#history nerd!rafe | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

babeforjjmaybanks · 8 months ago

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orange soda crush ༊*·˚

pairing: popular!rafe x shy!femreader ౨ৎ

summary: rafe's grades were slipping, to say the least. your school assigns you as his tutor, hoping maybe you could save him. one afternoon, rafe shows up to your house with in need of some help.

warning(s): dry humping, fingering, finger licking, mentions of biting (hickeys), thigh riding, marijuana use, swearing, size kink if you squint, mentions of scratching, slight overstim, rafe becomes whipped so possessiveness, innocence corruption(?), praise, slight perv!rafe, titobsessed!rafe, dni if you don't like!!!

mentions of: rafey, rafe is called a "sex symbol", y/n, sweetheart, good girl, baby, sweet girl, dumbass, needy girl, slut, doll, cute, pretty ౨ৎ

a/n: if not known already, this is basically a obx highschool au, pogues and looks still exist but it's more like jocks and nerds. both reader and rafe are seniors, not minors! I don't have much experience with writing fics but here's my current fixation, enjoy & leave notes! <3

word count: 4168

divider by: @issysh3ll

y/n had been sitting quietly in her history class, the bell signaling the end of the period ringing in the distance. she was gathering her books when the overhead speaker crackled to life, interrupting the usual noise of students packing up.

"pardon this interruption, y/n l/n, please report to principal phelp’s office immediately."

the announcement hung in the air, drawing the attention of a few nearby students. she froze, a slight chill running through her. she wasn’t the type to get into trouble—her grades were impeccable, she kept to herself, and she was always on time. so why was she being called to the principal’s office? her mind raced through all the possible reasons, none of which seemed likely. had she missed an assignment? was there a mistake with her records? or was it the skirt she decided to wear today that definitely didn’t meet the dress code?

her heart pounded as she made her way down the hall, the sound of her footsteps echoing in the quiet corridor. as she approached the principal’s office, she noticed the usual hustle and bustle of students outside. some of them exchanged glances, their curious eyes following her every step, looking her up and down with whispers and sly looks. when she reached the door, she hesitated for a moment before knocking lightly.

"come in," came the deep voice of principal phelps.

she opened the door to find him sitting behind his desk, a manila folder in front of him. the room was neat, almost too perfect, the smell of old books and polished wood filling the air. but what really caught her off guard was the figure sitting across from him.

rafe cameron, the school's golden boy.

her stomach dropped. rafe was sitting with his arms crossed, his signature smirk plastered across his face as he looked over at her. His messy curtain and athletic jacket seemed almost out of place in the sterile office, like he didn’t belong in this space. she had always known of him, of course. he was the star quarterback, the guy everyone knew by name, the one who seemed to glide effortlessly through life. and now, here he was, looking at her as if he had all the time in the world, while she, on the other hand, was caught off guard and confused.

"there she is, come on in we were just talking about you." principal phelps said with a warm smile, though she could detect a hint of urgency in his tone. "take a seat."

she sat down hesitantly, trying to avoid looking directly at rafe. the tension in the air was palpable, and she was acutely aware of how out of place she felt in this situation.

"y/n," principal phelps began, folding his hands in front of him, his expression turning serious, "I’ve called you here because I need a favor. you know rafe, right?"

you glanced at rafe again, his eyes diverted to something else in the room as if he wasn’t staring at you. he seemed unfazed by the situation, though there was a subtle flicker of something in his eyes. "um, yeah," you said quietly, not sure where this conversation was going.

principal phelps nodded. "well, rafe here has been struggling in a few subjects. he’s having difficulty with math, english, and history.” principal phelps cleared his throat trying to ignore the fact that he named almost every class. “and unfortunately, his grades are slipping dangerously low. If he doesn’t get his grades up, he could lose his eligibility to play on the football team, which would jeopardize his scholarship opportunities." he paused, giving her a moment to process the gravity of the situation.

she blinked, her mind racing. rafe? struggling? the same rafe who could probably get away with doing the bare minimum and still pass every class? the same rafe with the fancy sport cars and the fancy mansion he threw ragers in? (allegedly, she’s never been to one.) the same rafe who had never so much as acknowledged her existence in all the years they’d been in school?

"I’m asking you," principal phelps continued, leaning forward slightly, "to tutor rafe for the next few weeks. he needs to pass these subjects to stay on track. and I know you’re one of our top students, y/n. you’re smart, diligent, and patient—exactly what rafe needs right now."

rafe shifted in his chair, his smirk faltering for just a moment. "yeah, sweetheart," he added with a lazy grin, "I could use your help. think you can handle it?" he glanced down at her thighs, and then back up at her. she felt her face flush at the sudden name.

her mind was spinning. she had never thought of rafe as anything more than the popular guy—someone she’d seen in the hallways but never really interacted with. actually, that was a lie, the thinking part. she actually would think about rafe alot when she was bored, specifically his toned body and the way he bit his lip when he was thinking. she had no idea how to deal with someone like him.

"I—I don’t know," she stammered, feeling her face flush. "I’m not sure I’m the right person for this."

principal phelps’s voice softened, but there was still a sense of urgency in his words. "I’m sure you are. rafe, here, is a good kid at heart, but he’s under a lot of pressure. If you help him out, it could mean a lot to him—and to his future."

rafe’s eyes met hers again, and for a split second, she thought she saw something other than cockiness—a hint of desperation, maybe even embarrassment. but it was gone before she could fully understand it.

she took a deep breath. she had never been one to shy away from responsibility, even if the situation seemed overwhelming. she didn’t want to be the one to deny him help, especially when it could affect his future.

"okay," she finally said, her voice steady but unsure. "I’ll help."

principal phelps smiled, relief flooding his face. "thank you, y/n. I know this is a lot to ask, but I think you’re exactly what rafe needs."

as she stood up to leave, she felt the weight of the task ahead of her settle in. she glanced one more time at rafe, who was still sitting there, his posture slightly more relaxed now. He didn’t say anything, but she could feel the tension between them already starting to form, a mix of uncertainty and something unspoken.

"see you tomorrow, then," she said, her words more for herself than for him, before leaving the office to prepare for what was about to be an unexpected and challenging journey.

over the past two weeks, y/n and rafe had settled into a rhythm, though it was far from smooth at first. their tutoring sessions started awkwardly—rafe's usual cocky demeanor clashed with y/n’s quiet, no-nonsense attitude. he would slouch in his chair, often cracking jokes or making sarcastic comments, testing her patience. but y/n, determined to get him through the material, refused to let him off the hook. slowly, she found ways to get through to him, breaking down complicated equations and historical events into relatable, bite-sized pieces. rafe, surprisingly, started to respond. he still struggled, but he began showing up earlier for their sessions, staying later, and even asking questions without the usual bravado.

as the days passed, the tutoring sessions shifted from strictly academic to more personal. one evening, as they were going over a particularly difficult history assignment, rafe let slip that his father had been pushing him to be the perfect athlete, to always be "the best." "It’s not just about football," rafe admitted, his tone more vulnerable than she had ever heard. "I just don’t want to disappoint him, you know?" y/n was taken aback. she had always seen rafe as the confident jock, but here was a side of him she hadn’t expected—a young man weighed down by more than just his grades. she listened quietly, offering a rare, understanding smile that made rafe pause for a moment. after that, their sessions felt different. the walls that had once separated them began to crumble.

In the weeks that followed, their conversations drifted beyond just homework. rafe started sharing bits of his life with you—how he used to love painting when he was younger, how he struggled with anxiety before big games, and how he was terrified of failing his senior year. you, in turn, opened up as well, telling rafe about your dream of becoming a lawyer and how you often felt like an outsider at school. the two of you discovered common ground in your shared feelings of pressure, and the lines between tutor and student began to blur. with each passing session, you became more comfortable with one another, a connection forming that neither had anticipated—one built on mutual respect, trust, and the quiet bond of shared struggle.

it was a quiet evening when y/n heard the unexpected knock on her door. she glanced at the clock—there was no study session scheduled for that night, so she wasn’t expecting anyone. her parents were out, and she had been planning on catching up on some reading. she opened the door, a little confused, only to find rafe standing on her porch, looking uncharacteristically disheveled. his usual confident posture was gone, replaced with an uneasy slouch. his eyes were almost bloodshot, and he wore an unfamiliar look on his face—vulnerable, even fragile.

"rafe?" y/n asked, surprised. "what are you doing here?"

he ran a hand through his messy hair and let out a small, strained laugh. "I—I know this is weird. but I, uh... I had a fight with my dad. a big one. he’s pissed about my grades and shit again, and he’s been on my case all week." rafe hesitated, biting his lip as if trying to hold back a wave of frustration. "I... I got high. like really fucking high I know I shouldn’t have, but I just couldn’t handle it. and I needed to get out of there." he looked down at his shoes, his words a little rushed. "I just—" he sighed, clearly frustrated with himself. "I don’t know, I thought maybe you’d—just let me hang out for a bit. I didn’t know where else to go. I didn't wanna seem like a pussy to all of my dumbass friends."

y/n stood frozen for a moment, processing his words. she had never seen him like this. the rafe she knew was always in control, always surrounded by his friends, the football team, and the unshakable air of confidence. this version of him—lost, raw, and uncertain—was a stark contrast. her heart softened at the sight of him, and despite the oddness of the situation, she stepped aside and motioned for him to come in.

"come in," she said, her voice gentle. "let’s sit down."

rafe walked in slowly, his movements sluggish, still unsure of what to say. she led him to the living room and handed him a glass of water, sitting down next to him, a soft hand placed on his back. the room was filled with the low voice of lana del ray and soft hum of the evening, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. rafe finally looked up, meeting her gaze with a look of quiet gratitude mixed with embarrassment along with something untraceable. "I didn’t mean to show up like this, but I didn’t know who else I could trust with this."

y/n’s heart tightened. she had no idea how much weight rafe had been carrying, how much pressure he was under from his father and the constant expectations of being perfect. In that moment, she realized how little she had truly known about him, and yet here he was—vulnerable, raw, and seeking comfort from the one person he had never expected to rely on.

"you don’t have to explain," she said softly. "I’m glad you came." she gave him a weak smile, rafe felt his heart flutter. "so.. how'd you get high? is that stupid question? sorry, you know people are bringing cocaine back into school." he chuckles, she lets out a giggle. "no cocaine here sweetheart, just this." rafe reached into his pocket and pulled out a weed pen, but y/n had never seen anything like it. it was super colorful and weirdly shaped, not like the ones she would see in the bathroom. "can I hold it?" she glanced at rafe, her doe eyes dimly lit with the faint lighting coming from the lamp in the corner. "why? you smoke? no way." he raised his eyebrow at her, but handed her the pen anyway.

"no, I don't smoke but.." she pauses, biting her lip, "I'm tempted. maybe you're just a really bad influence." he scoffed at her, "give it a try, just hold the button and pull it." y/n stood at the device in her hand uncertain. "what do you mean pull?" rafe held back his laugh, she shoots him a glare. "I'm serious." she playfully shoved him.

"yeah yeah I can see that, by pull I mean, suck on it I guess." her face heats up, cursing herself for letting such innocent words cause a fluttery feeling in her stomach. "okay, I'll try." she focused her attention of the pen and did as rafe said, she put the pen up to her lips and "sucked." rafe watched intensely as her lips wrapped around the tip of the pen, he swallows hard. trying to keep his composure, aka stop staring at your boobs in your thin strapped top or imagine your lips wrapped around his dick like that.

you slightly inhale the smoke and it immediately gets caught in your throat. you're now in a coughing frenzy, embarrassed as rafe pats your back. "atta girl, that's how you do it don't try to hold it in, let it out." y/n found herself coughing even more at the sly remarks. she stands up and walks over to the kitchen hastily grabbing an orange fanta from the fridge. she struggles to open it due to her latest french tip set, rafe notices her struggling and walks over. he opens the can with one hand with a sizzle pop! noise, she brings the drink to her lips hoping to relieve her dry mouth.

after taking a couple minutes to calm down, y/n offers rafe to come up to her room. it comes off as a surprise, rafe had never been anywhere in y/n's house except the living room and kitchen, never upstairs. but with no complaint, he follows behind her, watching the way her ass moves as she climbs up the steps. they make it to her room and it's safe to say, it was tidy. everything seemed like it had a place, and the room was lit with purple led's. but the best part of it all, was her bed. the mattress was extremely comfortable and she had an abundance of pillows as well as plushies.

"yeah this fits you, like a doll in a dollhouse." he walks around her room a bit before sitting on her bed getting comfortable.

meanwhile, y/n on the other hand was in a whole other world.

her ears were burning almost, she could hear her heartbeat and her whole body was tingling. she felt nothing short of amazing, euphoric even.

the usual walls between them had melted away, and now, as the evening dragged on, the space between them felt more intimate than it ever had before. there was movie was playing on her TV, but neither of them seemed particularly interested in it. they were both laughing at the silly dialogue and weird moments on the screen, but most of the time their eyes kept drifting back to each other.

rafe broke the silence, his voice softer than usual. "you know," he said, arms wrapped around her waist as she sat on top of him, "this is the most chill I’ve felt in weeks." his eyes were a little glassy, but his smile was genuine, more relaxed than she’d ever seen him. "It’s nice being away from everything… away from the pressure."

she nodded, her head slightly spinning from the effects. the room felt warmer, the air thicker, and rafe’s presence seemed to fill the space between them in a way that felt new. he shifted, his chest brushing against her back, and neither of them pulled away. It felt like a small moment of intimacy, unspoken yet undeniable.

"yeah," she replied, her voice quieter now, "it’s nice not to think about all the things we’re supposed to be worrying about."

"I wonder, do you ever worry about me? think about me at night?" his tone was teasing, but there was something more behind it, something she could feel but couldn’t quite place. It was an invitation, but also something more—like a question she wasn’t sure how to answer. "so much goes on behind those pretty eyes."

y/n felt her heart beat a little faster as she considered it. part of her wanted to stay upright on his lap, maintain the little distance they had been keeping, but something about rafe’s tone, the way his eyes held hers, made her hesitate. she wanted to trust this moment, to let it unfold without overthinking it. she melted into his touch, resting her head in the crook of his neck, thighs pressed together. "I do."

rafe shifted to make room as he breathed in the scent of vanilla, the bed soft beneath him. the air between them was electric now, charged with a tension that neither of them seemed willing to break. the movie was still playing, but neither of them were paying attention to it anymore. they were closer now, the space between them reduced to nothing and for the first time in a long time she wasn't sure of something, she wasn’t sure if she was just feeling the effects of the weed or something more.

rafe leaned back against the pillows, his arms still wrapped around her body. "we don’t have to watch the movie," he said, his voice almost too smooth, like he was testing the waters. his eyes didn’t leave hers, his gaze intent and heavy, and in that moment, the world outside her room seemed to disappear.

y/n’s breath caught in her throat as the tension between them grew. every inch of her body was acutely aware of him, the way his presence felt so overwhelming, so magnetic. she had always seen rafe as someone distant, someone who belonged to a world she could never quite fit into. but now, with the smoke being blown in her face, taken in by slightly parted lips, she felt like they were on the same level.

she opened her mouth to respond, but the words didn’t come. Instead, she just looked at him, her pulse racing as her mind swirled in the haze of the night.

