#prettygirl!reader

[angel06babysworld]

You should do a dad rafe fic! I luv your writing btww

thank you bby! here!!

[angel06babysworld]

nhl!rafe x prettygirl!reader

Jamie

jamie was three months old when she finally admitted something was wrong.

not to a doctor.

not to her mom.

not even to herself, really.

just to rafe.

it happened at two in the morning after jamie had finally fallen asleep. the apartment was dark except for the small lamp glowing in the corner of the nursery. rafe sat in the rocking chair with their son sleeping against his chest while she stood frozen in the doorway.

watching.

jamie always seemed happier with him.

it wasn’t true.

or maybe it was.

she couldn’t tell anymore.

all she knew was that every time she held him, she felt terrified. every cry felt like proof she was doing something wrong. every difficult feeding felt like evidence he didn’t want her.

rafe looked up from where he sat.

“baby?”

she swallowed.

“i think he hates me.”

the words slipped out before she could stop them.

immediately, rafe’s face fell.

“what?”

her eyes started burning.

“he doesn’t smile at me like he smiles at you.”

“jamie barely knows how to smile.”

“he does with you.”

“baby.”

“he cries every time i hold him.”

the tears came before she could stop them. suddenly they were falling down her face and she hated herself for crying because she’d been crying all day. all week. all month.

rafe carefully stood, transferring jamie into the crib before crossing the room.

“hey.”

she stepped back.

“don’t.”

“don’t what?”

“look at me like that.”

his brow furrowed.

“like what?”

“like you’re worried.”

that hurt him.

she could see it.

because rafe had been worried.

for months.

he’d watched her stop sleeping even when the baby slept. watched her pick at her food. watched her stare at walls for hours. watched her smile less and less until she barely smiled at all.

still, he’d never pushed.

never judged.

never made her feel broken.

he simply wrapped his arms around her and held her while she cried into his shirt.

“jamie loves you.”

she shook her head.

“he does.”

“you don’t know that.”

rafe pulled back just enough to look at her.

“yes, i do.”

“how?”

“because you’re his mom.”

she laughed bitterly.

“that’s not enough.”

his jaw tightened.

“for him, it is.”

she looked away.

the next morning, she woke up expecting rafe to leave for practice.

instead, she found him sitting cross-legged on the living room floor with jamie lying on a blanket between them.

their son kicked his tiny legs happily while rafe shook a stuffed penguin above him.

“good morning.”

she blinked.

“aren’t you late?”

“took the day off.”

“rafe.”

“don’t.”

he looked at her firmly.

“one practice isn’t more important than you.”

her throat tightened.

before she could answer, rafe scooped jamie up and stood.

then he placed the baby directly into her arms.

she instantly stiffened.

“rafe…”

“hold him.”

“he’s gonna cry.”

“he’s not.”

“you don’t know that.”

“i do.”

jamie stared up at her.

big blue eyes.

tiny hands.

a little milk stain on the front of his onesie.

she waited for him to start screaming.

he didn’t.

he just looked at her.

rafe moved behind her, wrapping his arms around both of them.

“see?”

she couldn’t relax.

couldn’t breathe.

couldn’t stop the voice in her head telling her she was doing everything wrong.

rafe must’ve noticed.

he always noticed.

because he rested his chin on her shoulder.

“tell me what you’re thinking.”

she stared at jamie.

“that he deserves a better mom.”

silence.

then—

“don’t ever say that.”

his voice wasn’t angry.

it was heartbroken.

she closed her eyes.

“i mean it.”

“i know.”

“he deserves someone who doesn’t mess everything up.”

“you don’t mess everything up.”

“rafe—”

“baby, look at me.”

she turned reluctantly.

his eyes were glossy.

and somehow that was worse.

because rafe rarely cried.

“you carried him for nine months.”

she felt tears forming again.

“you gave birth to him.”

another tear slipped free.

“you stay up with him.”

“rafe…”

“you love him so much that you’re sitting here convincing yourself he deserves better.”

his hand found hers.

