Nov 15, 2024
do you ever just ….
like put me in a headlock or something damn
seen from China
seen from Japan
seen from Japan
seen from Türkiye
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Russia
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from Thailand
seen from South Korea
seen from United States
seen from Russia
seen from Italy
seen from Iraq
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
do you ever just ….
like put me in a headlock or something damn
CHERRY GLOSS AND CIGARETTES
bf!rafe cameron x bimbo reader
she walked like sin on satin heels. bubblegum gloss, glitter on her lids, and that tiny pink mini barely covering her ass. everything about her said trouble, but rafe? he was the kind of boy who begged for it.
she twirled her gum around her finger like it was a cigarette and rafe cameron swore she was made in a lab. a doll. a daydream. a walking heart attack in heels that clicked when she walked toward him, always toward him.
“hi baby,” she purred, soft and sweet like cotton candy melting on the tongue.
he was leaning against his truck, hands shoved in his pockets, but the second she got close, all that fake nonchalance went out the window. she was wearing his varsity jacket over her outfit. god, she looked like a fantasy — his fantasy.
“you wearin’ that just to kill me?” he asked, voice low, gravelly, eyes drinking her in like she was his favorite kind of poison.
“no,” she said, giggling. “but if i did, would you die happy?”
rafe smirked, stepped forward, cupped her cheeks in those big, rough hands and tilted her head back like she was something precious. “i’d die fuckin’ euphoric, princess.”
she gasped all dramatic, plush lips parted like she was in one of those old romance films. “you’re soooo obsessed with me.”
“can you blame me?” he murmured, eyes flicking down to her lips. “look at you. you’re like... the end of the world.”
she blinked up at him, lashes thick and fake and flirty. “i don’t even know what that means.”
he laughed. soft. stupid. completely enchanted. “means you’d be the last thing i’d wanna see before the apocalypse.”
she tilted her head, letting that process with her glossed-up, bubble-brain pout. then she grinned like sunshine. “aww, baby, that’s soooo sweet.”
rafe kissed her like a man possessed. slow and messy and full of hunger. her gum got caught between their tongues, but she didn’t care. she moaned into it, fingers tangled in his golden hair, hips bumping into his, all heat and perfume and pink-sugar chaos.
he pressed her up against the truck door, his jacket falling off her shoulders, but she didn’t fix it. just kept looking at him like he hung the stars in the sky.
“you smell like strawberries,” he muttered, burying his nose in her neck. “you’re gonna ruin me.”
“duh,” she said, giggling. “that’s, like, the plan.”
he groaned, head thudding against her shoulder. “you have no idea what you do to me.”
she bit her lip. “i do. that’s why i wear the little skirts.”
he looked down at her legs — long, smooth, tan, perfect — and nearly whined. she hooked one over his thigh, pouting up at him.
“you gonna take me to the diner or just keep kissing me till i’m dizzy?”
“both,” he said, without a beat. “diner first. dizzy later. maybe both at once.”
the neon motel sign flickered outside like a dirty promise. room 7 smelled like smoke and lemon cleaner, but rafe couldn’t care less.
not with her sitting on the edge of the bed in her thigh-high socks and panties, reapplying her gloss like they weren’t about to ruin the room.
“you look like a dream,” he muttered, kicking off his boots.
“i am a dream,” she said, smacking her lips. “and you’re so lucky i picked you to have me.”
“i’d thank god if i thought he had anything to do with it,” he murmured, crawling between her legs. “but i know you’re way too good for heaven.”
she giggled, squealed when he grabbed her thighs and dragged her closer.
“careful! i just did my nails.”
“then you better hold onto the headboard, baby,” he growled, yanking her panties down with his teeth, “cause i’m about to make you forget your name.”
she gasped, tossed her head back, eyes all heavy-lidded and pretty while he buried his face between her thighs. one hand in his hair, the other clawing at the sheets, high-pitched moans falling from her lips like a pop song stuck on repeat.
“rafe— ohmygod, rafe—”
he hummed against her, grinning, totally feral. “say it again.”
“rafe,” she whined, “baby, baby, please.”
he pulled back just long enough to look up at her, lips shiny with her gloss and her. “you look so fuckin’ pretty like this. all messy for me.”
she blinked down at him, face flushed, hair a mess, and god, he wanted to take a picture. frame it. tattoo it on his chest.
“come here,” she whispered.
he climbed up over her, hand slipping under her bra, squeezing just to make her gasp. she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him like she owned him — which she did.
he slid in slow, thick and deep, both of them moaning into each other’s mouths.
“god,” he hissed, “you’re so— tight— fuck—”
“told you i was a dream,” she whispered, biting his lip. “don’t wake up, baby.”
he laughed. “never could.”
they moved together like it was choreography. like a vintage tape left on repeat — her moaning his name, rafe whispering mine, mine, mine in her ear, her pink nails scratching down his back, her lips parted just enough to look obscene.
when she came, it was loud and pretty and perfect. when he did, he swore he saw stars.
after, she laid on his chest, tracing hearts on his skin.
“you’re, like, so obsessed with me,” she mumbled, yawning.
“you don’t even know the half of it,” he whispered, kissing her forehead.
and when she fell asleep, lips parted, cheeks pink, hair a mess, rafe just stared at her like she was everything. because to him? she was.
and he'd burn the world down just to keep her soft and spoiled and smiling like that.
taking requests !!
Good Girls Don't Lie ᢉ𐭩
pairing: Rafe Cameron x reader fandom: Outer Banks part: two contents: smut (18+ minors dni), jealous/possessive rafe, dom!rafe, sub!reader, established situationship, fingering, rough sex, spanking, hair pulling, degradation/name calling, praise (“good girl”), jealousy over jj, couch sex, orgasm denial, creampie / unprotected sex, messy power dynamics, rafe being a menace
note: part two of the previous post ♡
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You watched him as he looked down at you, almost like he was deciding something—what he wanted to do to you.
He leaned back toward you, his hand tilting your face to the side as his lips grazed slowly over your jaw.
