he’ll never touch you like this. he couldn’t even make you whimper—”
he leans in, breath hitting your ear. his voice drops. “but i made you cry for it.”
and you do cry.
as your orgasm hits so hard you go weightless, silent at first—then gasping, shaking, body locked as he fucks you through it like a man obsessed.
his hand never leaves your lower back.
he cums with a guttural moan, cock buried to the hilt, hot ropes painting your walls. his chest against your back. his teeth at your neck.
both of you staring into the mirror, ruined.
he grins. “you’re mine now, sweetheart.”
a kiss to your temple. “tell your boyfriend to keep sleeping in.”
bfd!rafe taglist masterlist
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warnings:18+ mdni!!!! suggestive, sexual tension, age gap (rafe is 47), light dom/sub themes, mention of bdsm kinks, voyeurism-adjacent, daddy issues, neglectful bf, reader is bratty & curious, rafe is not safe. denial, possessiveness, implied cheating, degradation kink
jake said he’d be right back. just a beer run. just a quick hang with the guys.
just another night where he left you on the couch, legs curled up and lonely, surrounded by a house full of silence that wasn’t yours.
you nod. you smile. you kiss his cheek and pretend you’re not used to it by now. you don’t ask what time he’ll be home. you already know it’ll be late.
so it’s just you, a half finished glass of wine, your phone dimmed on the coffee table… and him. his dad.
he comes in like he always does—quiet, but not exactly unnoticed. he’s got that presence, the kind that fills up a room even when he doesn’t speak. even when he’s just wearing joggers, a tight black tee, and that fucking watch that says “i have money and i ruin women.”
he eyes the wine. your legs. the slight dip in your shirt when you shift. “he leave you alone again?”his voice is dry. teasing.
you don’t answer. just shrug and try to act like the heat in your stomach isn’t from the way he’s watching you now.
and then he sees your phone. you don’t even notice until it lights up again. a half open tab you forgot to close.
how it feels to be tied up.
why i like pain during sex.
does it mean something’s wrong with me if i wanna be used?
and one post. bold. messy. raw.
“i wanna be turned upside down, tied to a swing, whipped, used, ruined.”
you freeze when his eyes catch it.
but he doesn’t say a word. he just picks it up, slow and deliberate, and reads. lets the silence get thick.
your whole body goes still. cheeks hot. heart pounding.
he glances at you, a smirk tugging at his mouth. “…you into that kinda thing, sweetheart?”
your voice breaks. “i—jake doesn’t—i mean, he’s not into—”
“didn’t ask about jake.”
he sets the phone down. walks over. every step sounds louder than it should. “asked about you.”
you swallow. nod, barely.
“thought so,” he says, soft. dark.
he comes closer, slow, like you’re prey he doesn’t wanna spook. his fingers brush your cheek. your chin. tilt your head up just enough.
his thumb ghosts over your bottom lip. you don’t move away. you part them.
“he doesn’t know what to do with a girl like you,” he murmurs. “never did.”
you whisper it, so faint he almost doesn’t catch it “and you do?”
his gaze drops to your lips, then your thighs. “sweetheart,” he mutters, voice rough, “i could teach you things that’d ruin you for every boy you’ve ever known.”
his hand slides down your throat. not tight. not firm. just there. and when you breathe in, shaky and low, he smiles. “you wanna be touched like a gangster?”
“then stop playing like a good girl.”
his hand stays there—light on your throat, warm and heavy, thumb brushing softly under your jaw like he’s already decided you’re his. like you’ve been his this whole time and he’s just been waiting for you to realize it.
you whisper it, voice shaking “this… this isn’t right, sir.”
he huffs a dark laugh through his nose. doesn’t step back. doesn’t stop. his eyes drag over your face, lips, chest. slow. deliberate. cruel.
“sweetheart.” his voice drops, thick with heat. “it stopped being right the second time you came over here in that short little skirt.”
his palm traces down to your waist, gripping your hip like he remembers it, like he’s thought about this “i saw everything, baby.” his mouth is near your ear now, breath warm. “you wanted me to.”
your breath hitches. legs press together without thinking. you remember the skirt—black, tight, barely long enough to cover your ass. jake didn’t say anything, didn’t even look twice.
but rafe did. you caught him in the hallway.
leaning against the frame, eyes low, jaw tight, tongue pressed to his cheek like he knew what he was doing just standing there.
you remember how hot your skin got. how you couldn’t sit still the rest of the night. how you hoped he’d look again.
and now here you are, standing in front of him like a deer caught in headlights. except you don’t want to run.