"I wanna touch you."

rafe's breath fell heavy on her ear, sending a slight chill down her spine. her breath hitched, and there was that same flutter in her stomach. she didn't exactly have any experience in things like this but she wasn't entirely clueless, but never dealt with it hands on.

but rafe? he was a fucking sex symbol. several girls would literally leave notes in his locker with their address begging him to fuck them. but he would only rack up two bodies, or so it's said.

both of those girls transferred schools due to death threats.

but y/n doesn't understand why he would choose her.

"touch, me?" her voice was soft, but not afraid. infact, she was more relaxed than ever. "I wanna make you feel good, you're gonna be the fucking death of me. so innocent you don't even notice how you're straddling me, do you?" y/n took notice of how firmly planted on his thigh she was, no longer fully in his lap. "um, well.." rafe placed his hands on her hips, slowly guiding her back and forth. a jolt of pleasure shooting through her body, "rafey." a mewl creept from her lips, rafe was fucking aching in his sweats at this point. hair sticking to his forehead, lips parted slightly. "shit, you want me to stop? just give me the word i'll stop." he halts his movements, earning a disappointed whine.

"I don't want you to stop."

rafe curses under his breath, he slides her onto his lap and grinds his hips up into her, letting out a low groan. "you're a needy girl aren't you? so stressed and pent up. you can let go, I got you." rafe coo'd into her ear, placing soft kisses on her shoulders and moving to her neck, biting and sucking, hands rubbing all over her body, palming her boobs through her top, fingers brushing over her nipples.

rafe turns her head twords him, pressing their lips together. a mix of cherry lipgloss and orange fanta settling on his tongue. the kiss is sloppy and heated, the air in the room is thick as the movie in the background gets drowned out by moans and heavy breaths.

"such a sweet girl, you know that? all the shit you do for me? you deserve a fucking trophy." rafe showers her with praise has he goes back to kissing her neck, hands never leaving her body as she caught the rhythm on her own.

her brain was foggy with pleasure, lips parted but could't respond with anything but moans and "mhm's." rafe plays with the hem of her pajama pants, "can I?" she nods, "words, baby I need to hear you say it."

y/n, almost frustrated lets out a defeated sigh. "yes, but.." she hesitates. "can you take your shirt off?" she says quietly, as if she wasn't already in such a vulnerable state.

rafe chuckles at the sudden request, but does as she says. he pulls his black shirt over his head and tosses it to the floor. y/n does the same. rafe is practically drooling at the sight of the pink lacy bra. his hands cup her breasts through the fabric, she arches her back against his chest. he slides his hand into her pants, glancing down to see that her underwear matched her bra. "so fucking cute."

he rubs her through the fabric, dampness seeping through the material. he teases her with long strides and rubs circles around her clit. he slips his hand into her underwear, almost moaning at the slick. y/n bites her swollen lip in an attempt to save her embarrassment.

"I want you to watch me."

her eyes slowly moved down to rafes hand in her pants, her face heated with embarrassment as she watched rafe's forearm and wrist flexed as he worked her clit, finger teasing her entrance. "I need you to relax, open your legs for me." rafe slowly parted her thighs with his free hand. "good fucking girl, so obedient." he kisses her cheek as he slides a digit into her sopping cunt. she inhales sharply, her head is thrown over his shoulder and her nails dig slightly into his arms.

"shit, just sucking me in. if I didn't know any better i'd think you were a slut." rafe's teasing manner never seemed to stop, he was two fingers, knuckle deep, in his supposed to be tutor. the only thing they were studying were eachothers body movements.

he found a steady pace working his fingers in and out of her, her moans becoming more high pitched, rafe could tell she was close. her hips bucked up into his hand, an unfamiliar knot forming in her stomach.

"rafey— 'm gonna— fuck!"

rafe was in genuine disbelief, not only did he cum in his pants but this was the first time he had ever heard you swear, tonight was a lot of firsts. the girl that he had been crushing on for weeks was about to cum on his fingers, moaning his name. he was never letting her go after this.

almost like it was on cue, y/n's orgasm hit like a truck. her entire body was shaking and she swore she saw starts. on top of that, rafe was still working his fingers in and out of her riding out her orgasm. she swatted his hands away and he took his hand out of her pants, bringing his fingers up to his mouth and licking them clean. she falls off of his lap onto the cool comforter beside him, chest heaving. he lays beside her and wraps his arms around her waist.

"want me to go run a bath, sweetheart?" he kisses the nape of her neck and cages her in. "'n a minute, just stay here for a second."

"didn't plan on leaving." ౨ৎ

#rafe obx #rafe cameron #rafe x reader #rafe smut #smut #obx smut #obx rafe cameron #highschool au #jock #nerd #orange #lana del rey #fem reader #fluff #comfort #opposites attract

3K notes · View notes

rafesteddy · 10 months ago

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"𝐘𝐨𝐮" - 𝐑𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐂𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐭

+18 -> 𝓜𝓲𝓷𝓸𝓻 𝓓𝓝𝓘 | College Professor Rafe Cameron has been dating you for months. You just don’t know it yet.💋

𝙿𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚂𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚔𝚎𝚛𝙿𝚛𝚘𝚏𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚘𝚛!𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚡 𝙲𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚐𝚎𝚂𝚝𝚞𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚝!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐒: 𝐀𝐠𝐞 𝐆𝐚𝐩 | 𝐖𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐰 | 𝐒𝐞𝐱 𝐢𝐧 𝐏𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐜 | 𝐒𝐞𝐱 𝐓𝐨𝐲𝐬

*Rafe is in his 40s

𝖈𝖔-𝖜𝖗𝖎𝖙𝖙𝖊𝖓 𝖜𝖎𝖙𝖍: @nadvs

𝓇𝒶𝒻𝑒𝓎𝓈𝒸𝓊𝓇𝓉𝒶𝒾𝓃𝒷𝒶𝓃𝑔𝓈 𝓀𝒾𝓃𝓀𝓉𝑜𝒷𝑒𝓇 - 𝓌𝑒𝑒𝓀 𝓉𝓌𝑜

⚠️warnings contain spoilers ⚠️

Stalker!Rafe, Perv!Rafe, reader is Rafe’s friend’s sister, swearing, Rafe is a perv, age gap, public masterbation, fantasies about the reader, blood, mentions of murder, mentions of gun violence, mentions of general violence, suicide attempt, Rafe goes through her phone, peeping Tom, steals nude pictures, watches the reader masterbate, praise, Rafe’s POV

6.8 K

Rafe’s POV:

“Oh, shit.” I look out on the lecture hall, crammed wall to wall—mostly old birds and a few young professors sprinkled amongst the AARP members. Jesus Christ. I match the eyes of one of my old lecturers from my time here. She gives me a little smile, and I nod, making a blush creep across her wrinkled cheeks before the lights fall low.

Do I deserve my name on a plaque on an office door at this fine university? Absolutely fucking not. But I paid for the building after all… American History; all first-years. You can’t mess that shit up.

I relax into the wall a bit, accepting my fate, lifting my coffee to my lips, taking a sip. “R.” I hear a familiar voice. A couple of heads turn toward me, leading me to a familiar face. I smile and chuckle as I shuffle toward the aisle, scooching through the crowd.

“Hey, man,” I greet him, shaking his hand before slipping my leather bag off my shoulders, taking a seat.

“R.C.,” he breathes, surprised to see me here, happy nonetheless.

“Zachary.”

“Guess they're hiring anyone these days,” he taunts, jabbing me in the side playfully, making me snort out a lazy laugh. I can’t lie; I’m happy to see him here. One friend is plenty. The guy is a fuckin’ nerd, but he’s a good person. “Pretty sure we both had class in this lecture hall,” he sighs blissfully, recalling a simpler time.

“Yeah, man. I think we did… How long have you been workin’ here for?” I ask between sips of coffee.

“Ten years.”

“Jesus, man,” I huff. We've been outta school for that long, huh?

“Nah, buddy,” he groans. “Longer. Started working here right after graduation. Been workin’ my way up the ladder ever since.”

“That’s great,” I nod, watching our Dean of Students strut across the hall's main floor. “You like it here?”

“Love it,” he smiles. “Why are you here?” Zach furrows his brows, asking the question he wanted to ask from the beginning. It’s no secret I got money to spare. There’s gotta be some reason I’m here. I’m sure he’s curious.

“I got bored. Thought I’d go back to school; just did it casually. N’here I am.”

“Here you are,” he echos through a weak laugh. “I mean, you own the place at this point. Huh?” Zach wiggles his eyebrows teasingly.

“Almost,” I chuckle, fully aware that the Cameron Library and The Cameron School of Business makes this current faculty position a little absurd.

“Glad to have you here. Truly,” he adds earnestly.

“Good to be here, man,” I smile as I relax into my seat a little more, getting ready for a day of gettin’ talked at, I’m sure. Zach adjusts in his seat, pulling his phone out of his slacks, thumbing over his messages.

Sis: Did you want anything to eat?

Zach: Nah. I’m fine.

Sis: Sounds good. Black coffee, two creams, two sugars?

Zach: Please and thank you.

“So…” I ask, my curiosity piqued. “Do you have any family here? You married or what-” I question, trying to be as calm as possible.

“Nah… Not really the marriage type. Family, yeah, my sister goes here now.”

”No shit?” I ask, trying not to be too interested, but I can’t help but catch his lock screen. Him and an absolutely stunning woman posed next to each other in front of the Golden Pavilion in Kyoto. They weren’t cuddled up with each other, just smiling… That smile. I run my hands down my shirt, smoothing out any wrinkles, raking my fingers through my hair, pushing it back slightly. Please be her.

“She’s a Kappa Girl.”

“Not a Kappa Girl,” I taunt through an exaggerated groan. He scoffs and rolls his eyes away. If it was anything like it was back in the day that house in nothin’ short of a brothel.

“She isn’t like that, Cameron,” he drones. “She doesn’t even live at the house. She’s got good grades. Like good good. Fuckin’ great actually—above a 4.0. They recruited her. The Kappas took some heat after gettin’ in trouble a few too many times. They were gonna lose their charter, so they switched from a social sorority to one based in education. Fuckin’ nerds,” he adds, making me chuckle, dissing her just like I had dissed him just a few short minutes before.

“Runs in the family. Huh?”

“Fuck off,” he snickers. Zach hangs his head low, pitching the bridge of his nose as he lets out an exhausted sigh.

“You good?”

He nods and yawns, eyes set on the speaker up front. “These old bitches can go fuckin’ hard. We went to Lord Fletcher’s last night. Janice over there can drink you under the table… Six advils today already. Y/n is comin’ over with a coffee for me. Thank god. I’m hurtin’ over here,” he groans, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

Zach’s eyes brighten as he looks toward the lecture steps. I feel my heart racing in my chest, my palms sweating, almost too nervous to look. I mean, that could have been his ex-girlfriend. But what if it’s the best-case scenario? What if it’s her? What if she’s you, princess? I turn my attention to the end of the aisle, watching that same girl shuffle along the line of people, clutching coffees, doing her best not to spill.

Fuck me.

My eyes travel up your body, your bare legs on full display, making my stomach fill with butterflies. You lean in, your sweet perfume amplified by the warmth of your flawless body from the late August heat. The second the coffee leaves your hand, I’m trying to get your attention on me. “I’m Rafe,” I smile, extending my hand toward you.

You juggle your books and your own coffee in your hands clumsily, extending a hand as well, making me instantly feel bad for putting you through the hassle, but the contact is worth it— soft and smooth, a firm grip on mine. You bat your long lashes at me. I can’t tell if you’re just trying to get a better look in the dim light or if you like what you see, but my heart is racing regardless.

“It’s nice to meet you, Rafe,” you reply, talking directly to me… “See you at home,” you whisper to Zach, who gives you a little wave as he swipes through his phone again. I smile when you look over your shoulder, the light pouring in from outside the lecture shining on you like a beacon. A fuckin’ angel on earth. My girl.

Hello, you.

It’s been sixty-seven days since we met—sixty-seven beautiful days of studying my favorite subject. You’re lovely, princess. Everything about you is. Even the little things you do out of habit. The way you tuck your hair behind your ear when you’re stressed, lips pursed, eyes wide. I know every look, every smile, taking each beautiful change of your face into memory. I can read you like a book.

I wanted it to be natural. How blatantly obvious would it be if I rushed into rekindling a friendship with your brother just to rush into a relationship with you? I had to ease in. Infiltrate the family; make myself a staple in your home so I could learn more about you.

There’s no one else better suited for you than me, baby. There is no one that will anticipate your needs like I can. Take care of you like I will. I’m going to make my move… I just need a little more time. I don’t want to lose the part of you that I get to see when you don’t know I’m watching.

I tilt back, relaxing into the doorframe of Zach’s office as I wait for you to stop by with his lunch. You’re so sweet. I know you’re cuttin’ it close with you’re next class. Fuck, my girl’s thoughtful. I smile to myself, lowering my head to not bring too much attention to myself.

“Who’s got you smilin’ like that, buddy?”

Shit. I look down at the phone, thumbing out of your Instagram, moving to Tinder. “Uh, I just matched with that bartender at Lord Fletchers. I think,” I mumble, giving him a slight smile.

“Juliette?” He asks surprisedly. “Isn’t she datin’ the head football coach?”

My stomach sinks, caught in a simple, stupid lie. “Nah, not her. A different one. I don’t know,” I brush him off, furthering my disinterest by pretending to swipe through some more.

Oh, shit. Here you come. I lift my eyes, matching yours. Your smile doubles as I catch your attention. “Hi, Rafe,” you sing. My name rolling off your lips so sweetly. Oh my god.

“Hi, y/n,” I respond warmly. Your hand snakes around my waist, squeezing me. “You ready for that test tomorrow?”

You sucks your teeth and shake your head. “Not ready enough to go on a date tonight, I don’t think. But I haven’t gone out in so long… I think it would be good for me to give my brain a rest the night before, don’t you?” You ask as your stunning eyes soften on mine, looking up at me for approval as I try my best not to fall apart in front of you or, at the very least, lose my shit. How did I miss this?

“I’m sure you’ll be fine,” I press the words past my lips. You smile and nod before setting the food down on the desk. “Well, I gotta run-”

”See you tonight?” I add hastily, trying to get more info about your plans just in case.