“You know what I heard the other day?” he muttered, just low enough for you to hear. His other hand moved down to your waist, pinching lightly.
“What?” A shallow whisper left your lips.
What could he have heard?
“That my pretty girl was seen out and about, with one of the pouges—” he muttered, a different tone creeping into his voice now. Possessive.
“Where did you hear that—”
“We lying now, baby? Thought we were past that.”
He released your face as you turned to look at him.
“So I’ll ask you again,” he muttered, pressing a rough kiss to your neck, his fingers digging into your hip.
“Who the fuck was it?”
You could lie.
For a second, you almost did. It would be easier, right?
Except you had a feeling Rafe already knew. He just wanted to hear you say it.
“JJ,” you muttered softly.
He chuckled. Actually chuckled, smirking as he lifted just enough to look at your face.
“You playing around with Pouges' princess?”
“Hm? You fucking him too,” he snapped as he pinched your hip gently, not enough to hurt but enough to show he was pissed.
His hand moved to your inner thigh, slowly caressing you.
“No—”
“Bullshit, you get this wet for that fucking pouge too?”
Your cheeks flushed instantly—at his tone, at the accusation.
You weren’t sleeping with JJ, but you had a feeling Rafe wouldn’t believe you anyway.
He traced a finger along your inner thigh. You could feel your wetness there from all the teasing he’d been doing.
“Making a fucking mess,” he whispered, mostly to himself, smirking.
His finger slid gently between your folds, collecting your wetness as he watched.
“Fucking soaking,” he muttered.
“So fucking needy, this how you act when he fucks you too?” he snapped, pressing his fingers against your clit as he watched your face.
A low moan left your throat.
“No we aren’t—”
“You think I believe that line of shit?” he whispered, leaning down to your neck again, his fingers moving slowly.
“Rafe—”
“Guess I just have to fuck you better than him huh?” he muttered before kissing you.
The kiss was deeper this time, his tongue brushing across your bottom lip until you opened for him.
His fingers moved faster as soft moans left your lips, muffled by the kiss.
He pulled back slightly.
“you want more baby?”
You nodded immediately.
“Yes please—”
“Good girl.”
His fingers moved lower again, teasing your entrance before sliding inside.
He looked down.
“Look at how greedy you are.”
A moan slipped from your throat as he slowly began moving them in and out, watching your face carefully.
“You like that? Like my fingers inside this pretty cunt?” he muttered, pressing kisses down your neck again.
“God yes,” you moaned.
He curled his fingers slightly—
then pulled them out.
The loss made your head lift slightly.
“why—”
“Good girls get to cum, running around with other men? You think thats good?”
He brought his fingers to your lips, pressing them in.
“You taste how sweet you are,” he muttered.
“My fucking doing.”
He pulled his fingers away before kissing you again, harder this time.
“Taste so fucking good.”
In one quick motion he turned you over onto the couch.
Your knees pressed into the cushions as you steadied yourself.
“Look at you,” he muttered, hands sliding over your hips.
“You want me to fuck this pretty pussy?”
His hand smacked your ass suddenly, making you moan in surprise before he smoothed the spot.
“Use your words.”
“Yes, Rafe—”
His hands moved to the towel wrapped around his waist, pulling it off.
You glanced back just long enough to see him.
“Turn the fuck back around,” he muttered.
“Rafe—”
His hand guided your head forward again.
“good girls get to see—”
He pushed into you without warning.
You gasped as he began thrusting immediately, fast and rough.
The couch creaked beneath you as moans spilled from your mouth.
“You want to go be a fucking slut—”
“Want other guys dicks in you—”
“Giving it out to everyone—”
Your eyes rolled back as his hand tangled in your hair, pulling your head back.
He was relentless.
“Yeah take it all, take all my shit,” he muttered as he rocked into you.
“Rafe please—”
“Fucking slut.”
“You gonna let me cum inside you? Take it all like a good girl?”
Your stomach tightened immediately.
“Feel so fucking good on my cock,” he groaned.
He didn’t give you any warning when he finished.
You felt the heat of him inside you as he groaned, still thrusting through it.
“Yeah just like that,” he breathed.
Finally he pulled out.
You whined softly at the loss.
Then he turned you back toward the couch.
“Sluts don’t get to cum,” he muttered as he stepped away, grabbing the towel and wrapping it around his waist.
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taglist: @keiraspellbook @kennasblog @bunnymabenwp @maydecays @pxterparkerfilmss @midn1ght-ra1n @lucysfanfics @vivianwyler12 @luvvvvrrrrkayyywp part one: linked in previous post reblogs & comments appreciated ♡
𝒅𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑹𝒂𝒇𝒆 𝑪𝒂𝒎𝒆𝒓𝒐𝒏 𝒘𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒍𝒖𝒅𝒆
requested by anon
character: Rafe Cameron fandom: Outer Banks
pogue reader getting sick but she can’t call out, but rafes fr mad at you about it
changed it a bit just bc i want to show reader's progress regarding her hyper-independence, they're already dating and past the "i love you" phase, i felt like some progress had to be made by this point, especially bc this is after their big fight in this. hope you enjoy <3
don't want less, don't want more - r.c
pairing: rafe x pogue!reader (bartender!reader universe)
The ground under you feels unstable, moving under your feet like you’re standing on a seesaw that won’t settle. You blink a couple of times, hoping that’ll shake the haze taking over your vision, but it doesn’t do much.
Overhead, the bar lights sear down at you, white-hot and merciless. The bass from the speakers drills into your skull. Every clink of glass and cackling laugh lands with the precision of a sledgehammer. You swallow hard, trying not to gag. Your throat’s raw, and your chest's cinched too tight to take a full breath, but you’re powering through it because you don’t have much of a choice.
"Whiskey sour, extra sour!" some preppy douchebag hollers from across the bar.
His voice is like nails on a chalkboard. You fake a smile and nod, reaching for the bottle, but your hands are shaky. You catch yourself on the edge of the bar before you can drop it.
This morning, getting out of bed was a battle, an entiral ordeal. You were burning up, skin flushed and drenched, head pounding so violently it made brushing your teeth feel like surviving a concussion.