“you wore that skirt and bent over in front of me like a little slut,” he murmurs, fingers sliding just under the hem of your shirt. “and now you’re standing here, calling me sir with those wide eyes and pretty lips, pretending you don’t want me to fuck the innocence outta you.”
you suck in a shaky breath. his words shouldn’t make your knees weak. but they do. you say nothing. you can’t.
“say it,” he growls. “say what you want.”
you blink up at him, dazed. trembling “i want… i want you to touch me.”
his smile is slow and dangerous “hm?”
“like a man who’s gonna fuck you so good, you forget that stupid boy’s name?”
you whimper. nod.
his grip tightens on your waist. “then get on your fucking knees.”
your knees hit the carpet. almost. one second you’re sinking down, lips parted, heartbeat so loud you can hear it in your ears—ready to give in, ready to beg if he tells you to.
and then he steps back, sharp. cold. your eyes shoot up, confused, desperate.
he just watches you from above, something wicked curling behind his smirk “next time, baby.”
your mouth parts. a soft, disappointed sound escapes before you can stop it.
he tilts his head, gaze dragging down your body, slow and appreciative—like he’s memorizing the sight of you on your knees in his living room.
“maybe you break up with my son before you drop to your knees for his father.”
the words hit like a slap. shame and heat mix in your stomach, thick and filthy. your lips tremble. you want to argue. you want to say jake doesn’t love you, doesn’t touch you, doesn’t see you like this.
but rafe already knows. he crouches down to your level, fingers brushing under your chin, lifting your gaze back to his. “you don’t get to play innocent now, sweetheart.”
“you knew what you were doing. you’ve known.”
his thumb presses against your lip. “and next time you get on your knees for me…”
he leans closer, his voice almost a whisper, “you won’t be getting back up for a while.”
then he stands. walks away like nothing happened. like he didn’t just unravel you without laying a hand.
you’re left on the floor, burning. aching. ruined.
and your phone lights up again.
jake: “on my way back soon, you want anything?”
you stare at the screen. and you realize:you do. but it’s not from him.
warnings: 18+ MDNI, dom!bfd!rafe, smut in a public bathroom (semi-public), rough unprotected sex, age gap (rafe is 47), sir kink, daddy kink, choking, spit, hair pulling, exhibitionism, cheating, possessiveness, toxic obsession, reader’s a brat, rafe’s a menace, sofia & jake are just outside, absolutely no morals left
☁️ minors — don’t even think about it. ☁️
bfd!rafe
vacation was jake’s idea. sun, sand, and “family bonding.”
you pretended to be excited. packed tiny bikinis and barely-there dresses, kissed his cheek when he booked the airbnb, smiled through the six-hour car ride while he played the same three songs over and over and still forgot to ask you how work was.
but none of it mattered.
not when rafe got out of his truck in a white tee, sunglasses hanging off his neck, one hand gripping a beer and the other flexing around your waist when he hugged you a little too low.
“you look good, sweetheart.” a pause. “real good.”
you couldn’t even say thank you.
just looked at him, heart hammering, thighs pressed together.
now it’s day three.
sofia’s on her phone at the pier bar—flirting with a man she swore she didn’t know. jake’s off buying overpriced sunglasses at the boardwalk shop.
and you?
you’re slammed against the back wall of a hot, humid beach bathroom with your boyfriend’s dad’s hand over your mouth
“quiet, baby.” his voice is rough. low. “you make one sound, i leave you like this. dripping and needy. can’t cum without daddy, remember?”
you moan behind his palm.
his other hand slips up your sundress, thick fingers brushing over the lace of your thong—then tugging it aside like it offended him.
“fuck, you’re soaked already.”
he chuckles. cruel. “just from me walking in here, huh? such a little whore.”
he spreads you with his fingers, leans in to spit on your cunt, then slides two fingers in without warning.
you whimper.
“what would jake think if he saw his girl like this?”
his voice is a growl now. “bent over in a dirty fucking bathroom, desperate for his father’s cock?”
your knees buckle.
he catches you with ease—of course he does—grabs your face, makes you look at yourself in the scratched metal mirror.
“look at you,” he whispers. “mouth open. eyes fucked out. drooling already.”
you whine, eyes fluttering. “please, sir…”
“please what?”
“fuck me,” you gasp. “please, fuck me with your cock—make me yours again—”
he pulls his belt open like it’s instinct, pushing his jeans down just enough to free himself.
and then he’s inside.
deep. all at once.
you slap a hand to the mirror, eyes wide, jaw slack.
he groans behind you, grabbing your hips with bruising force, dragging you back onto him.
