✮⋆˙ . bsf!rafe keeps 'accidentally' slipping inside after promising to just rub against you.
warnings — 18+ MDNI. bestfriend!reader x bsf!rafe pairing. name is self explanatory. manipulative tone & fake apologies.
cherie’s note — loosely based on this p!link.
your knees are bent, thighs open for him, trembling slightly from how real this feels — arms curled near your chest, lip caught anxiously between your teeth, breathing too fast for someone who's supposedly not having sex.
things had always been… complicated with you and rafe. secrets whispered in the dark, your body tucked into his bed more often than your own. he’d even taught you how to kiss — unforgivable, in hindsight. because now, whatever this was… it felt like the point of no return.
rafe kneels between your legs, stroking himself in slow, lazy pulls. deliberately. "just relax," he murmurs, voice low like he's talking you through something innocent. like this was something every best friend did — and you could definitely be convinced of such when it was him doing the talking. "i'm not gonna put it in. i told you."
he presses the head against your slit, sliding it up your folds, gathering the wetness along the underside of his throbbing cock. the squelch that bounces off the walls is unmistakable, a clear indicator of just how much you wanted this, despite the way your pulse raced. you jump at the first pass and he smiles — quick, hidden, gone before you even get the chance to look at him.
"how're you this worked up already?" he teases under his breath, more to himself than to you. "barely even touching you."
you squirm underneath him, embarrassed. "you're... rubbing on me..."
"mhm." he drags the swollen head down again, circling your entrance with soft precision — though his mind is anything but soft. not with you, sprawled out beneath him, eyes wide like a prey caught in a trap. his trap.
you gasp, a soft sound that shoots up his spine — and that's when he lets the tip catch you. not fully. just enough to make your body pull him in that tiny, helpless way you can't control. the thick head of his cock breaches the tightness of your cunt, and your thighs tremble slightly from the pressure.
"sorry," he breaths, pretending to pull back. "didn't mean— you're so warm, and wet. hard to aim."
you believe him immediately, like you always do, nodding. your cheeks burn, "it's okay. just... just be careful."
"i am," he promises, thumb stroking the soft skin of your knee. "i got you."
except he keeps doing it. that same slow glide, catching on you again, the head pushing just barely inside before he rocks back like it's truly accidental. each time, you make this soft, strangled sound that goes straight to his cock.
"you okay?" he murmurs.
you nod quickly, swallowing away at the nerves. "it just feels... weird."
"good weird?"
you nod again — and the way you do it, wide-eyed and trusting, makes him exhale shakily.
he strokes himself harder, a little faster, hips following the rhythm. the spongy tip of his cock keeps bumping and sliding against your slit with every pass, the feeling so dizzying you swear you could see stars. your slick coats his hand, helping the slick grip glide effortlessly against himself — makes everything sloppy and hot and impossible for him to 'aim'.
rafe swears he can lose himself in the sight of you alone. swears he'd give anything to see this everyday — you, eyes glassy and blinking slow, completely fucked-out and trembling under his guidance. so vulnerable. so trusting. pliant, too — keeping your thighs perched open enough to allow him the space he demands, without having to be asked.
you force a tiny breath out, shaky and full of shame, and he rewards you by rolling the head down again. and this time, when it catches, it sinks just a little deeper than before. enough to make your eyes fly fully open. enough to make your hips lift before you can stop yourself, telling him everything he needs to know.
he freezes. not really. just enough to pretend he's surprised.
"shit," he mutters, voice going hoarse. "that—that was deeper than i meant. m'sorry, baby."
and despite his apology, he stays there a beat too long — buried millimeters inside of your warm heat, throbbing. he pulls out slowly, letting a slick string stretch between where he’d previously pushed inside of you.
your heart jumps into your throat, "it's okay, ray," you whisper quickly, like you don't want him to feel bad. "was just an accident, right?"
c/w ᝰ.ᐟ backward hat!rafe + your anklet on his shoulder™️, unprotected p in v, poolside sex, w.a.m., language, pet names (baby, pretty, my girl + no y/n), obsessed husband!rafe, kelce + top catching strays, rafe’s grumpy as hell + rafe is down catastrophically bad per usual ‧₊˚ ⋅ ౨ৎ ‧₊ .ᐟ
“Hell no.”
Topper pauses halfway through reaching for his ball marker and looks over. “What?”
Rafe points at him fast. “I know what you’re gonna ask. Fuck off.”
Topper stares at him for a second before a laugh escapes. “Jesus Christ, dude.”
Beside him, Kelce just shakes his head, snickering under his breath while he crouches to line up his putt. The ball sits a few feet from the hole and he’s still smiling when he lines up his putter behind it.
“We haven’t even said anything yet.”
“Don’t need you to.”
“You don’t even know what I was gonna ask.”
“Yes I do.”
“No, you don’t.”
“You were gonna ask if I wanted to grab a drink after this.”
“Is that a bad thing?” Topper asks, lifting an eyebrow at Rafe like he’s officially lost his mind.