Your voice was nearly gone.
You tried to call out. Croaked your way through a voicemail to Greg, told him you were wrecked. He didn’t pretend to care, only gave that classic grunt and said, “We’re short-staffed.” Like the entire operation hinged on you showing up to serve overpriced drinks to trust fund parasites.
So here you are.
You rub the back of your neck, trying to loosen up some of the tension building there, but it doesn’t help. Nothing does at this point.
"Hey!" The whiskey sour guy snaps his fingers inches from your face. "What’s the holdup? I said whiskey sour."
"Yeah," you rasp, holding your voice together as you pour.
Your vision swims as you set it down in front of him, and for a second, you think you might faint right here at the bar. That’d be something. Collapsing face-first into some douche’s cocktail. Greg would sigh, step around you, and ask if you were done being dramatic.
You lean against the bar for a second. Your stomach rolls, threatening to revolt, but you choke it back down. You can’t afford to be sick here, you’re already in trouble with your manager for barely making it on time.
You think back to the half-assed breakfast you tried to eat, if a single piece of dry toast even counts, and how your stomach rejected it like poison.
Out of the corner of your eye, you spot Rafe coming in, and suddenly, you’re even more aware of how wrecked you are.
You straighten up without thinking, or at least try to. Your spine's doing its best, but your legs are rubber. You’re suddenly hyperaware of how awful you must look—washed out, glassy-eyed. You know he still struggles with how independent you are sometimes. You’ve always been the get-it-done-yourself type, and somewhere in his brain, that translates to doesn’t need me.
Today, though, you need him more than ever, but you couldn’t bring yourself to call for help. You immediately know it’s gonna be a thing.
His eyes lock onto you from across the bar, and even through the fog in your head, you can see that look on his face. He’s pissed. Of course, he’s pissed. His jaw’s clenched like he’s biting back whatever rant he’s about to drop on you, and you can already feel the tension creeping up your neck.
Great, as if you didn’t feel bad enough already.
You try to stand a little straighter, look a little less like you're one second from collapsing, but your legs are jelly, and the room’s still spinning like you’re on some messed-up carnival ride.
You don’t want him to see how bad you’re hurting right now. But today? You’re too out of it to even try and explain.
He strides up to the bar, looking sharp, as usual. Meanwhile, you probably look like death warmed over. His eyes are scanning you, taking in the pale face, the way you’re gripping the edge of the bar.
You see his lips tighten, and yeah, he’s definitely about to lay into you. You try to look alive, less like you're seconds from faceplanting into the floor. But the room won’t stop rocking, and your knees don’t seem interested in cooperation.
“You didn’t call,” he says, definitely annoyed. He leans in, trying to keep this between just the two of you, but with how loud the bar is, it still feels like a confrontation.
“I’m good,” you lie, tossing out a smile that feels more like a twitch.
Rafe’s eyes narrow, not buying it. “Why didn’t you call me?”
Guilt burns its way up your throat.
“I’ve got it,” you say, quieter now. Even you don’t sound convinced.
He crosses his arms and looks at you like you’re something delicate and infuriating all at once. “You’ve got it? Baby, you look like you’re about to hit the floor.”
You exhale, shaky, trying not to cough. That might break the illusion entirely.
"I’m fine," you repeat, but even you know it sounds pathetic at this point. Your head feels like it's full of cotton, you’re not sure if you’ll make it through the next few minutes, let alone your entire shift.
But pride’s a bitch.
Rafe’s posture is stiff, jaw locked, gaze pinned to you like he's waiting for the truth to slip out whether you say it or not. He’s not raising his voice. His his eyes keep flicking over your face, his fingers are tapping against his arm, holding himself back from just scooping you up and carrying you out of here.
"I heard from Topper," he finally says, like he’s been holding that card in his back pocket.
You blink, mind foggy, trying to piece together what he’s getting at.
"He saw you at the club earlier, said you didn’t look right."
Great.
Freaking Topper. Of course, idiot couldn’t mind his own business. Probably spotted you from across the course, smug in some overpriced polo, and sent a little report straight to Rafe like it was his civic duty.
Your boyfriend's still watching you, waiting for a reaction, something you don’t have the energy to give.
You open your mouth, trying to come up with an excuse, some way to brush it off, all you manage is a weak, "I was fine then."
He arches a brow. “Yeah? 'Cause Top said you looked ready to puke on the ninth hole.”
"Yeah? 'Cause Top said you looked like you were about to hurl on the 9th hole." He’s trying to keep his voice low, but you can tell he’s annoyed. Not at Topper, not even really at you—just at the whole situation.
You think about arguing, spinning an excuse, but you’re too wiped. “Greg wouldn’t let me call out.”
He tilts his head, like he didn’t hear you right. “Come again?”
“He said they were short-staffed,” you mutter. “Told me to come in anyway.”
Rafe’s mouth flattens. His fingers uncurl from his arms, hands flexing at his sides , deciding whether to punch a wall or keep breathing.
“You serious?”
“Dead-serious.”
Rafe’s jaw clenches so tight you think you hear his teeth grind. He runs a hand through his hair like he’s trying to calm himself down before he says something he’ll regret. But you know him—he’s never been great at holding back when he’s pissed.
“You’re telling me you tried to call out sick,” he says slowly, “and he made you show up anyway? You should’ve called me. I would’ve come down here, I would’ve—”
“I know.” You cut him off because you do know.
That answer doesn’t make it better.
He would’ve dropped everything and come running, that’s why you didn’t call. You don't want to be the a burden again.
Rafe leans against the bar, his whole body radiating this intensity that makes you feel both comforted and nervous.
“You’re sick as hell, and that asshole wouldn’t let you stay home?”
You wince. He’s drawing attention now, people at the bar starting to glance over. You hate seeing him like this, but you don’t have the energy to smooth things over.
“Rafe—please—”
“No, fuck that.” His tone cuts through the whole bar. “You’re sick, and he doesn’t give a fuck.”
You glance toward the back. Of course Greg’s coming out now, clipboard in hand, scowl already in place.