“We got that intramural basketball game tonight,” Zach reminds me, making my palms sweat just knowing that if the date is early enough, I won’t be able to tag along or intervene.

“Chett said 9 PM at Little Angie’s.”

“Chett? As in Chett Ryan?” I ask in disbelief as you mention the star quarterback. A good-looking dude, but he’s a fucking idiot and a Grade-A asshole. You’re way too good for him. He doesn’t deserve you. Doesn’t even deserve to breathe your air-

“Yeah,” you answer through a smile, yanking me out of my thoughts.

“Well, I’m goin’ to Lexi’s house, so you and Chett will have the place to yourselves if you wanna come back after the bar,” Zach chimes in. My body trembles with rage, holding back every urge to crawl over the top of his desk and choke him out for even suggesting it.

“It’s our first date, so I don’t know if that’ll happen but thank you,” you smiles giddily, making me physically ill. ”Shit,” you hiss, your attention pulled to your watch, clocking the time. “I’m gonna be late. I’ll see you tomorrow, Rafe, for the test,” you add breathlessly as you race away, fleeing for class.

“You proctoring tests now?” Zach laughs lightly, furrowing his brows.

“Ah, yeah,” I whirr, scratching at my 5 o’clock shadow, trying to find an excuse while also trying to gather my emotions as my whole world crumbles around me. “I-I owed Steve a favor for covering my class last week,” I stutter, confessing half the truth. Sure, Steve subbed for me, but only so I could follow y/n on her trip to Georgia Tech for the football game to ensure she was safe… Zach should be thanking me, honestly. Fuck off. The football game… I bite at the skin on my lip, putting together the pieces of why you had even gone in the first place. For him. For Chett… No, baby. Why?

“Cameron?” Zach chimes in. “You’re a little more dazed than usual, friend. You good?” He asks through a mouthful of food.

“Yeah, man. I’m good,” I nod. “It’s only a few hours.”

“What?” Zach asks confusedly.

“Proctoring…”

”Yeah…” He nods, his face laced with concern for me; I don’t even know how long I was drowning in my thoughts of her. I’m sure he’s wondering what’s going through my mind— why I’m acting weird. “You sure you're good? You seem upset.”

”Nah, man. I’m good. Just have some shit goin’ on I need to take care of,” I smile softly. “See you tonight?”

“Yeah… See you tonight, brother.”

“These are nice,” I breathe as I run my fingers along the pink petals with a smile, the spray of roses sitting pretty amongst the rest. “These, thanks.” I pull them out, handing them to the attendant, finishing into my back pocket for my wallet.

I head out the door, walking out onto the street; the busy college town teaming with students, pouring in and out of the bars. Cigarette smoke wafts all around, competing with the aroma of the late-night food trucks. I look ahead, catching the Little Angie’s neon boot sign kicking ahead. My excitement builds as I get closer and closer. You’re here. I look down at my phone, catching your location in the heart of the bar—my girl.

Shit. I look down at my other hand, tossing the wildflowers Chett had gotten you. He doesn’t know you at all… He doesn't know what you like. He doesn't deserve you. No one does. No one but me.

I push through the front door, heading back toward the bar as I match your pin to my surroundings. My eyes pull taunt as I try to spot you through the thick crowd. I take a seat, ordering a beer before turning my attention back to the search. My eyes work across the low-lit room, scouring for you. I can’t believe you’re still here after he stood you up. It’s almost like you knew I’d come and save you, princess.

There you are. Fuck, are you even real?

When I’m around you I swear I forget how to breathe. I find myself having to tear myself away—telling myself that staring too hard will do nothing but bring attention to the obvious, but I am so in love. How do I even look away? You’re perfect.

You looks sad. I know that’s my fault, pretty girl, but I promise I’ll make it all better. You rest your cheek in your hand, slumped over in your seat, swirling your vodka cranberry defeatedly. Your beautiful eyes glisten. I can’t tell if it’s just sheer beauty or if they might be glossed with tears. Your eyes shut heavily, shoulders relaxing a little more as you submit to your drunken state.

Oh, sweetheart. You need me.

“Can I close out my tab?” I ask the bartender, who gives me a little nod and a smile. I turn my attention back to you, watching as you sway ever so slightly with the music pouring from the speakers.

“Here you are, sir,” the bartender calls. I turn fast, scribbling a tip and a total. My stomach falls as I pull my hand away, leaving behind a red thumbprint, remnants of my run-in with Chett lingering. Fuck. I grab the slip of paper off the bar top, brushing my hand along my dark-wash jeans, thumbing through my wallet to grab some cash instead, tossing a tip on the counter in exchange. I push off the bar, walking toward my girl, checking myself as best as I can in the darkness to make sure that I don’t miss anything else, catching a few specks of blood on my white shirt. Shit. I grab the zipper of my quilted jacket, hiding the mess.

What was I thinking? I was so excited about gettin’ to you that I didn’t even think about cleanin’ up. I look down at my right hand: split knuckles, bloodied and bruised. I tug down my sleeve, just praying there isn’t any more I can’t see. “Y/n?”

Your eyes lift to mine, softening and welling with tears. “Rafey,” you slur out a whimper, eyes pinching shut. Your tears tumble down your cheeks as you try to get out your next few words to no avail.

”What’s goin’ on, princess?” I ask gently as I sit beside you, rubbing soft circles on your back.

“Ugh…” You humpfs. “I got stood up.” You hiccup before rolling your eyes in annoyance with Chett and your own emotions. “I can’t believe I’m even cryin’ over him, Rafey. I know he’s an asshole.” You cry, making my heart melt as you use that little nickname not once but twice.

“He is,” I laugh lightly, making you nod and sigh.

“Are you… M’shit. I’m sorry,” you mumble. “M’kinda drunk.”

“Hey. Hey. It’s alright,” I coo.

“Are you meeting a date?” You ask, and I swear I can see a new sort of sadness in your eyes at the idea of it. I follow your gaze, eyeing the arrangement of roses in my hand.

“Oh, me?” I stall. “Uh… No. I-uh… I came in here after our game. I saw you hangin’ out here for a while. Kinda put two-and-two together. N’when I went outside to have a cig, I bought them off some guy on the street.” I look back to you, my whole story all for not as you practically fall asleep at the table, your beautiful face propped up and smushed in your hand. “Bought them for you, honey,” I sigh blissfully as I use a pet name I've always wanted to use knowing tomorrow it wouldn't matter.

“Thank you, Rafey,” you whisper. Three times… “So - So… So good to me.”

“Let’s get you outta here. Huh?” I ask as I reach into my wallet, pulling out a hundred, tossing it on the table. You close your eyes and nod your heavy head.

“Thank you.”

“Anything for you,” I breathe as I scoop my hand around your waist, lifting you to your feet. You melt into me, resting your head on my chest, snuggling in. I can’t help but lean down, pressing a kiss on your hair. I breathe you in, relishing this simple moment with you. “I love you, princess…” You look up at me, smiling sweetly. I hold my breath, even if you heard me say that there’s no way you’ll remember tomorrow. But still…

“Can we get pizza?” You ask, making me laugh.

“Anything you want you get, sweetheart.”

I know there’s nothing more to worry about, but I can’t help but get a little jealous knowing you dressed this way for Chett. You sway to the music on your record player, drunkenly singing along to the track between bites of pizza. You’re happier than when you were at the bar; your sadness before I came is long gone. You flash me a smile, setting my heart ablaze, pointing at me playfully as you circle your hips to the beat, dropping it to the floor, showing me the perfect glimpse of your plump ass. Fuck me. I bare with the pain, not wanting to make it blatantly obvious that my cock is strained in my pants.

“Help me?” You pout as you walk to me, lifting your hands in the air.

”With what…” My voice trails away as you step even closer. Your tits line up with my eyes from my seated position on the foot of your bed. My hands instinctively reach up, resting on your hips, testing the waters.

“Pajamas.”

“Oh - Oh. Of course,” I stammer as I lift your shift dress over your head. I hold back a moan, my head and mind racing out of control as I stand this close to you, the girl of my dreams in nothing but your bra and panties. And not just any panties, the panties I had taken from you last week. The panties I had wrapped around my cock that I had cum all over more times than I could count. Of course, I washed them and put them back, but what luck. It’s fate. Just stay calm.

You lets out a sleepy little yawn, stretching slightly, your back arching. Your cleavage pops a little more against the dainty lace; my eyes strain as I refuse to blink. I run my hand down your side, watching as goosebumps spread across your bare skin at my touch. Your nipples peak, teasing me under the barely-there fabric.

Help her, Rafe. I swallow hard, focusing on the task at hand, fighting back everything that I want to do. You move a little closer, slotting yourself between my thighs. I know it will be over if I look up and match your eyes. You’ll be too embarrassed in the morning if I do anything more—if I do what I need. I can feel your eyes on me. Your hand moves higher and higher, your soft touch cupping my chin, guiding my eyes to yours.

Holy shit. You smile down at me, your eyes hazed with lust and liquor. You run your thumb along my bottom lip, biting your own. I’m dreaming. I have to be. “Thank you,” you smile, your voice coming out so crisp and clear. This is no dream… This is just heaven on earth. Deep breath. Help her get into her pajamas and let her sleep it off. Tomorrow. If she genuinely wants me now, she’ll want me tomorrow. She needs me. Her trust is in me. I can’t mess this up. I need her too badly.

“Of course, sweetheart,” I whisper, allowing myself to drink you in a little more. I mean, I don’t want you to think I am not thoroughly enjoying this… This is the best moment of my life. Of course, after meeting her, that is.

I reach over on the bed, grabbing your satin pajama top. You take a little breath, going to say something, holding back, settling on a smile instead. I bet you were gonna ask for something from me. Probably wanting me to take off that pretty little bra of yours instead of giving her clothes to put on. I want to be your knight in shining armor tonight. I want to protect you; I want to keep you safe.

Tomorrow night, princess. I promise.

I’m addicted. I’m down bad. I’m in way, way too deep, but I can’t stop. I’ll never stop. You have no clue what you do to me. You have no idea how much time I have invested in you— in us. I have never been more fulfilled, princess. This is my destiny. You are mine; you just don’t know it yet…

You smile at me sheepishly, tucking some hair behind your ear before putting pen to paper and checking in for your test. You're hungover. I can tell—dark circles painted under your beautiful eyes, and the usual soft glow of your skin dimmed. You’re smart… You’ll have no problem taking this test, and if you do, it’s nothing I can’t fix for you.

You walk over to a locker, stripping off your purse and jacket, checking your phone before stuffing it inside as well. Holy shit… You shut the door, forgoing the lock altogether. Fuck, you’re too good to me, sweetheart. I’m sure you want me to take a peek. Don’t you? A smirk tugs on my lips, arms crossing over my chest as I stare you down.

You stride toward me, shoulders slumped. I’m sure you’re gonna apologize. I smile at you, wordlessly telling you I know what you’ll will say. You laugh weakly, letting out a deep, self-deprecating sigh. “Sorry about last night, Rafe. Thank you,” you smile sweetly, your voice just above a hush, not wanting anyone else to hear.

“You’re alright, Y/n. Glad I could get you home. Are you feelin’ alright?” I ask as I step a little closer.

“M’a little hungover,” you sigh. “I—I never get like that, I swear-”

“I know you don’t,” I stop you. Your brows rumple, my tone a little more knowing than you expected. ”Your brother mentioned you don’t really drink like that,” I correct myself, and you smile.

“Well, I’ll see you later, Rafe. Thank you.” You reach out, giving my bicep a squeeze that has my eyes darting to your hand on me. Oh fuck. You're walking toward the testing room before I can look up at you again. The door fans shut behind you, leaving me alone with the equivalent of your fuckin’ teenage diary. Everything I could want to know about you that I don’t know yet is on here. Please be unlocked.

“Shit,” I hiss, slamming my fist against the locker, eyes darting around fast as the sharp sting of regret pierces through me at my outburst. Pull it together, Cameron. I close my eyes, doing my best to compose myself as I tuck your phone at my side, walking back toward the desk. I look at you through the privacy glass. My girl is none the wiser—I smile as you answer the next question. Her birthday. Keep it simple. That's gotta be it. It’s not like she's got shit to hide.

I type in the six-digit code, my tension melting away; shoulders relaxing as I crack the code without any effort at all. Gotta hit the big four: messages, search history, pictures, Instagram. Don't get too greedy. I feel my cock twitch at the thought of this being in your hand. My mind instantly sails away to the shit you looks at that you’d probably delete your search history for. Hopefully, I caught you on an off day. Focus. Focus. Focus. I look over my shoulder as you breeze past the next question.

Messages, first.

Nothing crazy. A few to her friends, her brother, and a lab partner. My blood turns cold as I see Chett’s name. I click into your messages, teeth grinding, fist clenching as I read through the exchange.

Chett: you free tonight?

Y/n: I have a huge test tomorrow I'm sorry! Friday?

Chett: yeah we can do something on Friday too

Chett: cmon pretty. I owe you a beer

Y/n: just a beer? 😉

Chett: fuck… that's a yes?? Lets go to dinner then I owe you so so much

Y/n: I can't be out late tho

Chett: I know. I got you. I'm lucky ok. I know how you are.

Y/n: what does that mean?? 😂

Chett: your a good girl

Chett: i’ll meet you a little angies at 8. I've got workouts late ok??

Y/n: okay 💕

Chett: you better not stand me up

Y/n: never ☺️

Chett: on my way

Y/n: I'm at the bar

Y/n: found a table. We still on for 8?

Y/n: ???

Y/n: are you okay?

Y/n: just ran into your buddies. They said you ran into Kenzie on the street. Just fuck off alright? Why would you ask me out if you two were still a thing?

Y/n: I knew you were an asshole

Okay. Okay. Shit. My hands tremble as I read and reread your words. Just a clusterfuck of feelings seeing you this excited, this angry; this upset over that asshole. He ran into Kenzie? I'm sure they caught up. I'm sure he had second thoughts about your date. About you? How could someone have second thoughts about you? I knew I did you a favor.

I click into the search history. Cleared. God damnit. That leaves two more pieces to the puzzle. Instagram and pictures. I pull up your socials, thumbing to the shit only I get to see. The DMs are the same as your texts; it's nothing crazy. Search bar… I click into it, seeing your recent searches. Chett… You motherfucker. Haunting me, you goddamn dick- Oh…

Rafe Cameron

I blink a few times, pinching my eyes closed before fluttering them open as I see MY name on YOUR screen. “No fucking way,” my voice comes out needy and hoarse, cracking with all the want I feel for you. I gasp for a breath, filling my lungs with needed air. How is this happening? I rub my hand across my mouth, snuffing out my smile. Jesus Christ. Best day of my fuckin’ life.

