Rafe was usually composed, controlled—even when he fucked you rough, his voice was low, dark, gritted through his teeth. But tonight. Tonight was different.
His forehead was pressed to yours, sweat dripping down his temple, his hips snapping into you with desperate rhythm. And every thrust tore another sound out of him—high, shaky, ragged whimpers that he couldn’t hold back.
“Fuck—oh, fuck, baby,” he gasped, his breath hot against your lips. His voice cracked mid-word, his body trembling as he pushed deeper. “You’re—so fucking tight, I can’t—I can’t—”
You were gone. The second you heard that first broken moan fall from his lips, your body reacted on instinct—clenching around him so hard it made his knees buckle.
He whined. A full-on whine that had your head spinning. “Don’t—don’t do that, baby, please, I’ll lose it—”
You tightened again on purpose, watching his face twist, his eyes squeeze shut as another shaky groan broke free. The sound alone had you gasping, clutching at his shoulders, your nails dragging down his damp skin.
“God, you’re killing me,” he babbled, fucking into you harder now, desperate. His lips brushed your jaw, your ear, whispering messy curses between moans. “Fuck—I’m—please, don’t stop—don’t stop clenching me like that, I’ll—fuck—”
The way his voice cracked on the last word wrecked you. Your body was out of control, pulsing around him with every thrust, squeezing him tighter, milking every whimper he tried and failed to swallow back.
He was loud now, too loud. Each thrust knocked another moan, another broken plea out of him. He was panting against your mouth, half-kissing you, half-crying into your lips as his thrusts grew sloppy.
“Baby, I can’t—oh, fuck—I can’t hold it,” he whined, his hips stuttering. “You feel so—oh my god—you feel so good, please, let me—”
You couldn’t take it anymore. The sounds spilling from his lips, the way he was unraveling under you, the raw need dripping from every moan—it pushed you right over the edge. Your body seized, your walls clamped down around him in waves, and he broke completely.
The loudest sound you’d ever heard ripped out of him—half-growl, half-whimper as he spilled inside you, collapsing against your body. His hips kept moving, shallow, desperate thrusts, like he was chasing every last ounce of high he could get.
You were shaking, wrecked, your body twitching beneath him. But you couldn’t stop listening. Every shaky breath, every broken moan he let out into your neck, every soft whimper of your name it burned itself into your brain.
When he finally stilled, chest heaving against yours, his lips brushed your skin in soft, messy kisses. He was still whining a little under his breath, every exhale broken like he hadn’t fully come down yet.
SUMMARY: The best and worst mistake you've ever made in your life
NOTE: A draft, everything I upload by Rafe Cameron is a draft, I was really fanaticized with him when I was watching OBX.xoxo
The porch of the Château creaked under the weight of too many restless bodies, the old wood groaning like it knew the Pogues were plotting something reckless again. Evening air pressed heavy against your skin, sticky and warm, the sound of cicadas buzzing in the background.
You sat perched on the railing, your legs swinging idly, trying to focus while John B paced back and forth like his brain was two steps ahead of his body. JJ leaned against the wall with his usual smirk, picking at a loose thread in his shirt like none of this mattered, though you could feel the tension rolling off him. Pope had his arms crossed, brow furrowed, his face a mix of logic and worry, while Kie sat slouched in one of the old lawn chairs, chewing at her thumbnail. Sarah was closest to John B, her voice low but insistent, her blond hair catching the last shards of fading sunlight.
The topic of the night: Ward Cameron’s house. More specifically, the map locked inside his office.
“It has to be me,” Sarah said, firm, her tone leaving little room for argument. “It’s my dad’s office. I know the way in, I know how he hides things.”
John B stopped pacing to nod. “Yeah, she’s right. If anyone else goes in, it’ll take twice as long.”
“Except Rafe is going to be there,” Pope cut in, his voice sharp. “We can’t just sneak away and hope he doesn’t notice. He’s not stupid.” His gaze swept over everyone, lingering just long enough to make sure his words hit. “If he catches us, the whole thing goes to hell.”
The group fell silent for a moment, the weight of his logic pressing down heavier than the summer air.
“So then what?” JJ finally said, tilting his head like this was all some bad joke. “We just ditch the plan? Call it quits?” He kicked at a loose board on the porch. “Yeah, not happening.”
“There’s another option,” Sarah said carefully, her eyes flicking toward you in a way that made your stomach twist before she even opened her mouth.
“Don’t look at me like that” you said slowly, narrowing your eyes at her.
“You’re the only one who can distract him,” Sarah said simply, her tone final, like she had already made up her mind.
“Excuse me?” you shot back, your arms crossing instinctively.
“Sarah’s the one who has to search the office,” John B jumped in, his voice low, steady, like logic would make this easier to swallow. "That part isn’t negotiable.”
“Fine,” you said, your voice rising, “but what about the rest of you? Why me? There are five other options standing right here.”
“Because if Rafe sees any of us,” John B said, gesturing to himself, Pope, JJ, and Kie, “we’re dead.”
“And I’m what? Invincible?” you demanded, taking a step forward. “Don’t you love me anymore?”
“Don’t play dumb,” Pope said quickly, shaking his head. “We all know he won’t hurt you. He’s never even looked at you the wrong way.”
“That’s your brilliant plan?” you scoffed. “Seriously?”
“Actually,” Kie said, her tone measured, “it’s the opposite."