“You don’t want an answer to that, Top.”
He hooks a finger beneath the sleeve of his golf polo and rolls it a little higher on his bicep, adjusting the fabric before dragging the back of his hand across his forehead. The UV index has to be somewhere around ten and he feels every bit of it.
“The only reason I’m out here is because she said it’d be good for me.”
Topper snorts and Kelce’s chip barely makes it out of the sandpit.
“And you’ve been thinkin’ about leaving since hole one,” Topper chuckles, shaking his head.
“Hole one? That’s insulting,” Rafe breathes.
“Sorry, hole four—”
“Parking lot,” Rafe cuts him off. “I was thinkin’ that since the parking lot, Top.”
But even that’s a lie. He was thinking that the moment that he watched you wave to him over your shoulder before you stepped outside—that little string bikini peeking out of the top of your shorts, tormenting him beyond belief.
Ever since then he’s been crossing holes off in his head like an advent calendar from his own personal hell.
“He’s not even listening,” Kelce teases.
Rafe looks over at him, blinking slowly a few times with his lips pursed and his hands resting on his hips.
“‘Course I’m not.”
“Unbelievable,” Topper sighs. “I was just telling Kelce we could do another eighteen holes—”
Rafe can’t even contain his disgust—wincing, brows pinched tight, nostrils flared with a side eye dripping with judgment.
“We’re not inviting you, Cameron. Calm the fuck down,” he blurts.
Ding! Rafe’s hand moves, diving for his pocket like someone challenged him to a goddamn duel.
Kelce drops the head of his putter against the grass, shaking his head judgmentally. Rafe rolls his eyes, unlocking his phone without a shred of shame.
“You’ve got a problem,” Topper says.
“A legitimate fucking problem,” Kelce adds.
“I can’t help that neither of you like your wives,” Rafe mutters and both of their mouths hang open in disgust. “Whatever,” he says, sounding so genuinely unbothered. ‘Cause he is.
Then he looks down at the screen and suddenly nothing else matters.
You’re stretched out across one of the lounge chairs beside the pool with a book propped open. The afternoon sun reflects off your skin. The book covers half your face, but that isn’t helping him concentrate because the rest of you is impossible to miss—the soft swells of your breasts pressed against the pool chair, the curve of your ass, just a taste of your thighs. Your feet are crossed, the little anklet he bought you glittering in the North Carolina sun.
“Look at him,” Topper says, nudging Kelce with his elbow.
“Not a single thought in that head,” Kelce adds as he steps forward and rests his putter behind the ball, taking his time while he studies the break.
The green goes quiet for a second while everybody waits for him to hit it. Before he can even pull the putter back, Rafe steps directly into his line and sinks his putt without hesitation.
Topper starts barking out a laugh and Kelce stares at him in complete disbelief as his ball rolls toward the hole. “You are such a prick,” Kelce says.
“We’re done.”
“We are absolutely not done.”
“This feels done,” Rafe answers, bending down to grab his ball, starting toward the flag before the argument is even over, Kelce’s ball still rolling toward the cup.
“You’re unbelievable, Cameron—”
Rafe cuts off Kelce’s critique, kicking the ball, sending it careening away. “It was gonna hook left anyway,” Rafe says over his shoulder, digging his keys out of his pocket, heading toward the parking lot as the two bitch behind him. “You two suck at golf, by the way,” Rafe calls back.
“Fuck you, Rafe,” Kelce laughs weakly, walking toward his ball.
“Short game’s terrible.”
“Rafe!” Topper calls but he flicks him off in response.
“Don’t even get me started on you, Top. You read greens like an eighty-year-old man with cataracts, fucking useless.”
“Jesus Christ,” Topper gasps.
Rafe doesn’t even bother organizing his clubs when he reaches the parking lot. He yanks them out of the cart, tosses the entire bag into the trunk with absolutely no regard for the thousands of dollars’ worth of equipment inside.
He jogs around the side of the car, yanks the driver’s door open, and practically falls into the seat before firing the engine to life.
Gravel spits behind him as he throws the car into reverse, backing out of the spot in one smooth movement before shifting into drive.
The second he hits the main road, he grabs his phone and calls. His thumbs drum against the steering wheel as the summer wind whips through the car, his pulse hammering, still racing from that power walk to his car.
“Hey, baby,” your voice fills his car and he softens in his seat, hands wrapping a little tighter around the wheel as he smiles.
“Hey pretty,” he hums.
His voice is softer now, gravelly from talking all day and sweeter than it has any right to be considering the way he’d been speaking to Topper and Kelce five minutes ago.
If you’d been standing on that green listening to him threaten both of them, you’d absolutely have something to say about it. He already knows exactly what you’d tell him too. Be nice. Stop being grumpy. They’re your friends. The problem is that he doesn’t care about any of that right now.
“Where are you?” You ask curiously, and he can hear in your voice that you know he dipped out of there sooner than he should have.
“Just left.”
“You just left?” You giggle.
“Mhmm...” Your voice comes through the speakers and instantly makes him feel better than the entire golf outing did.