I look over my shoulder, praying I have enough time to browse your hidden folder in your camera roll. Five questions left. I open the folder, my hand instantly reaching for the edge of the desk, my rock-hard cock finally giving way as I cum in my slacks at the sight of you in lingerie. My heart pounds in my ears and chest as I thumb through the rest, watching in horror as a wet, warm spot forms on my khakis. Fuck. There’s five more pictures… My goddess. My fuckin’ princess… Look at you, baby. Two more questions left. Put the fuckin’ phone back, Rafe. The phone trembles as I unhide all five, moving quickly to your messages before typing in my number, sending them to myself, deleting everything fast. I swear I could’ve cum again just feeling my phone vibrate in my pocket, knowing what I have saved for myself.

I swipe everything closed as I walk back to the locker bay, stuffing the phone inside your purse, slamming the door shut before the testing door swings open. I turn my body away, walking toward the exit, checking on a knock that never happened; turning my body in the opposite direction before matching your eyes. “So, how did it go?” I smile, positioning myself so you can’t see the absolute mess you caused.

“Good, actually,” you sighs, relief laced in your tone and demeanor as you pop open your locker. I step behind the desk, leaning into the counter just enough to ensure that my little secret is safe.

Good girl.

I swear I can’t go to bed without my nightly ritual; I stand outside your window, hidden just out of view, cloaked in the darkness of the hedges gathered around the perimeter of your apartment. Some nights I have the pleasure of being in your space; other nights, I settle for the next best thing, but honestly, even here is paradise.

Some nights, you stay up late, the apples of your cheeks glowing in the dim of your room as you browse your phone; other nights, you moves through your apartment chatting on the phone with your friends, smiling and laughing, every fiber of my being just wishing it was me on the other line. But on special nights, nights like this, your hand slips into your night stand pulling out your favorite vibrator, playing with your pussy like I could only dream of doing.

I never get to see what goes on underneath the covers or hear the sweet noises you make, but I get to see the pleasure painted all over your face. I can’t help but pull my cock out of my pants, stroke my dick while you work on yourself. Are you thinking about me? I always dreamed you were, but after seeing your search history, it’s not out of the realm of possibility. What if you're saying my name? My beautiful girl.

“Fuck, baby,” I pant as you grab the covers, throwing them off your body, my precum mixing with my sweaty palm as I take in the sight before me. I watch as the silicon cock glistens with your slick, making me spit on my dick to mirror the sight. My fist works over my dick, whimpering and moaning your name as I keep your pace. My thigh muscles tremble as I fixate on your every movement.

I know I should walk away, but there’s no force on this earth strong enough to pull me away from this. I bite my lip as you throw your head back into your pillow, back arching off the mattress.

And just like that, I fall deeper and deeper into my mind. “Where are we fuckin’ tonight, princess?” I mumble, envisioning us in the same room. “My office? Fuck, you’re bad, sweetheart? You sure? Sure you can’t wait until we get home? God damn, angel. You need it that bad? Need daddy’s dick right here, right now?” I moan as my muscles clench tight.

I swear I draw blood, pinching my bottom lip between my teeth as you drag your hand up, pulling your shirt with it, exposing your perfect breasts. You squeeze and twist your nipple, circling softly just like I would. “My lips will be on you, I swear to Christ,” I moan, picturing my parted lips sucking down on your tits; catching your breasts in my mouth as they bounce.

“Stop hidin’, honey,” I grunt as your legs draw closer, and I swear you heard me because your thighs widen on the mattress, splaying out for me and only me. What I wouldn't pay to bury myself in your cunt, princess. I’ve sucked on your panties more times than I can count; memorized your taste. I need the real thing. I wanna feel the warmth of your body against me, tongue pumping in and out of that tight little hole of yours.

Your mouth falls open, chest heaving, muffled cries heard through the glass. Just a whisper, but my ears have never been more blessed. I look down at my cock for a split second, just enough time to run some spit down on my throbbing head, making me hiss out a breath. I make a tight fist, imagining myself sinking into your slick pussy as you lay on a pile of my class papers, a little pleated skirt riding up around your waist, your wet cunt just begging for me to fill it, sucking me in.

“Such a sloppy cunt. Fuck… Perfect for me,” I mutter, returning my eyes to you, watching as your arousal leaks out of your pussy as you continue to stroke, dirtying the sheets below. I run my hand across my sweaty forehead, slicking back my bangs in the process, switching my hold to my balls to play with them, trying desperately to cum with you for your second time. “Slow down, Y/n… Shittt. Pussy’s too good. You wanna come with daddy. Don't you? Yeah you do. Atta baby.”

Another muffled moan bleeds through the glass. I need to hear you. Fuck, I need to know what you sound like. I release my cock with a panting gasp, fumbling for the glass, resting my clammy palms against it as I hold my breath, cracking it ever so slightly. There we go. I move even closer, resting a hand on the brick wall, eyes rolling back in my skull as I wrap my fingers around my girthy dick again.

“Rafe…” She pants, and my eyes double, stomach falling, breath fleeing my chest, drowning in my own pleasure as my name leaves your lips. Say it again. Fucking say it, baby. Tears of joy fill my eyes as warmth spreads from my head to my toes.

I listen closely, catching the sounds of your sopping core squelching through your room, cries and sighs of pleasure coming back to back as I bite my shirt, holding back my own. “Just like that, Rafey. Fuckkk, daddy. I’m cumming,” you cry in a throaty, fucked-out voice that has me cumming harder than I ever have in my life, ropes, and ropes of cum painting the brick wall of your apartment building as I watch your finish.

I look down in exhaustion as my cum rolls down the wall, before closing my eyes in utter bliss, just imagining it leaking out of your cunt. My goddamn pussy. “Tomorrow-” I pant as I lift my trembling hand, pointing my cum-coated finger against the glass with a smug smile that I wish you could see. “M’taking you out and then we’re comin’ back here and I’m going to make every one of your fantasies come true, honey. M’gonna be all you need. I swear,” I coo.

I watch you as you lay there, hands trailing your beautiful body, calming yourself down with touch. You're lonely, baby. You don't need to be… Let me take care of you. You let out a sleepy yawn, stretching out on the mattress.

“Fuck,” I grumble, post-nut clarity setting in as I realize what the fuck I just did, regretting none of it, just hoping that someone didn’t see me. The street is empty. Just perfect. I grab my boxers, pulling them up as you tuck your toy into your nightstand, fastening my pants as you snuggle into your sheets.

No.

Your eyes lock with mine, and with that, time stands still. My heart hammers in my chest as your expression changes from confusion to terror. You let out a blood-curdling scream as I try to pull myself away, but I’m frozen with fear. Run. Fuck! You fumble for your phone as I walk away from the window, my eyes never leaving you until I’m falling back on the curb, struggling to my feet, sprinting as fast as my feet will take me.

“I’ve ruined everything. What the hell have I done?” My heart shatters into a million pieces as I run down the block, charging toward my car as I fight my keys out of my pocket. Tears and snot wet my face, my whole body sheened with sweat, shivering with adrenaline. ”Not only am I going to lose her, but I’m gonna lose everything else. My job. My reputation. Everything. Fucking everything.” I slam my finger against the keyless start; engine roaring as I peel out onto the street, trying to put distance between me and you.

What the hell can I say to make this better? No one will understand. I can’t fucking help it. I can’t help who I am. I can’t help that I love you. That I want to keep you safe. Is that a crime? I’m obsessed with you. It’s like— I think about you all the time. Every second of my fucking life. But isn’t that what love should be like?

I let out a shaky breath, catching my reflection in the rearview mirror, my cheeks soaked with tears, eyes glassy with emotion. If I can’t have you, I don’t want to live. I don’t… I-I can’t. My foot slams on the gas, barreling down the freeway toward the bridge, watching as the needle on the speedometer climbs higher and higher as cars swerve and dart out of my path.

What is the point if I can’t have you?

I’m nothing without you.

My knuckles ghost white, as I blink the tears out of my eyes, sobbing like a child as the speedometer blasts past 100. I feel the dismare in my heaving chest plaguing me like a virus, the only warmth in my heart gone now that I’ve lost you. Just fucking empty—goddamn hollow. The only thing I’ve ever truly wanted is gone. You were the best thing that has ever been mine and I didn’t even get to tell you… I lift my hand to wipe away the tears as the road blurs before me.

Days of watching you, not one moment forgotten. I was almost a part of your world. Why did I wait so long? Why did I wait until it was too late? You were saying my name? You wanted me just as bad as I wanted you…

The world around me gets a little brighter as I pull onto the bridge, illuminated with streetlamps, before the world dives off into the dark waters below.

What if she feels guilt? What if she blames herself? What if this ruins hers too?

I thread through the gap of cars, vehicles slamming on their breaks around me, unable to swerve on the bridge like they were on the road before making every move sharper; more erratic—the line thinning, between life and death.

Maybe she’ll forgive me after I’m dead…

RING. RING. RING.

I look down at my phone, seeing your brother's name light up the screen. “Hello?” I choke the word out, biting my lips to hold back my sniffles and sobs as I speed closer and closer to the edge, waiting for him to blow out my speakers. ‘ASSHOLE. PERV. STALKER. PSYCHOPATH-’

“Hey, Rafe. You good, man?” He asks worriedly, his gentle voice pulling me out of the pit. My foot pulls off the glass as I’m hit with a sliver of hope, before slamming on the breaks. My tires screech as my car skids across the bridge, stomach falling as I get so close to the edge that the grille of my Cadillac kisses the guardrail, nothing but blackness and open water before me.

“M’Yeah. Yeah. I’m good.”

You dive into my arms, hands wrapped tightly around my waist as you bury your head in my chest. Your warm, wet tears soak through my shirt, blessing my skin as I hold you close. “Thank you so much for coming, Rafe,” you sniffle.

“Of course, Y/n,” I whisper as you tremble in my arms like a leaf. “Did you get a good look at him?”

You shake your head, letting out a frail little sigh. “No…”

“Go inside. Aight? You’ve been through enough. Let me check it out. I’ll be in in a second. Okay?” You nod, looking up at me with doe-eyes and a trembling lip. I cup your tear stained cheek in my hand, brushing your skin nice and soft. You tilt into me, needing me closer. “I’m sorry you went through this… But, it’s just some creep. I’m not gonna leave you tonight. I swear.”

“Thank you,” you whimper.

“‘Course, sweetheart.”

“Now, you, get inside and try to relax. Huh? It’ll only take me a second.” You nod and step inside, holding my hand until the last moment.

I walk down the stairs, strolling through the landscaping to your window. I suck my teeth, looking down at the stained brick before lifting my hand, running my thumb along my tongue, scrubbing the little cum mark I left with my finger. “All clear,” I whisper, smiling to myself as my night takes a turn for the better.

I walk up your steps, stepping into the apartment as you pour a glass of wine for you and I. “Thank you, Rafe. I’m so glad you’re here,” you smile, your voice weak as you walk toward me in your satin pajamas, passing me a glass.

“Call me anytime you need me. Okay?” I smile as I reach my hand out for you. You tangle your fingers in mine, moving a little closer, rising on your tippy toes, pressing a soft kiss on my cheek.

The two of us walk over to the couch, taking a seat. You snuggle into my chest just like you did at the bar. Your body relaxes in mine. The adrenaline and excitement of the night wears off fast, and it’s not long before your eyes start to beat closed. I don’t think I can sleep. I don’t want to. Truthfully, I could stay this way forever with you. Your soft sounds fill my ears as I focus on your breathing and the shape of your body in mine. I couldn’t dream of a more perfect moment with you, sweetheart. My girl. Mine. A satisfied smile plays on my lips as I reach over, flicking on the evening news.

“Hello, my name is Belle Lee, reporting live from the downtown district. An investigation is underway after a University student was found dead with multiple gunshot wounds. College officials have identified the victim as 22-year-old Chett Lee from Tampa Bay, Florida. This is an active investigation. Any tips or other information can be directed to the local authorities. Currently, there are no known suspects in this gruesome murder.”

A smirk pulls on my lips as I flick off the TV, darkness falling all around us. I lift you into my arms, holding you close, walking you to your room before setting you down on the mattress. I rub my thumb across you pillowy lips, not wanting to push it too far by kissing you goodnight. My belly stirs as I think about the cum I had just cleaned off the glass, any reminents now hanging on your perfect lips.

I’ll just have to settle for that tonight.

I stroke your hair gently, brushing it off your beautiful face. Just leave, Rafe… Just—I succumb to my urges, kissing your forehead instead, lingering as long as I possibly can before pulling away. Your eyes match mine, staring up at me.

“Stay.”

2K notes · View notes

salem-s · 8 days ago

Note

HI POOKS ive missed you ☹️

i also

has a smol lil idea 🤏🏽😝 between jock!rafe and nerd!reader TEEHEE

him "helping" her study for exams if you know what i mean........ *winkwink*

but for context she's been studying her head off for weeks, n day by day rafe has just been watching her exhaust n drain herself n one day he just has

an ideeeaaaa teehee 😁😁😁

loooooooove this. missed y'all too, been stupid busy it's actually criminal. 18+ MDNI.

GO ON, TEACH ME (18+) — RAFE CAMERON ONE SHOT

SYNOPSIS it's the last semester and you haven't had time to breathe. final after final. thesis' in mla, apa, chicago style. project come project with group members who don't know the date. it's grueling, time consuming, utterly depleting. luckily your sweet, not-so-academically-motivated boyfriend who has been watching you work yourself into a hole knows exactly what remedy you need to relax.

WARNINGS flllluffff and smut (obviously?) to the max (fem!receiving, fingering, m!masterbation, cum eating (sorry???)), angst if you squint. jock!rafe x nerd!reader mean so much to me, speccccccifically hockey!rafe. genuinely. fair warning i am absolutely in no way, shape, or form a scientist, so get ready for a lot of incorrect and probably inaccurate astronomy talk because i tried my best and this is also not edited my bad. 18+ MDNI.

WORD COUNT 8.3k. alright. absolutely abominable.

Within the last three weeks, you've become a ghost.

Late nights usually spent under his sheets are instead wasted away in a dark corner of the library. The smell of his cologne quickly leaves your memory's registry and is replaced with the scent of textbooks with aged spines. Your fingers crack and bleed from the tight, continuous grip you have on a pen rather than tracing the hills and ridges of his torso.

But the isolation is no stranger to you. All your life, you've been buried in books and overachieving in academic settings because you craved the knowledge. You take thorough time and appreciation in knowing things, doing research for school-related purposes or anything else under the sun that'll help you sleep at night because you're fascinated by the notion of always wanting more.