“so fuckin’ tight,” he grits. “this pussy was made for me.”
your breath catches.
you nod. “yours, sir—yours, always—”
he starts to fuck you in slow, brutal thrusts.
the kind that leave you gasping, the kind that make your toes curl in your sandals, the kind that make you forget your own fucking name.
your dress is bunched around your waist, his hand pressing your face to the mirror.
“what if sofia walks in?” he breathes. “or jake?”
you whimper.
he tightens his grip. “you’d let me keep going, wouldn’t you?”
“let me fuck you while they watched?”
you nod frantically. tears spilling.
he moans, cock twitching inside you.
“fuck, baby… you’re gonna make me cum just from that.”
he pulls out. flips you around. lifts you onto the edge of the sink and slams back in.
your legs wrap around him, arms flung over his shoulders. his hand finds your throat—tight. perfect.
your eyes roll back. “sir—sir please—i’m gonna cum—”
“then do it.” his voice is sharp.”cum for daddy. make a mess. i’ll lick it off the fucking floor if i have to.”
and you do.
loud. messy. choking on your own gasp as you tighten around him and fall apart like you were born to be ruined by this man.
he cums seconds later, teeth at your collarbone, cock twitching deep inside.
when he pulls back, your legs are shaking.
his hand brushes your cheek. “clean yourself up, baby.” he smirks. “they’re probably wondering where we are.”
bfd!rafe taglist masterlist
interacting with this post (likes, replies, reblogs) lets me know you still want to be on the taglist! i’m trying to keep it active, so if you’re silent for too long, i might stop tagging you <3 no hard feelings, just trying to keep it tidy!
warnings: 18+ MDNI, dom!bfd!rafe, fingering in public, semi-exhibitionism, age gap (rafe is 47), sir kink, daddy kink, beach sex, cheating, reader’s obsessed, rafe’s worse, possessiveness, degradation/praise, reader gets off in public, mean dirty talk, casual corruption
☁️ this is your last warning, minors — you can’t sit with us. ☁️
bfd!rafe
the ocean’s loud. the sand’s hot beneath the towel that’s now twisted up around your waist.
jake is in the waves somewhere, laughing with some new friends he made—doing backflips into the water like the overgrown 12-year-old he is. sofia’s flirting with the lifeguard. again.
you’re in a lounge chair under the umbrella, oversized sunglasses on, tiny bikini bottoms nearly invisible beneath the towel draped across your thighs.
and beside you sits your boyfriend’s dad. shirtless, sunkissed, a book open in his lap and one hand slowly, subtly creeping under the cover of your towel.
you’d barely said a word all day. not after the bathroom.
but the look he gave you when he saw you in that bikini?
you knew. you were getting touched today.
you just didn’t expect it to be here.
his fingers skim higher.
“be still, baby,” he mutters, eyes still on the page like he’s not slipping past the elastic of your bottoms. “unless you want someone to see.”
your breath stutters.
you shift. legs part instinctively.
he tsks softly. “needy little thing.”
his fingers slide through your folds. slow. deliberate. like he’s feeling you for the first time all over again. you’re soaked. of course you are.
“god, you’re wet already?”
he smirks. doesn’t look at you. “just from sitting next to me?”
your sunglasses hide your fluttering eyes, but not your gasp when he pushes two fingers inside you under the towel.
your back arches slightly—barely.
“quiet.” he curls them. “be. quiet.”
you bite down on your lip.
you’ve never felt so full from just fingers. he’s deep, knuckles brushing the soft spot that makes your thighs jerk. he strokes slow, gentle even, but every curl is perfect—practiced, cruel, possessive.
his thumb grazes your clit, and your hips jerk again.
“you gonna cum for me right here?” his voice is low, amused. “surrounded by families, kids, your own boyfriend splashing ten feet away?”
your body burns. “please—sir—”
he finally looks at you.
his eyes are dark behind his sunglasses, lips curling into something dangerous.
“go on then.”
“cum all over daddy’s fingers. make a mess, baby. just don’t make a sound.”
your whole body locks.
your thighs clamp. your jaw drops. you dig your fingers into the edge of the towel as you gush around him, breath stuck in your throat, a soft whimper caught in your chest like a secret.
and he keeps fucking you through it, slow and teasing, until you’re twitching, overstimmed, wrecked.
when he pulls his fingers out, he lifts them to his mouth.
sucks them clean. doesn’t say a word.
just flips the page of his book.
you’re still trembling under the towel, heart pounding in the summer heat, cheeks flushed a deep pink that’s way more than sunburn.
rafe’s fingers have just slipped away, but the slick shine on them still gleams in the sunlight.
you’re biting your lip, eyes hidden behind your dark glasses, trying to steady your breathing when—
jake strolls up from the water, shaking his head like he’s just caught a second wind.
he squints at you, frowning.