Traffic slows for a red light and the drumming starts again as he waits for it to change.
“You weren’t gonna get a drink or something?” You ask. “Relax?”
“Absolutely not.”
The answer comes so fast that you start laughing again. The corner of his mouth twitches as he shifts in his seat. “They were stayin’ to practice puttin’, baby.”
“Really?” You ask, not convinced in the slightest.
“Yeah. Their—uhhh… Their short games suck.”
“Gotcha.”
“I’m serious.”
“I’m sure you are.”
“They’re fuckin’ terrible, baby. That was a long-ass day,” he grumbles and you giggle. He leans back against the headrest as he lets the moment breathe for a minute. “Kids been easy on you today?”
“Actually, yeah.”
“Yeah?”
“Just laying by the pool,” you say.
“Sounds rough.”
“Fuckin’ terrible, baby,” you echo his words back to him and he smiles. “They’re actually at Wheezie’s.”
The car accelerates, completely subconscious on his part, but you hear it loud and clear. Rafe’s eyes flick briefly toward the speedometer while a grin starts pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Oh yeah?”
“Rafe Cameron, slow down.”
The grin only gets worse, sinking a little lower in the driver’s seat, as one hand falls to the shift stick.
“I’m goin’ slow, baby.”
“You are not,” you answer. “You accelerated the second I said the kids weren’t home.”
“Did I?” You can practically hear the grin in his voice now as he weaves through traffic. “So.”
You start laughing, knowing exactly where he’s going to go with this. “Winnie’s in Charleston with Jackson.”
“Got it. And Max?” He asks eagerly.
“He left like an hour ago.”
“On the boat?” He asks, knowing that’s an all-day affair.
“Mhmm…”
Rafe’s laugh rumbles through the phone. “Interesting,” he says.
“Interesting?” You laugh and sigh sweetly.
“Sounds like I get you to myself all day?”
“Sounds like it.”
By the time he turns into the neighborhood, he’s grinning so hard his cheeks hurt. The gates open and he barely slows down as he pulls through them, already spotting flashes of blue water between the houses.
“You’re almost here, aren’t you?”
“Absolutely,” he hums. “See you outside, baby.”
The second he turns into the driveway, the car barely has time to rest before he’s throwing it into park, killing the engine.
The garage door rumbles overhead and he doesn’t wait, ducking underneath it before it can open all the way. His shirt’s halfway over his head before he even reaches the mudroom. By the time he steps inside, he’s carrying the polo in one hand, snagging his swim trunks from the laundry room with the other.
He stumbles slightly, kicking off his golf shoes without ever breaking stride. Future Rafe can deal with that problem. Present Rafe has more important things to do.
His golf shorts are already undone by the time he reaches the hallway. He steps out of them, steps into the swim trunks, and keeps walking without stopping once to grab his hat, tugging it on before he flicks it to the back.
Now he’s finally home and the only thing he cares about is the backyard door sitting at the end of the room. He reaches it a few seconds later and quickly slows down, dragging the glass door open.
And that last bit of tension breezes out of him, because there you are.
You’re curled up in a chair with a book open in your hands, completely unaware that he’s standing there.
He admires you for a moment—one leg crossed over the other while sunlight dances across the pool behind you. He soaks in the scene he’d spent eighteen holes waiting to get home to.
Then a sharp whistle rips through his lips.
Your head lifts at the sound.
The book lowers into your lap and a smile breaks across your face so fast it makes something in his chest tighten.
You start to uncross your legs, already leaning forward like you’re about to stand, but he points at you.
“Nah, baby,” he says. “Stay right there. I’m comin’.”
You laugh under your breath and fall back against the chair.
The cushions dip beneath his weight as he climbs on top of you. One hand braces against the armrest while the other finds your thigh, his broad palm sliding higher as he guides you closer.
“Miss me?” He asks. Rafe’s smile tugs a little wider when you whisper yes, his thumb brushing absentmindedly against your thigh.
He slides a hand along your side, guiding you onto his lap as one arm wraps around your waist, pulling you tight against his chest while the other lifts to cup your cheek.
“Goddamn, I missed you. Don’t make me do that shit again,” he mutters, shaking his head once before leaning back enough to look at you properly. “M’not home enough for that.”
“Okay, baby,” you laugh.
“I mean it.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Don’t try to charm me after that, pretty. That was hell.” He leans in first this time, forehead brushing yours for a second before his lips find yours. “I love you,” he murmurs.
Your hand presses against his chest, nails scratching lightly down sun-warmed skin. He pushes the cup of your bikini to the side, wrapping his lips around your skin while his other hand drifts between your thighs.
“Out here?” You ask with a laugh.
“We’re all alone, baby. Why not?” His lips brush yours again before trailing along your jaw. “We can go inside too—”
“Right here,” you whisper.
“That’s what I thought,” he hums. “Who’s my girl, huh?”
You smile, fingers hooking beneath the waistband of his swim trunks. “I’m your girl.”