Rafe spots him immediately—and any restraint left in him evaporates.
“Greg!” he barks.
You glance toward the back, hoping Greg’s still in the office and not witnessing this meltdown. The last thing you need right now is more heat from him. But of course, your luck sucks, because just as Rafe’s ramping up, Greg strides out from the back, clipboard in hand, that same stupid scowl on his face like he’s already annoyed at everything.
Greg stops dead in his tracks, his eyes flicking to Rafe and then back to you. He knows.
“Yeah, Rafe?” Greg’s voice is weak. Rafe’s family literally owns half the island—Greg’s just some middle manager with too much attitude.
Your boyfriend steps forward, closing the space between them.
“You made her come in today?” His voice is calm, but it’s that scary-calm that’s worse than yelling.
Greg opens his mouth to respond, but all that comes out is this pathetic mumble. “We… we were short-staffed.”
Rafe raises a brow, his lips pulling into this cold, humorless smile.
“Short-staffed?” He glances at you, and you feel the heat rising in your cheeks. You didn’t want this to turn into a scene, but here you are. “You see how she looks right now? You made her come in like this?”
Greg’s eyes flick back and forth between you and Rafe, and you can see the panic starting to set in. He’s sweating now, realizing that this power trip he’s on is about to bite him in the ass.
“She didn’t… uh… say she couldn’t work…”
“She told you she was sick,” Rafe snaps. “You’re the manager, right? Thought that meant taking care of your staff. Guess I was wrong.”
He looks like a deer caught in headlights, knowing any move he makes right now could get him fired. Hell, maybe even blacklisted from every job on the island. The Cameron’s have that kind of pull.
“I-I didn’t realize how bad it was,” Greg stammers, but even he doesn’t sound convinced.
Rafe takes another step forward, towering over Greg now. “You didn’t realize?” He laughs, but there’s no warmth in it. “Look at her, man. How could you not realize?”
You wince as the room seems to get quieter, everyone watching the power struggle unfold. You’d rather be anywhere but here.
Greg takes a step back, wiping the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand.
“I-I was just trying to keep things running. We… we were slammed.”
Rafe’s smile drops.
“You think that’s a good enough reason to put my girlfriend’s health at risk?”
Greg looks like he’s about to pass out himself at this point.
“No… no, I—I didn’t mean…”
“Here’s the deal, Greg,” Rafe pats his shoulder, making him wince in the process. “You’re gonna back off. Let her finish this shift if she wants. If she doesn’t? She’s out, no questions asked. And next time, when she says she’s sick, you listen.”
Greg nods so fast it’s like his head’s on a swivel. “Of course, of course, Rafe. I didn’t mean any disrespect. I just—”
“Good,” Rafe interrupts, already turning away, done with the conversation. “Glad we’re on the same page.”
Your manager stands there, wide-eyed and frozen, too scared to even argue. He blurts some half-hearted apology, even though you're already following Rafe.
You look up at him, still in shock at how quickly Greg folded.
“You really didn’t need to do that.”
He shrugs.
“Yeah, I did,” he says, his tone softening now that it’s just the two of you. “I’m not gonna let some nobody push you around like that.”
You sigh, feeling both relieved and embarrassed. “You know he’s probably gonna hate me even more now.”
Rafe smirks, that’s the least of his concerns. “Who cares? He won’t say a fuckin’ thing. Trust me.”
“Everyone’s going to say a thing, baby. They’re gonna think I have some kind of privilege because I’m dating you.”
Rafe’s smirk softens. He lowers his voice so only you can hear him over the dull roar of the bar.
“Let them think whatever they want,” he coos, hand brushing against yours. “You’ve been busting your ass here long before I ever stepped in. Nobody can take that from you.”
You bite your lip, feeling everyone’s eyes on you, judgment and curiosity. He’s right in a way—you’ve been working extra hard.
But still, it’s hard to ignore the feeling that everyone’s going to assume you’ve got some special treatment just because of Rafe’s name.
“It’s not about that,” you murmur, “I—I don’t want people thinking I can’t stand on my own. I don’t want to be the girl who hides behind her boyfriend’s power."
"This wasn’t about power, baby. This was about someone treating you like you didn’t matter. And I’m not letting anyone—anyone—do that to you.”
He’s not wrong.
Greg didn’t give a fuck about how sick you were, only about keeping the bar running, you were replaceable to him. You hate that Rafe is right, how much you needed him to step in. You swallow hard, the tightness in your chest easing slightly, though your body still feels like it’s been run over by a truck.
“And you’re not working anymore today, or the next week for that matter. You’re gonna get your ass in my car and we’re going to the doctor.”
You nod, knowing there’s no arguing with Rafe when he’s like this, but part of you feels guilty, not for needing help exactly, but for not being able to handle it, or setting boundaries in your workplace.
Rafe’s watching you closely, waiting for you to argue, but you don’t.
The adrenaline from the confrontation with Greg is wearing off, and now all you feel is this bone-deep exhaustion.
“I’m not going to a doctor,” you say, even though you know you probably should. “Just home. I need to sleep.”
He narrows his eyes, trying to read between the lines of what you’re saying. “Fine. But if you’re not better by tomorrow, I’m dragging you to urgent care. No arguments.”
You give him a weak smile, showing you appreciate it even though you feel like crap.
“Deal.”
Without another word, he moves around the bar, ignoring Greg’s gawking and the way everyone’s still sneaking peeks at you two. He gently takes the towel out of your hand, sets it on the counter, and slips an arm around your waist.
It’s the first time you’ve felt stable all day.
“I don’t think I can afford an appointment.”
He looks at you like you’ve just said the most ridiculous thing in the world.
"Not worried about the money.”
You try to shake your head, but the movement makes you dizzy, and you stop.
"I just don’t want to be that person, you know? Relying on you for everything."
He gives you a side glance.
"Baby, you’re not relying on me for everything. You’re literally sick, and I’m not about to let you tough it out just because you’re too stubborn to ask for help. We’ve talked about this a million times.”
"I guess," you mumble, letting your head rest against his shoulder as you walk towards the door.
