dbf!rafe who’s low key flirting with you while you guys clean up after a summer backyard party 🫣🫣
(also, love your writing!!)
your dad’s already gone inside with a bourbon in one hand and half a cigar forgotten in the other, leaving just you and rafe in the backyard to deal with the mess. summer’s bleeding into the edges of the sky, gold and navy, and the fire pit’s just embers now. a few string lights flicker tired above your heads. the party’s over, but rafe’s still here.
you don’t know much about rafe. to be fair, you spent most of your life with your mom in the city. backyard barbecues weren’t exactly in the rotation. especially not with the beach less than a mile away. it wasn’t until last fall, when you graduated college and decided to live with your dad, that you even remembered rafe existed.
he used to be a name in old stories. rafe cameron, your dad’s wild friend from college. the one with a million dollar grin and a reputation for knowing how to talk his way out of anything. the one who inherited a billion dollar company and still shows up to cookouts with dirt under his fingernails and a six-pack in tow.
you figured he’d be some middle aged finance guy with a comb over and a golf addiction. you weren’t expecting him. you weren’t expecting the way his jaw ticks when he’s thinking, or how he holds eye contact a beat too long. you weren’t expecting the way he looks at you sometimes. like you’re something new, like you make him nervous.
and now here you are. summer night tickling your bare legs, plastic cups sticky with dried lemonade, and rafe calling you sweetheart like it’s a challenge.
he nudges an empty beer bottle with the toe of his flip flops, glances at you. “you always clean up after everyone else, sweetheart? or is that just for me?”
you blink and straighten up from where you’re crouched by the cooler. “you think i’m cleaning for you?” you shake your head with a grin. your dad’s older friend flirting with you was a foreign situation for you.
he shrugs, slow, all smug posture and damp hair from when he dramatically ripped off his shirt and jumped in the pool. the sleeves of his white dress shirt are rolled just below his elbows, revealing tan forearms and a frayed woven bracelet that looks older than you. “wouldn’t blame you if you were.” he smirks and your eyes can’t help but fall to the scrape of his stubble.
your stomach flips. it’s stupid. you hate how he talks like that, like it doesn’t mean anything. like his voice isn’t doing that low, scratchy thing that curls around your spine.
you shove a stack of used paper plates into the trash bag between you. “and what would you be doing if i wasn’t here, huh? letting raccoons do the clean up?”
he chuckles, low. “maybe. though i doubt the raccoons would be as pretty.” his white shirt clings to his back, contouring his muscular back. his smirk deepens as he follows your gaze.
your eyes snap to him. he’s watching you shamelessly. all calm, relaxed confidence. as if he’s not your dad’s best friend. like you’re not half his age with your life ahead of you. “you’re gonna get yourself in trouble talking like that,” you say, voice a little quieter now. your eyes burn holes into the grass. you avoid his gaze like wildfire.
he leans on the deck railing, beer bottle dangling from his fingers. “you think i’m scared of a little trouble?”
you don’t answer right away. you chew on the inside of your cheek and focus too hard on picking up a fork from the grass. and then, because you don’t like the way he makes you feel small but warm all at once, you throw it right back. “no. i think you like it.”
his lips curl upwards in a warm grin. he smilies with his mouth, but you felt it through his stare. your knees began to buckle under the weight of it. “there she is,” he says, voice low and a little amused. “knew there was some bite in you.”
you look at him for real this time. your voice still soft, still unsure, but your chin’s lifted. “you don’t know anything about me.”
“mm,” he hums. takes a swig of his beer. “no. but i’d like to.” he holds your gaze just a second too long. then, he moves, walks past you with the lazy ease of someone who knows he’s being watched. he grabs the last two red solo cups and chucks them into the trash.
“grab the bag, will you?” he says, halfway up the porch. “it’s gettin’ late.” you swallow. hoist the bag onto your shoulder and follow, heart tripping over itself. just before he disappears into the house, he glances over his shoulder and adds, “don’t worry, sweetheart. i won’t tell your dad how you’re blushing right now.”
a wink, a grin, and then he’s gone. you’re left standing there, cherry cheeked and fuming. because a part of you is buzzing. because you liked it.
summary: you only meant to grab a water. it’s late. everyone’s asleep. you're not even thinking when you slip into the kitchen wearing just his old shirt. but he’s there. and he’s looking.
warnings: dbf!rafe, age gap, soft tension, no touching, awkward!reader, reader in underwear (and a shirt🫡) , idk what else.