“Mhmm.” His thumb drifts along your collarbones to your shoulders, nudging one strap down before the other. “You’re my fuckin’ girl.” The words come out rough enough to pull a smile from you.
You reach up and untie the small bow holding your swimsuit top together. The fabric slips loose between you.
Rafe’s eyes drop as you toss it away. “Jesus Christ, baby.” A low groan slips out of him as he tips his forehead against yours for a second, hands lifting to squeeze your tits in his big palms as his mouth finds yours again.
You glance down briefly, catching his swim trunks sitting low on his hips from where you’d been tugging at them, bunched slightly against his muscular thighs, the fabric stretched tight across them.
“Take these off,” you whisper, the words barely leaving your lips before he slides down in his seat, tugging down his shorts with him, his heavy cock smacking against his toned stomach with a snap, his eyes locked on your body.
His hands squeeze your hips, digging in as he drags your clothed pussy on top of him, head pressing back into the chair. The sun beats down on your skin. A thin line of sweat catching his chain before it rolls in a lazy train down his chest.
“They said I got a problem,” he mumbles through a smirk, his jaw tightening as you keep moving against him, the heat of your body bleeding through the fabric of your swimsuit, finally snapping whatever patience he had left.
“Yeah, baby?”
“You see any problems here?” He asks breathlessly as he reaches for the bows at your hip, tugging them free, yanking away the rest of the fabric in a hurry as his hands close around you again.
He blows out a breath like he’s finally gotten rid of the last thing standing between him and what he wants, his hand diving between your thighs.
His fingers press inside and he gasps, working you with his hand as you rest on his chest, feeling his heart bang underneath, his muscles flexing with each push of his hand.
“Just jealous they don’t have a woman like you?” He hums as he pulls his hand away just long enough to drag you in.
Rafe’s lidded eyes connect with yours, lips falling open with his as he pulls you down on him. You grip his shoulders, hands trembling as a deep groan thunders in his chest, feeling your wetness wrap around him tight.
“Fuck, me,” he mutters under his breath, dragging you closer, smiling against your lips before capturing your mouth in a tender kiss.
“Oh my god,” you whine.
“Pussy’s so perfect.”
His eyes lift to yours in a lust-ridden daze, muscles flexing as he works you over on his length. You bounce on his lap, wet slaps of sweat and slick filling with air around you mixing with your soft whimpers and his deep groans.
You grip the arm rests, circling your hips and he throws his head against the back of the chair to get a better look, his eyes drifting between your face and the bounce of your tits, falling to his lap where your pussy swallows him up each time you sink down.
His legs spread a little wider, feet resting on the ground, hips pitching to fuck up into your soaked hole. Your head throws back as you rise on your knees, letting him hit that perfect spot, the knot in your belly tightening, your body impossibly hot.
“Rafe,” you moan.
“Yeah?” He asks, and you can hear the satisfaction in his voice. “Been playin’ this shit over and over in my mind, pretty. Let me have it.”
You cry out as he pounds your pussy with his thick dick. Your thighs tremble uncontrollably, as your pussy flutters around him. He looks up at you in a haze, lips parted, brows softening as your release wets his lap and thighs.
“Oh shit, that's my girl… That’s my baby,” he praises, making you gasp when he rolls you onto your back, not giving you a moment to breathe before he’s on you again.
He looks down at you with a smile, adjusting his hat, staring at the wet mess between your thighs. “Why the fuck would I ever wanna leave you, huh?” He asks as he pushes your legs against your chest, hooking your ankles over his broad shoulders.
You whimper out a little breath as he taps his cock against your pussy, muscles jumping with each slap.
He pushes in slow, tilting closer to get as far as he can go, pressing a deep kiss to your trembling lips. “Gonna cum in your pussy,” he whispers, his voice breaking with pleasure. “M’so, so fuckin’ close.”
His face turns slightly, pressing a kiss to your ankle, right against the charm. His ab muscles clench as he rolls his lips, sweat sliding down his temple.
“I’m so deep,” he mumbles. You nod quickly, lip bitten between your teeth, hands gripping the arm rests tight.
“So fucking deep,” you whisper.
“Yeah?” He asks breathlessly. “Fuck me.”
He loses his rhythm, thrusts growing uneven as he snaps against your skin. His muscles quake, shoulders trembling, slamming into you in one heavy thrust.
His eyes pinch shut, head falling forward, cumming deep inside you with your name on his lips.
He lets your legs go but he doesn’t let you get far, snuggling into you again, kissing your forehead—then your nose and your lips.
“Goddamn,” he mumbles, lingering while your breathing slows together.
He sits down next to you, dragging you close, kissing you as he grabs your thigh, tugging it over the top of him—close not close enough.
“This,” he huffs out a deep breath through a smile, relaxing into the lounge chair. “This is what’s good for me.”
“Yeah?” You giggle, tilting your chin up for a kiss that he gladly steals. You rest your head on his shoulder, the warm summer breeze blowing against your skin, the soft music that you had playing while you were reading filling the space in between.
