𝙒𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: dark, dubcon, misogynistic rhetoric, classist rhetoric (in the context of kooks, pogues etc), daddy kink, innocence kink, loss of virginity, smut (oral + p in v), condescension, babying, dirty talk, swearing, very unbalanced power dynamic, college au, reader is a freshman and rafe is a senior, more warnings to come. 18+ only, mdni.
𝙎𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮: Rafe bets his friends he can fuck you in one week.
𝘼/𝙉: This is just a sneak peak of a new Rafe fic I’m working on— I just want to see if anyone would be interested if I was to post it! Do let me know if it’s any good and tag any Rafe blogs you think might enjoy this! (as I suspect I don’t have many Rafe fans following me haha)
“Her.”
Rafe looks over to the Pogue girl Topper’s nodding at and smirks. “Been there, done that. Pick a different one.”
Topper scoffs, “She literally moved here last week.”
“And?”
“OK… What about her?” He brazenly points at a leggy blonde that stands out in her group of Pogues.
“Last weekend at the beach party you threw. She gives good head.”
“Jesus Christ dude, is there anyone left??”
Rafe chuckles, leaning back and stretching his legs out while his friends gape at him in disbelief like a bunch of gormless losers. He often wonders if they know how stupid they look. Like followers. His followers. Hanging on to his every word, oohing and aahing at whatever he did. Making him feel like he was a God among men. Which he may as well be, considering that’s how most people at this college looked at him.
That’s why he loved fucking the Pogue girls. Almost exclusively. There was something about the power imbalance. Most of them came from poor families, looked at Rafe like he was a God. It didn’t take much for them to spread their legs for him, impressed by his power, turned on by his wealth. Hell, even the Kook girls were the same. But Rafe hardly ever took them home. They were spoiled sluts who hung around the country club wasting their lives and spending their daddies’ money. Yeah, they didn’t peak his interest at all. Not as much as the Pogue girls who worked at the country club. In their little housekeeping outfits, deliberately teasing him in the hopes he’d take one of them home.
Yeah. It was safe to say Rafe Cameron had a type.
“Well, what about that one?”
Rafe rolls his eyes, about to say that yes, he had indeed fucked whatever girl Topper was pointing at this time. Because he’d fucked all of them. Because of who he was. Because of what he was capable of. Because of the family he came from. Because of what being a mere notch on Rafe Cameron’s bedpost meant to every single sorry slut he’d ran through.
Except he doesn’t. Because Topper is pointing at you. And he’s never seen you before in his life.
You look so out of place, despite the fact you’re with a group of Pogues. And he knows you’re a Pogue. Like a shark with blood and a predator with its prey, he can always tell. And yet you stand awkwardly on the outskirts of the group, smiling yet not quite participating in whatever conversation is going on. You push your glasses up, straighten your skirt, pretend to look for something in your book bag. You’re shy. Self conscious. Insecure. Rafe smiles.
“Who is she?”
“Aha! You haven’t slept with her!” Topper cheers like he’s won the fucking lottery. Sometimes Rafe wonders why he’s friends with him.
“Who is she?” He repeats like he hasn’t even heard him.
“She’s the new chick,” Kelce says, “except she’s not exactly new in town.”
“I heard she was homeschooled,” Topper snickers, “That’s why she’s fucking weird and has no friends. Even the Pogues don’t want her.”
Rafe observes you some more. Watches the bright smile on your face, how you try to chime in to whatever conversation the girls around you are having. They nod at you politely yet dismissively. They’re not your friends. As Topper said, you don’t have any.
Insecure. Weak. Vulnerable.
He licks his lips.
“How long?”
“Huh?”
He runs a hand through his hair impatiently, “How long do you wanna bet it takes me to get her into bed?”
Topper raises an eyebrow.
“You can’t be serious, man. She looks like she doesn’t even know what sex means.”
Kelce laughs, “She looks like she can’t even say it. Like she spells it out every time, s-e-x.”
They’re right. You look very innocent, but all that does is incense him. Rafe’s used to easy sluts who spread their legs after one drink or a ride on his motorbike. But you. He can tell you’d be harder to crack. But there’s something so fucking hot about how naive you look. How shy and sweet he can tell you are. How ruined he could leave you. Splayed out on his bike, legs quivering, all sweaty limbs and shy pants after he’s done having his way with you—
“How long?” He repeats, not in the mood to waste time and already getting hard picturing innocent little you with your tiny skirt flipped up and his head buried between those soft thighs, your sweet little confused cries because no one’s ever touched you like that, and—
“A week.”
“Mm?”
“A week to fuck her. With proof.”
Rafe stands up and stretches, licking his lips as he watches you retreat to a small bench, getting your little book out and burying your nose in it.
“That’s too easy. What do I get when I do it?”
“If you do it, you can decide what you get then. But as I said before, we’d need proof.” Kelce says.
“Yeah, proof,” Topper echoes, a glint in his eye as he looks over at you, “Pictures.”
Rafe shrugs, already kind of bored, “Sure.” He’d taken plenty of pictures of his conquests in the past. Him and his boys had a group chat where they shared that kind of shit. And the idea of taking pictures of you in such a vulnerable position gets him harder than anything. Sweet little college freshman baby fucked dumb by the big bad senior, posing for pictures afterwards all teary-eyed but submissive. They all got submissive for him, even after he was done using them.
You flip a page, completely engrossed in your book and looking every bit the naive baby he’s imagining you as. A little lamb who has no idea she was in the presence of a fucking lion. And he bets you’re a virgin. Homeschooled with no friends? Forget virgin, you probably haven’t even had your first kiss yet. And that gets him so fucking horny, right there in the middle of the campus courtyard. The idea that you’re so pure, so untouched. So happy, so unassuming. A little fucking baby.
He’d have fun ruining you.
AGAIN, this is just a sneak peak! let me know what you think!! i’m not quite sure if i want to post a rafe fic since my followers/blog are not really rafe centric but i thought i’d give it a try if there’s enough interest!!!
Giving Away Your Ex’s Phone Number @ The Bar Instead of Yours…
ex bf frat!rafe x reader
c/w .ᐟ.ᐟ voyeurism (phone call during sex), physical violence (rafe vs random guy), digital threats, pet names, praise, unprotected p in v, oral (f + m receiving), jealous!rafe, choking, spanking, possessive!rafe, begging, praise + degradation kink, face fucking, cum play + overstim
-> Click on the image and slide your finger to the left 💕
4.9K
Rafe’s Phone…
Your back is pressed to the bar, one hand clutching your drink, the other buzzing with an incoming call from Rafe. You don’t even look—you just double-tap the side of your phone to decline it, eyes locked on Easton as he leans in, mumbling something about how ‘he’s not scared’.
“Can’t believe you gave your ex my number,” he chuckles, stepping closer. “Could’ve just told me you wanted me to fuck with your ex in exchange for your number. I would’ve done way worse.”
“I’m sorry,” you murmur, giving him a soft smile, head tilting slightly—and that’s all it takes.
“Nah, sweetheart. It’s alright,” he says, the space between you narrowing.
This isn’t what was supposed to happen. He was supposed to take Rafe’s number, text him, and fuck off. But now he’s looking down at your lips, wetting his own. The kiss he stole earlier still burns on your lips—and from the way he’s looking at you, he wants more.
So you wrap your lips around your straw—keeping yourself busy.