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you don't mean to walk in like this. you really don't. it's past midnight. the house is dark. you think everyone's asleep — your dad, your cousins, everyone.you’re hot. flushed. the covers too heavy. you need water. so you slip out of the room in nothing but a t-shirt — his old one, actually. from who-knows-when. it’s soft and big and you’re not wearing anything under it, but that’s fine. no one’s awake.
except—
he’s there. at the kitchen table. legs spread, coffee mug in hand, half in the dark.and now you’re frozen. your bare thighs lit up by the fridge light. your breath caught in your throat. and his eyes are already on you.
he doesn’t move. just lifts the mug to his lips, slow. like he was waiting for this.
you flinch. “i—sorry. i didn’t know—”
“clearly,” he says. voice low. sleep-rough. “should’ve checked first, kid.”
you want to run. you don’t.
“i just—I needed water. i wasn’t—i didn’t think.”
his eyes drag over your legs again. “yeah,” he murmurs. “that much’s obvious.”
you shift your weight. your fingers twist in the hem of the shirt. it brushes high up your thighs when you do. he leans back. legs still spread. one brow raised. “you really shouldn’t be walking around like that when everyone’s asleep.” his voice is soft. but it lands hard.
you nod. “right.”
you don’t move toward the sink. you don’t move at all.
he watches you for another second. then — casual as hell — looks away and says, “go ahead.”
you blink. “what?”
“get your water.”
you stare. “you’re not—leaving?”
he huffs a breath. doesn’t smile. “you’re the one half-naked. not me.” your cheeks burn. your whole body burns.
you move to the sink as fast as you can without running. grab a glass. fill it. the water sounds deafening. he doesn’t say a word.you feel his eyes on your back. or maybe your legs. maybe lower. when you turn back, he’s still staring.
you clutch the glass like a weapon. your voice is paper-thin. “i should—go.”
“you should.” you wait. he sips. doesn’t stop you.
so you go.
feet quiet on the tile. shirt clinging to your thighs.
and just before you reach the hall, he says: “next time," pause. “maybe put something else on. unless you meant to wake me up.”
you don't answer. you just keep walking. and that night, in bed, you don’t fall asleep. because his shirt still smells like him. and you don’t know what he meant.
Thinking about an younger reader calling Dark!Dilf Rafe old and that’s he needs some viagra 😭LOL
Imagining his reaction 🤬
Softcore
Dark!Dad’sBestFriend/DILF!Rafe x f!Reader
Warnings: noncon (rape), ignoring safe words, smut, large age gap (20-30 years), spanking, choking, unprotected sex, unwanted creampie, breeding kink, degradation, secret relationship, manipulation, daddy kink, Rafe uses ‘kid’ to refer to reader a couple times, Rafe wants to get reader pregnant against her will
A/N: In my mind Rafe is in his late 40s/early 50s in this and Reader is 19/early-mid 20s
⚠️CHECK ALL CONTENT WARNINGS BEFORE READING‼️⚠️
“Y’know, maybe I didn’t hear you correctly kid, would you mind repeating yourself?”
You could tell by the edge in his voice that you had succeeded in getting a reaction out of him, but the way his blue eyes darkened as he glared at you led you to swallow down your cockiness.
Your boyfriend’s tall frame crowded your vision as he approached the bed you were lounging on as he removed his boxers.
Glancing away didn’t help, as the older man’s large hand came to your chin, redirecting your attention back up to him as he towered above you. Still you found your eyes fixed on the spots where his dark blond hair had begun turning silver.
“What did you just say to me, Y/N?” He spoke slowly, as if you were child who was acting up.
Despite knowing that this was his way of giving you a chance to retract what you had just said, you huffed in annoyance, rolling your eyes at the man who was older than your own father, before repeating yourself with a small laugh, “I said, I’m getting you viagra for your birthday since you’re getting so old.”
Rafe’s jaw tightened in frustration, eyebrows furrowing together before suddenly moving the hand on your cheek to your throat, applying a light pressure that had your eyes widening in surprise.
“You think this is fucking funny?” Rafe growled before pinning you to the bed you were sitting on by your throat.
The back of your head hit the soft mattress, the force at which Rafe had grabbed you made your pink lingerie slip ride up, exposing your matching panties underneath and some of the soft skin of your tummy. He licked his lips as he watched your nipples harden beneath the thin material.