“You sent that picture to me on purpose,” he breathes.
A smile stretches on his lips when you don’t answer right away, the corner of his eyes crinkling as he smiles.
“Holy shit, you did? Didn’t you?” He asks, tilting his neck to look you in the eyes and you shrug and smile.
“Thought it would get you home quicker.”
His hand comes down heavy on your thigh as he dips in, brushing his nose against yours, chuckling deeply against your lips before he kisses you.
warnings: unprotected sex, slight sub!rafe (?), praise, hair pulling, titty sucking, spanking, groping, light biting, face sitting, oral sex (f. receiving), tongue fucking, overstimulation
a/n: this one is for my plus sized baddies ໒꒰ྀི ˶> ˕ <˶꒱ྀི১
“fuck, fuck, fuck..” to say that rafe was gone and so far away in his own state of hysteria would be putting it nicely. he looked thoroughly flushed underneath you, his cheeks and the tips of his ears burning a bright pink as your hips moved up and down his length. rafe laid there at your mercy, his fingertips digging so hard into the plush flesh of your thighs, you couldn’t help but whine at the slight discomfort every time he managed to grip you even tighter than before. with teary eyes, rafe gazed up at you as his jaw fell slack, his eyebrows knitting together as you switched from bouncing on top of him to dragging your hips slowly over his lap so he could revel in the feeling of you being wrapped around him— so warm and tight.
“holy shit, baby,” rafe groaned, craning his neck to look down and see where you two were connected, “f-feels so fucking good.” he shuddered, blinking slowly as his eyes rolled to the back of his head. you watched rafe’s chest cave in with every breath, his bangs sticking to his forehead as he cursed obscenities through gritted teeth. moving his palms to the curves of your hips, he urged you to lean down and rest against his chest, one arm wrapping tight around your waist, and the other gripping the roots of your hair as his mouth latched onto your nipple. “oh—!” you cried out when he started fucking up into you, the plap! plap! plap! of his skin meeting yours making your cheeks heat.
rafe couldn’t comprehend anything else except for the sweet scent of your perfume, the softness of your skin, and the wetness that surrounded his cock with every thrust inside your needy cunt. “i don’t know what you do to me,” rafe held you close, “every time i’m inside you, i can’t fucking think.” he laughed, feeling damn near psychotic by how fast the smile left his lips when he felt you clench around him. slamming his palm down, you yelped when rafe grabbed a handful of your ass without any kind of gentle regard, his teeth nipping at your skin as you reveled in the pure unadulterated pleasure licking your insides. “this body is perfect,” he grunted, groping at your tummy, “you’re perfect.”
before you could register his words, rafe was pulling out and scooting down the bed so he could seat you on his face, his strong arms wrapping around your thighs before his tongue was flicking against your clit. doubling over, you threaded your fingers in his hair as a broken moan sounded from your lips. “oh god!” you squealed, your shoulders dropping in defeat upon feeling the familiar tension beginning to coil in your belly. rafe didn’t care about being soft or sweet when he was devouring you like a man starved. times like this called for your ass and thighs to smother him in a way that had his cock standing up in the air by itself, the tip of his nose nudging your sensitive bundle of nerves as he worked your entrance with his tongue— the combination making you cum on his face in record time.
rafe made sure to hold you in place when overstimulation set in so that you couldn’t pull away from him until he was done, your orgasm ripping through you as you shook and trembled in his hold. you were nothing short of intoxicating, your sticky succulence driving rafe mad with lust as he continued lapping at your glossy folds. he could never get enough of you— not when every time felt like the first time all over’s again. hearing you cry, seeing you squirm, feeling your body react to every praise and compliment he showered you with.. there was never going to be another feeling that could top this one.
Hi! Love your writing! If you’re up to a rage fic -
I would love an angst trade where he calls reader clingy and she distances herself!
are you busy?
SUMMARY . . rafe gets exactly what he asks for when he calls you clingy in front of everyone and discovers that silence is a lot harder to live with than he expected.
AUTHOR’S NOTE . . 2144 words ( before edit ) ; i did use she/her pronouns for this ; did a little obsession spin on this because i feel like he’d actually become the version he saw you as before his little outburst, so a bit of irony. if anyone wats me to fulfill any more requests let me know !!
MAIN MASTERLIST | PART TWO REQUEST
the party stretches across the cameron property, spilling from the back patio and out toward the water where expensive boats rock gently against their slips. music drifts through air while people move in clusters.
you’ve spent the better part of the evening weaving through those groups looking for rafe, catching glimpses of him only long enough for somebody else to pull him away again before you can get more than a few words out of him.
when you finally spot him near the edge of the deck, talking to topper and a handful of other people, relief settles in your chest before you can stop it.
maybe it’s pathetic. maybe it isn’t. all you know is that finding him feels like finally being able to exhale after spending the last hour searching.
you make your way over without thinking twice, squeezing between a couple of people until you’re standing beside him, your shoulder brushing lightly against his arm as you tilt your head up toward him with a smile.