A hand slaps down on Easton’s shoulder—too familiar to be anyone else. “Rafe!” His name slips out on a gasp. Gold ring. Signature watch. Just a flash before he spins him around.
Easton barely has time to blink before Rafe’s fist slams into his jaw—brutal and fast.
He hits the floor hard and the bar erupts around you.
Rafe stands there, chest heaving, shaking out his hand. “You done?” He growls. “Seriously. Are you done now?”
He laughs—low and humorless—as you look up at him, eyes wide.
“Six fucking guys, huh?” He steps forward. “You were really about to give him my number too?”
“No…”
“Oh? Finally got some sense, huh?”
“You know him… it’s Easton,” you breathe—just as the other man groans, stumbling to his feet between you. Crack—another hit, straight to the face drops him again.
“I told you to stay away from her—HEY!” The word rips from Rafe’s throat as two bouncers grab him from behind. “I’M TALKIN’ TO HER!” He shouts.
You sip slow and careful, trying not to smile but the corners of your lips betray you. And Rafe sees it.
“Oh, you think this is funny?” He snarls, eyes drilling into you.
You just look at him, drink half-raised, face calm even as your pulse skitters.
The crowd parts around him as the bouncers drag him toward the door—all six-foot-two of him fighting every inch of the way.
They toss him outside like garbage, but he never stops looking back at you.
Nostrils flared. Lips tight. Jaw locked like stone. Red and blue police lights flicker across his face as the doors close.
You know he’s not gonna push it. Too much security. And a night in jail would leave no possibility of a night with you.
He’s not done.
The bar’s still buzzing behind you as you and your friends slide into the back of the Uber.
You barely settle into the middle seat when someone else climbs in behind you fast… uninvited. “Rafe—” You gasp for the second time of the night.
He slams the door shut before you can react, settling in beside you, fastening his seatbelt. Your friends exchange a look, both trying not to laugh. Honestly, they expected no less.
Your friend lays out her hand to the other— “Pay up, babe.”
Bailey groans dramatically from the front seat. Slaps a five in Hannah’s hand with an eye-roll.
“You two bet on this shit, seriously?” Rafe mutters under his breath.
“Mhmm.” Hannah hums, smug. “I said he was gonna get her on the street.”
“I said you were gonna try to break in and get arrested,” Bailey sighs like she’s disappointed.
“I told you, Bails. He’s predictable,” Hannah chuckles, like Rafe’s not even there.
Bailey gives you the look and you wink. She glances at the wide-eyed Uber driver, his night taking a turn for the dramatic real fast. “We’ll catch another Uber—I’m starving,” she mutters, pushing the door open.
Rafe’s hand shoots out—grabbing your arm like he really thought you might leave him behind. “Don’t,” he murmurs under his breath.
“Are you—Is everything okay?” The driver asks, and you chuckle tiredly and nod.
“Just perfect,” you mutter, voice flat and sarcastic—just enough to make Rafe’s head snap to you in disgust.
You blow out a raspberry, digging in your purse for your lip gloss, denying him the attention he’s so clearly starving for. You unscrew the cap slowly, dragging the wand across your bottom lip like it’s no big deal—like your ex-boyfriend didn’t just knock a guy out at a bar for saying his name, then climb into your Uber like some movie villain. Like this is just how your Wednesday nights go now.
You click the gloss shut and fluff your hair, adjust your cleavage, fixing the little R pendant on your chest.
“You done?” Rafe asks, annoyed—but you ignore him still. Instead, you lift your phone, angling it slightly downward, pout soft, eyes softer; chin tilted just right—and flash.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Rafe recoils, disgust painted all over his face because a part of him knows exactly who that’s for.
You hum lightly, scrolling through your messages until you find the thread.
Easton…
📱Easton Lookout Bar 🏒🧸: Damn tonight was crazy. I hope you’re okay.
📱Your Name: How are you doing?
📱Easton Lookout Bar 🏒🧸: I’m fine. Just a little banged up.
You scroll a little lower, taking the time to let Rafe read it as well.
Your Name: Oh no is it bad 🥺
Rafe sucks his teeth, looking away for a moment to collect his thoughts as he sees the top of a picture sent from Easton—and a double-tap, heart reaction from you.
You roll your thumb a little lower—making sure Rafe sees. And of course Easton’s shirtless. Of course he looks like every hockey boyfriend romance main character after a rough game. Abs on full display, split lip and a black eye, one arm folded and flexed behind his head.
His eyes are a rich chocolate brown—black hair damp from a shower, skin dewy, eyes fixed on the camera like he wants you to come fix the damage he got from your ex.
📱Your Name: I’m so sorry about my ex. That looks like it hurts.
“Don’t,” Rafe warns.
📱Your Name: I can stop by if you need a little distraction tonight 💕
You tap the plus sign on the bottom of your text messages, uploading the selfie you just took.
“Enough,” Rafe snaps, snatching your phone from your hand.
But that sick little whoosh already hit.
📲 Message delivered. Too late.
His jaw flexes once, then again, like he’s chewing glass. He blinks at the screen like he might still have a chance—like if he grips the phone hard enough, the message might crawl back out.
💬 Read.
“Oh my god,” Rafe’s eyes fall shut and his head tips back to the headrest. He takes a tight breath, blowing it out his nostrils, hands clutching his legs, fingers digging in to keep himself from falling to pieces. “Baby… what kind of game are you playin’ here?”
He lifts your phone between you like it’s evidence, and you can already see back-to-back notifications coming in from Easton.
“I honestly don’t think I can fuckin’ look at this reply without killing him.”
“That’s a lot—”
“You really sent that to him? To him? Really? You want me to lose it? Is that what you want?” His voice breaks—hoarse and broken. You lean a little deeper into the seat, crossing your arms. “He’s got that picture in his phone forever,” he fumes.
“It’s a selfie… it’s not like I sent him a nude. Calm the fuck down.”
“You—You wanted me here. Don’t act like you didn’t. Why else would you do this shit? You know who I am. You knew I’d lose it and come find you. You let him touch you—fucking kiss you.”
“He bought me a drink,” you say flatly.
“Yeah, and I broke his fucking face,” he answers with the same tone, the vein in his neck pulsing; knuckles white as they clutch your phone.
“Give me my phone, Rafe—”
“You’re not texting him. I know you don’t want to either. I could see it on your fuckin’ face. You didn’t give a shit about him when I hit him. You weren’t scared for him. You were watching me. Your texts to him are dry as fuck. I remember vividly how you were talking to me when we first started dating—even before we took a break,” he murmurs. “Just say you miss me. Say you wanted me to follow you. Just say it—so I don’t feel like a complete fucking idiot right now.”
“All that time, Rafe. Day after day, spent showing you how much I cared for you and it still wasn’t enough for you, until it was too late. I wanted you to sweat—”
“Mission fucking accomplished, sweetheart,” he huffs out a breath, pinching the bridge of his nose as his eyelids fall shut. “I know I deserve this shit and I'm so fucking sorry. I will work on my shit—but you could’ve stopped at the first or second and got your point across—”
The Uber pulls up to the curb and you step out, heels slapping against the pavement.
Rafe moves to follow you, and you slam the door behind you, hitting him clumsily—making him fumble forward as he rushes to catch up.
“Shit. Fuck,” he hisses.
“Oh. Were you planning on coming in?” You ask without so much as a glance over your shoulder at the broken man behind you, dragging himself up the stairs.
“You serious?”
“I didn’t ask you over.”