“Rafe-” you eeked in surprise, your hand reaching up to grab the one at your throat.
“Still think this is a joke?”
It took almost no effort for him to grab you again, climbing onto the bed as he manhandled you into laying across his lap face down.
“Rafe! Stop it! I’m sorry, okay?!” Your desperate pleas for him to release you went unfulfilled, and as you thrashed on his lap, trying to break free, you already knew what was coming next in return for your careless joke, and you couldn’t tell if the pit in your stomach came from excitement or fear.
“Nah, I don’t think I am gonna stop,” goosebumps erupted across your skin when you felt him pull the material of your slip up your back, exposing your round ass to him.
You shivered when he placed his hand flat on your ass, rubbing your skin and lightly groping the fat of your butt.
The blond drew his hand back and your tensed in anticipation before he spanked you hard. The extra sting from his rings made you whine and you bit your lip to keep from crying out.
“What do you say?” His expectant voice reminded you of your rules.
“… thank you, daddy,” you reluctantly forced through gritted teeth.
This second strike was harder this time, on the same place he had hit you last and you cried out louder this time.
“Mm- thank you, daddy. I’m sorry,” you added at the end, stupidly hoping that niceties could get your through this punishment faster.
He spanked you again, this time smacking the untouched cheek, and you moaned at the sharp pain.
“Y’really think sucking up to me now is gonna help you out, sweetheart?” He said mockingly, as if he was reading your mind.
You were slower to answer him, his words taking longer to register as your body tried to numb the pain.
“N-no. And thank you, daddy.” You didn’t want to forget to thank him again, he only ever gave you one warning.
Rafe was clearly enjoying toying with you, you could feel his stiff cock poking against your thigh, further proof no viagra was needed.
After 4 more spanks, your eyes were leaking tears, lip wobbling as you mumbled out appreciations each time he struck your now bright red ass.
“Rafe! Please, I said I’m sorry, okay?! It was-” you hiccuped through tears, “it was just a stupid joke.”
You swore you felt his dick throb against you at the sound of your pleading voice.
He ignored you, however, instead striking your ass three times quickly and rough enough that you almost screamed from the pain and shock.
“Red light! Rafe please,” you sobbed out the safe word that you and Rafe always used, but the sound of him chuckling darkly in response made your blood run cold.
Pain bloomed across your already sore ass again and you whimpered. You were crying heavily now, and you brought your own hand to your mouth to muffle your weeping when he spanked you again.
“Have you learned your fucking lesson?” His stern voice came from above and you nodded immediately.
“Yes daddy, please! I’m so sorry.” You cried desperately.
You winced when you sensed his hand nearing you again, but this time, his thumb slipped between your legs and traced over your barely clothed slit.
You squirmed in his lap as his lazily thumbed your clit over your panties, whining when he applied pressure.
“You’re so fucking pathetic, you know that, kid? Pretty sick of you to be so goddamn drenched for an ‘old man’ like me.” Rafe mocked you, and to your embarrassment, you could feel yourself growing wetter when he slid your panties to the side and slowly pushed his thick middle finger into your slick cunt.
A whimper escaped your lips when he curled his finger inside you, and your hips twitched as you tried to make more friction between the two of you.
“Shut up,” you moaned before he finally started thrusting the digit into you.
“Please, we both know you get off on the fact that your father has no clue his little princess is sleeping with his best friend.” You didn’t have to see him to know the triumphant, jeering smirk he had playing across his lips.
You also didn’t deny what he said, because you couldn’t. No matter how completely fucked up it was, you did find sneaking behind your parents’ back to see an older man to be thrilling in the sickest way possible.
Not to mention how hard you had came on the several occasions the two of you had gotten close to being discovered (every time, his hand had slapped over your mouth to stifle your moans, but he didn’t stop fucking you until he emptied himself into the condom, no matter how high the risk of being caught).
Part of you suspected he was so careless at times because he wanted the two of you to get caught, a thought that was so unbelievable at first that you completely dismissed it, but when two times became three, and then three times became an almost weekly occurrence, you found it hard to deny that he seemed to enjoy putting you in situations where you could be discovered.
You felt him pull his finger out of you before grabbing your waist and flipping you onto your back onto the bed, and you protested as he climbed over you, caging you beneath him with his big, veiny arms.