“that doesn’t sound like a bad mom to me.”

she couldn’t speak.

couldn’t even breathe properly.

jamie made a tiny noise between them.

then something grabbed her finger.

she looked down.

his little fist had wrapped around her index finger.

completely by accident.

probably.

but he held on.

tight.

for some reason, that broke her.

she started crying so hard she had to sit down.

rafe immediately sat beside her.

one arm around her shoulders.

the other rubbing circles over jamie’s back.

they stayed like that for a long time.

just breathing.

just existing.

just surviving.

days turned into weeks.

rafe helped with everything.

he found doctors.

went to appointments with her.

held her hand in waiting rooms.

got up during night feedings even when he had practice at six in the morning.

never once complained.

never once made her feel guilty.

and slowly, things started changing.

not all at once.

not magically.

just little moments.

jamie falling asleep on her chest.

jamie turning his head when he heard her voice.

jamie calming down when she sang to him.

small things.

important things.

one afternoon, a few weeks later, she sat on the couch with jamie in her lap while rafe cooked dinner.

their son was awake and unusually content.

just staring at her.

watching.

she smiled hesitantly.

and suddenly, jamie smiled back.

a real one.

not gas.

not random.

a genuine smile.

his whole face lit up.

she froze.

“rafe.”

he looked up immediately.

“what happened?”

her eyes filled with tears.

“he smiled.”

“yeah?”

“at me.”

rafe’s expression softened instantly.

jamie smiled again.

she laughed through her tears.

and before she knew it, rafe was kneeling beside the couch.

one hand on her knee.

the other brushing jamie’s hair back.

watching them both.

watching the two people he loved most.

“told you.”

she looked at him.

“what?”

a small smile appeared on his face.

“he loves his mama.”

this time, for the first time in months, she believed him.

tags: @camerxnlove @mochibunnyyyy @starkeysfile @rosiecherie @my-fabulousness-has-arrived @angelicameron @p34rlzzz @maximumstructurearchivist @seraphiccrafe @graciegibsonn @obxobsessedbitch1 @dabishou @corallandtragedy3 @dxphhnnee @angxls @l1ttlebones @kavycakes @drewsbby @ghosttinvs @abbottjunior01 @friedvoidstrawberry @ssugartalkin @whimsygayho @bonni-98 @sex-the1975 @juulsie @estrellabeatriz15 @heavenstolemyheart @baeeyarr @lostinisara @outersbanksgirly @marsisonmarsrn @cruelpandapath @in3edcuddles @joelmillrenthusiast @ljh22 @samaarama @ithinkimagirlkisser @solaceluna @celestialcameron @stellarina777 @isastarset

[angel06babysworld]

what NHL!Rafe did for prettygirl!reader for mothers day…

she woke up to whispering.

aggressive whispering.

“isla, stop pushing me.”

“i’m not pushing you.”

“you literally elbowed me.”

“because you’re standing too close.”

then a loud crash echoed from downstairs followed by rafe hissing, “shit.”

she smiled before even opening her eyes.

mother’s day.

the second she walked into the hallway, she could smell coffee and something sweet drifting upstairs. probably pancakes if she had to guess. she made it halfway down before hearing tiny footsteps racing toward her.

“mama!”

her daughter launched herself directly into her legs while her son followed behind at a much slower pace, trying very hard to act cool despite the giant grin on his face.

“you weren’t supposed to wake up yet,” he informed her seriously.

“sorry,” she whispered dramatically. “i ruined the mission.”

her daughter gasped. “daddy said mission too!”

“yeah? where is daddy?”

both kids immediately looked toward the kitchen.

and there he was.

rafe stood at the stove in gray sweats and a black compression shirt, hair messy like he’d been running his hands through it for the past hour. there was flour on his shoulder somehow, pancake batter on the counter, and syrup dangerously close to spilling off the island.

he looked exhausted.

he also looked ridiculously pretty.

the second he noticed her standing there, his entire face softened.

“c’mere,” he said quietly.

she barely made it two steps before his arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her against his chest while he kissed her slow and warm.

“happy mother’s day, pretty girl.”

“you made breakfast?”

“attempted breakfast,” their son corrected.

“i heard that,” rafe muttered.

their daughter proudly pointed toward the stove. “he burned six pancakes.”

“five,” rafe argued.

“six.”

“one was barely burned.”

she laughed against his shoulder while he pressed another kiss into her hair.

“go sit down,” he told her softly. “you’re not allowed to do anything today.”

“that sounds fake.”

“it’s not fake,” her son said immediately. “dad woke us up at six.”

“six?” she repeated.

rafe shrugged like it was nothing. “needed time to prep.”