“hey, babe… you okay? you look kinda red. too hot?”
your throat tightens, but before you can even try to answer—rafe’s voice cuts through, low and steady, a dangerous calm in every word.
“she’s fine, son.”
his eyes never leave his book.
there’s this weight behind it, unshakable, silent warning. “probably just the sun.”
jake shrugs and looks back at you. “you sure? wanna grab some water or maybe jump back in?”
rafe’s hand settles on your knee—firm, possessive. “she’s not going anywhere.”
and just like that, jake laughs it off and heads back to the waves, unaware that his girl and his father are sharing a secret hotter than the midsummer sun.
you press closer into the towel, heart thudding.
rafe’s fingers twitch, already itching to find you again.
but for now, you stay silent, flushed, and absolutely his.
rafe’s hand lingers on your knee, thumb tracing lazy circles like he owns every inch of you. his eyes flick from the crashing waves to your flushed face, the way your lips part slightly under the sun.
he leans in, voice low—just for you. “why are you still with him, sweetheart?”
your breath catches, heat blooming deeper.
you bite your lip, searching his eyes, daring. “and why are you still with sofia, sir?”
his jaw tightens. a slow smile curls at the edge of his lips—half amused, half dangerous.
“she’s always somewhere else. god knows where, doing god knows what… or god knows who.”
he squeezes your knee gently, like a secret promise.
“but you,” he says, voice dropping an octave, “you’re right here. with me. and i don’t plan on letting you go.”
you meet his gaze, heart thudding in sync.
“then maybe it’s time for both of us to stop pretending.”
he laughs softly, dark and warm. “yeah, baby. maybe it is.”
you let your fingers trail over his hand on your knee, cool against his warm skin.
your voice is low, steady — but dripping with that same dangerous heat. “we won’t stop, sir.”
rafe’s eyes narrow, intrigued. “why not?”
you lean in just enough so your lips almost brush his ear.
“because we need to keep these relationships,” you murmur, “so we can keep doing this.”
your words hang in the heavy air like a promise and a warning all at once.
he presses a finger under your chin, lifting your gaze to meet his. “smart girl.”
his grin is slow, satisfied, “playing the long game.”
you smirk back, heart pounding. “always.”
into something sharper. “so, exclusively then, baby?” his voice is low, almost a growl.
you hesitate, the weight of the question heavy in the salty air.
“i—kinda…” you start, voice small, “maybe jake sometimes wants to do something. or if sofia…”
his hand tightens on your knee, knuckles white with grip
his jaw clenches. “you’d fuck jake again?” he spits, sharp and possessive, voice rough like it might snap.
heat floods your cheeks but you don’t back down.
you lean close, voice a harsh whisper, almost a yell. “he’s your son, rafe. you can’t be jealous… of your son.”
his breath hitches. for a moment, silence.
then—he pulls you closer by the waist, possessive fire blazing in his eyes.
“i’m not jealous.” his lips brush your temple, voice dripping with dark promise. “i’m fucking furious.”
and you shiver beneath him, knowing exactly how far that fury could take you both.
you press your forehead against his chest, voice soft but steady.
“this—what we do…” you breathe out, “it’s not right.”
rafe’s fingers still clutch your waist, waiting.
“feels right,” you admit, “yes. but it isn’t.”
you pull back just enough to look into his eyes, shadows of doubt and desire mingling there. “so we’ll have to pretend.”
his jaw tightens, then slowly, a dark smile curls on his lips. “pretending’s never been my strong suit, baby.”
bfd!rafe taglist masterlist
interacting with this post (likes, replies, reblogs) lets me know you still want to be on the taglist! i’m trying to keep it active, so if you’re silent for too long, i might stop tagging you <3 no hard feelings, just trying to keep it tidy!
warnings: 18+ MDNI, heavy sexual tension, suggestive af, public teasing, age gap (rafe is 47), dom!bfd!rafe, bratty?reader, neglectful!bf jake, cheating, physical teasing (thigh groping + hand under the table), hand on that d, rafe is so toxic it’s delicious — SMUTTY VIBES but no full-on sex, towel-wrapped rafe, wet reader (literally + figuratively), obsession, light degradation, daddy issues, tension so thick it’s practically foreplay
☁️ if you’re under 18, this is your cue to leave ☁️
boyfriendsdad!rafe
the restaurant is too nice for you to be this wet.
your dress is short—maybe too short for family dinner—but jake didn’t notice. he barely looked up from his phone when you walked out of the guest room, barely said “you look nice, babe” before heading for the car.