"Let me take care of you for once."
Rafe keeps you close, leading you toward his car. Your legs are weak, the fever still simmering under your skin, but his body warmth keeps you upright.
"Thanks," you whisper, even though it feels weird to say. You’re not used to thanking people for basic care.
He pauses, opening the passenger door for you.
"You don’t gotta thank me, okay? I’m just doing what anyone who loves you would do."
Your heart skips at that.
“I love you too, sorry for being a pain in your ass.”
Rafe chuckles as he helps you into the car, leaning down to make sure you’re settled as he bends down and presses a gentle kiss to your forehead.
"You're always a pain in my ass," he murmurs against your skin, grinning as he pulls back. "But you’re my pain in the ass, and that’s what matters."
You roll your eyes, but there’s a smile tugging at your lips despite how shitty you feel. It all takes a backseat, at least for a moment.
Knowing Rafe’s always got your back makes it a little easier to breathe.
tears [rafe cameron]
pairing - rafe cameron x reader
summary - rafe was a busy man. but, when his girl knocked on the doors of tannyhill with tears streaming down her cheeks—nothing was more important than her. and he’d fix whatever was bothering her. or whoever. he hated to see his girl cry.
warnings - none rlly, hurt/comfort, protective and attentive rafe
rafe sighed into his phone call when he heard a knock on the door. he stood in his father’s office—which was now his—pacing the room.
“hey, hey man, just hang on a sec, sorry.” he muttered to the potential investor before he put him on hold. he set his phone down on the desk and marched out of the office, curses and mumbles leaving his lips.
“somebody always fuckin’ needs something.” his hand rubs over his buzzed hair as his other hand curls in and out of a fist at his side. “goddamn. probably fuckin’ sarah and her stupid—“
his mumbles come to a halt when he opens the door and sees his girl standing there, tears staining her flushed cheeks. “rafe..” she whispers weakly, her frame shaking as she looks up at him.
“hey, hey, baby.” he says quickly, completely forgetting the phone call waiting for him as all his attention, worry, and concern is shifted to her. “what’s wrong, c’mere.”
his hand reaches for her wrist, pulling her into his chest. she lets out a quiet sob as she buries her face into his chest, stepping inside. he haphazardly pushes the door shut as he keeps her close to his chest and walks them both inside and through the foyer.
he whispers shh’s, and coos at her in his arms as he heads for the living room, sitting them both down. he softly pulls her from his chest, his head dipping down to her level. his hands come to her cheeks, wiping the tears off her soft skin.
“hey, baby, what happened? talk to me.” he says, his eyebrows furrowed with concern.
“i-i-“ she stammers, unable to get words out as she chokes on cries. her breathing quickens, getting close to hyperventilating. when she cries, she goes too fast, losing control of her breathing.
“hey, hey, no. don’t do that. c’mon baby, you know better. breathe, baby, breathe.”
she begins to slow down, her breathing coming back to normal. she keeps her eyes on rafe’s, slowly calming down.
“there ya go. atta’ girl. good job. breathe.” he praises, his head nodding softly as he watches her. once her breathing fully calms, she takes one last deep breath and wipes the last of her tears.
“now, gonna tell me what’s got your pretty little head so worried, hm?” he coos, his head tilting slightly. “what’s bothering you? who do i have to kill, huh?” he jokes with a grin. but to be honest—he probably wasn’t joking.
she sniffles, her eyebrows furrowing. “my uterus.” she whines. “i’m on my period. my cramps hurt like a bitch. and my mom is pissing me off.” she sniffles, stumbling over her words slightly. “and i’m hungry. and you weren’t answering, i know you’re busy. but i just really needed to see you, i’m sorry—“
“hey, hey, it’s okay.” he nods softly. “i’m here, it’s alright. i’m not busy, doesn’t matter.” he says matter-of-factly. he wraps his arms around her, pulling her into his chest. “what do you need? hm? i have that heating pad in my room i bought for you a couple months ago.” he whispers sweetly. “i can make you somethin? buy you stuff? i dunno, what do you need?”
he was willing to do anything, he didn’t care. when his baby cried, he’d move mountains to make her feel better. he’d go to every store in town, run up his credit card, do anything. as long as she got a smile on her face at the end of it.
she nods against his chest, looking up at him. “yeah.. the heating pad. and—and can you make me a grilled cheese? you make em’ so good.” she asks sweetly, her voice gentle and weak.
he smiles softly, looking down at the sweet girl in his arms. “yeah, baby, of course. i don’t know if they’re that good. everytime i make them, you’re usually drunk and it’s three in the morning. that might be why they taste so good.” he jokes.
she shoves his chest playfully. “i don’t care, you can’t fuck up a grilled cheese. please?”
he grins. “yeah, yeah. grilled cheese, heating pad. got it, baby. anything else?” he says thoughtfully, his fingers coming to push strands of hair off from where they stick to her tear strained cheeks.
she shakes her head. “just you.”
he smiles. “okay.” he kisses her forehead. “i’ll be right back, gimmie a few minutes to get all that.” he stands, making sure she’s laid comfortably on the couch. he grabs the blanket from the end of the couch and drapes it over her. his eyes search the living room, landing in the remote, he hands it to her.
he leans down, placing another kiss to her cheek this time. “put on whatever you want. i’ll be back, promise.”
he leaves her at the couch and heads back to the office. he picks up his phone and takes it off hold. “hey, gotta go. somethin’ came up. i’ll give you a call later.” he hung up before the guy could even get a word in.
nothing came before his girl.
something about you.
pairing - rafe cameron x kook!reader
summary - rafe and reader have been in a friends with benefits relationship for months now. it’s been slowly killing both of them, but they’re both too afraid to say anything. it gets to a point and rafe can’t take it anymore. he can’t stop thinking about you.
warnings - fluffy as hell literally throwing up it’s too sweet
my eyes were closed, my lips slightly parted as i let out a huff against my pillow. it was friday. rafe would usually text me on fridays. he’d ask me to come over, stressed out from work, a long week—whatever it was. i didn’t care.
he needed me.