“you mean needed time to fail multiple times,” the boy answered.

rafe narrowed his eyes. “watch it.”

their son only grinned before helping his little sister carry plates to the table. she watched the entire thing with warmth sitting heavy in her chest.

because rafe had always been intense about loving people.

everything with him was overwhelming. loud. consuming.

but fatherhood had softened him in places she didn’t think existed.

he still played rough on the ice. still got into fights. still had that mean streak when it came to literally anyone else.

but with them?

god.

with them, he was gentle.

she sat at the table while rafe brought over coffee exactly how she liked it without asking. then he placed a horribly misshapen pancake onto her plate like he was presenting fine dining

“be honest,” he said. “they look terrible, right?”

“they look beautiful.”

“liar.”

their daughter climbed into the chair beside her. “daddy almost cried earlier.”

“i did not cry.”

“you got frustrated.”

“that’s not crying.”

“you said a lotta bad words.”

he sighed heavily. “i’m surrounded by haters.”

their son snorted into his juice.

breakfast was honestly awful.

the pancakes were raw in the middle and somehow salty, the fruit was unevenly cut because apparently rafe let the kids help, and the bacon was nearly black.

she loved every second of it.

after breakfast, the kids disappeared upstairs while rafe cleaned the kitchen despite her trying to help.

“absolutely not,” he said firmly, pointing at her with the spatula. “sit down.”

“yes sir.”

his eyes darkened for half a second before rolling them. “don’t start.”

she smirked.

a few minutes later, both kids came running back downstairs carrying handmade cards.

their daughter’s had glitter glued so aggressively to the front that it was literally falling off.

their son’s was messier in a different way. older. less little kid-ish. he tried to act embarrassed handing it to her.

“dad said we had to make them.”

“because it’s mother’s day,” rafe defended.

“you made me redo mine twice.”

“because the first one said ‘happy birthday.’”

“i was tired.”

she laughed so hard she nearly cried.

then she actually did cry opening the cards.

because her daughter had drawn their family holding hands under a giant uneven heart.

and her son had written, in messy handwriting, thank you for always coming to my games even when dad’s games are bigger.

that one ruined her.

completely.

“oh, buddy,” she whispered, pulling him into her arms immediately.

he groaned dramatically about her embarrassing him, but still hugged her back tight.

rafe leaned against the counter watching all of them quietly.

softly.

like this was his favorite thing in the world.

later that afternoon, after flowers and gifts and an expensive necklace she’d already scolded him for buying, rafe drove them out to the lake house for the rest of the weekend.

the kids ran ahead toward the dock while she stayed behind beside the car, watching them.

watching him.

rafe came up behind her slowly, hands sliding around her waist.

“what?” he murmured against her temple.

“nothing.”

“you’re staring.”

she turned in his arms a little. “just thinking.”

“dangerous.”

she rolled her eyes.

his grin faded into something softer when he looked down at her.

“you happy today?”

the question caught her off guard.

not because of what he asked.

because he sounded nervous asking it.

like after all these years, after two kids and a million “i love you”s and every impossible thing they’d survived together, he still worried about getting it right.

she reached up, fixing the collar of his shirt gently.

“rafe.”

“hm?”

“this is my favorite mother’s day i’ve ever had.”

and the smile he gave her after that?

that one was hers. completely.

tags: @amelialovesrafe @alyisdead @illumoria @blissfulbutterfliess @sydneysslove @matthewswifeyy @meetmeintheemeraldpool @lcversvoid @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @cokewithcameron @drewrry @harubunnyy @lifeonawhim @ar1ynx @tottassss @nessasmultiverseoflove @camerxnlove @mochibunnyyyy @starkeysfile @rosiecherie @faiux @my-fabulousness-has-arrived @angelicameron @p34rlzzz @maximumstructurearchivist @seraphiccrafe @graciegibsonn @obxobsessedbitch1 @dabishou @corallandtragedy3 @dxphhnnee @angxls @l1ttlebones @kavycakes @drewsbby @ghosttinvs @fiercetigerpoison @friedvoidstrawberry @ssugartalkin @whimsygayho @bonni-98 @sex-the1975 @juulsie @estrellabeatriz15 @heavenstolemyheart @baeeyar @lostinisara @outersbanksgirly @marsisonmarsrn @cruelpandapath

[angel06babysworld]

nhl!rafe x prettygirl!reader m.list

✿ All American Morning

✿ Daddy’s in the Box

✿ Extra Napkins…Oh, and Emily

✿ Ice and Honey

✿ How They Met

✿ Off the Ice, Off the Record

✿ Mothers Day

✿ Jamie

[angel06babysworld]

nhl!rafe x prettygirl!reader

warnings: public image tension, jealousy, reunion sex

Off the Ice, Off the Record

She hadn’t been to a game in three weeks.