Rafe’s shoes hit the stairs—loud and angry. “Give me five fucking minutes—”
His palm slams against the door above you, holding it open, refusing to give you the chance to push him away again. He’s coming inside.
You start up the stairs, and he follows.
Your phone starts to ring in Rafe’s fist, the sound echoing through the empty house like a warning bell—chills race down your spine.
The growl that escapes him is animalistic, clawing out of his throat.
“DON’T SAY A FUCKIN’ WORD,” he barks into your phone at Easton. “DON’T EVEN FUCKING BREATHE. I TOLD YOU TO FUCK OFF. I TOLD YOU SHE WAS MINE, ALRIGHT? YOU THINK SHE WAS SENDING YOU THAT SHIT BECAUSE SHE GIVES A FUCK ABOUT YOU?”
You bite your lip, holding back a nervous smile, adrenaline coursing through your veins as he storms up the steps behind you.
“SHE’S MINE,” Rafe growls. “YOU HEAR ME? IF YOU EVER CALL HER AGAIN—IF YOU EVER LOOK AT HER AGAIN—YOU’RE DEAD. DEAD. DO YOU HEAR ME?”
He ends the call just as your bedroom door slams shut behind you, his back hitting it with a heavy thud.
Silence.
His chest rises slowly. Eyes fall shut. You don’t move, and neither does he—his breathing shredded like he just ran from the cops instead of ending a call with some hockey boy named Easton.
He watches every step as you cross the room, tracks every flick of your fingers as you toss your keys on the dresser, pull your earrings off one by one. You don’t even spare him a glance—you know that’ll be the final blow.
You sit on the edge of the mattress. Finally, your gaze lifts.
And he looks destroyed.
Rafe rests his hands over his eyes, muscles clenched tight, dragging them down his face as he moves toward you slowly.
And just when you thought he couldn’t possibly look more ruined for you, he sinks to the floor—one knee, then the other. His head bows between his broad shoulders. A long, winded breath leaves his chest before he raises his eyes to meet yours.
“Baby,” he says softly, his voice already fraying at the edges. “I—I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t even know where to fuckin’ start, okay?”
You press your lips together, letting him unspool.
“I know I hurt you,” he goes on. “I know I fucked up. I know I let my jealousy eat me alive for no reason. You’re fucking perfect. And I… I’m a mess. I know I am. Especially when I think about someone coming in between me and you—and fucking it up. And then I go and fuck it up myself.”
He shakes his head, jaw clenched, eyes glossy.
“You were so fucking good to me. I'm begging you please, please stop. I'm so sorry.”
Then, slowly, you part your knees—just slightly.
Rafe sees it and breathes deeper, moving in—settling as close as you’ll let him. He rests his head in your lap, hands finding your hips as the tension bleeds from his body.
“I’m so tired,” he whispers. “I’m not okay. I’m not. Not without you.”
You rest your hand on his head, fingers slipping into his messy hair.
“I need you,” he says, voice barely audible.
You stroke his cheek and he shuts his eyes, living in your touch.
“Co’mere,” you murmur, guiding him to look up at you. You hold his cheeks in your palms—and you swear you see the glimmer of tears in his eyes, his nose scrunching slightly like he’s begging them not to fall.
“I missed you,” you whisper.
“You got no idea how much I missed you,” he breathes, dragging his hand down your arm, wrapping his fingers around your wrist, pressing a kiss to your palm. “M’sorry for callin’ you so much—I lost it a little—”
“A little?” you giggle breathily.
“A lot… I was a fuckin’ problem.”
“You’re not allowed to break my heart again, Rafe,” you say softly.
“I won’t, baby. You got my word.”
He slips his hands beneath your thighs and lifts you. Your legs wrap around his waist, chest to chest, your palms still cupping his cheeks, your eyes locked on his, and he kisses you, like he’s trying to erase the days apart from his memory—the nights spent wishing he could get over you.
You tighten your legs around his waist as he carries you toward the bed—kissing you harder with every step.
His forehead presses to yours. Eyes closed. Breathing unsteady. When he speaks, it’s barely a whisper. “I’ll never do that shit again.”
Your fingers skim the side of his neck, feeling the thump of his pulse—fast and nervous. You wait just a moment, until his eyes meet yours again.
“I swear to God, baby,” he says, voice raw. “I’ll never accuse you like that again. I won’t let my jealousy ruin us. Just—” He swallows hard. “Can we try to go back to us?”
“Yes,” you whisper and he steals the words straight off your lips.
The kiss deepens.
His mouth parts against yours, tongue sweeping slow and hungry, tasting you. You moan into him as your hands slide up his chest, twisting the fabric of his shirt, dragging him closer. His hips press forward, grinding slow and heavy between your legs.
Rafe breaks the kiss just long enough to tear his shirt over his head, tossing it blindly. His chest heaves—skin flushed, jaw tight. That gold chain swings at his collarbone, catching the light.
And then he’s on you again. Mouth on your neck. Your shoulder. Biting just hard enough to make your breath catch.
“I missed you so fuckin’ bad,” he groans into your skin.
You grab the back of his hair, dragging his mouth back to yours, kissing him harder now—hungry and open, your teeth catching on his bottom lip.
“I missed you too, baby.”
“Love when you call me that,” he mutters against your skin, hot breath skating over your skin as he tugs at your dress. “Take this off. Let me see you.”
You grab the bottom of your dress—already bunched around your waist—pulling it over your head.
“Fuck me…” His hands are already on your body, sliding up—palms hot and rough—and then he’s mouthing at your chest, sucking at the gentle skin of your cleavage.
He shoves his jeans down, cock already straining through black briefs. You lick your lips as your gaze drops—panties clinging, lace wet between your thighs.
His voice drops to a dangerous rasp, fingers slipping between your legs to pull the fabric tight against you.
Your thighs bracket his hips. He’s still catching his breath when you lift a hand to his jaw, thumb brushing over his bottom lip.
“I hated that you didn’t trust me,” you murmur, voice barely above a breath. “It fucking hurt, Rafe.”
“I know, pretty—”
“But…” You press your lips to his neck, working slowly up his skin, lips brushing his ear. “Seeing you like that? Losing it over me?”
You grab his hand—knuckles bruised and split—bringing his fingers to your lips.
“So fucking hot,” you hum, sliding two of his fingers into your mouth, slow and deliberate. The tips press against your tongue and your lips seal tight, cheeks hollowing.
Rafe lets out the filthiest groan as you swirl your tongue—just like you would if it were his cock in your mouth—and you know from the look on his face that he’s fantasizing about that as well.
“You like me possessive?” He asks, pulling your panties down, dragging your thighs apart. “You want me obsessed?” He asks as you whimper a soft ‘yes’. “You fuckin’ got it.”
You try to smirk but it falters when he bites your thigh, a sharp gasp fleeing your parted lips as he leaves his mark.
“You’re mine. Say it,” Rafe breathes.
“I’m yours,” you pant, head tipping back.
He pushes his briefs down his legs, cock swinging free. Long and hard; thick and throbbing. His dick presses against your thigh, tip dragging along your slit as he lines himself up.
He drives into you, burying himself to the hilt.
He fucks into you hard—jealousy fueling every thrust, like he needs to brand you from the inside out.
Your gasp snaps into a moan, back arching off the mattress, hands flying to his shoulders, nails digging in.