Your jaw dropped. “What are you talking about?”
“She’s right.” Sarah’s voice was steady, almost cruel. “I’ve known him my whole life. He has a thing for you. If anyone can keep his attention long enough for me to get the map, it’s you.”
You shook your head, laughing bitterly. “You’re insane. All of you.”
“Hold on,” JJ finally snapped, pushing himself off the wall. His voice cut through the air like a knife, sharp and protective. “You’re really saying we’re just gonna throw her to Rafe? That’s the big plan? Are you hearing yourselves?”
The others looked at him, stubbornness on their faces. No one spoke.
“You can’t be serious,” JJ pushed, his blue eyes blazing as they landed on John B, then Pope, then Sarah. “He’s a psycho. He’s dangerous. And you want her to just waltz in there like bait? No way.”
“JJ,” Pope said carefully, “we don’t have another choice. If he sees one of us, it’s over.”
“And what, it’s magically fine if it’s her?” JJ barked back, pointing at you. “You don’t know what he’s capable of.”
“JJ,” Sarah cut in, her voice icy, “he won’t touch her. Trust me, I know my brother.”
JJ’s laugh was bitter, humorless. “Yeah, that’s exactly why I don’t trust this plan.”
Your chest tightened at the way he was looking at you, fierce and unrelenting, like if he glared hard enough, the whole plan would fall apart. A part of you wanted to let him win, wanted to step back and make them find another way. But the silence around you was deafening—no one else was arguing.
You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Look. If this is the only way, then fine. But you better get in and out before he figures it out.”
“Y/N—” JJ started, stepping toward you.
“No,” you cut him off, raising a hand. “I’ll do it. But don’t act like I don’t know what I’m walking into.”
The words hung heavy in the humid night, the final nail in the coffin. JJ’s jaw clenched so tight you thought he’d break his teeth, but even he couldn’t deny it. Everyone else believed this was the only way.
With a humorless laugh, you pushed off the porch post you’d been leaning against, the wood scratching your palm as you stepped away. “Guess I’m the sacrificial lamb today.”
-
The porch light flickered faintly as you and Sarah climbed the steps, your sneakers squeaking against the polished wood, your pulse thrumming louder than your footsteps. The plan pressed down on your shoulders like lead, but there was no turning back now.
“Wait out here,” Sarah said quietly, her voice sharp and certain as she turned to face you. “We’ll go in first. You just… keep him away from the stairs and the kitchen. I’ll fake a call, and the rest will sneak in through the back door.”
You gave a tight nod, your stomach twisting. “Understood. Let’s get this over with.”
But before you could move, a hand closed around your arm. JJ. His grip was firm, his eyes dark, his voice low like he didn’t want the others to hear. “Be careful.”
The words clung to you more than you wanted to admit. You gave the smallest nod, trying to reassure him, before slipping inside with Sarah.
The house felt too big, too clean, too hollow, the kind of silence that wasn’t really silent at all—just waiting to be broken. And it was, almost immediately, by the sound of a bottle clinking against a countertop.
There he was. Rafe.
Leaning in the kitchen like he owned every breath of space in it, his baseball cap pulled backward, his broad frame casual but predatory at the same time.
“Hey,” Sarah said, her voice faltering just enough to sound real.
Rafe’s gaze flicked toward his sister for a second, but then it was gone, redirected fully onto you like gravity itself had shifted. His eyes dragged shamelessly over you—from your worn Converse to your shorts to the curve of your shoulders in your tank top—and lingered there, heavy, unrelenting.
“Hey, you,” he said, the words warm but dangerous, like he was greeting you and not his sister. “What are you doing here?”
“Girls’ night,” Sarah answered quickly, forcing brightness into her tone. “She’s staying over.”
Rafe’s mouth curved, the beginnings of a smirk he tried to mask. “Great.”
Right then, Sarah’s phone rang—your cue. She held it up, eyes flicking meaningfully between the two of you. “Damn, I’ll be back in a second.”
She hurried out, her footsteps fading into the hall, leaving you alone with him.
You exhaled slowly, trying to ground yourself, eyes darting toward the direction Sarah had disappeared before flicking back. And there he was—still watching you.
“I know I look like shit, you don't need to keep staring” you said, your voice sharp, defensive. You winced inside your head. Perfect. Real smooth. You’re supposed to keep him close, not fight him.
But Rafe’s smirk only deepened as he stepped toward you. “I was thinking the exact opposite, actually. You look beautiful, as always.”
Heat flared up your neck before you could stop it. You narrowed your eyes, folding your arms across your chest, hiding the stupid little smile tugging at your lips. “I wonder what your Kook friends would say if they knew you were flirting with a Pogue.”
“Who said I’m flirting?” His voice dripped amusement, cocky and careless. He leaned closer, tilting his head down at you.
“You are,” you shot back, the smile breaking free this time, even as you tried to suppress it.
He didn’t deny it. In fact, he seemed to savor it, his grin flashing as his eyes darkened. “So what if I am?”
You swallowed hard, your heart hammering so loudly you were sure he could hear it. “Exactly what I asked you before. What would they say?”
His smile widened, but this one was dangerous, sharp at the edges. “Absolutely nothing, because I’d kill the first person who even looked at you the wrong way.”
Your breath caught. Damn, that’s hot.