“How mad do ya think he’d be if I put a baby in you, huh, Y/N?” Your eyes widened as he looked down at you hungrily.
“Rafe-” you said warily, trying to sit up and get out from under him, but the older man easily grabbed your shoulder and pushed you back on the bed.
“I bet he’d kick you out of the house if you got knocked up.” Despite your kicking, his strong hands grabbed the straps of your panties, ripping them past your legs and tossing them behind him.
“But imagine how disappointed with you he’d be if he knew you let me do it,” Rafe chuckled, and more tears formed at your waterline as his words sunk in.
“Stop it, Rafe. I’m serious, this isn’t funny, it’s sick,” you couldn’t stop your voice from wavering as you looked up at him.
When one of his hands locked tight around your wrist, you whimpered, struggling against him to free yourself.
You froze when you felt the head of his thick cock rubbing against your slit, and Rafe’s grip on your wrist tightened as he started to push his tip inside of you.
“Stop fucking moving around, Y/N,” his gruff voice commanded.
Resisting did nothing to help you, and you were almost disgusted by how wet you felt as he forced himself deeper.
Taking all of Rafe’s cock was never a painless process for you, he was so thick it always felt like he was splitting you in half, even more-so now.
Tears spilled down your cheeks as he stretched you out slowly. Rafe groaned when his dick nudged your cervix, dropping his head to your neck and trailing sloppy kisses along the tender skin.
You moaned loudly, tensing at first when his lips found your throat, making the older man curse under his breath when you tightened around him.
“Shit, kid. You feel fucking amazing.” His breath tickled at your neck and you squirmed beneath him as you tried to adjust to the pressure between your legs.
Rafe’s free hand came to your throat, squeezing tight as he tilted his hips back and then slammed into you.
You whined, closing your eyes in surprise, pain outweighing the pleasure at first. His fingers twitched around your throat as he felt your walls grow slicker and he was able to fuck you faster.
Delirious waves of ecstasy clouded your mind, his thick cock stretched you out in a way that made your head spin.
Rafe’s grip on your throat tightened and you reached for his wrist, hoping that his hold on you would relent, but the older man just took it as a sign to rut into you harder.
You wrapped your legs around his waist, losing yourself in the rhythm of his pace, greedily grinding your hips to bring yourself closer to the edge.
When his free hand crept between your legs and his thumb began rubbing circles over your clit, you whined, opening your legs for him more so he could fuck you deeper and massage your clit easier.
“Daddy- I’m- fuck-” you mindlessly babbled between moans, already feeling your mind go blank with each snap of his hips.
“Yeah?” He groaned when he felt you pulse around him. “Gonna cum on this dick like daddy’s good girl?”
Alarm bells should have been sounding in your head, but in the moment, you cared too much about chasing pleasure rather than facing consequences to resist.
So you obeyed him.
You whimpered as you came undone, the wave of pleasure washing over you again and again as the blond pushed his cock into you relentlessly. Your body sagged against the bed, head lolling back as you rode out your orgasm.
Rafe could feel your walls pulsing and constricting around him, squeezing his cock so tight it almost hurt him.
He bit back a curse before reaching one of his strong arms behind your back, staying inside you the entire time as he pulled you up off the bed and onto his lap. Your legs fell to the side of his as he rutted into you from below.
The new position had your quaking thighs squeezing against him, and you wrapped an arm over his shoulder and around his back in an attempt to steady yourself. The change of angle made your head spin and you whimpered in pain as he split you open with his dick.
Rafe’s lips hungrily captured yours and your stomach flipped when he forced his tongue into your mouth, holding your head in place to kiss you deeper as he fucked you up and down on his cock.
When he broke the kiss, you both gasped for air, and you felt his grip on your waist tighten, “Fuck, kid. How’d I get so lucky?”
You couldn’t answer him, so lost in matching the movement of his hips that you couldn’t think about anything else.
His lips found your neck, nipping and kissing the tender skin to pull more moans from you.
“So perfect, sweetheart. M’ gonna fill you up,” he whispered into your throat between kisses.
At his words, you remembered why you had resisted in the first place, eyes widening as you squirmed in his lap. Rafe’s pace only increased as he locked his arm around your waist, pressing you against his bare chest and stopping you from pulling away as he pounded into you.