“Rafe, fuck—”
“I know, baby, I know,” he pants against your mouth, forehead pressed to yours, every thrust deep and punishing. “You feel what you do to me?” He grits. “Every time I close my fuckin’ eyes it’s you—this pussy, this face, this fuckin’ mouth.”
You pull him down by his chain, crashing your lips to his again. Your teeth scrape his lip, his tongue licking into your mouth. You’re so wet he slides in and out of you with ease, obscene sounds echoing between your bodies.
He grinds down, hips circling, making your breath catch. “Yes,” you cry, clenching around him, and he groans—loud and filthy.
“Look at you. Crying on my cock—”
Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.
Rafe’s phone lights up on the edge of the bed, vibrating with an unknown number and a local area code. Your breath catches and Rafe freezes for a moment.
“This some guy from the bar, ain’t it?” He asks, slamming his hips forward so hard your body jolts, skin smacking against his. “Fuck, pretty girl. You made a goddamn mess for me, huh?” He mutters through gritted teeth.
Before you can even answer, he snatches the phone and takes the call.
“WHAT?” He snarls into the speaker, sweat dripping off his brow, bicep flexing as he squeezes your hip, keeping you flush to him.
“Rosie?” You hear on the other end, tentative and confused.
Rafe’s hand cracks against your thigh—sharp and stinging—you scream, breathless and broken, your voice spilling straight into the phone. He clamps his big hand around your throat, using the leverage to slam into you harder.
“YOU HEAR THAT, BITCH?” Rafe snarls as a self-satisfied smile stretches across his lips.
He throws the phone somewhere beside you without bothering to end the call. His hands hook behind your thighs, folding you in half, pinning you to the bed as he drives into you. Your nails claw at the sheets, then at his back, then into his hair, pulling at the roots.
“Rafe—Rafe, holy shit—” He dips down to kiss you—his cock sinking impossibly deep.
“You’re right there. C’mon, pretty girl. Give it to me.”
Your head falls back, mouth open in a silent cry as your body tightens, every muscle trembling as he keeps hitting that exact spot.
“C’mon, baby. Let him hear who makes you cum.”
Your orgasm rips through you so hard your back arches off the bed, a choked sob escaping your lips as you clamp around him, shaking under his weight.
“That’s it,” he whispers against your mouth, still thrusting through the aftershocks. “Good girl. Good fucking girl.”
You’re soaking him, dripping down your thighs, pulsing around him as he keeps fucking you through it, working you toward another.
“Feel that mess you made?” He asks, smugness dripping from every word. “Proud of you, baby. So filthy for me.”
“Feel so good,” you manage, barely forming words.
“One more—just one more. Need you on top.”
He pulls out fast, making you gasp at the loss of him. Rafe wraps his hand around his dick, pumping as he watches you climb on top, hovering over him; delicate fingers circling your clit as he licks his bottom lip.
You spread your thighs, sinking on his tip, taking the first few inches, moving up and down teasingly before you take the rest—eyes locked on his, nails digging into his chest.
You ride him hard, your bodies colliding in messy, rhythmic slaps, the sounds of your pleasure filling the room.
Rafe can’t keep quiet—his moans, his praise, his ragged breathing filling the room. You know if that fucker is still on the phone, he wants him to hear all of it. Rafe grabs your waist, lifting you slightly only to slam up into you.
“You’re gonna cum for me again,” he rasps. “Right fucking now.”
And you do—your belly tightens, the band snaps, and his name tumbles past your lips as your head falls back. Your throat’s ragged from sobbing his name, thighs drenched in sweat and slick, shining under the low light.
“Goddamn, baby,” he mutters, reaching up, hooking a hand around the back of your neck to kiss you. You’re breathing heavily and so is he—a breathy chuckle buzzing against your lips.
“Go on,” he murmurs, thumb brushing your cheek. “Get on your knees.”
Your whole body trembles as you lift off his length, hissing in overstimulation, knees pressing against the bedroom floor. You look up at him from between his legs—mascara smudged, hair wild, eyes glassy, chest rising fast.
Rafe reaches for his phone, grabbing it off the bed. The call ended seconds ago. He taps the screen a few times—then points the camera right at you as you open your mouth, tongue out.
His other hand wraps around his cock, tapping the swollen tip against your tongue; your mouth already pillowy and wet from kissing.
You wrap your lips around him and he groans instantly, jaw dropping, one hand slipping into your hair. You taste yourself on him and moan around his length as you take him deeper.
“Christ… Just—Just like that, baby,” he pants, guiding your head, using your mouth to stroke him slow, then faster. You let him use you—let him fuck your throat—spit slicking your chin as your eyes water and your hands grip his thighs for balance.
The phone is still trained on your lips, trembling in his hand, catching every moan, every gag, every obscene sound.
He bites his lip, hips jerking. “Close, baby. Shit—I’m fuckin’ close—”
He pulls out, stroking hard, warm ropes of cum painting your lips, your tongue, your chest.
Your hands are trembling against his legs, looking up at him as he looks down at you. “Fuck, baby,” he mumbles as he grabs you by your cheeks to get a better look.
His thumb rubs his cum along your lips, slipping it inside your mouth. You suck it clean, releasing it with a filthy pop.
“God, you’re fuckin’ stunning, you know that?” He drawls, voice syrupy and spent, eyes half-lidded and impossibly blue. “Say it again for the camera, angel—who the fuck do you belong to?”
You lean into the lens, licking the corner of your mouth clean, eyes gleaming. “Rafe Cameron.”
in which i present to you rafe cameron x hypersexual!ditzy!reader headcannons!!
too many warnings to state them but lots of kinky things & not proofread.
hypersexual!reader who is absolutely insufferable about his hands, and not in a subtle way. she’ll stop mid sentence in a crowded room just to grab his wrist and examine his fingers like they’re a museum exhibit, turning them over and tracing the veins, murmuring “god, look at these.” under her breath while rafe tries to carry on a conversation with topper like his girlfriend isn’t openly ogling his knuckles. the obsession reaches a tipping point one lazy afternoon when she’s lying across his lap on the couch, supposedly napping, but instead she’s pressing soft, open mouthed kisses to his palm, his fingertips, the inside of his wrist. rafe lets her for a full minute, tension coiling in his gut, before he curls those same fingers under her chin and tilts her face up. “you got a problem?” he asks, voice already sandpaper rough. she blinks up at him, lip gloss smeared, and says with devastating sincerity, “just thinking about how good they feel inside me.” he has her bent over the arm of the couch within seconds, two fingers knuckle deep while she keens and babbles about how she knew they’d feel this perfect, she’s been thinking about it all day, and his hands are her favorite thing maybe ever. he makes her count each orgasm on those fingers after, holding them up, slick and shining, while she whines and loses track at three.
hypersexual!reader who talks during sex, genuine, unfiltered stream of consciousness rambling that should ruin the mood but somehow never does. he'll be balls deep, bottomed out inside of her, her back arching off the mattress, and she'll gasp out, "oh my god, wait, did i tell you what sarah said about the—oh—the party? she said kelce might not—right there, right there—bring a date and i said—" and rafe laughs against her neck, low and breathless, and says, "baby, baby. love you, but i swear to god i’m gonna need you to stop talking about kelce right now." and she'll blink up at him, dazed and flushed, and whisper, "m’ sorry. you just make my brain go all fuzzy." and then he's kissing her again because she's so unbelievably ridiculous and he puts up with it.