The space between you shrank, your noses almost brushing, your lips so close it made your chest ache. This definitely wasn't what you had in mind to distract him, but hey, you weren't complaining either. Rafe may be a psychotic, bad person, but he's hot, and you weren't blind. Something about his backwards hat and his matching walk make him look even better.
“Sarah could come back any second,” you murmured, clinging to logic even as your body leaned into the pull of his.
“Sarah.. is taking too long,” Rafe whispered, his gaze flicking down to your mouth. “And she shouldn’t be leaving her friend alone anyway. Not the one I can’t stop thinking about. The one whose lips I can’t stop staring at.”
The words unraveled you.
Behind him, movement caught your eye—the Pogues slipping up the stairs like shadows. For a heartbeat, you thought you’d gotten away with it, but then a creak, too sharp, too loud, broke the illusion. Rafe’s head started to turn.
Panic surged. You acted on instinct.
“Then do something about it,” you whispered.
His head snapped back to you. His eyes lit up like he’d just won something priceless, something he’d been waiting for his entire life. And before you could process, his hands were on your waist, his lips crashing into yours with a hunger that stole your breath.
You kissed him back, your arms sliding around his neck, pulling him closer as you gestured frantically behind his back. Go. Go now.
John B’s hand shot out, clamping over JJ’s mouth just as he lunged forward, eyes blazing. The rest of the Pogues froze, wide-eyed, but your motion snapped them out of it, and they slipped up the stairs, one by one, until they disappeared from view.
The kiss deepened, burning and messy, and suddenly your back slammed against the counter. Rafe barely broke the kiss as he lifted you effortlessly, setting you down on the cool marble like you weighed nothing.
“Shit,” he whispered against your lips, his hands exploring, pressing into your skin like he wanted to memorize every inch of you.
Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging just enough to pull a groan from him. You were dizzy, consumed, and for a terrifying second, you didn’t care.
“Maybe we should stop,” you gasped, your lips brushing his. Your brain screamed at you to remember the plan, remember why you were here.
“Fuck no,” Rafe muttered, his voice low and rough, his forehead pressed against yours. “Let’s go to my room.”
You almost smiled—almost. But no. Upstairs was dangerous. The Pogues were there. One wrong turn and this entire plan would crumble.
“Not upstairs,” you murmured.
He paused, eyes burning into yours, then his grin returned, slow and certain. “I have an idea. Let’s go to my truck.”
Before you could answer, his arms slid beneath you, lifting you like you were nothing more than a feather. Your hands clutched at his shoulders as he carried you out of the kitchen, the sound of his boots echoing against the Cameron house floor.
And just like that, the plan shifted.
-
The truck rumbled to a stop, headlights casting two pale beams across the sand before flicking off and leaving only the glow of the moon. The ocean stretched endlessly in front of you, dark waves curling and crashing like secrets against the shore. Salt hung in the air, mingling with the faint smell of gasoline and leather from the cab.
Your heart was still racing from the reckless drive here, from the way Rafe’s hand hadn’t left your thigh the whole way.
You turned toward him, confusion laced into your voice. “Why did you bring me to the beach?” Your eyes darted to the water, then back to him, searching his face. “What am I supposed to tell Sarah?” You feigned concern, knowing you had to keep up the act, even if part of you already knew the truth—you didn’t want him to stop.
Rafe didn’t even blink. His jaw ticked, his blue eyes cutting into you like he could see straight through the lie. “We’ll see about that later.” His voice was low, gravel and heat. “Come here.”
Before you could argue, his hands were on your waist, firm and certain, pulling you across the console like you weighed nothing. In one swift move, he settled you on his lap, your knees bent on either side of him in the driver’s seat. The shift sent your breath hitching, his chest pressed hard against yours, his cap brushing against your forehead.
And then he kissed you.
Not soft, not tentative. Hard. Hungry. Like he’d been starving and you were the first taste of air he’d had in months. His mouth crushed against yours, all fire and desperation, his hands roaming every inch of you like he couldn’t stand to leave anything untouched. When his palms gripped the curve of your ass, squeezing possessively, you let out a sound you didn’t mean to, your fingers fisting in the fabric of his shirt.
“Rafe—” you tried to whisper, your lips brushing his as you broke just enough to breathe. “This is wrong” The question trembled in the air, half real, half excuse, your body betraying you even as your mind tried to pretend you were hesitant.
His answer came not in words at first, but in the way he kissed you deeper, teeth grazing your bottom lip like he wanted to claim you. When he finally pulled back enough to speak, his voice was rough, almost guttural. “Does this feel wrong?”
Your heart pounded as his lips dragged down your jaw, your throat, before finding yours again.
“Because it’s the best I’ve felt in a long time.”
And you believed him. God help you, you believed him.
The truck was small, claustrophobic, but the world outside disappeared. All you felt was his mouth on yours, hot and insistent, and the hard press of his body beneath you. Your hands slid up into his hair, tugging at the strands sticking out from under his cap, pulling him closer, closer. His groan vibrated against your lips, his grip on you tightening like he thought you might vanish if he let go.
The kiss turned messier, your lips parting under his, tongues meeting, colliding, until you were breathless, dizzy, drunk on him. Every time you thought it couldn’t get more consuming, he found a way—dragging you tighter against him, tilting his head, deepening the kiss until you didn’t know where he ended and you began.
You shifted slightly, the seatbelt buckle digging into your leg, and he groaned low, pressing you down harder on his lap. “Fuck,” he muttered against your mouth, his hands squeezing at your hips before sliding back down to your ass, gripping like he couldn’t stand to leave it unattended for even a second.