“Rafe- red light-!” you were cut off when his big hand covered your mouth, and you helplessly squealed against him.
“Shut the fuck up and take it, kid,” he snapped and you felt yourself unconsciously clench around him.
The older man drilled into you, stretching you out with each punishing thrust.
“Fuck- fuck!” He groaned, squeezing you against his chest as his hips stuttered and he came undone inside you.
You whined as you felt his hot seed flood your walls. Trying to get off of him proved fruitless when he held you in place and forced you to milk his cock of every drop.
The sticky feeling of his cum dripping down his cock deep inside of you was inescapable and you shuddered when he lightly bucked his hips to thrust himself up inside you again.
Has dadbf Rafe ever gone too far sexually with her? Like maybe she had to use their safe word because she felt overwhelmed? I can see him absolutely crumbling inside knowing he pushed her too far
a/n— dbf!rafe is back, loved this <3 reminds me of the line in 505 by artic monkeys “but I crumble completely when you cry”
Rafe had you pinned beneath him, his hands gripping your wrists above your head. His kisses were rough, heated, everything was fast and relentless. The pressure of his hand on your throat was firm, his lips brushing against your ear as he growled, “You’ve been such a brat all week. Thought you could push me and get away with it? Hm slut?”
You tried to respond, but the intensity of his actions made it hard to breathe, not just physically, but emotionally. His body pressed you into the mattress, and his roughness wasn’t the usual thrilling kind. It felt too much, too rough, overwhelming.
“Rafe—” you tried, your voice faint and shaky, but he didn’t catch it as he kept going. You managed to choke out the safe word that you both had agreed upon, your heart racing.
He froze instantly, his grip on your wrists loosening as his eyes darted to yours in alarm. “What?” he whispered.
You swallowed hard, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes as you repeated the safe word softly, your voice breaking.
He immediately pulled back, his hands releasing you completely as he scrambled off you, sitting on the bed with wide, panicked eyes. “Oh my God, baby, I— I’m so sorry,” he stammered, his voice trembling. “Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”
You sat up slowly, wrapping your arms around yourself, trying to steady your breathing. “I just, It was too much. I felt overwhelmed.”
Rafe’s hands were trembling as he reached for you, but then he stopped himself, unsure if you wanted him to touch you. “I didn’t realize—I didn’t mean to—I swear I wasn’t trying to hurt you,” he said, his voice cracking.
You nodded, trying to calm both yourself and him. “I know. You stopped when I needed you to. I’m okay now.”
But the look on his face was devastating. He looked like a man who had just shattered something precious. “I should’ve been paying more attention. I—fuck, I hate myself for this,” he muttered, running a hand through his buzzed hair in frustration.
His gentleness returned as he grabbed a blanket and carefully wrapped it around you. “You’re okay,” he murmured, his voice full of regret. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”
He stayed beside you, stroking your curls and kissing your forehead as you calmed down. “I’m so so sorry,” he repeated over and over, his voice barely above a whisper.
When it was time to sleep, you turned away, still feeling unsettled. Rafe didn’t push it. He tucked you in, brushing your hair out of your face before whispering, “I love you.” You didn’t respond, and he quietly moved to the chair in the corner, leaving you to rest.
You woke up in the middle of the night to find the space beside you empty. Rafe was sitting on the edge of a chair in the corner, his head in his hands.
“Rafe?” you called softly, sitting up.
His head snapped up, and his face was etched with guilt. “I didn’t mean to wake you. Go back to sleep.”
You climbed out of bed and padded over to him. “What’s wrong?”
He sighed, his shoulders tense. “I feel like shit. I pushed you too hard, and I hurt you. I can’t stop thinking about it.”
You knelt in front of him, placing your head on his knees and looking up at him. “Rafe, I’m okay now. You stopped when I needed you to. That’s what matters.”
“It’s not okay,” he said, his voice cracking. “You trust me, and I broke that tonight.”
You shook your head. “No, you didn’t. You listened when I said the safe word. You took care of me. That’s what trust is.”
He still looked unconvinced, so you stood and wrapped your arms around him, pressing your cheek to his chest. His arms came around you slowly, and he exhaled shakily.
“I’m so sorry,” he murmured into your curls, holding you tightly.
“I know,” you whispered back, leaning up to kiss his jaw. “I forgive you.”
He kissed you softly and whispered, “I love you,” as his lips trailed along your forehead and cheeks.