it was friday, at eleven pm, radio silence. not a word from him. i felt a gnawing at my insides. this man had a grip on every fold of my brain. and we weren’t even together. it was pathetic. but i couldn’t stop.
if i couldn’t have more of him, i’d take this. being his for a couple hours a week. all his attention on me, like it was real. for a couple hours, i get to pretend it’s real.
i turn and stare at my ceiling, hoping i’ll hear my phone ping. i was getting tired. but if he texted, i’d go.
it’s pretty sad. i know. my friends have told me to get up, so many times. shake his hold. but i can’t. i’ll take any parts of him he’ll give me.
ping.
i practically fall over as i reach for my phone, frantically checking the notification.
rafe
hey.
hey? i huff, my head plopping against my pillow. another ping.
can you come over?
i stare at the message, taking a deep breath. it was nearly midnight. i should get up. i should say no. say i’m sick of the casual bullshit.
but soon, i find myself slipping my hoodie over my head, sliding into my uggs.
yeah.
is all i say. i didn’t need to say more. there was nothing more i could say. another ping.
i’ll pick you up. it’s late. don’t want you driving.
my eyebrows furrow. he’s gonna pick me up? he’s never done that.. it’s always the same routine. he texts me, i go over. and sometimes he makes me spend the night, whether i want to or not, because he doesn’t want me driving so late.
but he’s never picked me up.
i don’t say anything, heading to my living room and sitting on the couch in my empty apartment. i recently moved out of my parents, and i’d like to say it’s just a coincidence i moved into the complex only seven minutes from tannyhill.
it wasn’t.
my nails nervously pick at the hem of my hoodie as i wait. it was the longest seven minutes of my life. my mind kept racing. something about tonight felt different. he’s picking me up. and it’s so late. it’s usually never this late.
ping.
i’m here.
i swallow roughly and rub my eyes, standing up. i slide my phone into the pocket of my sleep shorts. the only sound in my quiet apartment is the shuffling of my slippers against the hardwood as i walk toward the door. i grab my keys and slide them into my other pocket, heading for the door. i lock it behind me and walk down the stairs, spotting the blaring headlights from rafe’s truck.
i walk towards it, shivering slightly from the cold air hitting my skin. i look up and see him get out, rounding the truck to the passenger side. he opens my door as i approach.
“hey.” i say softly.
he was in a hoodie and sweats, more relaxed from his usual appearance. which contained a white button up, usually unbuttoned by the time i see him, paired with some kind of dress pants.
“hey.” he whispers. his eyes drift down my appearance. “why’re you wearing shorts? it’s freezing, are you crazy?” he sighs, running a hand over his buzzed hair. his hand comes to the small of my back, not even allowing me to respond before he ushers me in his truck. he shuts the passenger door and rounds the vehicle again to his side.
he gets in, the engine humming as he starts it. he glances over at me and sighs, reaching his arm back to the backseat. he grabs a blanket, gently laying it out over my lap.
“nearly thirty fuckin’ degrees, and you’re sleepin’ in shorts.” he sighs, muttered under his breath.
i swallow roughly, looking down as his hands gently linger over the tops of my thighs as he lays down the blanket. “thanks.” i whisper.
“mhm.” he hums, his hands moving to grip the steering wheel as he peels out of the driveway.
the drive to his house was short, and quiet. the heater gently enveloped me, quickly changing my shivering form from earlier to warmth. my eyes stay looking out the window as i feel the occasional glances from rafe to my side. his eyes were like blades, puncturing into my skin at every glance with a sting.
i feel the truck come to a stop as we pull into the driveway. rafe had taken over tannyhill after his dad died, and sarah moved in with the pogues. so, it was always quiet here. sometimes i wonder if he brings anyone else over ever. or just me.
i watch as he gets out of the drivers seat, rounding the truck to my side. he sticks his hand out for me to grab as i step out of the truck. my hand fits in his warm palm, his hand cradling the small of my back as i step out.
i stand by his side as we walk up to the house. i look up at him, my eyes soft. “r-rafe..?”
“hm?” he hums as we approach the door, he fishes through his pockets for the keys.
“um.. are we…” i trail off.
he pauses as he finds the keys, his eyes flicking to me. his gaze runs over my face as he lets out a breath. “no.” he whispers.
so this was something else. i swallow roughly as i feel my stomach drop. was he ending things? i don’t say anything more and he opens the door, allowing me to walk in first
whenever i was in tannyhill, i felt out of place. it was a huge, beautiful mansion. but it carried a darkness to it. i could hardly imagine how rafe lived here alone. it would eat me up. just as i stand in the foyer, i feel small and inferior in the big space.
“hey.” he whispers. his voice snaps me out of my thoughts, his hand coming to the small of my back. i follow him as he guides me toward the living room. my eyes sift over the space and he guides us to a window seat, outfacing the backyard.
he sits and gestures his hand out for me to sit. i nervously pull my legs into my chest as i slip off my slippers.
“rafe.. why-why’d you text me?” i ask softly.
he leans back against the window with a soft sigh, his hand coming up to run over the stubble against his jaw. he chuckles softly, throwing his hands up. “been asking myself the same shit.” he sighs, looking over at me. he presses his lips together, his eyes wandering over me as he thinks. “i’ve been-“ he sighs. “i’ve been thinking.”
i furrow my eyebrows. “okay.. about..?” i ask softly.
he runs a hand over his face. “everything.” he whispers. “i-i’ve been really stressed.” he huffs. “cameron development, all that bullshit. i just have so much pressure on me, y’know?”
i nod gently. “yeah.” i whisper. “i-i get that. but rafe, you’re so much more than that.” sigh.
he chuckles, his tongue sticking to the inside of his cheek as he raises his eyebrows. he turns his gaze to look at me. “i appreciate that. you’re faith in me, i mean..” he trails off. “it’s nice. nobody else has it.”
my eyes narrow at him slightly. “well, i mean it, rafe.” i whisper softly, my hand gently coming to rest on his knee.
he looks down at my hand, letting out a sigh and leaning his head back against the window. he looks back at me, his gaze holding mine. but there’s something different about it this time. an intensity in his eyes i’d never seen before.
his hand comes to rest over my wrist, his thumb gently tracing in my skin. “y/n.. i-“ he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper.
my eyes blink up at him, my eyebrows knitted together softly. “yeah..?” i whisper.
he’s hesitant. like whatever he wants to say is stuck in a knot in his throat. he takes a deep breath, searching for the words. he swallows roughly. “look, i-i know i’m no good for you.” he whispers. “but there’s.. there’s somethin’ about you, just can’t fuckin’ get you outta my head.” he sighs and pauses before speaking his next words.