“there you are,” you say. “i’ve been looking for you.”
for a moment, he doesn’t answer. his jaw flexes instead while he stares out toward the water. you've seen him stressed at things that had absolutely nothing to do with you before. because of that, it takes a second to realize the look he finally turns on you isn’t aimed through you or past you. it’s aimed directly at you.
“can you relax?” he asks sharply.
the smile fades from your face. “what?”
“you’ve been looking for me all night.”
confusion settles over you immediately because the accusation feels so strange. of course you’ve been looking for him. he’s your boyfriend. he literally picked you up so you could be here tonight.
the idea that he’d be annoyed by that doesn’t even occur to you until you catch the way topper’s attention shifts between the two of you, along with the subtle quieting of the conversation around him.
“i mean, i was just trying to find you,” you tell him.
rafe smiles and runs his palm across his buzzed head, looking every bit as frustrated as he has all evening. except now, instead of whatever has been bothering him all day, all of that frustration seems to have landed squarely on your shoulders.
“no, that’s exactly what i’m talking about,” he says, “you’re always trying to find me.”
your stomach sinks. people are listening now, you know they are.
you can see it in the way conversations nearby begin to slow, or the way somebody glances over their shoulder before quickly looking away.
somehow none of that feels as important as the expression on rafe’s face, though. while everyone else fades into the background, your attention stays fixed entirely on him, searching for some indication that he’s going to stop, realize what he’s saying, and walk it back.
instead, he keeps going.
“you’re always texting me, always asking where i am, always asking what i’m doing,” he says, throwing one hand out in exasperation. “you don’t have to be attached to me every second of the day.”
your entire body gives a small involuntary flinch, not because he moves toward you or because you’re scared of him, but because hearing something like that from the person whose opinion matters most to you feels a little like missing a step in the dark.
you stare at him. that’s all you can do.
suddenly you’re replaying every interaction you’ve had over the past few months, wondering which part of it annoyed him this much.
was it the good morning texts? the calls? asking if he’d made it home safely after disappearing for hours? was it showing up when he asked you to? sitting beside him when he was in a bad mood? listening to him complain about his father, his life, his problems, and everything else? none of it had ever felt excessive to you. it had just felt like a relationship.
for the first time since you’ve known him, rafe seems to realize how bad what he said actually sounded, but just for a split second. the anger on his face falters slightly, uncertainty slipping through the cracks, but by then the damage is already done.
there are too many people standing around, too many eyes watching, and too much pride keeping either of you from pretending the moment never happened.
the lump in your throat makes it difficult to speak. still, you manage.
“okay.” the word comes out quiet enough that he almost doesn’t hear it. you don’t argue or try to defend yourself.
you simply nod once, forcing yourself to hold his gaze for another second before looking away, and somehow that hurts him far more than any argument probably would have. because for the first time all night, you’re not trying to reach him anymore.
the drive home that night is quieter than rafe expected, not because of what happened earlier. if anything, he almost wishes you were arguing back to him. arguments are familiar territory. he knows how to handle yelling and angry words and people fighting back.
what he doesn’t know how to handle is silence. after your small, quiet okay at the party, you never bring it up again.
you don’t ask him why he said it. you don’t just tell him he embarrassed you. you don’t even demand an apology or make him explain himself. you simply retreat into yourself, staring out the passenger window. a few times he glances over, almost expecting you to say something, but you never do.
eventually his grip tightens around the steering wheel as irritation replaces the guilt. if you’re upset, then be upset. if you’re angry, then say something. instead, you just sit there, and by the time he drops you off, he’s convinced himself the entire thing wasn’t nearly as bad as it felt.
the next morning feels strangely peaceful.
his phone isn’t lighting up every few hours. there isn’t a text waiting for him when he wakes up or a notification asking if he slept well, if he’s busy today, or if he wants to do something later.
at first, he barely notices. if anything, a part of him feels relieved.
isn't this what he wanted? space? room to breathe?
for the first couple of days, that’s exactly how he frames it in his head. he spends his time doing whatever he wants, going wherever he wants, and never once has to answer a question about where he’s been. every now and then he catches himself expecting a text to come through, but when it doesn’t, he simply tosses his phone aside and moves on.
it isn’t until the third day that the silence starts feeling less like freedom and more like something missing, because it isn’t just the texts. it’s everything.
it’s the fact that you don’t stop by tannyhill after being nearby, or that he doesn’t hear your name from rose asking if you’re coming over, or ward wondering if you’re joining them for dinner.
somehow you’d become woven into the routine of his life so gradually that he never noticed it happening, and now every missing piece sticks out.
he keeps expecting things to go back to normal on their own, and keeps expecting you to call first like you always do. he just keeps expecting you to show up, but each day passes exactly like the one before it.
then a week goes by. by that point, he’s checking his phone more than he’d ever admit out loud.
not texting you. he’s not that desperate. at least that’s what he tells himself. he’s just looking, just seeing if maybe you posted something, or if maybe you called while he wasn’t paying attention.
just seeing if maybe—
nothing.
which is why your name slips out so casually one afternoon that even he doesn’t realize he’s asking about you until it’s too late.
he’s sitting with topper and kelce outside the country club, all three of them halfway through a conversation that started about boats and somehow turned into making fun of one of the kook guys they know. laughter circles the table, and for a few minutes rafe almost forgets about the irritating little knot that’s been sitting in his chest all week.
then he reaches for his drink and says, “where’s y/n been?”
the laughter dies immediately. kelce blinks and topper looks up. for a second neither of them answers, because of all people, why would they know?