“I love you too,” you replied, curling up with him on the bed. This time, when his arms wrapped around you, they felt like home. You both drifted off, holding each other close.
hii! can you write how dbf!rafe like still flirting with reader and then he sits her on his lap and she is so embarrassed and he is all smirking and then she starts move on it and he doesn't say anything but you can see everything in his eyes
it happens after a long afternoon of nothing. rafe’s sunk deep into the couch, boots kicked off, a beer balanced on his thigh. the air lingers with sun and chlorine, a hint of sweat still clinging to the back of your knees. music plays low from his speaker. it’s something slow, southern, crooning.
he’s been watching you. not obvious. not all at once. just enough to make your skin warm and your legs tingly.
“you always fidget this much?” he murmurs, voice like the first sip of whiskey.
your head snaps toward him. “i’m not fidgeting.” you drop the frayed ends of your micro shorts and place your hands by your side.
he smirks, doesn’t even look up. “sure you’re not.”
he sets his beer down, leans back, spreads his thighs like he owns the furniture. “c’mere.”
you choke on your spit. “what?”
“i said,” slower now, softer, “c’mere.”
“what if my dad-” you try to think of any excuse in the world to avoid this.
“sweetheart, your dad is on a date. the probability of him coming home at all tonight is low.” he chuckles and your knees buckle.
you hesitate. because you know what he’s doing. but you want it just as bad as he does. your body listens before your brain does. he watches the way you walk over. watches the way you bite your lip like it might save you. then his hands find your waist, easy, confident, like he’s been meaning to do this for weeks. he pulls you into his lap like it’s the most casual thing in the world.
you scramble a little. try not to fall and try not to die of mortification. “rafe-”
“what?” he’s all amusement and all teeth. “just makin’ you comfy.” you’re perched on him like he’s carved for it. your knees on either side of his denim covered thighs, your hands braced on his shoulders, too aware of everything. his smirk deepens. the kind that knows what you’re thinking. the kind that wants you to keep thinking it.
“relax, sweetheart,” he says, voice rough. “you act like you’ve never sat on a man’s lap before.”
you scowl. “not one who’s practically—”
“careful.” he interrupts, eyes glinting with something you can’t put your finger on. your stomach flips. you should move, get up, say something snarky. you don’t. instead—god help you—you shift. not much. just a tiny adjustment. a press of your hips, a second too slow.
his hands flex at your waist, but he doesn’t say a word. so you do it again and again. you’re testing him and teasing yourself. his eyes go dark. hungry. that pretty blue gone storm cloud gray.
he’s looking at you like he could unmake you with a glance. but he doesn’t move. doesn’t push. doesn’t stop you. you grind just barely, breath caught in your throat, and he just lets you. that’s the worst part. because he’s not smirking anymore. he’s looking at you like he’s already imagined the sound you’d make if he dragged you down onto him and didn’t let you up. but he’d rather watch you tremble under it.
you can’t breathe. not really. his voice, when it comes, is low enough to be a secret. “you done?” you nod. his gaze slips to your mouth. his hands tighten, just a fraction. “shame,” he says. “i was enjoying that.”
and you realize that he hasn’t moved, hasn’t kissed you, hasn’t said a single thing he couldn’t deny later. but only because he doesn’t have to. you’re the one who came to him. you’re the one still sitting here. his eyes are saying everything else.
you weren’t even trying to be scandalous.just in the backyard, with your favorite red lawn chair, your swimsuit bottoms tied in loose bows at your hips and your top unclasped so you wouldn’t get those annoying strap lines. maybe if you had someone to impress you’d keep the straps on, get those cute little lines that scream summer. but you don’t.
the sun had melted you into the chair. skin sticky with coconut scented oil, speaker playing ethel chain and lana del rey, half asleep, sweating, and at peace with the world. until you hear gravel crunching. you don’t need to open your eyes to know who it is.
you sit up too fast, the chair groaning beneath you, a yelp caught in your throat and your top barely clutched to your chest when he rounds the corner. rafe. he’s in khaki shorts and a polo shirt dirty from whatever he’d been doing, cigarette tucked behind one ear, a six-pack of beer in one hand. not the ideal match for a guy who was a millionaire at 20.
his gaze drags slow over you. your skin heats up even more if that’s possible. his eyes don’t feel gross, they merely leave goosebumps in their wake. his lips twitch into a grin like he’s enjoying himself way too much. “well,” he says, voice low and easy, “aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”
you swallow. your cheeks burn hotter than the sun. “you-should’ve said you were coming around.”