“i-i want us to be.. more. than just this. i-i can’t stop thinking about you, y/n.”
my stomach drops. my eyes widen slightly and my lips part. “i- what..?” i whisper, stunned.
he presses his lips together and i see the nerves bubble in his eyes. “i-i know we agreed to be friends with benefits and nothin’ more but-“ he runs his hand over his buzzed head, a satire chuckle escaping his lips. “i can’t fuckin’ do this shit, okay? i-i can’t keep texting you just to fuck and pretending you don’t mean fuckin’ everything to me. i can’t stand the thought of you being with other people i-“ he huffs, leaning back.
“‘m fucking obsessed with you, alright?” he whispers.
my eyes blink slowly, my lips parting. i couldn’t believe it. he felt the same way i did? every time he’d hold me after we’d hook up, a part of me hurt inside. knowing it was temporary. knowing, that i’d never really have him.
and that whole time—he was thinking the same thing.
“rafe, i-i want that too.” i whisper.
his eyes snap over to me, they scan over my features. almost trying to see if i was telling the truth. “really?” he whispers.
“yeah.” i say breathlessly. “i-i’ve wanted so much more. i was just scared that you didn’t. and that if i said anything, i’d lose you completely. so i was just.. settling for what i could get.”
he swallows roughly, his lips parting. his hand comes up to my cheek, his thumb gently stroking the skin. “i wanna give you everything.” he whispers. “i-i don’t deserve you. i’m fucked up, and i get angry and i’m selfish. wanting you is probably the most selfish thing i’ve ever done. but i-i can’t get you out of my head.” he sighs softly, his hand gently cradling my face.
“i may be all of those things.” he whispers. “but i’m gonna work so damn hard to deserve you. i’m gonna be better, i wanna be better every time i’m near you, baby.”
i shake my head gently. “you don’t need to be better.”
he smiles softly. “this is what i’m talkin’ about. too sweet for your own good, baby.”
“so.. you wanna be.. real?” i ask softly, my voice cautious. “like.. official and exclusive?”
he grins, nodding softly. “mhm.” he hums. “want you to be my girl. just mine.”
i smile softly, my stomach swarming at his words. “yeah?”
he chuckles lowly. “yeah, sweetheart.”
i can’t help the grin that creeps up on my lips. i scoot closer, burying my face in his neck. “okay.” i whisper, my arms wrapping around his broad shoulders.
his beefy arms immediately encapsulate me, holding my close. “yeah? you my girl, sweetheart?”
i grin, my cheeks heating up this words. “yeah, ‘m your girl.”
he grins, chuckling lowly as he presses a gentle kiss to my jaw. “‘m sorry i didn’t say anything sooner. made you think i was stringing you along.”
“no..” i shake my head softly. “‘m just glad i have you now.” i whisper. “in every way.”
he smiles, tugging me impossibly closer. “in every way.” he promises.
-
sickeningly sweet 🙂↕️ i’m a sucker for fluff srryyyy
fashion killa
cause she a fashion killa, and i’m a trendy ….
pairing - drew x model!baddie!gf!reader
summary - when drew heads to coachella for the first time with his girl, who’d been many times due to her job. the it couple known for their fashion sense, dancing in tune to songs at the festival rials up both them, and the crowd.
warnings - sexual tension :p
⠀.ᐧ.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ೃ❀࿔˙ ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ೃ❀ᮬ࿔˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ೃ❀࿔˙ ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ೃ❀ᮬ࿔˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ॱ
the sun was beating down harshly, gusts of wind blowing dust all around. i felt drew’s arm pull me closer under his grasp. his strong bicep, wrapped around my shoulders.
“baby, ‘should pull the bandana up.” he says gently, his fingers reaching around by my neck to fiddle with the bandana wrapped around it.
“it’s too hot. i’ll get sweaty.” i mumble.
he sighs, his hand coming up to run through his hair. “but dust is gonna get all in your-“
“not happening.” i smile softly, turning my head to look up at him.
he chuckles, his hands lifting in mock surrender, his arm stays wrapped around my shoulder though. “alright, alright. i’ll stop.”
drew and i were at coachella. he’d never been before, and i go nearly every year. after the first two times, it wasn’t because i wanted to go anymore. it was because brands would hire me to go just so they could design my outfits for the three day festival in the palm springs dessert heat.
so naturally, drew and i being together for the past eight months, it was his turn to be dragged along to this event.
“i don’t get the hype. i mean, yeah, it’s fun, whatever. but like, why pay all this money to be severely dehydrated and covered in dust for three days?” he had told me earlier while we were ironically enough, in the encapsulated and air conditioned vip tent.
we were currently watching doja cat’s set. we stood in the vip section near the front, which was to the left side of the stage by the regular ga pit.
i was wearing a low rise denim skirt that barely held in my ass, a vintage chanel crop, paired with givenchy boots and my layers of gold jewelry. bangles on my wrists, a necklace, hoops, and many, many rings.
while drew, of course, wore his carhart brown work pants, and a loewe white tee, with a blue bandana wrapped around his head.
doja cat was currently playing, starting her song agora hills. i turn slightly to reach into my shoulder bag—which was on drew’s shoulder because why would i carry it when i had him? i grab a piece of gum, sticking it between my glossed lips.
i look up at drew to see him already grinning down at me. the slight scruff growing around his jaw and the mullet peeking out behind his neck making my stomach flutter. “want a piece?” i ask sweetly.
he shakes his head. “nah, thank you though, baby.”
i close up my purse and pat it gently as it rests comfortably, secure in drew’s bicep.
i turn back to face the stage, drew’s arm now fully wrapped around my chest, his hand grasping onto the opposite shoulder as he holds me close against his chest. i sway against him, my hips moving as i watch the performance. i chuckle when i hear a certain part of the song that i knew.
i look up at drew from my spot against his chest, a smug smile on my lips.