“what?” kelce asks.
rafe grins like he doesn’t understand. “what do you mean ‘what’?”
“you just asked where y/n’s been.”
“yeah.”
another pause. topper and kelce exchange a glance.
rafe immediately notices, and immediately hates it. “what?” he asks.
“nothing,” topper says.
“then answer the question.”
topper leans back slightly. “i don’t know. i think she was down at the wreck yesterday.”
rafe’s eyes narrow. “the wreck?”
“yeah.”
“with who?”
kelce lets out a short laugh. “how are we supposed to know?”
rafe ignores him, his attention staying fixed on topper.
topper shrugs. “some friends, i guess.”
“what friends?”
this time both of them stare at him, and rafe doesn’t understand why. the questions seem perfectly reasonable.
he’s your boyfriend, or at least he thinks he still is.
asking where you are shouldn’t feel weird, and asking who you’ve been spending time with shouldn’t earn him these looks. at least this is what he thinks in his own head.
“i don’t know, man,” topper says slowly. “i just heard she was there.”
rafe’s jaw tightens, “like, all day?”
“i guess.”
“she was there the day before too, then,” kelce adds. “pretty sure i saw her when i was driving through.”
that piece of information settles uncomfortably in rafe’s chest. so for the last two days, while he’s been sitting around waiting for some sign of life from you, you’ve apparently been out enjoying yourself.
the realization annoys him far more than it should. he tells himself it’s because it’s weird. maybe ‘cause it’s different. after months of knowing exactly where you are and what you’re doing, the sudden lack of information feels unfamiliar.
deep down, though, he knows that’s not the reason. the real reason is that he’d expected you to be upset and miss him. instead, every report he’s hearing now makes it sound like you’re doing perfectly fine without him.
that night, the thought follows him home, and then into his bedroom, and then into the early hours of the morning.
he ends up sprawled across his bed with one arm behind his head and his phone balanced against his chest, staring at the ceiling. every few minutes he unlocks his screen or checks the time. he finds himself opening the same apps for absolutely no reason before locking the phone again.
but eventually he gives up pretending. his thumb presses against your contact. he stares at your contact photo and the message thread that’s been dead for over a week. then he backs out, opens your location instead. the map loads.
you’re not home. his foot starts bouncing immediately. he tells himself he doesn’t care, he’s obviously only looking because he’s curious. right? because it’d be weird not to wonder. because—
you’re at the movies.
the realization irritates him instantly. movies with who? how many people are there with you? when did that plan even get made? how come he didn’t know about it?
his thumb pinches the screen, zooming in on the little circle as if the answer might magically appear if he looks hard enough, but he knows it doesn’t. all it tells him is that you’re somewhere having fun. somewhere that isn’t with him.
every bit of these thoughts trace back to one stupid night and one stupid argument that he can’t stop replaying no matter how badly he wants to. because the more he thinks about it, the more details come back - the way you’d looked at him and didn’t argue. you’d just looked hurt.
rafe shifts against the headboard. your location is still pulled up on his screen, somewhere near the beach tonight, probably with friends.
his jaw tightens, loosens, then tightens again. it almost makes him angry. reaching out means admitting something, that he was wrong and that he misses hearing from you.
eventually, the silence wins. or maybe it loses. he isn’t sure anymore. all he knows is that his thumb finally presses against the keyboard.
he starts typing something longer before deleting it immediately, starts again, then deletes that too. nothing sounds right. in the end, he settles on the only thing he can manage.
rafe stares at the message for a second before he finally hits send. the delivered notification appears almost instantly, and for the first time in weeks, the waiting belongs to him.
‘ are you busy? ’
and just seconds later, your read receipts pick up below his message.
watching you for months from behind foggy glasses and shaky hands, jerking off to the thought of you with his earbuds in and a pillow clutched to his chest, pretending it’s you. whispering your name like a prayer, like he’s ashamed of how bad he wants it.
so when it actually happens—when you kiss him, when you pull him onto your bed, when you say “do you wanna…?”—he nods like a fucking puppy. eager, dumb, eyes already wide and blown-out.
he tries to act confident. really, he does. tells you in this shaky little voice,
“i-I’ve seen a lot of videos, I know what to do…” like it’s something to be proud of. like his entire sex education isn’t a pornhub rabbit hole and three reddit threads.
but the second you guide him in? game over.
his hips jerk forward way too fast, eyes rolling back as he gasps, forehead pressed to your shoulder.