“should’ve knocked on the grass?” he teases, brushing through the grass and placing the beer on your lawn furniture. “didn’t know i needed a hall pass to walk through my friend’s backyard.”
you clutch your top tighter, but it’s useless. he’s already seen enough to reroute his whole day around it. “maybe you should spend some time at your own house.” you mutter just loud enough to elicit a chuckle from him. he takes the cigarette from behind his ear and lights it, blowing a cloud of smoke in your direction.
“relax, sweetheart. you’re fine,” he murmurs, taking another puff. “i’ve seen a lot worse.” he leans on the table next to your chair, eyes stuck to your cleavage like glue.
“you mean more,” you mutter before you can stop yourself. “not worse.”
rafe blinks, slow, brows raised like he wasn’t expecting that from you. then his smile cracks wider. you just became more dangerous in his eyes. “what’s wrong, sweetheart? boyfriend break up with you?” he teases, patronizing you like you’re some twelve year old who’s throwing a tantrum.
you don’t say anything. just wrap your top around you and get to your feet, chin lifted, heat prickling under your skin for a whole different reason now. you pluck the tobacco stick straight from his lips, tossing it to the ground and crushing it with your platform flip flops. “don’t smoke over here. it’s fucking gross.”
he chuckles and steps back to let you pass. although, he leans in close enough that you smell the tobacco and sawdust on his shirt, feel his eyes at your side like a hand pressed there. “next time,” he murmurs, “don’t bother covering up on my account.”
you don’t look back, but you can tell by the eye-shaped holes in your back that he’s watching you.
okayyy so i have a request . can you write tigh riding w dbf rafe and bug reader. but without any weirdness like she calls him "daddy". I'm sorry . in general write as you feel, but I want it to be that the reader tries not to show that she wants to do it, but then gives in. maybe he sees that she is not calm all day and he kind of lets her relax, but at first she pretends she doesn't want to? I don't know. well or you can do it the way you feel will be better
warnings: smut (mdni), thigh riding, age gap (reader is 20+)
you’ve been quiet all day. not in the sweet, dreamy way you usually are—drifting around the house in red socks and too-big sunglasses, humming show tunes and popping grapes in your mouth like a bored heiress. no, today it’s the other kind of quiet. the kind where you’re too aware of your body—too aware of his.
he’s been here since noon—fixing the sink, helping your dad with the broken fence, doing the things he always does without being asked. and you’ve been trying so hard not to look at him. not to need him. but god, it’s not easy.
not when he’s in a white tee soaked with sweat, hair messy, sleeves rolled, hands rough. not when he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and leans against the counter like he knows what he’s doing to you. he always knows. yet today, he’s not saying anything. he’s just watching.
by the time your dad heads out for a work dinner, it’s sunset. the house is quiet. golden. soft. rafe’s still here and still in that goddamn t-shirt. you sit on the couch with your knees tucked under you, pretending to scroll your phone, heart thudding so loud it’s embarrassing. you don’t say a word. you don’t have to because eventually, he walks over.
he sits next to you, slow and calm. his thigh brushes yours. “you’ve been tense all day,” he says, voice low, casual.
you blink, glance up. “i’m fine.”
“sure,” he murmurs, eyes flicking to your mouth. “you always go quiet and pouty when you’re fine.”
you glare. “i’m not pouty.”
he just raises a brow. lets the silence stretch. then, his lips curl into a devilish smirk. “come here.” you shake your head. “i didn’t mean like that,” he says, voice steady. “just…sit on my lap for a second.”
your stomach drops. heat curls low in your spine. “no,” you say too fast. “why?” he leans back, spreads his legs slightly, and shrugs.