Your boyfriend, on the other hand, couldn't be more opposite: favoring athletics over academia, studying player charts and rulebooks and power-play strategies for the ice instead of doing his science lab. It's obvious his interests laid elsewhere: solely toggling between you and hockey. So, to him, he can't quite understand your intense and never-fulfilled thirst for knowledge, and continuously tries to press you to take breaks, but you never do, because you never did.

When you start reciting the thermal history of baryon asymmetry in your sleep, Rafe decides to take matters into his own hands.

And he was sleeping so peacefully, too. Well, he always does when you stay the night, curled into his chest and lulling him into a deep slumber by just simply existing and breathing all pretty. You almost didn't come over tonight, the excuse being that you have to wake up early to cram-study for your exam later in the afternoon, and Rafe simply refuses to let something like an exam stop him from a near three-week-hiatus of hanging out with you, so he offered the obvious solution: stay the night at mine and I'll help you study in the morning.

Rafe knows how hard you work. He knows. He's seen it. Witnessed it. Nearly caught flies in his mouth watching you complete your studies because of how efficient you worked. There have been numerous times you've helped him with his studying, even when you really didn't need to, but it usually ended up with his hand trailing up your thigh, a kiss to that sweet spot on your neck that makes him melt, and soon enough your back is against the mattress and he's making you forget all about his homework.

And you let him. Because it's his work that's getting put on hold. Not yours.

When he's tried to distract you from your studies? Pfft. Forget it. You're harder to move than steel.

It's always the same excuse, and despite how you try and act tough with him, your version of scolding rarely scares him, even when you really furrow your brow or send him a pointed look. If anything, it makes him simply grin and watch you try. It's always I'm almost done, or if I don't finish this now I'll lose my train of thought, or Rafe Cameron I'm three seconds from kicking you out and never letting you back in. You never kick him out.

But something weird flips in his stomach when he hears you sleep-talking, murmuring something he can't quite comprehend about stars and galaxies and planets.

You've been ducking his calls for nearly three weeks, and he knows it's nothing personal at all, you're just so fucking busy and burying yourself in a ridiculous amount of work that gives him a headache just thinking about it. It's no secret he misses you, and despite how tough he talks his shit at practice or at games on the ice and regardless of the stoic front he puts on for strangers, he's an absolute sucker for you. Softer than he ever has been. Feeling emotions he can't exactly explain and that scare the shit out of him. Utterly and irrevocably obsessed with you in a way that he's never been before.

Rafe groggily opens his eyes to peek at the time, just after three in the morning, and sighs gently through his nose at your incessant sleep-induced study session. Pulling you a fraction tighter, his hand strokes gently on the back of your head until your incoherent rambling, as cute as it is, gradually becomes quieter. After a few mere minutes of him gingerly lulling you back to sleep, you're out again like a light.

He knows you haven't been sleeping well. Of course, you never told him, but with the way you barely put up a fight when he practically forced you to lay down instead of open your laptop like you wanted, he could tell. Within minutes, you fell asleep, and despite how much he's fucking missed you, he doesn't dare move or wake you up, nor will he even let you out of his arms before noon because it's obvious that there needs to be a considerable amount of distance between you and your textbook and your laptop.

However, when Rafe wakes up, you're not in bed with him.

No. Instead, you're sitting at his fucking desk. Laptop open. Textbook spread. Writing ferociously in your notebook as if life itself depends on the speed at which you write.

"Baby," he whispers pleadingly, rubbing blearily at his eyes and sighing with irritation, knowing it's diabolically early given the way the sun hasn't poked through his curtains yet. "Why're you up?"

You don't turn around. "Astrophysics exam at three."

Blinking a few times to register your words, his eyes, once again, peer towards the nightstand to look at the time, and sighs so gutturally deep that it nearly fills a ten second window.

"It's five."

"I know." Your hand doesn't stop writing. "Slept longer than I wanted to."

He nearly scoffs. "Come back to bed."

"No."

Rafe says your name quietly. A warning.

You still don't turn around. "I'm in the zone. Honestly. I'm good."

Silence fills the room as he simply stares at your back, watching the planes of your shoulders move in tandem with your handwriting with the aid of the small desk lamp you lit on the lowest brightness setting. His heart aches yet irritation bubbles in his gut at your stubbornness, wanting nothing more than to just pick you up, lock you away, and make sure you get the rest that he knows you need. By the look of your posture, he can tell you're wound up, tension solidifying in your shoulders and neck and spine to the point where he winces.

But when your hips shift subtly, a movement that seems subconscious to you, Rafe gets an idea.

A poor idea, one that is partially induced by the half-hard-on he's already sporting and also the slight, minuscule, microscopic sized possibility that you'd give in, especially since he knows how pent up you probably are after not having sex for what feels like forever. Not because you don't want to, because you do, and you've told him that you do, but you're always so fucking tired that when you end up hanging out, like tonight, you fall asleep within an hour of laying together. He figures you must be frustrated. Sexually. Mentally. Physically.

When you first started sleeping together, Rafe had been thoroughly surprised by your high sex drive, not expecting the sweet girl who tutored him every other day for a semester was a downright sin under the sheets. You keep him on his toes, open to any position, quickies in semi-public areas, teasing him in places you really shouldn't, and he can't get enough of it. So when the two of you haven't slept together in weeks, much less had any sort of intimacy, he can proudly assume you want him just as bad, if not more, than he wants you.

And Rafe's good at getting what he wants.

His body is moving before his mind can talk him out of it, wincing at the cool tiles against his bare feet as he saunters over to you, clad only in boxers, and perches behind you like a cat hunting a canary.

You feel his presence immediately. "No."

"What? I'm not doing anything."

"You're distracting me."

"I'm only standing. Not allowed to help my pretty girl study, hm?"

You sigh deeply, feeling his piercing gaze on the top of your head as he practically hovers behind you. He isn't even touching you, instead skimming his nimble fingers along the back of the chair, but it's almost as if you can sense it, hyperaware of his hands and his body and his heat so close yet so far. How badly you want to lean back into his touch, to collapse in his arms and let him have his way with you, but you can't.

You can't. Not when you have so much to do with such little time.

"You're hardly helping," you murmur under your breath. "Instead you're hovering menacingly."

You can practically hear him grinning.

"I'm sorry, baby." He hardly sounds apologetic. "What can I do, hm?"

"You can go back to bed."

"...Besides that."

You open your mouth to retort, but the snappy one liner rises and dies in your throat when you feel the pads of his fingertips barely ghost over your shoulders. The touch is barely anything, but it makes your breath hitch all the same, because it only now computes in your head that it's been so long without him. He's been here, doing what he can and abiding by your hectic schedule, but not where you've needed him because of your own stupid rules.

Your focus drifts for one, two fleeting moments before your gaze settles back on your chicken-scratch you call handwriting, and you're pulled from the fantasy and thrust back into your main objective.

"Unless you can hypothesize why there's an abundance of asymmetric baryon matter scattered in the universe," you mumble irritatedly, staring at your notes, "then nothing."

There are a few seconds of silence between you as you peer down at your notes, no doubt Rafe's also trying to decipher your anecdotes as well, and for a moment, you think he's dropped the topic. Because, given he only just found out the really bright stars in the sky are actually planets a mere two months ago, you assume he has no idea what baryon asymmetry means. Nor do you, at this point, taking into consideration how fried your brain feels.

But a flicker of hope emerges from the ashes: his hands.

Rafe's palms press onto each shoulder, giving a gentle yet reaffirming squeeze to your flesh, as he slowly works his way down your arms with such delicacy that you're sure he thinks you're going to shatter. You stiffen at the sensation of it, also realizing that he's leaning down the further he massages your arms, his cheek brushing yours from behind as he finds your knuckles, smoothing over the bumps and ridges before lacing his fingers with yours.

"Don't know nothin' about that," he muses low, placing a disgustingly chaste kiss on the corner of your mouth. "Teach me?"

Despite how the butterflies in your stomach have morphed into a full-blown stampede, you sigh dejectedly.

"Rafe."

He hums in response, placing kisses along your jaw.

"You're distracting me. Besides, I barely know it myself, I couldn't teach you if I tried."

The low, disapproving noise that comes from the back of his throat nearly makes you jolt. "Go on and try, baby. Who's Barry?"

You fold.

"Uh, baryon," you correct immediately, sucking in a harsh breath when his lips find that sweet spot on your neck, having the mental strength to want to push him away but your body betrays you, instead leaning into his touch. "He's not— It's not a person."

"Hm?"

Rafe's mouth plus his hands now settling on your bare thighs feel like sin, cursing yourself mentally for only wearing the thin tank you came in plus a pair of his boxers. It's becoming a problem, his methods of distracting you, because he's learning. Adapting. Evolving. Responding to trial and error methods of approaching you when you're locked into your studies. Every attempt is different, calculated, testing the waters and seeing which acts, which words, which sounds get you to respond the way he wants. At first you could withstand his advances, but now it's getting increasingly difficult, especially when you've been missing him in a way you've never longed for anything before.

"They're particles," you nearly choke out, teetering between giving in and holding your ground. "Subatomic. Made up of three quarks."

When he gently squeezes the flesh of your thighs, you nearly jolt, especially when calloused palms inch higher and higher every second, nimble fingertips dancing dangerously close to the leg hems of his boxer shorts. It's territory he's charted before way too many times, as now he knows your body like the back of his hand, but now it holds a different meaning. It's deliberate, calculated, meticulous. His hands are exactly where you want them, and it's almost as if he knows that.

"Good girl," Rafe praises low and baritone and sparks electricity below your hips. "Was getting jealous for a second there. Was about to find Barry and knock him out."

Despite your brain puddling into mush, you manage to roll your eyes and find a shroud of dignity left. "You're absolutely insufferable."

"And you're my smart, beautiful girlfriend. Go on, pretty. Tell me more. Why's it asymmetrical?"

You go to answer. You really do. Because you've been reading over this material for what feels like hours, you'd think you know the information as if it was written on the back of your hand. The answer is on the tip of your tongue, silently praising yourself on being able to remember despite your elevated arousal and exhausted state, and you really believe you can do what he's asking.

That is— Until his hand dips into your shorts.

Gasping, one of your hands flies up to curl around one of his biceps, talons digging into his muscular flesh at the ferocity at which his hand works. His thumb, like muscle memory, presses lightly on your clit, almost teasing you, while two of his fingers barely skim through your folds and gather the beginnings of a mess you're about to create.

And Rafe practically groans in your ear at the feeling.

"Fuck, baby," he curses low, baritone and grossly attractive that it makes your heart thrum. "All worked up, hm?"

You blink back to reality, staring at the cluster-fuck of notes on your - his - desk.

A flick of panic rises in your chest. "I can't— Rafe, baby, I—I can't just— You need to— I have to study."

"Easy," he responds as if he has all the time in the world. "Then study. Teach me."

If walls could talk, they'd roar with laughter with how wrecked you are, spluttering and writhing against his hand that's barely touched you, sinking your nails deep into his bicep as a feeble attempt to ground yourself to your dignity, to pull yourself out of the fog of arousal and get back to what you're supposed to be doing.

But it proves as a fruitless attempt when, instead of shoving him away, you're pulling him closer, betraying your own mind and giving in to what your body wants. And — with that invitation — Rafe slowly inserts one finger, and the realization of what you're doing, what he interrupted, what the broader aspect is, you're absolutely babbling.

"Wh—? Teach you? When I can't—? When I don't know—“

"You do know," he says reassuringly as the sound of your moan makes him sigh pathetically in your ear. "What's asymmetrical, sweet girl?"

The feeling of his finger inside you, the pad of his thumb pressing firmly on your clit, how his other hand has come up to delicately cup one of your breasts, it's all too much. The sweet honey cadence of his tone melts away all the walls you've been trying to build, and you feel in your heart how the protective barrier seems to dissipate into thin air the longer he touches you like this, speaks to you like this, holds you as if you're the only person worth taking care of.

You wave the white flag.

"Matter," you answer breathlessly. "The matter's not equal. It's—" You choke out a moan when he enters a second finger, pumping them in and out and curling them into your walls as if it's another casual morning. Yet with your silence, his movements gradually slow, and you realize that he's not going to keep going unless you keep speaking. Prick. "It's, uh, there's more matter in the... in the universe than there is antimatter."

"Why?"

You moan as his thumb slowly traces lazy circles on your clit, throwing your head back to rest against his shoulder as you find the strongest will to think of the answer, to give him what he wants so he can give you what you want.

"Don't know," you mumble, and when his hand starts to slow down and retreat from your cunt, a wave of panic washes over you. "I don't! No one does. Probably from the...the Big Bang."

Rafe sucks a particularly sweet spot on the column of your neck that makes you sigh breathlessly, almost in relief, that he's continuing. "Good girl. Keep going."

You rack your brain as his fingers mercilessly pump in and out, the wet sound absolutely obscene and, no doubt, drenching his previously clean boxers that you lazily picked out of his drawer late last night. It feels good. Too good. The kind of too good that is going to embarrass you, because you feel an orgasm brewing and he's only been at this for what feels like too quick to finish, too degrading.

But, fuck, you've missed him. You've spent so much time holing away in a dark corner of the library and studying material until the sun rises. There's been so much time spent away from him, knowing he's your greatest distraction yet craving him almost every single second of the day. You can't deny how nice it feels, not just his fingers plunging in and out of your cunt like it's a matter of life or death, but the scent of his faded cologne lingering behind you, the image of his tousled hair from the ridiculous bed head he gets, the feeling of his warmth standing broad and secure behind you, a presence that never goes unnoticed.

Without meaning to, you wriggle your hips against his hand, desperate for friction.

"Matter and antimatter cancel out," you mumble, and it's so incoherent that you don't even think he understands what you're saying. "When they meet. They...They destroy each other, release energy. But there's more matter than antimatter. Excessive. It's..."

When he adds a third finger, you let out a strangled moan, surprised and flustered and practically seeing stars.

"It's what?" Rafe challenges gently, kissing the corner of your mouth. "Doing so well, sweet girl."

Slowly, but surely, you feel the familiar coil begin to build in your core, and with the way your thighs tremble and you breathily moan in place of actual words, he can tell, too, but as soon as your whines replace your explanation, your teachings, his movements slow down in a rhythm that almost feels mean, too slow, not enough, not steady enough to keep that coil growing in the way you need it to.

You splutter pathetically in a desperate attempt for him to keep his pace. "It's called baryo...baryogenesis! The process that happened to make the matter asymmetrical. Hypothetical. Don't know. But we need it."

Rafe's fingers work deeper. Harder. More deliberate. Almost as a reward.

"We need it?" He repeats curiously, and whether the sudden interest in astrophysics is faux or real, you don't care, and frankly don't have the capacities to discern the implications of his tone right now, not when you're close, you're so close. "Why do we need it?"