“Rafe—” you whispered again, but this time it wasn’t protest. It was a plea.
He smirked against your lips, breath hot as he pulled back just enough to look at you. His blue eyes glowed in the dim light spilling through the windshield, feral, hungry, like he’d been waiting his whole life for this exact moment.
“You drive me insane, you know that?” His voice was low, raw, edged with obsession. His thumb traced your bottom lip, then slid down your neck, pressing gently against your throat before moving lower, over your collarbone, your chest. “Every time I see you with them—John B, JJ—I want to put my fist through a wall. Because you’re mine.”
The word mine settled in your stomach like fire.
Before you could respond, he pulled you down into another kiss, harder this time, his teeth grazing, his tongue pushing past your lips like he was claiming territory. His hand slipped under the hem of your shirt, rough palms against bare skin, and you gasped against his mouth.
He groaned at the sound, tilting his head back to watch you, chest heaving. “You have no idea what you do to me,” he muttered, almost to himself, before dragging his lips down your throat, biting lightly just below your jaw. The sharp sting made you gasp, and he soothed it instantly with his tongue, a dark laugh vibrating against your skin.
You shifted in his lap, accidentally grinding down against him, and his reaction was instant—a guttural curse, hands gripping your hips tight enough to bruise. “Don’t do that unless you’re ready for me to lose it,” he warned, though his voice sounded more like a promise.
“Maybe I want you to,” you shot back, surprising yourself as much as him.
The look in his eyes was dangerous, a mix of pride and hunger, and then he was kissing you again, rougher, deeper, his hand sliding up your thigh, dragging the fabric of your shorts higher until his fingers brushed bare skin.
The truck felt too small, too hot. The windows were fogging, the sound of waves muffled by the frantic thrum of your heart. Every touch of his hands was demanding, claiming, like he was memorizing you and daring you to forget him.
“Say it,” he murmured against your mouth, his voice sharp, commanding. “Say you want this. Say you want me.”
Your lips trembled against his, your pulse racing as you met his stare. “I want you.”
That was all he needed.
“Good girl,” he murmured, and in a single motion, he claimed your lips in a deep, fierce kiss. His tongue slid into your mouth, exploring, dominating, while his fingers pressed into the slick heat at the top of your thighs. You gasped, body pressed impossibly close against his, the steering wheel digging into your back as he ground against you with deliberate friction.
Every nerve in your body screamed as he pushed just enough to make you writhe, just enough to make you burn with need, but never quite giving you the relief you craved.
“You’re mine,” Rafe growled between kisses, hand finally slipping beneath your shorts, curling inside to stroke you. “No one else touches you. No one else will ever feel this. Only me.”
Your hands fisted in his shirt, torn between pushing him back and pulling him closer. Rafe didn’t give you the chance to decide. With one hard thrust, he pushed inside, filling you completely, stretching you around him until you cried out.
“Fuck,” he hissed, head dropping against your shoulder, his jaw tight. “So damn tight. Like you were made for me.”
“Good girl,” he praised between rough, hungry kisses, his pace quickening, every thrust slamming into you with possessive intent. “That’s it. Take me. Let me ruin you for anyone else.”
Your cries filled the truck. Rafe’s hands gripped your hips, bruising, holding you in place as he pounded into you, his forehead pressed to yours, eyes dark with obsession.
“You’re mine,” he rasped, voice ragged with lust. “Say it. Say it now.”
“I—ah—Rafe!”
“Say it,” he demanded, thrusting harder, deeper, until your vision blurred.
Finally, the word tore from your throat, raw and desperate. “Yours!”
A wicked grin spread across his face, triumphant, before his mouth claimed yours again, teeth scraping your lip. “That’s all I needed.”
Your climax crashed over you suddenly, violently, your body clenching around him as you cried out, nails clawing at his back. Rafe groaned loudly, his thrusts faltering as he chased his own release, burying himself deep inside you with a final, possessive growl.
The room was thick with heat, the kind that clung to your skin, the sheets sticking under your back, your thighs trembling from how long he’d been working you. It felt like forever—Rafe fucking into you deep, steady, then pulling out just when your body was about to break apart, leaving you whining, shaking, desperate.
Your throat was raw from the sounds he’d pulled out of you, breathless whimpers and curses mixing with the groans slipping out of his mouth as he tortured you with every stop, every pause, every slow grind of his hips back against yours.
He’d been edging you for what felt like hours.
“Look at you,” he muttered, sweat dripping down his temple as his cock drove into you again, filling you raw, deep. His pace was brutal this time, determined to drag another orgasm right to the edge. “Fuckin’ ruined. My pretty girl can’t even think, huh?”
Your back arched, lips parting as your eyes rolled back, vision going fuzzy. You couldn’t answer—you could barely breathe through it. Your walls clenched around him, slick running down your thighs, and then—just as you were about to snap—he slowed, pulled halfway out, keeping you teetering on the edge without letting you fall.
“Rafe,” you whined, nails digging into his shoulders, legs trembling around his hips. “Please—please don’t stop, I can’t—”
“You can,” he grunted, jaw tight, eyes blazing down into yours. “You’ll take what I give you.”
He fucked back into you, hard enough to make the headboard slam against the wall, and your eyes rolled back again, lips falling open around a broken moan. His pace faltered—he was close. You felt it in the way his cock twitched inside you, in the way his forehead pressed to yours like he needed the grounding.