“you’re clearly fidgety. figured you could settle down.”
settle down. you hate how your body responds to that. you should say no—you want to say no. but your thighs ache, and you’ve been clenching your jaw for hours, and he smells like soap and salt and home.
you hesitate—then shift. you crawl into his lap. not in a suggestive way—just carefully, cautiously, like you’re pretending it means nothing. he keeps his hands to himself and rests them on the couch. you sit sideways across him, your legs draped over one of his thighs, your body curled, head tucked into the crook of his shoulder.
his breath is steady. his body is warm. slowly, you realize how solid his leg is beneath you. your hips shift without thinking and your breath catches when your core brushes the muscle. he doesn’t move and doesn’t say a word. but you can feel it. the tension and the shift in the air. the way he knows. “rafe,” you whisper, voice cracking. he hums. “you said—just for a second.”
his voice is gentle. “i know.” your hands fist in the front of his shirt. you press your thighs together. your hips twitch again, the tiniest grind—just once, just to feel—and that’s all it takes. his hand slides up your back, his lips ghost your temple. “go ahead,” he murmurs, barely audible. not pushing or not demanding…just giving.
you let yourself move. slow and hesitant. a single roll of your hips against his thigh.then another. and another. you’re already wet—already shaking. your head drops to his shoulder as your hips rock again, this time a little harder. “you needed this, huh?” he says, voice low and wrecked.
“i didn’t mean to—”
“shh.” he kisses the side of your head. “you’re okay. take what you need.”
you do. you grind against him until your whole body’s trembling, fingers digging into his arms, whimpering his name so soft he almost doesn’t hear it. but he does because he hears everything. finally, you break. you shudder and still and melt into his chest. he wraps his arms around you like you’re the only thing that matters.
more dbf!rafe pkeaseee. reader all vute and awkward and he's all flirty i beg you
ೃ࿔:･ dbf!rafe x shy!reader
the party wasn’t your scene. too many white linen shirts, too many veneers, too many women who’d perfected the art of casually holding wine glasses like they were born for it. you’d lost your dad somewhere between the patio and the golf anecdote circuit. now you were on the stairs, halfway up, not quite in, not quite out, trying to pretend you hadn’t just locked eyes with him across the kitchen.
of course rafe was here and of course he’d be dressed like that—dark blue button down, sleeves rolled to expose his tanned arms, leaning back against the marble counter like it owed him something. he hadn’t even blinked when you looked at him. just tilted his head and smirked, like he’d expected to find you. you pretend you didn’t notice. you do that a lot around him—pretend.
“you hiding, sweetheart?” his voice curls up the stairs like smoke, warm and smug and far too amused. you swallow, already annoyed that your body’s reacting to it, heart ticking faster like it always does when he says things like that in that tone.
“i’m not hiding,” you mumble, pulling at the hem of your sundress. “just…avoiding.”
rafe steps into view. and suddenly the hallway feels narrow. “same thing, isn’t it?”
you try to glare. it lands somewhere between a pout and a challenge. “what do you know about avoiding anything?”
he grins, slow and deliberate. “oh, plenty. i’m avoiding that horror show downstairs. your dad’s been trying to corner me into some investment pitch for the last thirty minutes.”
he leans one shoulder against the wall, arms crossed, watching you like he’s got all the time in the world. like he’s here just for this. you fold your arms too, mostly to keep your hands from fidgeting. “so you’re hiding, then.”
“maybe.” his eyes dip lower. “but i found something better to do.”
your throat tightens. “you’re impossible.”
“mm.” he takes a step up, two now, slow enough to let you run if you want. but you stay, like an idiot, like always.
“you always wear that little dress when you wanna drive me insane?” he asks, voice roughened around the edges now, lower.
you blink, caught between embarrassment and heat. “i didn’t—i wasn’t-”
“relax.” rafe’s smirk fades into something softer. he stops just short of touching you. “i’m teasing.” a beat passes before he murmurs under his breath, “mostly.”
you glance away, cheeks burning, but your body’s already doing that thing it does around him—tuning in. he smells like expensive cologne and something sharp beneath it. rafe leans down, just a little, breath brushing your ear. “you always this shy around me?”
you hate how breathless your laugh sounds. “i’m not shy.”
“no?” he whispers. “then why are you blushing, angel?”
your head jerks up. his face is right there, closer than it should be. the hallway tilts. “rafe,” you whisper, a warning in it, a plea.
his eyes flash, but he backs up, palms raised. “relax,” he says again, but his voice is different now. lower. darker. “i’m just looking out for my buddy’s daughter.”
you bite your lip. “you’re awful.”
he grins. “and you’re adorable.” you roll your eyes and start back down the stairs, heat clawing at your neck, trying not to trip over your own feet or the sound of his laugh trailing behind you. but you hear him murmur as you pass—soft, under his breath, “you have no idea what you do to me, baby.”