hypersexual!reader who has a habit of asking for the most unhinged things in the sweetest voice, like she's requesting a refill on her iced latte. they'll be lying in bed, post round one, her tracing patterns on his chest while he catches his breath, and she'll prop her chin on his sternum and say, "hey, rafey? can you choke me next time? like, not too hard, but hard enough that i feel it the next day?" and he just blinks at the ceiling for a solid five seconds before looking down at her with an expression somewhere between disbelief and desperate arousal. "you can't just say shit like that," he manages, voice wrecked, and she tilts her head like a confused kitten and says, "why not? you'd be so good at it! you've got such big hands." he has to take a moment. then he rolls her onto her back, wraps a careful palm around her throat, and watches her eyes flutter shut with a breathy little "finally." that makes him dizzy. she babbles through the whole thing about how safe she feels, how much she trusts him, how she knew he'd be perfect at this too, and afterward she's so blissed out she just curls into his side and murmurs, "told you," before passing out cold.
hypersexual!reader she has a habit of crawling into his lap during the most inconvenient moments, and rafe has stopped being surprised by it. movie night? she's sideways in his lap, legs hooked over the armrest, twirling her hair and whispering commentary about the film directly into his ear. family dinner at the camerons'? she's perched on his thigh like it's her assigned seat, passing him bread rolls and trailing her fingers up his forearm under the table until he has to excuse himself to adjust his pants. the worst, or best, depending on who's asking, is when he's on the phone with barry, pacing the driveway and trying to handle business, and she pads out in nothing but his button down, climbs onto his lap right there on the porch bench, and starts kissing his neck. "i'm on the phone," he mouths, but she just smiles against his pulse point and whispers, "i'll be quiet," in a tone that promises she absolutely will not. barry hangs up three minutes into rafe's increasingly distracted responses, and rafe doesn't even call him back.
hypersexual!reader who develops a pavlovian response to the sound of his belt unbuckling, which would be embarrassing if she had any shame left. it starts during a particularly tense fight that isn't really a fight, just him wound tight from a deal gone sideways, pacing his room like a caged animal, and she's perched on her knees on the bed trying to figure out how to help. he yanks his belt free in one sharp motion, more frustration than intent, and she just melts. visibly. pupils blowing wide, thighs pressing together, a tiny involuntary sound catching in her throat. he freezes, belt still in hand, looks at her with that slow, calculating head tilt, and pieces it together instantly. "oh, you like that?" his voice drops into something dark and curious, and she can only nod, glossy lips parted, completely caught. now he uses it against her constantly. will casually start loosening his belt in public just to watch her squirm, hooking his thumb in the leather with a half smirk while she completely loses her train of thought mid conversation. the first time he wraps it around his knuckles and uses the folded leather to tap her inner thigh, gentle, teasing. she makes a sound she's never made before, and he adds it to his mental arsenal.
hypersexual!reader who discovers a mirror kink by accident, or maybe not, because everything she does feels calculated in a way rafe is still learning to decode. they're in his bathroom, her freshly showered and perched on the marble counter in just a towel, him standing between her legs while she complains about having to move her nail appointment. he's half listening, more focused on the way her towel's slipping, when she glances at the mirror behind him and just stops talking. her eyes lock on their reflection, on the way his bare back looks, on her own post shower glow, and she breathes out a tiny "oh" that's all curiosity and zero shame. "wait," she says, pushing at his chest until he turns around, until she's facing the mirror with him pressed up behind her, "i wanna watch." and rafe gets so hard so fast he has to brace his hands on the counter. she watches herself with wide, greedy eyes the whole time, chattering away about how pretty they look together, how good he fills her up, how she wishes she could film it for later, and he comes harder than he has in weeks, face buried in her damp hair, rearranging his entire mental list of turn ons around this single moment. the mirror fogs up by the end, and she draws a little heart in the condensation with her fingertip, prints still smudged on the glass, and hums, "we should do that again tonight." and they do.
hypersexual!reader who gets it in her head that she wants to roleplay the classic "stranger at a bar" scenario, and rafe's initial reaction is a flat, unimpressed stare. "you want me to pretend i don't know you?" he says, leaning against the kitchen counter with a beer in hand, and she's already bouncing on her heels in a dress that barely covers her ass, nodding so fast her earrings jangle. "it'll be fun! you'll be all mysterious and broody—well, broodier—and i’ll be a ditzy little thing you pick up." he takes a long sip, eyes narrowing. "you are a ditzy little thing i picked up." she gasps, hand flying to her chest in mock offense, but her grin is pure trouble. "rafe! be meaner. pretend you don't like me yet." so he does. he slides onto the stool next to her with a cold, appraising look that sends a shiver down her spine, and orders a whiskey without breaking eye contact. she plays her part so well, twirling her hair, biting her glossed lip, asking if he comes here often in that breathy, clueless voice, that he almost forgets they've been together for months. by the time he's got her spawned out on the kitchen island, her legs on his shoulders and his name a wrecked chant on her lips, she's babbling about how he's so good at this, how she felt like she was cheating on him with him, and he just laughs against her throat, a low, surprised sound, and says, "you're batshit, you know that?" she hums, nails raking down his back.
hypersexual!reader who has a thing for waking him up with her mouth, which rafe discovers on a random tuesday when he blinks awake to find her already under the covers, working him over with the kind of lazy, unhurried dedication that says she's been at it for a while. "what the f—" he starts, voice wrecked with sleep, and she pops up from under the blanket like a daisy, hair a mess, lip gloss long gone, and beams at him. "morning baby. you just looked so pretty, i couldn't help myself." he stares at her, chest heaving, one hand fisting the sheets while his brain reboots, and she just ducks back down without waiting for a response. it becomes a thing after that, he never knows when he's gonna wake up to her mouth or her hands or her already sinking down onto him with a contented little sigh, murmuring about how she couldn't sleep and he felt so warm next to her and she just wanted to feel close. he starts going to bed earlier just to give her more time, not that he'd ever admit it. one morning she's so focused she doesn't notice he's awake until he's flipping them over and pinning her wrists, "my turn" against her throat, and she just giggles and spreads her legs wider and says, "finally! i was getting lonely up here."
hypersexual!reader who gets obsessed with the idea of being his "good girl" in the most literal sense, wants rules, wants praise, wants him to tell her exactly what to do and then reward her for doing it. rafe thinks it's ridiculous at first, this hyper feminine little thing asking him to "give her structure," but then she's kneeling on his bedroom floor with her hands folded in her lap, looking up at him with those big eyes, asking "how can i be good for you today?" and something in his brain short circuits. he starts small. she texts him her outfits for approval, asks permission before touching herself, waits for his nod before she orders at restaurants. and every time she follows a rule, she glows, preening under his muttered "good girl" like it's a standing ovation. the sex is unreal, she's so eager to please, so responsive to every command, melting into a puddle of breathless gratitude when he tells her she's taking him so well, she's being so perfect, she's the best girl. after, she's curled up against his side, tracing shapes on his chest, and she whispers, "do i get a gold star?" and he laughs so hard he pulls a muscle, then kisses her forehead and says, "i'll get you a whole sticker chart, baby."