but rafe did.
he looked. then looked again.
eyes slow. jaw clenched. that subtle little fuck me twitch behind his eyes.
you should’ve sat beside your boyfriend. but you didn’t.
you slid into the booth next to his father, smooth and shameless, and jake didn’t even blink—just dropped beside sofia, already complaining about the wait time. she fake-laughed, too busy taking selfies for her “grateful dinner nights 💕” story to care.
rafe’s hand finds your thigh before the waiter even brings water. low. heavy. slow.
he doesn’t look at you, just keeps talking to jake about stock options or whatever rich men pretend to care about when they’ve got a pretty little thing squirming next to them under the table.
his fingers tap. drag. slide just under the hem of your dress.
you shift in your seat, thighs parting a little more, lips parting too
no one notices.
his pinky brushes the crease where your thigh meets your pussy. you almost choke on your wine.
“you aight?” jake asks, finally glancing over.
you nod. smile too wide.
“just swallowed wrong.”
rafe’s hand curls, palm firm now, moving higher.
you feel the heat of his fingers inches from where you want them.
your head’s spinning. so you get bold.
your hand drops under the table. slow. innocent.
you brush it against his thigh. his knee.
then higher.
he stiffens beside you. still not looking. still talking. but his voice falters—just barely—when your fingers find the hard shape in his pants.
you shouldn’t.
you palm him through his slacks anyway. soft, slow, just enough to say i’m not scared of you. i’m not scared of this.
his hand squeezes your thigh in warning
you keep going.
he leans in, finally. voice low against your ear.“careful, sweetheart.”
“you play with fire, you’re gonna burn for it.”
your smile is sweet. fake. teasing him back “maybe i want to.”
under the table, he presses two fingers right against the heat between your legs—firm, perfect pressure.
you gasp.he smirks.“then be a good girl and don’t cum at dinner.”
it’s nearly 1am when you slip out of jake’s room.
he’s out cold, snoring with one sock on, his phone still open to some stupid meme.
he didn’t even try to touch you when you got home.
not a hand on your waist. not a whisper of you looked hot tonight, babe.
you faked sleep just to avoid hearing him ask if you were mad
you’re not mad.
you’re starving.
the kitchen tiles are cool under your bare feet. the air smells like chlorine and rafe’s cologne—rich and clean, a little sinful. you grab a glass and turn toward the fridge…
and freeze. he’s already there.
leaning against the counter, glass of bourbon in one hand, the other resting casually on the knot of the towel slung low on his hips. chest bare. wet. droplets gliding down hard lines of muscle like they’ve been given permission.
he doesn’t flinch when you catch him.
he waits.
like he knew you’d come.
his eyes drag over your legs, the hem of your sleep shorts, the way your nipples peak under your thin tank top. no bra. of course no bra.
you blink, mouth dry. “you always drink half-naked in the kitchen?”
he takes a sip. “only when my son’s girlfriend looks like that in the middle of the night.”
you grip the counter. hard. “you shouldn’t say that.”
he shrugs, slow and lazy. “you shouldn’t wear that around me.”
your pulse spikes. you cross your arms, but it only makes your tits push up higher.
he notices.
he steps closer. towel still clinging to his hips like a secret.
his skin smells like heat and fucking every sinful thought you ever had.
you can hear water drip from his hair onto his collarbone.
you whisper it before you can stop yourself, “they’re both asleep.”
his jaw flexes.
“and sofia?” you add, almost mocking. “she gonna come walking in?”
he laughs, low. bitter.
“sofia hasn’t slept at tannyhill in a month. god knows where she is—”his eyes flash.“—or at who’s.”
you nod. slow. soft. “sounds like we’ve both been left lonely.”
he steps closer again.
no more space between you now. just heat.
his fingers ghost up your arm, featherlight.
“what are you doing down here, sweetheart?” he murmurs.
his voice is warm honey and poison. “you come for water… or to finish what you started under the table?”
your breath catches.
his hand curls around your throat—not tight. just there. his thumb brushes the corner of your lip, slow and reverent.
“look at you,” he whispers. “still wet, aren’t you?”
you nod. eyes glassy.
“then say it.”
“say you want me to touch you again.”
you swallow. heart hammering. “i want you to touch me again.”
his hand drops to your thigh.
“then get on the counter, baby.”
“and keep your voice down this time.”
->next bfd!rafe taglist masterlist
interacting with this post (likes, replies, reblogs) lets me know you still want to be on the taglist! i’m trying to keep it active, so if you’re silent for too long, i might stop tagging you <3 no hard feelings, just trying to keep it tidy!