The orgasm builds. And builds.

You let out a ragged moan, practically fucking his hand. "If—If the matter and antimatter were equal — er — symmetrical, there'd be radiation."

"Radiation?"

You nod, squeezing your eyes shut as you breathlessly take a ragged inhale. "From the destruction...the meet. When the matter and antimatter meet. The energy released, it— it's— there'd be too much radiation. We wouldn't — fuck — we wouldn't exist," you manage to get out, letting out a long exhale almost ceremoniously that, phew, you said it. Taught him what he wanted to know. Reiterated what you already knew, what you doubted yourself on.

You're close. Moments away.

Rafe can tell. He always can. And instead of prodding you further, instead he hums approvingly against the curve of your jaw, fingers working in tandem and thumb rubbing audacious circles on your clit, giving you the ferocity of what you need at the speed of which you need it, handing your orgasm over to you on a silver platter and a chaste kiss too sweet for his known-stoic demeanor.

His voice is saccharine. "Good girl. Did such a good job, go on, pretty, you deserve it."

When you come, it's nearly blinding. So many weeks of pent of tension and neglecting your needs to study, to memorize, to read and repeat. You tremble, moan so godforsaken loud for five in the morning, and rut against his hand like a bitch in heat (technically, you are), and Rafe holds you for every part of it. Every tremor, every whine, every sensation that feels like the lower half of your body is on fire. He's there, murmuring sweet praises in your ear and fucking you through an orgasm so debilitating that you practically see stars.

It's searing hot, a tidal wave of ecstasy from the waist down that turn your legs to jelly and your brain to mush, and the only thing you can focus on is the fucking bliss that came from the smooth motions of his hand. All this time, all these weeks spent ignoring the burn of arousal in exchange for studying catch up to you lightning fast, tenfolding the pleasure since you've gone so long without it, without him, putting your body and your needs secondary to work.

Your whines soon become breathy pants, chest heaving in and out in and out as a feeble attempt to try and catch your breath, to return back to earth as his hand gradually stops fucking you and working in tandem with your come down. Blinking blearily, your vision slowly returns back to normal as you peer down at his hand in your shorts, watching the way he eases them out with slick covered fingers and brings them to his mouth.

Craning your neck to shamefully stare, Rafe groans at the taste of you.

"You taste so sweet," he murmurs as he sucks on every last drop. "Lemme get some more."

You can't imagine how you look right now. Sleep deprived. Fucked out. Outright down bad and perplexed and the opposite of attractive. Yet here he is: staring down at you as if you've hung the stars yourself with a dark gleam in his eye that's a clear sign of what he wants. And this is the first time you're looking at him this morning, taking in his messy hair and bleary eyes and bare torso and it's almost a sin at how fucking pretty he looks right now.

Darting your gaze between his blue eyes, you furrow your brows as your breathing eventually evens out.

"But you already— And I need to—"

Rafe chuckles, and it's not the kind of chuckle that's lighthearted and anything nice. No. It's almost mean, out of disbelief, as if what you just said is the most offensive thing he's ever heard. It's practically a scoff, the same kind of noise he makes when, despite how smart you are, say something really fucking stupid.

"You're killing me," he says quietly, almost to himself. Then, louder, "You're done studying."

Your brows furrow. "But-"

"Nope," Rafe interrupts immediately, leaning forward again to iron grip your waist to get you to a — reluctant — standing position. "You need a break. I'm giving you a break."

"Rafe, I-"

The words die in your throat when he spins you around so you're standing and facing him, nearly wobbling on weak legs as you grab his biceps to stable yourself. But his hands are on your hips, holding you upright, holding you in more ways than he'll ever know, peering at you with a ridiculous combination of firmness, softness, and absolute concern.

After staring at you for a moment, he speaks.

"You need a break. You know more than you think you do, you're going to ace this exam, baby." One of his hands leaves your hip to settle in the crook of your neck, thumb brushing over your chin with such delicacy that it nearly makes you melt in his arms, bones exhausted and muscles sore from how much stress you've been putting your body under. He notices nearly immediately, already seeing how you're physically beginning to secede and believe his words. "Let me take care of you, yeah?"

The words are a solid promise, and as if they were the trigger words to get you to relax, your shoulders immediately sag and release the built up tension you have been carrying for weeks. You find yourself nodding in his hold, and as soon as you're doing so, Rafe is pressing forward to place a chaste kiss on your forehead, a wordless thank you, before guiding you towards the bed.

Rafe helps you lay down on your back, settling pretty and comfortable on the pillow before he's easing your boxers down over your ass and off your legs with slow, nimble fingers. His touch is deliberate, calculated, gentle yet pointedly driven in what he wants to do. No dancing around the subject, never with him. Always straight-forward, telling of what he wants. Certain.

"My pretty, smart girl." His voice vibrates against your lips. "Can't believe you're mine."

And he kisses you slow. Lazily. Brazenly. As if he has all the time in the world to be keeping you here, flushed and incriminatingly turned on, laying on his bed and marking your scent over his pillow. This is where he wants you, where he needs you, the place you love being with him because there are no outside factors interfering. No phones. No textbooks. No work. It's just you and him. Him and you.

You make out with him right back, nearly sighing from how much you've missed his mouth and how you can subtly taste yourself on his lips. His palm holds your jaw where he needs you to be, slipping a tongue in your mouth when you part your lips for him. And it never escalates, never turns hurried or rushed. Rafe keeps you here at his pace, slow and delicate and full of admiration. Your back seems to sink into the mattress, mold into his touch and make it impossible to want to ever leave again, make it audacious to even think about school work when he's taking such good care of you.

However, when your focus starts to drift into exhaustion, the kisses on your end getting sloppy and sleepy, you sigh dejectedly against his lips.

"I'm gonna fall asleep," you admit softly.

Rafe only kisses you again, swallowing the noise of surprise you make.

"Good," is what he says. "Let me give you one more."

Your heart flutters, and a retort rises in your throat but immediately dies when he starts kissing down your body, starting with your jaw, your neck, collarbone, breasts, stomach, hips, and — finally — down to the soft flesh of your inner thighs. Involuntarily, you part your legs for him, giving him all the access he wants, as he slots himself where he needs to be and throws your legs over his shoulders. His favorite spot, he once said to you, and then proceeded to go down on you. For. Hours.

His breath fanning over your cunt makes you squirm, and you know that you're embarrassingly wet already, feeling it on your inner thighs and feeling the coolness of it against his breath. It makes you writhe, sending a rather large jolt of electricity down your spine and you know that, given the circumstances, there's no chance you're going to be able to last very long.

"Rafe," you say into the darkness, smoothing your fingers through his hair as he hums in response. "Not gonna last long. I'm not— I can't—"

"Hey," he whispers softly, one of his hands pawing through the darkness to find yours and interlace your fingers. "Easy. I got you. I want to take care of you, let me take care of you, okay?"

A bubble of guilt bursts in your chest, but you know he's sincere. He's never been a liar, a bad one at that, but he's always said what's on his mind and never bullshitted anyone. Rafe's an honest guy, and never saw the point in wasting time and breath by lying, so you know everything he says is what he feels, there's no sugarcoating it. So you take his words to heart, believe them, and secede.

"Okay." Your voice is impossibly gentle. "Thank you."

Rafe squeezes your hand once, twice, three times. "No need to thank me, sweet girl. I'm here for you. Always."

It's euphoric when his mouth meets your cunt. After spending so much time between your thighs, he knows your sweet spots like the back of his hand. He knows exactly where his nose needs to be to nudge against your clit, where his tongue needs to explore to get you absolutely wrecked, what his hands need to be doing to add to the pleasure. It's muscle memory, his favorite activity, the thing he praises himself on doing best, more than hockey.

Your head throws back against his pillow (pretty much your pillow, at this point) as your fingers curl deeper into his hair, not guiding his movements but grounding yourself to the moment, afraid you'll float away in the dark into the stars, never to return. But Rafe holds you, too, with his hand in yours and his other slithered under your tank top, squeezing and folding your breast in the way he knows you like it.

You make the mistake of shifting your hips, which makes his nose nudge firmer on your clit that sparks a wave of pleasure.

"Fuck, Rafe," you practically whine into the darkness, the sensation of his warmth slowly becoming too much to bear. "You feel so nice."

When he hums into your cunt, you moan again.

Gripping his hair a fraction tighter, your hips wriggle so desperately that his hand leaves your breast to press firmly down on your lower stomach, borderline your pubic bone, to hold you down against the mattress in order to combat your incessant movement. The restriction, the force of keeping your hips still when all you want to do is essentially ride his face, makes you let out a ragged breath, one of frustration as the pressure slowly builds.

It's embarrassing. Pathetic. How needy you are for him. How needy you've been for him all this time of practicing a three-week celibacy. You can't help it: not when he looks like that and has the audacity to be utterly and irrevocably obsessed with you, not to mention he's eager to please and well endowed to the point where it took you a few rounds in the beginning to get used to his size. You're not used to someone being so hell-bent on making you feel good, ensuring you take breaks, taking care of you in a way no one has before.

When he adds his fingers to the mix, your back nearly arches off the mattress.

Your trembling thighs shake on each side of his head, yet despite that plus the iron grip you have on his hair, Rafe's not stopping. He's nowhere near stopping. Instead, he sucks harder, moans deeper, plunges his fingers in tandem with his tongue that makes your body feel like fucking bliss. Hot, searing, completely turned on bliss. Debilitating bliss. Bliss that you'd write in the deepest confinements of a journal and go back to re-read whenever you're feeling down.

You feebly attempt to buck your hips up to essentially fuck his face, but his palm pressing down on your hip is firm, iron, steel. He knows you're close, he can practically feel how molten hot your veins are, especially when you whine a little needier and hold him a little tighter and your breath catches from the ferocity of your — quickly — building orgasm. His hips stutter into the mattress, trying to relieve an ounce of the pressure straining his own boxers that's becoming unbearable, but his focus stays on you. Always on you.

His mouth leaves your heat for a split second while his fingers work wonders. "You close?"

"Yes." Your response is immediate. Breathy. The kind of tone that makes something flip in his stomach. "I—I— Fuck. Need your mouth, Rafe, please."

In an instant, his lips reconnect with your cunt. Not even a millisecond later, something snaps in your lower half, a white, blindingly hot sensation that has you gasping and practically rendering you still as you come.

And Rafe's there to eat you out through it, moaning deep into your heat as you finish like this: flushed, desperate, so fucking relieved to have eased some of the tension out of your wound up body. He figures he could die like this, pinned between your thighs and burying his mouth in his favorite place until the end of time. Of course you taste so sweet, and he laps up every last drop like a man starved, almost grateful for the opportunity to taste you again as if being deprived for three weeks was absolute torture (it was).

It isn't until you're trembling from the aftershocks, jolting every time his tongue laps up another drop or plunges into your cunt with the same intensity as before, where you start to return back to earth.

Your thighs shake around his head as you ease him up off your heat by his hair, watching his silhouette in the darkness prop up on his elbows as you smooth down the parts of his messy hair that you previously gripped so harshly. It's your own feeble attempt as a wordless thank you, and he knows that, and reciprocates by pressing slow, chaste kisses on your inner thighs.

You hum, pawing at him aimlessly in the darkness to get him where you want him. "Oh my god."

Rafe's kissing up your body. "You okay, baby?" Your stomach, breasts, collarbone. "Feelin' better?" Neck, jaw, corner of your mouth.

You chase his lips, and he reciprocates immediately, slotting his tongue in your mouth and swallowing the low sigh emitted from your mouth.

You grin, which makes it pretty difficult to kiss someone, so he pulls an inch away to accommodate. "You always fuck me stupid. It's not fair."

"That's how it's supposed to be," he snorts, nudging your jaw with his nose. "Supposed to take care of you."

"You do." You answer immediately, earnestly, and as your brain begins to start working again, your hands are traveling from his shoulders to graze down his chest, nails scratching his toned muscles lightly as you skim the waistband of his boxers. You can feel it, you can feel how hard he is, straining his boxers uncomfortably and poking your thigh so adamantly that it makes it hard to ignore. "Let me return the favor."

You want to take care of him. You want to make him feel good, too.

But — of course — you fucking yawn.

A loud, wide, audaciously incriminating yawn.

Not even the darkness can hide it, and it's almost as if that's the trigger for him to snap out of his daydream, to feel the gravity of how tired you are. Your heart skips a beat as Rafe gently guides your hands away from his waistband, leaning back to sit himself up. Even though you're frowning, you spread your legs to accommodate, to which he immediately slots his body between your thighs and slides his boxers down just enough to pull his cock out.

"Lay still, pretty," he murmurs, sounding absolutely wrecked.

The silhouette of him makes you feral, leaning up on an elbow to reach forward and help him like he helped you. But, despite the darkness, Rafe's hand finds yours and pushes it away — again.

You huff. "Let me help."

"No," he challenges immediately, and if you really focus you can see him slowly jerking himself off.

"Even if I say please? Ask nicely?"

Despite his arousal, Rafe laughs hoarsely. "Such a sweet girl."

"I wanna make you feel good."

"You do. Always." You hear him let out a breathy moan. "C'mon, baby, lift your shirt up."

Despite how much you wanna stomp your foot, huff like a princess, challenge him until he gets annoyed and gives in, you do as he says, leaning up a fraction to pull the hem of your tank top over your stomach, breasts, head, to which it's discarded somewhere hazardously on the floor amongst the other clothes. His unoccupied hand reaches down, palm skimming over your bare stomach as he practically moans when he feels your exposed chest, grabbing a breast and rolling a nipple between his fingers.

So, if he doesn't want you to help him physically, you'll help him in other ways.

"I bet you look so pretty right now," you muse quietly, wishing you could see his face. You can picture it: brows pinched in pleasure, with pink, puffy parted lips, bright blue eyes blown black with lust, chest heaving with the intensity of his pleasure, cock standing upright as he practically fucks his fist. The image makes you shudder, and to ground yourself, you place your hand on the back of his that grabs your breast, squeezing his knuckles once, twice, three times. "I've missed you so much, Rafe."

He sucks in a harsh breath. "Yeah? How much?"

Your heart skips when you hear how wrecked he sounds, as if he's achingly close to finishing. It makes you realize that all these weeks spent away from him were probably more torturous for him than it was for you, abiding by your wishes with no complaints and putting your needs before his. Always.

"Everyday," you say ardently. "Thought about you every night going to bed, and even though I was so tired, I always touched myself and thought about you."

Rafe lets out a ragged moan, pace faltering.

"Thought about your hands," you continue sweetly, tone the opposite of your words. "Your smile. Arms. Cock. How nice you feel inside me. Like your cock was made for me."

"Fuck, it is," he breathily responds, squeezing your breast for emphasis. "All yours. No one else's."