Not since that article dropped—“Cameron’s Off-Ice Distraction: Meet the Girlfriend Hurting His Game.”

They’d used the word girlfriend like a slur.

And the photos? Of her cheering too loud. Wearing heels that matched his team’s colors. Lip gloss shiny under the stadium lights.

Like existing in his orbit made her a problem.

And worst of all?

He didn’t say a thing.

No press rebuttal. No cute couple picture on his story. No interview where he called her his.

Just silence.

So yeah, she didn’t wear his jersey tonight.

Didn’t come down to the locker room.

Didn’t even glance toward the bench when the whole arena screamed his name.

But Rafe saw her. Of course he did. He always did.

He didn’t bother showering after the game. Just shoved past reporters, still half in gear, and stalked toward the press box tunnel with his jaw clenched and blood drying on his bottom lip.

He found her behind the media suite, alone by the wall, scrolling on her phone like her heart wasn’t breaking.

“You look good,” he said roughly.

She didn’t look up. “You shouldn’t be back here.”

“You shouldn’t be acting like you’re not still mine.”

That got her attention. Eyes snapping up. Fire behind them.

“You’re not allowed to say that,” she hissed. “You let them drag me. Made me look like some clout-chasing puck bunny—”

“You think I believed any of that?”

“You didn’t do shit to stop it!”

“I couldn’t,” he growled. “You think I don’t fucking know what they said about you? I wanted to rip someone’s throat out. But my agent—”

“I’m not your brand, Rafe.”

His chest heaved.

“I know,” he said, voice softer now. “You’re my girl.”

She stared.

He stepped closer. Slow. Measured.

“I miss you screaming when I score. Miss you blowing kisses at the glass. Miss that smug little look you get when the WAGs try to flirt with me and you just smile like, ‘He’s going home with me.’”

“I don’t flirt quietly,” she warned.

He smirked. “I don’t want quiet.”

Then he kissed her.

Hard. Desperate. Like he’d lost oxygen and she was the only thing left to breathe.

She shoved him into the nearest room—an empty trainer’s office—and locked the door. Rafe pulled her against him with bruising hands, tongue sliding into her mouth like he owned it.

“You gonna let me make it up to you?” he rasped.

She glared, chest heaving. “That depends.”

“On what?”

“If you can still fuck me like you mean it.”

That grin—cocky, crooked, hers—flashed across his face.

“Oh, baby,” he groaned, tugging her skirt up, “you’re about to forget what you were mad about.”

He lifted her onto the desk like she weighed nothing. Her thighs parted fast, need burning through her. His fingers found her soaked through the lace.

“Missed this pussy,” he growled, sinking to his knees.

“Rafe—”

“Shh,” he murmured, nosing against the fabric. “Off the ice, off the record, remember?”

He pulled her panties to the side and dove in—tongue lapping, sucking, devouring. She nearly came just from that, his hands gripping her thighs like a man starved.

When he finally stood, mouth wet, he unzipped and lined up without a single tease.

“You’re mine,” he whispered.

Then he pushed in—and she screamed.

Hard, fast, relentless. The desk shook. Her moans echoed. His teeth scraped her shoulder as he muttered her name like gospel, like prayer, like apology.

When she clenched around him, crying out, nails in his back—he came so hard he nearly collapsed.

After, he held her there. Pressed against him, sweaty and panting. Kisses to her temple. Her collarbone. Her lips.

He nuzzled her ear.

“Next game, I want you in that tight red jersey,” he murmured. “And front row. I want everyone to see you.”

She smirked, still breathless. “You’re not worried about the distraction?”