hypersexual!reader who has a habit of saying the most unhinged shit mid bite of a salad, like her brain and mouth have zero filter between them. they're at lunch with sarah and john b, some tense double date thing rafe only agreed to because she asked, and she suddenly sets down her fork, tilts her head, and says to no one in particular, "i think i have an oral fixation. like, not just with food. with everything. rafey's fingers, his d—" and rafe chokes on his water so violently sarah has to thump him on the back. "what the fuck," he coughs, eyes watering, and she just blinks at him with genuine confusion like she forgot other people were at the table. "what? it's a real thing— i read about it." john b is staring at the ceiling like he's praying for death, sarah is bright red, and rafe is gripping the edge of the table with both hands, jaw tight, a vein ticking in his forehead. "we're leaving," he announces, throwing cash on the table, and she pouts the whole way to the car about how she was just trying to share, she thought they were all friends. he doesn't say a word until they're in the truck, and then he just turns to her with this wild, incredulous look and says, "you cannot say shit like that in front of my sister. ever. i fucking mean it." she crosses her arms, lower lip jutting out, and mutters, "fine. but you know i'm right." he drags a hand down his face, starts the engine, and doesn't speak for five full minutes. then, quieter "i know." and she beams.
hypersexual!reader who has a habit of absentmindedly touching herself while they watch movies, not even in a performative way, just idly slipping a hand between her thighs under the blanket while she’s curled against his side, eyes glued to the screen, breath hitching so subtly he almost doesn’t notice. the first time it happens, he glances down and sees the movement, the blanket shifting, her bottom lip caught between her teeth, and he goes still. “are you serious right now?” he asks, voice a low rasp, and she turns to him with those big, startled eyes like she forgot he was there. “oh! m’ sorry, just felt good,” she pouts, completely unashamed, but starts to pull her hand away. he stops her, wrist caught in his grip, guiding it back where it was. “don’t stop. let me see.” after that, movie nights become a gamble, she’ll either fall asleep on his chest twenty minutes in or end up straddling him with the credits rolling, both of them too wrecked to remember what they watched.
first time writing little blurbs/headcanons (???) like this and i luv theyre so fun and cute. i have a really good rafe fic idea and i got inspo from a video i’d seen on twitter so im excited😫 but i also wanna write a fic for the 4th but sooo undecided on if i should do rafe, garrett or dean ughhegsgshsg help & send ideas!!!! kisses to u all<3
content warning: heavyyyy sexual tension, suggestive content 18+ MDNI
wc: 1.5k
The party is already out of control by the time you arrive at Rafe’s frat. Sticky floors, bodies packed too close, the atmosphere heavy with humidity and the reeking scent of the keg in the far back corner, and music loud enough to blur your thoughts into something hazy.
You didn’t want to spend your Friday night like this, especially to be a part of the crowd at a place like Lambda Chi Alpha, yet here you were, only because your friends dragged you. You’d be lying if you didn’t say you also partially came to see Rafe after he’d insisted you come to see him, saying it was only right after you’d both managed to get through the legal business environment course this semester.
You were wedged near the kitchen, laughing at something you barely heard, when a familiar voice cut through everything.
“Well, look who finally decided to show up.” You turned to find Rafe leaning against the counter, the same smirk matching the voice that made your stomach flutter while you discreetly squeezed your thighs to relieve the pressure you felt in your core.
You rolled your eyes, but there’s a smile tugging at your lips. “I’ve been here for, like, twenty minutes.”
“Yeah?” He pushed off the counter, stepping closer. “Didn’t see you.”
“You were probably too busy with your frat brothers to notice anyone.”
He huffed a quiet laugh, his eyes dragging over you in a way that didn’t feel invasive, but not quite innocent either. He forced himself to look away from how low your shirt was cut, swallowing the growing need to be closer to you. “Nah,” he denied as he placed one arm on the counter behind you and moved closer. His cologne, musky yet addictive, made your head spin as he claimed, “I would’ve remembered you came in.”
You shook your head, trying not to let that land as hard as it does. “You say that to everyone, Cameron?”
“Only the people I sit near in class,” he shot back easily. “Gotta maintain a good academic relationship with all the nerds I can get.”
“Right. By not bringing my cheat sheets back for three weeks?”
His grin widened, unbothered yet fully amused over how worked up you got. “I said I’d return it eventually.”
“You said that last week.”
“And yet,” he shrugged, leaning in just a fraction, “you’re still talking to me.”
Before you could even come up with a comeback, someone shouted from behind him. “Yo Rafe! Body shot!”
You both turned as a few guys started hyping it up, chanting his name as Rafe’s face flushed red. “For fucks sake,” Rafe groaned under his breath. “They never let anything go.”
“Sounds like you encouraged it,” you pointed out, to which Rafe shook his head that seemed to be either shame or amusement, it was hard to tell as you focused on him biting his lips as your intrusive thoughts took over once again.
“Once,” he said. “For a buddy of mine who was trying to get with this girl.”
“Oh,” you nodded unimpressed, your tone heavy with sarcasm. “I’m sure.”
Before Rafe could snark back at you, someone cut in, “Rafe bro, c’mon!”
Rafe glanced back at you, something amused and slightly challenging in his expression. “What do you think?”
“About you making bad decisions?” you asked, voice dripped in honey and mockery. “I think it tracks.”
He chuckled, shaking his head. “Nah, not that.” His gaze locked onto yours, a little more intent now as the once blue eyes that were so bright darkened more than you’d anticipated. “About helping me out.”
Your stomach flips and suddenly, coming here seemed like you’d unknowingly walked into a trap. “You’re asking me?” you raised a brow, except Rafe can sense the hesitation in your body as the energy around you two builds fast for anticipation.
“C’mon,” he added, softer this time. “It’s just for fun.” There was something about the way he said it so easily, or how enticing it’d be to have Rafe touch you that intimately, that made it harder to say no.
“Fine,” you sighed in hopes that it sounded less enthusiastic that you really were. “Better not embarrass me, Cameron.”
“I won’t,” he cut in, quick and certain. Then, with a smirk, “You’ll embarrass yourself all on your own.”
You scoffed, but you stepped towards where the crowd was gathered, Rafe’s hand hot on you back like he was branding you as he guided you to the table. The circle tightened, one of his frat brothers handing him a lime while the other motioned you to lie down.
“What? Can’t you just pour the salt on the back of my hand?” You asked, baffled.
“Then why would it be called body shots if it’s not on your body,” he replied as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
As you laid down, the cool surface of the wooden table sent a shiver through your thin top. Rafe's eyes darkened as he noticed, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard to try and not let his hardening member be noticeable. The crowd around you was a blur of faces and noise, but all you could focus on was the man kneeling beside you.
"Ready?" he asked, his voice low enough that only you could hear. His fingers brushed against your stomach as he lifted your shirt just enough to expose your midriff, and the contact of his finger tips sent electricity straight to your core.
"Just get it over with," you managed, though your voice came out breathier than you intended.
Rafe's lips curved into a knowing smirk as his frat brother handed him the salt shaker. "Don't worry, baby" he murmured, leaning closer. "I'll be gentle."
His fingers traced a circle around your navel before dipping the salt onto your skin while the other gripped your thighs, pushing it up enough to let you feel this thick member though his jeans. The slight abrasiveness of the grains mixed with the warmth of his touch had you arching slightly off the table. When his thumb accidentally brushed against your inner thigh, you had to bite back a moan.
"Easy there," he teased, noticing your reaction. "We haven't even gotten to the good part yet."
One of his friends poured the tequila into your belly button, the cool liquid pooling there and making you gasp at the sensation. Rafe positioned the lime wedge between your teeth, his fingers lingering against your lips for just a second too long.