“rub it in their face,” i begin reciting the lyrics, my hand lightly tapping against his chest at each accent in the lyrics. “put a rock on her hand.” i raise my eyebrows, wiggling my left hand in his face teasingly.
he smirks, a small snicker escaping his lips. i turn back to the stage and i feel him lean down slightly, his lips snaking against my ear. “don’t worry, baby.” he whispers. “one day you’ll be walking down the runway with a rock on your hand. my little wifey.” he teases, gently biting down on my ear playfully.
i smile, feeling his arm pull me tighter into his chest. my manicured nails come up to hold onto his forearm against me. my eyes drift over to the ga side of the crowd, and see a huge majority of the audience’s phones no longer on doja—but pointed and zoomed in on drew and i’s interaction.
ever since drew and i started dating, the speculations and whispers were circling like wildfire. the it girl model with the new up and coming actor. who wouldn’t talk about it? but we had hoped to keep it private the first couple months—just us, no outside thoughts.
and we did, not officially confirming anything until about our fourth month in. even then, we didn’t actually confirm. our relationship is private, but not a secret. we don’t really post each other, maybe once or twice. but, drew and i couldn’t give two shits about any of it. we knew we were real, and that’s all that mattered.
“oh, they’re gonna eat that shit up, babe.” drew chuckles lowly, catching the same thing i saw.
i shrug. “let them. if all those girls that obsess over you think we’re married, maybe they’ll back off.” i joke with a smirk.
he scoffs. “you think those are your biggest problems? what about all the guys that have a subscription to vogue and cosmopolitan just to see you? i swear walkin’ in to this damn festival, why’d you think my hand was on your ass tryna hold down this little skirt, huh?”
i shake my head with a chuckle, smacking his chest playfully. “you love this skirt.” i turn slightly in his arms, my glossy lips pouting up at him.
he snuggly grins, his hands reaching around and squeezing my ass in the skirt, lifting me slightly with it to bring me closer to his lips. “hell yeah, i do, baby.”
-
it was now ten at night, the air simmering down to a much cooler temperature. drew and i were making our way back to the main stage for the headliner, asap rocky.
we were walking in tune, in the space between the barricade and the stage, security guiding us and trailing us. drew’s arm was lazily draped around my shoulders, my left hand holding his by neck. my bracelet jangle as we walk, my hips swaying in my skirt that had somehow gotten lower as the day went on. i think it was because drew kept pulling is down every chance he got…
my bandana was now wrapped around my head. as we were many drinks in at this point, earlier we were in the vip tent and i was slurring, all over drew as i rambled about how i wanted to match with him, so he helped me and tied my bandana around my head like his.
the crowd scrambled loudly when they noticed us walking by the barricade, screaming, clamoring, flashes from cameras. i grin, when i feel drew instinctively pull me closer into his side, my scantily clad body pulled tight into his warm frame.
“y/n! drew! oh my god!”
“y/n, give me a chance!”
“drew! drew! i love you!”
“you’re so hot, y/n!”
“marry me!”
i giggle under my breath and look up at drew, seeing him roll his eyes subtly at their comments. we finally make it over to the vip section. it was much more crowded now, and drew situated us so i was standing in front of him, pulled flush against his chest so i could watch the show and he could keep an eye on everything.
i hardly needed security when i had drew.
we waited patiently, quietly talking as we waited for the show to start
then, the lights went down, strobe lights flashing as the intro of fashion killa started.
i grin, turning in drew’s arms to face him. “it’s our song!”
he smiles. “it is,” he chuckles lowly.
my arms lace around his neck, his hands finding their home on my hips. i move to the music, a grin on my lips as i move my hips.
“cause she a fashion killa..” i giggle, my head plopping into drew’s chest.
“and i’m a trendy..” he trails off, pressing a kiss to the top of my head.
the song continues and i look up at him, my gold jewelry blinging in the lights. he smirks with a chuckle, singing along to the lyrics.
“my bitch a fashion killa, she be..” his hand comes to my ass, tapping it at each beat. “busy,” .. tap. “poppin,” .. tap. “tags.” .. tap.
“she got a lotta prada,” he grabs my hands, extending his arms as he swings me out, then pulls me back in close to him. “that dolce and gabbana,” he chuckles as he bops his head.
i giggle, burying my head in the crook of his neck. he grabs my arms again, his hands sliding up from my forearms to my wrists as he lifts them above my head. “wearin’ all the cartier frames..” he chuckles as he sings with asap.
we continue to dance and i turn around for a part of the song, my back against drew’s chest. i reach into my purse on drew’s shoulder, pulling out my camcorder. i record part of asap singing the song before drew snatches the camera from my hands, making me turn around.
he starts to film me to the song and i chuckle, my hands sliding down my waist to my hips, rolling them, my jewelry dancing with my movements. he groans, throwing his head back. he stops the recording and stuffs the camera back in my bag, his hands quickly coming to my hips and pulling me back into him.
“fuck, baby…” he says under his breath. his hands come up to my cheeks, holding my face close to his. “baby, you and me…” he sings.
“me and you.” i finish with a grin, he wraps his arms around me, pulling me into a tight hug against his chest.
the song continued, drew and i playfully dancing around, singing, hands all over each other. the night went on, drew taking videos of me on the camcorder, me stealing it back taking videos of him. my ass against his front as he rolled my hips against him, drinks making us a bit bolder in public.
almost everyone in the regular ga, somewhere throughout the set, lost their attention off asap, us captivating their gaze instead.
there would be millions of videos online tomorrow of us—but we didn’t care anymore. it wasn’t a secret. it was just private. just us.
-
what i imagine the camcorder looks like at the end of the night… 😝