His hands slid up her bare waist. “Nah. They’ll just be jealous I’ve got the prettiest girl in the league.”

dividers: @/bernardsbendystraws

tags: @amelialovesrafe @alyisdead @illumoria @blissfulbutterfliess @sydneysslove @sc04 @matthewswifeyy @meetmeintheemeraldpool @lcversvoid @honeyinthesummer @dolli333 @lolabunnyworldss @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @rafessbaby @rafesbabygirlx @cokewithcameron @drewrry @harubunnyyy @ellayahhs @lifeonawhim @usseraloo

[angel06babysworld]

request: https://vt.tiktok.com/ZSB5xsxBr/

if you do requests maybe reader and her friends do this at the bar as a joke and then she mets rafe, he stares at the phone like…wait what? then laughs and he meets readers eyes, and he is like already so obsessed with her. he’s like “well you’re gonna need my number for that picture now” and they’re flirting and since they’re in a bar and its loud, so he has to lead down whenever she talks because of their height difference and he’s just sooooo close to her and staying around her all night while her friends sneak pics of them talking together😩😩😩😩🙈🙈

here <3

[angel06babysworld]

how old are all of ur readers?

-💄

slutty!reader - 22

swan!reader - 23

angel!reader - 25

prettygirl!reader- 28

bunny!reader - 19

teddy!reader - 22

blackcat!reader - 19

bimbo!reader - 19

bratty!reader - 19

goldengirl!reader - 18

babysitter!reader - 21

puppy!reader - 15-18. some of the blurbs will be in high school when (sexist!) rafe is ‘shaping’ her- no smut though

gf!reader - 25

crybaby!reader - 19

shy!reader - 16. no smut is ever written for her and jock!rafe unless i state in the authors note that they’re aged up (18-20)

player!reader - 24

[angel06babysworld]

i would love to see nhl!rafe get hurt like a broken bone or something and reader is just so sweet and caring with him even if he is a little bit of an asshole <3 or vice versa and him freaking out because the reader has gotten hurt!

nhl!rafe x prettygirl!reader

Ice and Honey

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The house was too quiet without the kids.

Usually, there’d be the thud of Jamie’s sneakers down the hall, Isla humming while brushing her dolls’ hair, the TV on in the background. But tonight, all of it was gone—sent to Grandma’s house with overnight bags and bedtime snacks. Just Rafe and her.

And the ice pack.

He hissed as she pressed it to his ribs, his big body leaned back against the pillows, hoodie rumpled and face still flushed from the adrenaline of the game.

“You shouldn’t have stayed in the third period,” she whispered, brushing his damp hair off his forehead. “You were limping.”

He smirked, even though it hurt. “We were down by one. I wasn’t about to sit out.”

She gave him a look, soft and knowing, and said nothing. Instead, she set the ice down and smoothed her hands up under the hem of his hoodie, careful around the bruised skin, fingertips tracing the tender lines across his torso like she could will the pain away.

“I hate seeing you like this,” she murmured, kissing the corner of his mouth.

“I don’t mind it,” he said, voice low, eyes on her. “If it gets me you like this.”

She smiled, sitting on the edge of the bed, her thighs brushing his. “Like what?”

“Soft.” He curled a hand around her hip, slow and rough and familiar. “You always get real soft when I’m hurting.”

Her lips brushed against his jaw. “Maybe ‘cause I don’t like when you act like you’re invincible.”

He let her tug the hoodie up and off, wincing as his shoulder shifted. She was careful, so careful—treating him like something precious instead of something breakable. His hands slid beneath her shirt, thumbs brushing her waist, needy even through the ache.

“You should be resting,” she whispered as she straddled him slowly, easing herself into his lap, skin against skin.

“I am resting,” he said, eyes dark now. “Letting my girl take care of me.”

And that’s exactly what she did.

She moved slow, fluid, never rushed—like he was something she was memorizing all over again. Her hands mapped over his body like a balm, her hips rolling gently, every motion deliberate. He couldn’t move much—his ribs ached too deep—but it didn’t matter. She didn’t need him to do anything but feel her.

“You’re so good to me,” he murmured, his voice cracking as her name fell from his mouth like prayer.

She kissed his forehead, then the bridge of his nose, and finally his mouth—soft and unhurried. “Always.”

And when he came undone beneath her—aching, held, loved—he swore the pain dulled completely.

tags: @amelialovesrafe @alyisdead @illumoria @blissfulbutterfliess @sydneysslove @sc04 @matthewswifeyy @meetmeintheemeraldpool @icversvoid @honeyinthesummer @dolli333 @lolabunnyworldss @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @rafessbaby