“Fuck…” he muttered under his breath, hips stuttering. “I’m gonna—shit—”
“No.” Your voice cracked on the word, desperation clawing through you. You reached for him, whining, pulling at his shoulders, clinging. “Don’t—please don’t pull out.”
He shook his head, chest heaving. “I have to—baby, I can’t—”
You wrapped your legs around his waist before he could move, ankles locking tight. He swore, a ragged sound tearing out of him as he tried to pull back, but you wouldn’t let go.
“Fuck, let me—” He tried again, grip tightening on your hips.
“Don’t.” Your voice broke on a whimper, eyes glassy as you stared up at him. “Please—inside. I need it, Rafe. Don’t leave me empty.”
It was too late. His body betrayed him. His hips slammed forward, cock buried deep as he spilled into you, hot and messy, spilling more with every sharp thrust he tried to suppress.
“Fuck—fuck—” He groaned into your neck, shaking, holding you down as his cum filled you. “Goddamn it, baby—”
You moaned through it, eyes rolling, nails clawing his back as your own orgasm ripped through you at the same time, walls clenching around him, milking him deeper.
“Good girl,” he rasped against your skin, hips still rolling shallowly even as he twitched inside you, filling you to the brim. “My greedy fuckin’ girl. Look what you made me do.”
You could never stop. That was the problem. Every time Rafe touched you, it turned into more, into too much, into not enough all at once.
Your nails scraped down his back as you begged into his mouth, lips swollen from how hard you’d been kissing him. “Again,” you whined, hips grinding down against him, slick dripping messily between your thighs.
“Again?” Rafe’s voice cracked, half incredulous, half turned on beyond belief. His chest was heaving, sweat shining across his collarbones. He had already made you cum twice — hard — but you were still clenching around him like you hadn’t even started.
“Yes,” you gasped, nails biting his skin harder. “Please, again—don’t stop—don’t ever fucking stop.”
Rafe grinned, feral, and shoved you back against the mattress, pinning your wrists above your head with one hand. “You’re insane,” he muttered, but his cock was already twitching inside you, already responding to the way your body writhed and bucked for more. “So fucking needy… it’s sick, baby. You’re sick.”
“Then fuck me sick,” you hissed back, breathless, and that was all it took.
He snapped his hips forward, hard enough to knock the air right out of you. His pace was merciless, a blur of skin slapping skin, your body jostling under his weight as you cried out. His free hand grabbed your throat, squeezing just enough to make your moans sharper, broken.
“You’d let me fuck you into the floor, wouldn’t you?” he snarled, his lips brushing your ear as his thrusts went deeper, harder. “You’d let me ruin you and still beg for more.”
“Yes!” your voice cracked, tears brimming at the corners of your eyes as pleasure tore through you again, white-hot and relentless. “Yes, yes, don’t stop—oh my god—”
Your third orgasm hit hard, your whole body trembling, clenching so tight around him that he growled, almost losing rhythm. But even when you collapsed, limp beneath him, Rafe didn’t stop. He pulled out, flipped you over, shoved back in from behind with a groan that rattled your bones.
Your face pressed into the sheets as he yanked your hair back, hips slamming into you from behind, obscene squelching filling the room. “Still hungry?” he panted, teeth bared as he fucked you deeper. “Still not enough?”
Your answer was a wrecked moan, your voice muffled by the sheets, but he pulled your head up by your hair until you choked out, “Not enough—never enough.”
Rafe chuckled, dark and low. “Good. ‘Cause I’m not finished either.”
His pace got rougher, harder, until you were screaming into the mattress, your body shaking uncontrollably. He came with a guttural groan, spilling deep inside you, but he didn’t pull out. He stayed there, panting, his chest against your back, his cock still hard and buried inside you.
“Round four,” he whispered against your ear, voice dripping with sick satisfaction. “Don’t you dare tap out now.”
You just whimpered, your body already on the edge of another climax, addicted to every second of it.
Summary: during riding him as he gets close he tries to get you off of him and you dont even relize it till its too late and he had already spilled in you
The air in the room was thick with heat, the dim lighting casting long shadows across the walls. Your hands braced against Rafe’s chest as you moved on top of him, your hips rolling at a slow, teasing pace. He was beneath you, his head pressed into the pillows, strands of golden-brown hair clinging to his damp forehead. His lips were parted, soft whimpers and ragged breaths slipping past them as he looked up at you, completely lost in the pleasure.
His hands guided you, large fingers gripping your hips firmly, pressing bruises into your skin as he helped you keep the rhythm. Every drag, every motion sent shivers down your spine, and the deep groans that rumbled from his throat only encouraged you to move faster. You could feel the way his muscles tensed beneath your fingertips, his chest rising and falling erratically, his body responding to you so intensely that it only fueled the fire burning in your core.
“Fuck,” Rafe rasped, head tipping back as his grip on your hips tightened. “Baby, you feel so good.”
You smiled at his words, leaning down to press your lips to his, swallowing the needy whimper that escaped him when you clenched around him. His arms wrapped around you, dragging your body flush against his, his chest burning hot against yours. The kiss was messy, all tongue and desperation, the friction between your bodies sending electric shocks through your veins.