You can tell he's close without even seeing him. The stuttering cadence of his voice, his breathy moans, how you can faintly hear his pace getting faster and faster as he grabs you tighter, anchoring himself to something due to the intensity of the buildup of pleasure. It's such a beautiful sound, when he gets like this, because it makes you fully understand that's he's just as attracted to you as you are to him, if not more.

"All mine," you practically purr, heart skipping at the way he whines. "Are you close, baby?"

His breath catches. "Yeah, fuck. Keep talking, please, sweet girl."

You're not one to deny him that. "You sound so pretty. I bet you taste good, too. I miss sucking you off, swallowing everything you give me. I wanna taste you, Rafey. I miss it. I love it. I love you—"

Hips stuttering forward further into his hand, Rafe comes before he can really register it with a moan so pornographic that it puts all other sounds to shame, because in this very moment, you decide this is your favorite one: him whining breathily and moaning your name over and over and over like a mantra, like it's the only word he knows or cares to say. In an instant, you feel spurts of his cum against your soft stomach and breasts as he releases a load so pent up that he cums long. And hard.

And you? You cheshire cat grin in the darkness, waiting until he's completely done cursing and pumping out the rest of his load before swiping the cool areas of your chest, gathering his mess on your fingers and bringing it to your mouth, humming in satisfaction at the taste of him, a taste you've been desperate for for so long. It's so good. So good. Better than ever before.

Rafe nearly collapses on top of you, holding himself up over your body by his elbows as you can practically feel him shaking from the ferocity of his orgasm, especially with the way he can fucking hear you sucking your fingers, an absolute filthy act that only makes his head spin more. It's like you're made for him. Really.

Your otherwise unoccupied hand comes to cradle his jaw, skimming the pad of your thumb over his cheekbone as he practically presses himself further into your touch, humming an appreciative thrum low in his throat at the sensation, as he still catches his breath from how brazenly, how quickly, he came simply from your words.

"Feel better?" You whisper gently, still feeling the way his body trembles less and less each passing second.

He nods in your hold. "Always with you. You're gonna kill me one day, I know it."

You laugh quietly, tiredly, utterly in love. There's a few seconds of silence between the two of you as the laughter dies out and the quiet in the darkness morph into something deeper, something more intimate, as you can feel his breaths on your skin as the thrumming ache of pleasure soon begins to settle into something softer, domestic, comfortable.

You speak before you even realize it. "Thank you for taking care of me."

Rafe opens his mouth to respond, to retort most likely about how it's his job, his responsibility, that he thoroughly enjoys taking care of you, even when you melt into putty in his arms.

"I'm just..." You trail off, and whatever he was about to say gets put on pause as he lets you find your trail of though. "I know I'm not the easiest to deal with. Especially when it comes to work. I—I'm stubborn, and irritable, and I'm sorry."

You swallow thickly, intimidated by the silence on his end, but you remind himself that it's not because he doesn't know what to say, but it's because he's letting you speak. Formulate your thoughts. Open up to him in ways you've never opened up to anyone before. It scares the shit out of you, yet you find it somewhat easier with him, because he's always looked out for you, listened when you spoke, tended to your needs without you having to ask.

"I'm not used to putting myself first. Not when it comes to school. I never...took breaks, or gave myself an out. It's always been go, go, go," you murmur sheepishly, attempting to ground yourself by gingerly running your fingers through his hair, grateful that the dark shields your vulnerability. "But I'll try to be better. To allow myself to have things. To have you."

When he does speak, it isn't for a minute or two, and you figure he's waiting for you to be completely done talking before he starts.

"You don't need to apologize," Rafe says gently. "Will I ever understand the stress you put yourself through? No, but that's because you're so gifted, baby. I know you have a lot going on, know that you feel like you need to put everything else first before yourself."

You sigh dejectedly, blinking blearily at the combination of tears threatening your waterline plus the borderline exhaustion you feel. Yet, you say nothing. You let him continue, say his piece, because you know he's been itching to talk about it, talk about your habits, mainly since he doesn't fully understand it yet wants to make it better for you in every single sense.

The words he says are so low and honest that it makes your heart stop, "I'll always be here for you, be your biggest cheerleader, give you what you need and more. There's nothin' that's driving me away from you, no exam, no paper, no nothing. I love you, sweet girl, and you're the only person I wanna take care of."

Smoothing down the awry pieces of his hair, you hum into the darkness and hold him as delicately as glass, and Rafe swears he's never been caressed like this before, never been loved like this before, never been in love like this before.

Rafe lets a hint of a smile ghost his lips, even though you can't really see it.

"Even when you call me insufferable."

You let out a ragged laugh.

"And when you put heart stickers on my stick without me knowing."

"That must've been someone else."

"Hm? What about the plants that spontaneously show up on my window sill?"

"I think you have a ghost."

Rafe's grinning so wide it hurts, pressing his cheek further into your hand in hopes that lines of your palm forever etch into his smooth skin. "No ghost. Just my botanist, astrophysicist, heart connoisseur of a girlfriend."

You snort unattractively, utterly entranced by his touch, his words, the way he makes you feel. Just him. "That's a mouthful."

"That's the point. I like having my mouth full."

Groaning (yet smiling so audaciously sweet that it's making your teeth rot), you gently nudge his cheek away in faux irritation and let your head drop dramatically against the pillow as his boyish laugh echos off the concrete walls, a sound so beautiful that you can't even pretend to be mad at him.

Rafe places one, two, three chaste kisses through chuckles on the back of your knuckle. "Let me clean you up, baby."

And he does. Slowly. Deliberately. You lay still on his bed and watch his silhouette move through the darkness, first venturing into the en-suite bathroom in his dorm (the perks of having the money to request such a room), and lightly dampening a wash cloth with warm water. With the light poking through the cracked bathroom door, you're delighted to see his face for a few split seconds, as well as see the shit-eating grin on his face when the light perfectly adorns over your body, over the fluids still coating your stomach and chest.

Rafe hovers next to you, standing next to the bed and leaning down to place a sickly intimate kiss on your lips before pulling back just as quick. "You look beautiful."

You roll your eyes as you peer up at him. "Are you gonna stand there and stare at me, or are you gonna clean me up like you said?"

The warm towel gently lowers on your tummy, and you hum at the temperature as you toggle your gaze between watching his hands clean up his mess and his face, brows pinched in concentration as he makes sure he gets every last drop. When he does, he's returning to the bathroom to rinse it off, and on his way out, he tosses the semi-clean washcloth in the hamper before flicking the light out, coating the room in darkness once more.

Within seconds, Rafe is carefully climbing into the bed, pulling the sheets over the two of you before wrapping an arm around your waist. His fingers butterfly splay on your bare spine to pull you taut to him, chest to chest, as he practically maneuvers your face to rest in the crook of his neck. His other hand rests easy on the back of your head, smoothing down your hair gently.

"You're gonna kill it later," Rafe murmurs low and sincere, his breath tickling the top of your head.

"Thank you, baby."

"I mean it," he says. "If you can recite it while I'm fingering you, then you definitely know it."

The sentence is absolutely obscene. "Rafe."

He boyishly laughs. "What? It's true. You did so well, sweet girl. Gonna ace it, I already know."

The praise settles a sense of comfort in your heart, slowly feeling lulled to sleep by the way his hands caress your body, cradle the back of your head and trace each vertebrae on your spine. You lift a finger in exhaustion, your attempt at a response, but all you can muster is a quiet hum as you shut your eyes.

"Sleep," Rafe says so gently you barely hear it. "I got you."

And you know he does. You know it like the back of your hand, something you never need to remind yourself of, not when he dotes and cares about you as if it's detrimental to the fiber of his being. With the way he's holding you, feeling his syncopated heart beat against your own, you fall asleep just like that: pulled taut to his chest and impossibly molded to his figure.

For the first time in weeks, you don't fall asleep thinking of astronomical theories or equations burned in your retinas.

No, you think about the scent of his cologne, the blue of his eyes, the dimples when he smiles. Sleep almost takes you immediately, comforted by the image of all that is Rafe Cameron.

notes lowkey loved writing bf!rafe????? didn't have to worry about all that emotional build up. was lowkey awesome. hope you enjoyed!

#rafe cameron #salem-s works #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x you #rafe x reader #rafe x y/n #rafe x you #rafe outer banks #outer banks #rafe cameron outer banks #rafe cameron x female reader #rafe x female reader #obx #rafe cameron obx #rafe obx

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prfctplcs · 4 months ago

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... INTRODUCING PRO TENNIS PLAYER!READER

PRO TENNIS PLAYER!READER was first introduced to tennis while watching her older siblings play in the park after school. she picked it up from the time she was five, and her parents put her in lessons almost immediately. went pro at fifteen. won her first grand slam title at seventeen, and was a tennis legend by twenty-two after becoming the sixth person in history to achieve a calendar grand slam.

PRO TENNIS PLAYER!READER walks onto every court blasting her music through her headphones, leading to the tradition of her sharing what song she was listening to in post game interviews or on social media. uses every match she plays to wear cute athletic fits. more often than not they feature pretty lace trim, bows, or skirts that flare out as she runs and jumps across the court. sweet to everyone she meets, but will not hesitate to level anyone who attempts to minimize her hard work & accomplishments.

PRO TENNIS PLAYER!READER who is more than content with keeping her and joe's relationship mostly private. she’s well acquainted with scrutiny over social media and how damaging it can be to one person, let alone two together in a relationship. can’t always make it to joe’s games because of the overlap in their seasons, but she does a secret hand signal to the cameras during every match he can’t make to let him know she’s thinking about him always, and he does the same at his games too.

cannot stop thinking about this nerd oml. credit for the layout goes to @rafesangelita !! i’m absolutely obsessed with her !reader posts she makes for rafe cameron & recommend them to anyone interested in him!

#tennis!reader #joe burrow #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow x y/n #joe burrow x you #cincinnati bengals #joe burrow bengals #nfl x reader #joe burrow fanfic #𐙚 andi writes

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pradabambie · 1 year ago

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the roommate. rafe cameron x reader x felix catton. pt. 5

masterlist

a/n: yay! part 5 is finally here. this is the last part of this little fic, maybe sometime in the future i'll make a little blurb on reader taking felix back to obx on winter break, but idk yet. hope u like it! <3

it was early in the morning when felix realized he’d left his history book at the dorm. he got up, threw a jersey on and made his way on to the room the both of you shared.

he was about to push the key in when he heard it

“y-yes rafey, fuck, feels so good”

his jaw dropped at the pornographic sound coming out of your mouth and past the thick wooden door, going straight to his cock.

his brows furrowed in pleasure just imagining the face you were making, panting out of you pink pouty lips and eyes rolling to the back of your head.

his pants tightened. that should be him making you scream and moan and beg, not goddamned rafe.

felix decided to turn around and leave the book behind, rather than spending the class with sticky pants.

two days. he just had to survive two whole days and then rafe would be gone, and he’d have you all to himself again.

but rafe's intention wasn’t to go unnoticed for the rest of his stay; it was quite the opposite.

obviously, he had rented a huge room at a five-star hotel close to campus, but he made sure to spend every possible moment in the dorm that you and felix shared.

he accompanied you to each of your classes, buying you coffee, carrying your books, and wrapping his massive bicep around your small shoulders to make sure "every nerd on the quad knows you’re mine”

felix was going fucking crazy.

strangely, he began to feel grateful for the endless classes you both shared, as it was the only time he could have your undivided attention, without the tall blonde trying to steal you away.

at the end of the third and final class of the day, both of you slowly headed towards the exit, trying to avoid the whirlwind of exhausted students stuck in a hurried attempt to escape the classroom.

"so, you wanna get some sushi or what? it's friday, you know? our tradition..." felix gave you the biggest puppy eyes ever, begging for some extra alone time with you.

"lex... you know i can't leave rafe alone. he came all the way here, and he's leaving soon, and-"

he stopped you before you could continue. "i know, i know. so, let's just make an exception this time and invite him. it'll be fun!" felix was trying to convince himself more than you.

"really? sure! i'll go tell him right now!" you started to run towards the cafe where rafe was working while he waited for you to finish. "thanks, lex! i promise we'll have the best time!" you yelled before turning the corner. felix smiled until you disappeared.

"best time ever," he mumbled while kicking a small rock, making his way back to the dorm.

a couple of hours later, the three of you were entering the small but bustling sushi restaurant, taking the corner table that felix and you reserved every friday, adding an extra chair, of course.

after the three of you ordered the food, silence invaded the cramped wooden table, your mind racing a thousand miles a minute, trying to find some topic the three of you could talk about.

the atmosphere was thick with tension as rafe made himself comfortable, effortlessly slipping into the role of the possessive boyfriend he was used to being in.

his rough hand, large and commanding, played with the rings on your fingers, an action that didn't go unnoticed by felix.

rafe seemed unfazed, enjoying his position of control.

he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered something that made you giggle.

felix's jaw tightened as he struggled to maintain composure. he wanted to get the hell out of there and fuck the brains out of the first girl that crossed his sight, all while thinking of you, and the sounds he heard outside the dorm that day.

"so... how was class?" rafe asked, attempting to break the silence, but his eyes remained fixed on felix, a silent challenge embedded in his gaze.

felix, now feeling cornered, decided to play along. "oh, you know, the usual," he replied, his tone laced with sarcasm. “me and your girl here took some notes, didn’t we? huh?” he grinned at you and you let out a giggle.

"for sure, ollie didn't even notice!" you laughed harder now, recalling what happened in class just a few hours ago.

rafe was furious at the little inside jokes that the two of you seemed to share, which prompted him to move one of his hands to your hair, playing with it while trying to calm down and control his jealousy.

he pressed a soft kiss on your temple, faking a laugh to try to disguise his feelings.

as the dinner progressed, rafe's bold moves continued, making felix more and more irritated.

your boyfriend draped his arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer, as if to assert his dominance, his fingers finding the dainty black strap of the dress you decided to wear, and toying with it, teasing not only you, but felix as well.

every touch, every glance seemed like a deliberate move to stake his claim.

felix, now more annoyed than ever, struggled to hide his frustration behind a facade of indifference.

“i’m surprised you haven’t introduced me to your girl, catton.” rafe smirked “except, of course, you don’t have one” he mocked, making you send a disapproving look his way.

“rafe, shut up”

“no, no it’s okay i mean he’s just curious” felix knew perfectly well the intent hiding behind rafe’s words “i’m not a one-woman man, still trying to find the right one y’know?”

his big brown eyes flashed a quick look at you, blood rushed into your cheeks almost automatically.