“oh god—oh fuck—fuckfuckfuck, i’m sorry, I didn’t—”
he whines. actually fucking whimpers into your skin, clutching your waist like he’s drowning in it.
"y-you’re so warm—can’t—can’t help it—feels s-so good, I—I didn’t mean to—"
and then he just freezes, pulsing inside you, biting back a sob because he came already. not even thirty seconds in.
he can’t look you in the eye. rolls off you like a guilty little rabbit, red-faced and mumbling apologies into your neck.
“i swear i’ll make it up to you. i’ll—i’ll go down on you, okay? for as long as you want. just… don’t hate me.”
he does make it up to you. tongue trembling, nose buried in you like it’s his job, moaning every time you tug his hair and call him good. (he cries again when you cum on his tongue. it’s kind of sweet.)
"two weeks," rafe grunts, his voice rough with frustration as he shoves a third finger deep into your pussy. "two weeks away from me and you've clamped shut like a fuckin' virgin."
you are splayed out on the edge of your mattress, your suitcase still abandoned by the door where you dropped it five minutes ago. you haven't even taken off your shoes. rafe didn't give you the chance. he has your legs hooked over his broad shoulders, bending you in half, exposing your tan-lined pussy to the harsh bedroom light and his relentless assault.
"rafe, slow down… it hurts," you hiss, your hips twitching involuntarily as he twists his wrist deep inside you.
"it's supposed to hurt," he retorts, sweating as he forces his fingers to scissor open, stretching your walls apart. "you think you can just go on vacation and forget how big i am? i have to make room."
he withdraws his hand, the wet squelch echoing loudly, only to immediately replace it with the blunt, angry head of his cock. he doesn't lube it up. he uses the juices he just coaxed out of you, spitting on the head for good measure before lining himself up. the sight of his erection — thick, vein-wrapped, and visibly throbbing — makes your breath hitch. it looks too big. after fourteen days of nothing, he looks massive.
"relax," he commands, grabbing your hips with bruising force to anchor you. "don't fight it. open up."
he pushes forward. it's a slow, gruelling invasion. the head of his cock forces your entrance to stretch into a wide, taut circle, the skin turning pale with the strain. you cry out, digging your nails into the duvet, feeling completely stuffed before he's even halfway in. the sensation is overwhelming — a feeling of being split open, filled to absolute capacity.
"fuck, you're tight," rafe groans, his eyes rolling back as he feels your internal muscles squeezing him in a panic. "look at you taking it. taking every inch."
he drives his hips forward in a sudden, brutal motion, burying himself to the hilt. the impact knocks the wind out of you. you feel him hit your cervix, a deep, dull thud that radiates through your entire core. you are completely impaled, your body moulded around his intrusion.
"there," he breathes, leaning down to bite the sensitive cord of your neck. "now you're full. now you remember who you belong to."
he doesn't start fast. he moves with agonising slowness, pulling almost all the way out until just the tip remains, then slamming back in to re-stretch you with every stroke. it's a torture of friction and fullness. he grinds his pubic bone against your clit, overstimulating you while he ruins your insides.
"did you touch yourself while you were gone?" he demands, slapping your thigh. "did you think about this? about my cock stretching you out?"
"yes," you sob, unable to lie. "rafe, please… harder."
"careful what you wish for."
he snaps. the slow, methodical stretching turns into a feral, desperate pounding. he hammers into you, his pace frantic, driven by fourteen days of pent-up need. the bed frame slams rhythmically against the wall, shaking the entire room. you're moaning loudly, incoherent pleas mixing with the wet, slapping sound of his skin colliding with yours. you feel stretched to the absolute limit, your body gaping open to accommodate him, adjusting to the sheer size of him until your entire world narrows down to the friction and the heat.
"i'm gonna wreck you," he snarls, sweat dripping from his forehead onto your chest. "i'm gonna leave you so loose you won't be able to walk for weeks."
he grabs your waist, his fingers digging into your skin, pulling you flush against him to maximise the depth. he hits your cervix with every thrust now, a bruising, deep pleasure that borders on pain. you wrap your legs around his back, locking your ankles to keep him there, desperate for the release building in your belly.
"rafe! i'm close! i'm gonna—!"
"cum on my cock," he roars, slamming his hips forward one last time. "squeeze on it."
your orgasm hits you like a tidal wave. your inner walls clamp down on his shaft, spasming violently. the sensation of your tightness crushing him pushes rafe over the edge. he groans, a deep, animalistic sound, and buries himself to the balls. he erupts, firing thick, hot ropes of cum deep into your womb. he pumps into you, unloading everything he's held back for two weeks, filling you until you feel heavy and bloated with his essence.
he stays there for a long time, chest heaving against yours, waiting until the very last twitch of his cock subsides. finally, he pulls out slowly. a gush of his seed mixed with your own fluids spills out of you, running down your inner thigh and soaking the sheets.
rafe stares at the mess, his eyes dark and possessive. he reaches down, swiping his thumb through the fluid leaking from your stretched, gaping entrance, and holds it up for you to see.