But then something changed. His grip, once guiding and encouraging, became almost frantic. His fingers dug into your skin harder, his movements less controlled, more desperate. He tried to slow you down, but you didn’t notice—you were too lost in the intoxicating feeling of him inside you, too caught up in your own pleasure.
“Baby,” his voice was strained, almost pleading. “Slow down—I need you to—fuck—”
You barely registered his words, your mind clouded with bliss. Your body kept moving, the slick glide of his length against your walls making you shudder. He let out a sharp, choked whimper beneath you, his breath hitching.
His hands suddenly gripped your hips with bruising force, and before you could process what was happening, he yanked you off of him in one swift motion. A startled gasp left your lips as he threw you onto the bed beside him, his chest heaving as he pushed himself up on his elbows.
It was too late.
The realization hit you at the same time it did him. His blue eyes were wide, his lips parted as if he wanted to say something, but no words came out. He ran a hand down his face, exhaling shakily, his body still trembling from the aftershocks of his orgasm.
You lay there, frozen, your mind struggling to process what had just happened. The warmth between your legs, the way his grip had turned from pleasure to panic, the desperate way he had tried to pull you off—only for it to be too late.
Rafe pushed his hair back, looking over at you with a mix of frustration, disbelief, and something else—something almost vulnerable.
“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, sitting up fully.
You swallowed hard, your pulse pounding in your ears. “Rafe…”
He turned his head toward you, his jaw clenched, his chest still rising and falling heavily.
“I told you,” he said, voice rough. “I was trying to tell you, but you—you wouldn’t stop.”
Your stomach twisted. “I—I didn’t know.”
Rafe let out a short, bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, no shit.”
The room was suddenly too quiet, the weight of what had just happened settling between you both. He exhaled through his nose, glancing down at himself, his abs still flexing as he tried to catch his breath. You followed his gaze, and that’s when it really sank in.
He had finished inside you.
Your throat tightened, your body tensing. You weren’t on anything. You never had been. Rafe knew that.
His eyes flicked back up to yours, reading the thoughts racing through your head before you could even speak them. His lips parted like he was about to say something, but then he just groaned and rubbed his hands over his face again.
“Fuck,” he muttered, voice gruff. “Just… just lay there for a second.”
Your hands gripped the sheets, your skin still buzzing from the pleasure but now mixed with a different kind of heat—one of realization, one of fear.
Rafe sat on the edge of the bed, dragging a hand down his face before glancing at you again. His gaze was unreadable now, something flickering behind his eyes as he studied you.
After a long moment, he reached out, his fingers brushing against your thigh. The touch was softer than you expected, almost hesitant.
“We’ll figure it out,” he finally said, voice quieter now. “I promise.”
Warnings: smut, oral fixation, breast worship, marking, possessiveness, overstimulation.
It was supposed to be just kissing his lips on yours, his hands squeezing your hips while you sat across his lap on the edge of his bed. That was usually how it started. But the second Rafe pushed your straps off your shoulders and snapped your bra open, it shifted.
The hunger in his eyes told you what you were getting tonight.
He didn’t even bother with words. He just shoved the bra away, hands sliding up to cup your tits like he’d been waiting for this moment all day. Then his head dipped, and suddenly his mouth was on you.
“Rafe—” you gasped when he sucked your nipple between his lips, hard and greedy.
He groaned around it, the sound low, vibrating against your chest. His tongue flicked over the bud in slow, deliberate circles before he sealed his lips tight again, sucking like he couldn’t get enough. He switched to the other, biting lightly, then sucking deep until your back arched and your nails dug into his shoulders.
“God, baby…” he rasped between licks, his voice wrecked already. “You have no idea how much I love these.”
He shoved your tits together with both hands, burying his face between them, mouthing at every inch of skin. His tongue dragged over your cleavage, his lips sucking messy, wet kisses into the swells. He looked up at you once, pupils blown wide, spit slicking your chest where he’d been working you over.
“Look at you,” he panted, going back to your nipple, sucking until it popped wetly from his mouth. “So fucking perfect.”
Your thighs clenched around his hips, and you rocked slightly against the bulge straining in his sweats. But he didn’t move to touch you, he didn’t even try. His entire focus was locked on your chest, like the rest of you didn’t even matter.
“Rafe—” you whimpered, tugging at his hair. “Please…”
He just groaned, dragging his teeth over your nipple before sucking again, harder this time. He left another angry mark, then licked over it like he wanted to soothe the sting but couldn’t help himself.
Your skin was hot, wet, covered in his spit, flushed from the way his mouth refused to give you a break. You were trembling, every nerve firing with each new pull of his lips.
“Stop squirming,” he muttered against you, voice rough, “I’m not done yet.”
You whined, thighs squeezing tighter around him. “You’ve been at it forever—”
“And I’ll stay at it all fucking night if I want.” He bit down gently before sucking again, smirking when you gasped. “These are mine.”
His thumbs rolled over your nipples while his tongue pressed flat against one, lapping slow and steady. Your head fell back, lips parted, moans spilling as he drew every reaction he wanted out of you without even touching anywhere else.
By the time he finally leaned back, your chest was covered in his marks—red, wet, bruised from his mouth. You were panting, your body trembling from how wrecked you felt, your pussy throbbing with neglect.
“Yeah,” he murmured, lips swollen, chin wet. “Gonna make sure everyone sees who you belong to.”
Warnings: Smut, unprotected sex, Rafe being a whiny brat, slight breeding kink, dirty talk, mild choking, praise/degradation, established relationship, toxic tendencies, possessiveness, explicit language.