"Open wide," he commanded softly, and you complied, your eyes locked with his as he lowered his head. The first touch of his tongue against your skin felt like the end of a firestarter, the heat creeping up as you body felt electric. He started at the edge of the salt, his warm mouth tracing a path toward your navel. The crowd was chanting now, but their voices faded into background noise as all your senses zeroed in on the wet heat of Rafe's mouth against your skin.
Once Rafe reached the tequila, he didn't just lap it up quickly. Instead, his tongue swirled in your navel, deliberate and sensual, drawing out the moment until your thighs were trembling. You could feel the heat building between your legs, a desperate ache that had nothing to do with the alcohol. He moved upward to claim the lime from your mouth, but instead of just taking it, his lips brushed against yours in the process. The brief contact was charged with unspoken promises, leaving you breathless and wanting more as he finally pulled away with the lime between his teeth and slight smudge of sparkles from your lip gloss on his lips.
The crowd erupted in cheers, but Rafe's eyes never left yours as he sat back on his heels. There was a new intensity in his gaze, a hunger that mirrored your own. "Good girl" he cooed, his voice low and rough around the edges, like he hadn’t meant for it to come out that way. He watched the way your expression shifts just slightly, his heart pounding in his chest.
You sat up slowly, your skin still tingling where his mouth had been as your fingers curled around the collar of polo to bring him down. The movement catches him off guard as he took in the newfound confidence in you. His breath stuttered for half a second before he recovered, eyes flicking over your face like he’s trying to read what you’ll do next.
Your lips moved over his ear, making his spine straighten from the sudden closeness, from the way your breath ghosted over his skin as you whispered, "Need help with that?"
Rafe followed your line of sight, looking down to see your legs wrapped around his waist while his hardened member laid on your clothed core, twitching as he anticipated what was about to happen.
private school golden boy. lacrosse MVP. trust fund heir.
now he’s a twenty-five-year-old streaming from his dad’s pool house, ranting about "male loneliness" and “the fall of masculinity” while rage-quitting apex matches at 3 a.m.
he calls himself “unfiltered.”
tells his chat he doesn’t care about clout.
says girls like are fake, manipulative, and ruining the internet.
but then he finds your stream.
and he can’t stop watching.
you’re all sparkly overlays and heart filters.
streaming roblox dress-up games in a pink headset.
drinking strawberry milk and squealing when you get first place in dress to impress.
your chat calls you “princess” and “angel” while you build outfits based on cupcakes.
your sweet. a little annoying. soft.
everything rafe says he hates.
and now your in his head.
and on his second monitor.
and in his dreams.
then someone raids you with his clip.
“isn’t this the guy who said you’re the downfall of women?”
you giggle.
“wait… he’s kinda hot?”
and that’s how it starts.
incel!streamer!rafe playing dress to impress with girly!streamer!reader
how girly!streamer!reader reacts to being sexualized?
softdom!rafe being overprotective when bunny!reader helps Wheezie with boy problems…⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆
The ice cream parlour is just the right amount of busy, kids running around and teenagers mingling. You and Wheezie had pleaded for Rafe to take you here, and now, the two of you were giggling over gossip and ice cream flavours. He on the other hand, was slumped next to you on his phone, secretly enjoying your excitement, but overall a depressing spoil sport.
You’re sucking on your spoon, oblivious and happy. Wheezie had quietened, and you’d noticed the way she’d been staring at a rowdy table not far from yours. A small but loud group of boys, one in particular catching her gaze.
You furrow your brows curiously. you nudge her softly, smiling playfully.
“What’s his name?” you whisper teasingly, humoured by the way her cheeks flush at your annoyingly sharp insight. She sighs.
“Marcus.” in the quietest whisper.
“That’s cute!” you giggle, but she rolls her eyes at you.
“Who’s Marcus?” Rafe grumbles, suddenly interested in conversation.
Wheezie freezes, as do you, before you burst into little nervous giggles, winning you a sharp kick under the table from the very flushed girl. “Hey!” you yelp, but Rafe isn’t humoured. “Wheezie.” he commands, no room for defiance or distractions.
“A boy.” she huffs, avoiding eye contact.
“A boy that she’s gonna go speak to!” you plead, prodding her arm tauntingly, earning a small smile from her.
“Nobody’s speakin’ to no-one.” Rafe mutters, arms crossed as he leans against the table.
Wheezie sighs again, slumping in her seat, arms crossed and lips pouted. “He probably thinks i’m weird anyway.” she mumbles.
Rafe barks a laugh at that, serving him a spoon flying at his head from you. “Be nice.” you whine, but his smirk doesn’t falter, instead he raises his hands in a taunting, mocking surrender.
You roll your eyes, turning back to Wheez, gaze softening. “If he thinks you’re weird, then he’s the weird one.” your voice is soft, encouraging, at least it’s encouraging enough to send her in his direction. Rafe shoots you a look, it could’ve been disgust, but it also could’ve been silent admiration, either way, the boy looks star struck.
You squeal when she reaches his table, all tension dropping when the boy meets her with a friendly smile, stepping away from his friends to greet her. You sink into Rafe’s side, hugging his arm, all giggly and excited. “Isn’t that so cute!?”
“It’s disgusting.” he scoffs, but you choose to ignore his negativity, still all bubbly with anticipation and awe. He slips his arm around your waist, and despite his fake disinterest, you can see the way his eyes aren’t straying from that boys table, his jaw tightening when he notes the boy laughing, stepping too close for his liking.
You gasp, tapping Rafe when the two get closer, the boys hand landing on her arm as they laugh, you let out small squeals at the adorable innocence of it all. “Rafey-!”
“Hey, no touchin’!“ He shouts from across the parlour, sending a streak of silence to fall upon the once loud chatter and clinking of glasses. It’s the kind of silence that drags, the stares burning into the two of you but Rafe doesn’t seem to care one bit. You nearly die, never mind Wheezie, whose face turns from excitement to a horrified flush of red.
“Oh god.” you squeak.
The car ride home is silent, as one would imagine, but Rafe isn’t having it.
“No boys fuckin’ pervin on my little sister? Y’got that?”
In bed later that night, Rafe’s lay between your legs, watching Top Gun on his phone whilst you play with his hair. The atmosphere is cool with a sweet intimate breeze, but you can’t help but think of what happened.
“Don’t you think you went a little hard on Wheez?” you whisper, hands working gently in his sandy blonde hair.
He barely pays any mind, “She’ll live.” he grunts, eyes zeroed in on his phone.
“Yeah, but-“ you start, but he gives you no room to debate with him. He groans, closing his phone and turning to you, resting on his elbow. “Fine.” he snaps, but his gaze softens when he catches your expression, all mopey and soft.
He swipes a calloused hand over his face, tongue flicking out to wet his lips. “I’ll make it up.” he mutters, eyes shut briefly as the words he speaks basically pain him.
You smile, sweet and satisfied, pulling him closer to plant a kiss on his cheek. “Thank you Rafey!”
“Yeah yeah.” he scoffs in dismissal, but pulls you in anyway, kissing you with a deepness that makes you squeal and wriggle into him with little happy giggles.
Warnings: SMUT, language, fingering, p in v, no mentions of protection (wrap it!), breeding, self pleasure (Rafe)
꥟꥟꥟
You had come over to hang out with Rafe. You both haven’t seen each other since yesterday since college was busy for you both. Rafe needed his daily dose of you, so he spammed texted you to sleepover.