Summary: If there’s one thing Rafe Cameron hates more than anything, it’s condoms. He doesn’t just dislike them—he despises them. The thought of something being between you two, even a thin layer of latex, makes his blood boil. But on the nights when you know you’re fertile, you insist—just to be safe.
Rafe was already worked up, eyes dark, hands rough as he dragged them down your body. His shirt was long gone, his jeans undone, your legs spread open on the bed where he had been kissing and touching you for what felt like forever. He was desperate—aching to be inside you.
But then you said it.
"Condom."
And just like that, he was pouting, pulling back like you’d just ruined his whole night. His brows furrowed, lips twitching in frustration.
“Are you serious?” His voice was laced with irritation, but beneath it, there was something else—pure, undiluted disappointment.
You sighed, already knowing this was coming. “Rafe, it’s just for tonight. Just in case.”
He flopped onto his back beside you, dragging a hand down his face like this was some unbearable punishment. “I don’t even wanna fuck anymore,” he muttered dramatically, throwing an arm over his eyes.
You rolled your eyes. “You’re such a baby.”
“I don’t care.” He turned his head toward you, lips set in a stubborn line. “I hate them. Hate them. Why do you wanna put something between us?” His voice was softer now, more genuine, like the thought truly upset him.
“You know why.”
“I’d pull out,” he argued, but even he knew that was a weak excuse. You’d had this conversation before. Rafe didn’t pull out. Rafe buried himself deep inside you every time, groaning about how you were meant to take him. And honestly? You weren’t strong enough to stop him when he got like that.
“That’s not a risk I’m taking.”
He let out an exaggerated sigh, rolling onto his side to face you. His fingers found your hip, tracing slow, lazy circles. “You don’t trust me?”
“I don’t trust us.”
That made him smirk—because you were right. The second he was inside you, all sense of logic went out the window.
“I hate this,” he mumbled, nuzzling into your neck like a sulking child. “It’s not the same. I wanna feel you.”
“You still will.”
“No, I won’t.” His teeth grazed your jaw. “I need to feel you, baby. Need to be inside you, just like this.” His hand slipped between your thighs, fingertips teasing your soaked folds. “You want this too, don’t you?”
You did. God, you did.
But you stayed firm. “Condom, Rafe.”
His jaw clenched. He was fighting himself, torn between his desperate need to be inside you and his absolute hatred for anything separating him from you.
Then he sat up, running a hand through his hair with an exasperated groan. “Fine. Whatever. Give it to me.”
You reached for the nightstand, grabbing the small silver packet. But before you could hand it to him, he snatched it from your fingers and tossed it across the room.
“Rafe—”
“Oops.” His smirk was downright devious. “Guess we can’t use it now.”
Your eyes narrowed. “You think I don’t have more?”
“I think,” he murmured, rolling back over you, pinning your wrists above your head, “you don’t really want me to.”
Your breath hitched as he ground against you, his cock heavy and hard against your thigh.
“Tell me to stop,” he challenged, lips brushing against yours. “Tell me to put one on.”
You swallowed thickly, pulse racing. You should. You needed to.
But then he rolled his hips again, pressing against your entrance, teasing you, taunting you—
And all logic disappeared.
“Fuck it,” you whispered.
His grin was victorious. “That’s my girl.”
Then he was pushing inside, bare and deep, groaning at the feeling of you wrapped around him with nothing in between.
Your ex calls you in middle of the night because he misses your pussy so much
Pairing:desparate ex!rafe cameron x reader
Summary: it’s been months since you last heard from Rafe until tonight. He calls you in the middle of the night, desperate and whiny, ranting about how no one else compares to you. How he misses you, your body, and the way you make him feel. You should hang up, but instead, you just listen, soaking in his frustration, his sufferin because, deep down, you love that he’s ruined without you.
Warnings: Toxic dynamics, heavy desperation, explicit sexual talk, emotional manipulation, ego-stroking, and Rafe being completely down bad.
You blink yourself awake, disoriented, the shrill ring of your phone pulling you from sleep. The room is dark, the only light coming from the screen, his name glowing against it like some kind of warning.
Rafe.
Your stomach twists, but you don’t hesitate to answer. It’s been months, and he hasn’t called—not once. Not until now.
The second you press the phone to your ear, you hear him. "Fuck, you actually picked up." His voice is rough, thick with something that almost sounds like desperation. If you didn’t know him better, you’d think he was on the verge of crying. But Rafe doesn’t cry. Not really. He just gets whiny when he doesn’t get what he wants.
"What do you want?" Your voice is hoarse from sleep, but there’s an amused lilt to it. Because whatever this is, it’s already entertaining.
"You." He breathes the word out like a confession. "Fuck, I miss you so bad."
There’s a shuffle on the other end, like he’s running a hand through his hair, maybe pacing. Then, his voice drops lower. "I miss your pussy."
You should hang up. You should be disgusted. But you don’t, and you’re not. You just smile lazily, stretching against your sheets as you wait for him to keep going. Because he will.
"She was nothing like you," he mutters, like it physically pains him to admit it. "I thought maybe—fuck, maybe if I closed my eyes, it’d feel the same. But it didn’t. It never fucking does."
He’s rambling now, and you just listen, letting it all sink in. The regret, the desperation, the way his voice gets breathier like just the memory of you is enough to drive him crazy.
"Not one of them squeezes me the way you do," he groans. "None of them make me feel like you do. The way you take me—shit, you ruin me every time, you know that?"
You hum, running your fingers through your hair, completely unbothered. "That so?"
"Yeah," he says, exhaling sharply. "Miss your mouth, too. The way you taste. The way you fucking whimper when I—"
You cut him off with a laugh, your ego swelling with every word. He’s pathetic. Absolutely fucking ruined. He can pretend all he wants that this is about sex, but you hear it. It’s not just your body he misses—it’s you.
And maybe that shouldn’t feel as good as it does. But, god, it does.
"Poor baby," you murmur mockingly. "Did you think you could replace me?"
He groans again, and you swear you hear his head hit the wall. "Don’t do that. Don’t—fuck, don’t talk to me like that. You know I can’t take it."
"Then why’d you call?"
Silence.
And that’s your answer.
He just breathes for a second, heavy and uneven, before he finally admits it. "Because I need you."
You shift in bed, your smirk growing as his breathing gets heavier. He’s unraveling, and you don’t even have to say much. Just letting him talk—letting him suffer—is entertainment enough.
"You’re so fucking mean," Rafe whines, his voice breathy and strained. "Sitting there all quiet, just listening to me lose my fucking mind."
Your eyes flutter shut as you grin to yourself, biting your lip. You can practically see him—probably shirtless, running a frustrated hand through his messy hair, pacing around like a caged animal. Maybe even lying in bed, all restless and desperate, palming himself to the thought of you but getting nowhere.
"What do you want me to say, Rafe?" you taunt, dragging his name out slow. "You’re the one who called me. You’re the one who can’t stop thinking about me."
He groans, and it’s so needy you almost feel bad. Almost.
"I fucking hate it," he breathes out. "I hate that I can’t—I can’t fucking get off anymore. Not since you."
Your stomach tightens, but you keep your voice calm. "Oh?"
"Yeah," he huffs. "Tried, y’know? After you. Fucked every girl who’d let me. Thought if I kept trying, if I just found the right one, maybe it’d feel the same." He scoffs, and there’s an edge of anger in his voice—anger at himself, at them, at you for doing this to him. "But it never fucking does."
You let the silence linger, dragging it out just to hear him squirm.
"She didn’t even get me hard at first," he admits, and he sounds so frustrated, like he can’t believe this is his reality. "Had to close my eyes and think about you. Had to fucking imagine it was your hand stroking me, your mouth on me."
Your chest swells with satisfaction, a delicious warmth curling in your stomach. "Poor thing," you mock softly, barely containing your amusement.
"Not funny," Rafe mutters, but there’s a slight whimper at the end of his words, like he knows he’s at your mercy.
"Oh, but it is."
His breath shudders on the other end. "I miss it. I miss you."
He’s breaking now, voice barely above a whisper, and you just soak it in.
"Miss how tight you are. How fucking good you feel wrapped around me. Nothing—nothing—compares. They don’t squeeze me the way you do, don’t pull me in like you. Like you never wanna let go."
You hum, dragging a hand down your stomach, not even touching yourself—just feeling the power you have over him. "Sounds frustrating."
"It is," he rushes out. "It fucking is, and I hate you for it. Hate that you ruined me for anyone else."
You giggle, and it’s so cruel.
"Guess you should’ve thought of that before you lost me, huh?"
His breathing stutters. Then, barely audible: "I didn’t lose you. You’re still here."
You don’t answer. You just listen to him breathe—ragged, desperate, broken.
The silence stretches between you, thick and suffocating. You can hear every shaky breath Rafe takes, every little sound he makes as he tries to hold himself together.
"Say something," he finally mutters, voice strained. "Anything."
You smirk to yourself, shifting lazily against your pillows. "Why?"
"Because I fucking need it."
The desperation in his voice is almost pathetic—and god, you love it.
"What do you want me to say, Rafe?" you hum, dragging his name out like you’re savoring it. "Want me to tell you I miss you too?"
He exhales sharply. "Yes."
You laugh softly, shaking your head even though he can’t see it. "That’s not happening."
"Fuck—why are you like this?" he groans, and there’s something so helpless in the way he says it. Like he’s actually suffering. Like it physically hurts him that you’re not giving in.
You don’t say anything, just listening as he unravels.
"I think about you all the fucking time," he breathes. "Every time I try to fuck someone else, I can’t even—fuck, I can’t even finish unless I’m thinking about you."
Your stomach tightens, a rush of heat curling between your legs. He’s so gone, so completely wrecked, and it’s all because of you.
"That bad, huh?" you tease, biting your lip.
"Worse," he mutters. "So much fucking worse."
You hear a rustling sound on the other end of the line, like he’s shifting, maybe palming himself through his boxers, so frustrated he doesn’t know what to do with himself.
"I should make you beg," you say idly, stretching your arms above your head.
He groans, and you swear you hear the sound of his head hitting the pillow. "I fucking am."
You giggle, twirling a piece of hair around your finger. "Not enough."
Rafe whines—actually whines—and your stomach clenches.
"Please," he breathes out, and he’s so fucking gone. "Please, baby, talk to me. Say something. Anything. I just—fuck, I just need to hear your voice while I—"
He cuts himself off, but you know what he was about to say.
And god, you should hang up. You should. But instead, you smirk, shifting slightly in bed as you murmur, "Keep talking, Rafe."