So here you were, lying in his bed. Wearing just his old football jersey and a pair of Calvin Kline underwear. You laid in his bed watching tv. Rafe was playing cod with the guys. His headset on but one ear off just in case you wanted to chat or needed anything. He sat in his gaming chair at his desk. His eyes glued to the monitor, but occasionally glanced over to you.
You watched the tv on his wall, enjoying the company and finding it funny how the boys talk in chat.
You felt drowsy, your eyelids felt heavier each blink. You moved your head into the pillow more, turning over to lay on your stomach as you went to sleep.
Rafe glanced over to you as he heard you shift around in bed. His eyes raked over you. Seeing the jersey had rode up resting on your kid back. Showing off one of his favourite things about you, your ass. He could stare at it all day if he could. His hands on it most of the time. But it was the fact that you laid in his bed. Tangled up in the covers, wearing his jersey. Looking peaceful and relaxed, that made him hard in his sweatpants.
He groaned as he looked down at his sweats, seeing the newly formed tent. He didn’t bother putting on boxers as he had only just got out of the shower and just wanted to throw something on. Besides he does it most of the time when he lounges around.
He turned his attention back to the game. Trying to calm down the hard on in his sweats. But he can’t help but look over to you every so often. He couldn’t do anything about it yet. You were asleep. And he wasn’t the type to do such things without you knowing. He knew better.
He moved his right hand over his bulge. His controller in his left hand. The guys and himself were in the lobby of the game. Some of the guys either going to the bathroom or getting snacks. He quickly muted himself.
Moving his hand into his boxers, he closed his eyes and leaned his head back. Stroking the long length of his as he thought about you sat on top of him on his gaming chair. Like you have many times.
He just couldn’t budge it. Not even his hand was helping anymore. He had enough. He was going to climb into bed and sleep it off. He quickly made an excuse for him to end the game with the guys. He logged off and turned his ps5 off.
He climbed into bed beside you. Pulling you close to him. Letting out a long sigh, he closed his eyes and tried to relax.
He soon fell asleep. Then to be only woken up at two in the morning. He groaned to himself when he felt his hips subconsciously grid against your side.
He was tried, so were you. But he had to get rid of it. And he’d know you’d most def would help him.
He brushed a few strands of hair out of your face. Then whispering in his deep husky tired voice “baby… need you to wake up f’me…”
You turned over, rubbing your eye “hm?”
He grinned softly “c’mon… I need some help… you looked so good in my jersey earlier… I couldn’t shift it…” he pressed his hard on against your hip to show you.
You resting your forehead against his lips “but ‘m tired, Rafey…” “I know, I know, could you just stay awake? I’ll do all the work… just relaxed and help me out, yeah?” God his voice did things to you no one could ever explain. His raspy along with the deep mess of the accent and his overall tone. Sent shivers down your spine.
He pressed a kiss to your forehead, then your lips, then your neck. Gently turning you over and lifting your right thigh up more. He moved his hand along your side and down to your entrance.
His palm against you, already feeling your underwear to be damp. He smirked lazily “that’s my girl…” he moved his hand in slow, lazy circles.
You moaned softly, he pulled your underwear to the side. Moving his middle finger inside of you. He lazily pushed it in and out. Curling his finger every other time. You pushed your ass back into his hard on. Causing him to groan and rock his hips into you.
He slipped his ring finger into you next. Prepping you for him. Causing you to tiredly rock your hips against his hand.
He pulled his fingers away and move his hand into his sweats. He then tugged his sweats down just enough to let his cock out. He was hung. No doubt about it. All the girls in college would die to get what you got most nights. But you took it all the way each time. Nothing like the girls he had in the past. Nothing compares to you.
He ran his tip along your slit, gently pushing it inside. Causing you to moan softly. He went in, inch by inch.
He moved his hand to your jaw. Holding it and turn your head enough so he could kiss you. As he would lazily and slowly thrust in and out of you.
You liked this side of him. Most of the time you both were rough or loud. This was quiet and relaxing for a change.
He bit your bottom lip gently as he pulls away a little. He looked into your eyes with pure lust. His lips brushing against yours as he mumbled “so fucking tight f’me… best fucking pussy, all mine, baby, yeah? All mine…love it so much” you moaned softly. Looking into his eyes with tiredness and attraction. God the look you’re giving him right now drove him insane.
He kept moving his large length in you. He moved a little so he was on top of you more. Getting a better angle and also going deeper in you. Causing you to moan a little louder. He moved his left hand next to your head in the bed, stabilising himself. As his right went under the jersey and over your breast. Massaging your breast as he rest his forehead on the side of your head. He breathing heavy and ragged.
He felt you tighten around him, causing him to groan lowly “fuuuccckk…”
He picked up his pace, you were about to moan when he shoved his hand over your mouth gently. He whispered “gotta stay quiet, baby, I don’t want the guys hearing how good I make you feel… don’t wanna wake em up now, yeah?” You nodded.
As you feel your climax approaching, Rafe smirked. Knowing your body inside and out. He knew you were close. He picked up his pace more. The room filled with heavy breathing and cheek smacking.
Your jaw slackens as you tighten around him and finish. He groans “thaaatss it, come all over my cock, yeah? Mhm fuck, so hot…”
He moved his mouth to your ear “want me to come in ya? Want it, baby? I know you do, tell me, do you?” You nodded “yes, Rafey, want you too… so bad, please…” he smirked.
Feeling himself finishing in you was amazing. Knowing it was him that made you feel this good and him being the one to finish in you, was a dream to him.
He stayed there for a moment. Giving you a ‘thank you’ kiss. He mumbled against your cheek “thank you for helping, babe… did so good f’me… I’ll treat you in the morning, you don’t have class till the afternoon… I’ll eat you out all morning, hm? Wanna do it so bad, been craving you…”
You nodded eagerly, one of your favourite things he does was just that.
He gently pulled out, watching his seed go down your thigh. He grabbed some tissues on the side of his bed and wiped it. Knowing you’d probably not want to sleep with it all over you.
Tossing the tissue into the trash can. He laid back beside you. Pulling on his sweats again. And wrapping his arms around your waist. Whispering sweet nothings into your ear as you fall back asleep.
And best believe he kept his word for the next morning.
you missed the ball for maybe 5th time, that’s what made you throw your head back and groan. "i hate this game." you looked at rafe with a small smile.
he was already walking towards you, shaking his head during it with a small smirk. his white polo shirt was lowkey tight, which made him look even hotter than usual, especially with the cap backwards combo.
he stood behind you before he held the golf club with you. he helped you swing the club and hit the ball so it’d actually get somewhere. and it actually got kinda far.
you chuckled softly "thanks, babe." he just nodded with a smirk "you don’t gotta hit it hard so it’d get far." he dropped his golf ball on the ground and prepared it.
it got more far than yours which was more of a motivation to you. you grabbed the club and really focused. you swung and missed the ball again. he chuckled at that. "babe, focus." he got behind you again, so his crotch area was pressed against your ass, his chest now softly touching your back.
it made you feel things you had to push the hell away because you two were in public. he helped you again but this time you didn’t even care about the ball.
you just noticed it got further than his. you moved closer to him and wrapped your arms around him from the side. "thanks again." he pecked your temple, his palm landing on your ass as he pulled you closer. "no problem."
you looked up at him, staring at the smirk on his face, aware of what’s gonna happen when you two get back home.
this is a short story guys!! i’m so sorry for lowkey being unactive, i’m busy rnn so this is rushed 😟