“i'm actually meeting with a candidate after dinner”

the boys shared a laugh, but the comment made your stomach turn.

who was this girl felix was meeting and why didn’t he mention this before? was this a lie to look cool in front of rafe? but most importantly, why did you care this much if he went off with a girl? what was wrong with you?

the check coming to the table snapped you out of your trance.

you and rafe decided to spend the night in his hotel room, you know, just in case felix decided to take his “date” back there and you sure as hell didn’t need to see that.

just a couple minutes had passed since you entered the room, and rafe already had you lying in bed, planting sloppy wet kisses on your neck and making his way to your -already soaked- panties.

“so needy huh?” he groaned as he slipped a finger in.

you whined a pathetic “yes”, as he pushed another finger inside you.

unexpectedly he pulled both fingers out, ripping your pink panties off and filling you out, making your eyes roll back.

“are you gonna miss this dick?” you nodded as moans left your pink puffy lips. “use your words sweet girl”

“yes rafe, i'll miss your dick so f-fucking much” you cried out.

after making you cum a couple times, you found yourselves curled up in bed, your boyfriend’s hands tracing patterns on your exposed back.

you dazed off and before you knew it, it was already the next day, and you were standing inside the airport, wiping a few tears that had escaped your eyes.

“i promise i'll be there as soon as i can” you sniffed “winter break is in a couple weeks, and i'll go home”

rafe gave you one final hug, and a couple moments later you were having at him as he made his way to the platform.

he saw you check your mascara on your phone screen, which made him smile.

and he saw as you exited the airport, the tall brunette offering you a comforting hug, and getting you into a cab.

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ordinary-barbie · 2 months ago

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welcome on in!

tiffany. she/her. black. 30. obsessed with tv and movies for as long as I can remember. still swooning over fictional men. history nerd. just doing her best.

i do have a job doing social media marketing but i love to write whenever I can!

characters I write for: rafe cameron (outer banks), saxon ratliff (the white lotus), billy hargrove and steve harrington (stranger things), jean kirstein and porco galliard (attack on titan) more to come maybe

masterlist:

💌= fluff

❤️‍🔥 = smut

🥀 = angst

This is an 18+ space—minors, please don’t interact!

requests are open

rafe cameron (outer banks)

scary dog privileges. ❤️‍🔥

lightning strikes, maybe once, maybe twice 💌

i burn for you.❤️‍🔥💌

victory lap.❤️‍🔥

i would give you the moon. 💌

Rafe watches your favorite show without you. 💌

oceanic feeling. 💌

slide tackling my mind.💌🥀

just might put my glasses on when I pursue you. ❤️‍🔥

rafechella. ❤️‍🔥💌

dress to impress. (rafechella on my mind) 💌❤️‍🔥

your love is tough, your love is tried and true blue 💌🥀

warm enough for you outside, baby (tell me if it's warm enough here for you) 🥀❤️‍🔥

friday nights with rafe. 💌

but i feel something when i see you now. 🥀💌

dumb & (not) poetic

played it so nonchalant, it’s time we danced with the truth. ❤️‍🔥

every second, every minute, man i swear that she can get it 💌❤️‍🔥

saxon ratliff (the white lotus)

they say, "keep your friends close," but you're closer.❤️‍🔥

bad moon rising.

march madness.❤️‍🔥

sick days.💌

'cause you know i love the players, and you love the game.❤️‍🔥

mornings with you. 💌

love is a wild thing. 💌

billy hargrove (stranger things)

is it new year's yet? 🥀💌

billy hargrove x black!fem!reader headcanons 💌

coming attractions.❤️‍🔥

shock the monkey. ❤️‍🔥

steve harrington (stranger things)

TBD

peter whitney (overcompensating)

bad boy, shiny toy with a price, you know that i bought it ❤️‍🔥

chef luca (the bear)

stress relief. ❤️‍🔥💌🥀

paul baker (adults)

hot in the city. ❤️‍🔥💌

jean kirstein (attack on titan)

seeing the barbie movie with jean hcs! 💌

there's something about the summer. 💌❤️‍🔥

give me more than just butterflies. 💌❤️‍🔥

celebrating your birthday with jean! 💌❤️‍🔥

porco galliard (attack on titan)

sexy to someone 💌❤️‍🔥🥀

#rafe cameron x reader #saxon ratliff x reader #billy hargrove x reader #steve harrington x reader #jean kirstein x reader #porco galliard x reader

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ren14554 · 5 months ago

Text

Want to start from the beginning? Chapter 1

Eternal

Chapter 15: Mexico

Sofia's memories of her early years are wrapped in the heat and colors of Mexico. Southern Mexico is a quieter part of the country, a little inland from the coast, where the land rolls with thick greenery, and the air always holds the scent of warm earth and fresh rainfall. The days are long, the sun fierce, and the nights cooled by the soft breeze of the Gulf of Mexico in the distance.

She remembers the sound of cicadas in the afternoon, the hustle of small markets where fruit vendors shouted out prices, and the calm hum of the family home tucked away in a tight-knit community where everyone knew each other's business. It was a world far removed from the chaos of the Outer Banks, but it shaped her in ways she couldn't fully understand when her parents moved her to the States.

Mérida, Mexico.

"So this place will hopefully point us in… a direction?" Kiara states as they stare up at the entrance to the local Museum that Cleo was able to find in southern Mexico, the Yucatán peninsula, to be exact. Gran Museo del Mundo Maya de Mérida. They boast a one-stop shop for all things Mayan culture and history.

One of many.

As they enter, signs point in various directions, guiding visitors to different historical periods of the Mayan culture. The lobby spans at least three stories. A large stone sculpture of a figure in an intricately carved mask sits with legs crossed, encased in a glass box just as tall. The air inside the museum is cool, a sharp contrast to the humid heat outside.

They move deeper into the exhibit, each meandering to different installments and sculptures. There's a silent understanding among them: they know what they want to find but aren't sure what exactly they're looking for.

Sofia grips Rafe's hand as she slowly peeks at each item, reading every plaque in Spanish and English and taking in each statue protected behind a pane of glass.

"So, divide and conquer?" Cleo suggests, shifting her weight as she glances between the group.

Pope shrugs. "I don't know. I'd be interested in reading up a bit on the culture…" He glances around at their various smiles, some amused, some understanding.

"Okay, nerd," John B teases with the utmost affection in his tone. Pope playfully narrows his eyes at his best friend before laughing lightly along with the rest of them.

They decide not to split up, moving as a group into the first exhibit, which immediately dives into a brief history of the Mayans and their lives in 600 AD. As they slowly wander through, stopping at various points to comment or, in John B's case, crack a joke—some funnier than others—they spend way more time than they initially intended.

About twenty minutes in, they reach the next exhibit, the art and culture of the Mayan people.

It's probably Sofia's favorite part by far. The tapestries depict long-forgotten maps with sculptures littered about, plaques describing how Mayans would create art for the sake of expression. Not too dissimilar from the great artists all throughout history.

It isn't until they get deeper into the exhibit that they finally hit the jackpot.

"Does this look…" Sarah trails off as Sofia and Rafe meander over. They both stop to analyze the case, an intact circular stone artifact strikingly similar to the one currently housed in Pope's backpack. The swirling glyphs look like they were copied and pasted onto theirs.

"Yeah," Rafe responds. "That's gotta be what we have."

They each skim the wall, reading the description of its conception, significance, and impact on Mayan culture as a whole and, in turn, Mexican culture centuries later.

Two bolded words stick out from the stark paragraphs of explanation: Dzibilchaltún and Uxmal.

"Guys," Sarah calls out to the others, who are currently analyzing the direction of a trail map on a hanging tapestry on the other side of the room.

The four others crowd around them, sneaking glances around once they clue into the striking similarity.

"Replica of various stone keys the Mayan people used to open passages…" Kiara reads from the placard. "Shit. Stone key."

"So… what we have is supposed to open something? Like, leading to treasure or something?" Sofia muses aloud, more to herself than anyone else, searching for confirmation.

"If it does, we still have no idea what exactly," Pope replies. "And we should probably figure that out before we go about messing with random ancient doors."

"Treasures," Kiara chimes in absentmindedly, still scanning the plaque in front of her.

"Super helpful, Kie," Pope deadpans. She just shrugs.

"So we have a key, potentially," Sarah states. "We have no clue what it opens, how it opens it, or what is behind it."

"And no clue where either," Rafe adds gruffly.

Sarah nods. "So what about this…" She squints at the text, "Diz-bil-chalton—"

"Dzee-beel-chahl-toon," Sofia corrects, almost butchering it herself. Her Spanish comes in a bit handier than she genuinely anticipated.

"That." Sarah smiles gratefully. The younger Cameron glances back and reads, "One of many Mayan civilizations which produced these stone keys… maybe it will hold more answers."

"Maybe," John B doesn't sound too convinced, trying to get closer to the intact artifact as if something would jump out to him. "There are like five other civilizations they mention, too. This Dzee-beel…"

“Dzee-beel—” Sofia corrects.

“Dzee-beel-call-toon…” John B doesn't sound too confident. "We could be wasting our time. Little, precious time."

"You know something we don't?" Rafe asks, brow raised.

John B shakes his head. "I'm just saying, Groff and his people found us twice now. Both times, we didn't think we were being followed. We don't have much room for wild goose chases."

"Let's try it," Kiara suggests. "Doesn't hurt."

"What hurts is that this place we want to go is thirty to forty minutes north," Cleo states, glancing at her phone with Pope.

They linger in the museum a little longer, each taking turns rereading the description of the artifact as if staring at the swirling glyphs long enough might reveal their hidden meaning. But the realization settles in as the minutes tick by—they've hit another dead end.

Pope sighs, rubbing his forehead. "We have a direction but not much else."

John B steps back, glancing around the quiet exhibit hall. "Then maybe it's time to regroup, grab some food, and figure out our next move."

"Agreed," Rafe says, adjusting his grip on Sofia's hand.

As they make their way back through the museum, they pass through the gift shop, where Sarah pauses at a rack of handmade woven bracelets. "Hold on, these are kinda cute," she says, looping one around her wrist.

Sofia chuckles. "We're supposed to be solving a mystery, and you're shopping for accessories?"

"Multitasking," Sarah quips, grabbing another bracelet and tossing it to Sofia. "This one suits you."

Sofia rolls her eyes but slips it on anyway. The simple woven threads settle against her wrist as they finally exit into the warm afternoon air.

Outside, Rafe pulls out his phone, scanning the screen briefly before stuffing it back into his pocket. "There's a spot a few blocks away. Local place. Should be good."

"Perfect, I'm starving," Cleo says, already leading the way.

As they walk, Rafe slows his pace, letting the others move ahead while he keeps Sofia close. His fingers tighten around hers before he leans in, voice low. "I'll catch up in a few," he murmurs, pressing a quick kiss to her temple.

She stops mid-step, brow furrowing. "Where are you going?"

"Just need to check on something. Won't be long," Rafe assures her, flashing a quick smile before slipping into the crowd and disappearing down a side street.

Sofia watches him go, unease curling in her stomach. A dozen possibilities flicker through her mind, but before she can dwell too much, Sarah is already pulling her into conversation, and the moment slips away—for now.

~~~~~

"We can leave first thing in the morning."

Pope produces a flyer and a business card from his pocket, laying them out on the table like evidence in a case.

"I grabbed this from an info booth at the museum," he explains. "They rent cars—figured it might be useful if we want to get to the archaeological site."

"What do they have?" John B asks, leaning forward.

"Plenty," Pope says, flipping the flyer around to show him. "I was thinking of getting a Jeep. They have ones that seat seven."

"Well, isn't that just perfect?" Kiara quips, smirking over the rim of her drink.

Pope continues with a bit of glee, “And somehow, I convinced Rafe to let me use the card to get a computer. Think it’ll come in handy with research.”

Cleo smiles with a raised brow, “And where are you gonna get the internet for that?”

“I’ve got a hotspot.” Pope smiles back.

Scrolling through her phone, Sarah adds, "They have a church at the site. A—" She squints at the screen, "16th-century colonial open-air church." She looks up, locking eyes with John B across the table. "Maybe we could finally get married at a church."

John B shakes his head with a laugh as the rest of them chuckle at the familiar joke.

Sofia, without thinking, adds playfully, "Two Camerons could finally get hitched."

Sarah's laughter falters. "Two?"

The table falls into a sudden, heavy silence, eyes darting toward Sofia. Her stomach knots as she realizes what she's unintentionally let slip. "It was just a joke," she backtracks quickly, but the damage is done.

"Rafe getting married would be a real sight to see." Kiara jokes without mirth. Sofia squirms at the scrutiny, regretting ever adding anything to the conversation.

Sarah continues to analyze her, though, realization dawning on the Cameron sibling.

Sarah's gaze sharpens. "He proposed?"

Every head swivels toward Sofia. The weight of their collective curiosity presses down on her, and she fights the instinct to shrink under it.

"He did." Her voice is steady, even as her pulse thrums in her ears.

Kiara narrows her eyes but says nothing, her gaze bouncing between Sofia and Sarah.

"With our mom's ring?" Sarah asks, her voice quieter now, less accusation, more realization.

Sofia exhales through her nose. "Yeah."

Sarah nods slowly, and for a split second, Sofia catches something in her expression—something almost like understanding. But it's gone before she can be sure.

“Wow,” John B mutters. "That was the last thing I would've guessed, but hey." He claps his hands together, breaking the tension. "Stranger things have happened."

"Where is Rafe, by the way?" Cleo asks.

"He said he needed to go check on something, right Sofia? "Pope answers as he continues to analyze the rental pamphlet.

Kiara scoffs under her breath. "Probably out trying to sell us out."

Sofia's head snaps toward her, brows furrowed, but Sarah steps in before she can say anything. "Kiara, stop."

Sofia knows better than anyone how fractured Rafe and Sarah's relationship is. Their father is a significant catalyst for their differing opinions on life. He never delved deep into the rift but had feelings about it. Her encouragement for him to reach out always seems to fall on deaf ears, so honestly, she was pretty surprised when he went off after Groff with her.

But even with that rift, Rafe was here. Fighting alongside them. For him to betray them? Never.

Never.

"There he is." John B nods toward the entrance.

Rafe strides through the restaurant, maneuvering past tables, his expression unreadable. There's something tight in his posture, something restrained. Just as Sofia picks up on it, his face smooths over—calm, collected, like nothing is out of place.

He slides into the seat beside her, nodding his hello.

"Everything okay?" Sofia asks under her breath.

Rafe nods immediately, the movement a little too sharp, a little too practiced. "Perfect."

She doesn't believe him. Not entirely. But she trusts him.

She returns to the conversation, the group discussing Pope's plan. But across the table, Kiara is watching her. Not openly, not obviously, but Sofia catches the way her gaze lingers. The polite smile Kiara flashes at her is quick and forced, never reaching her eyes before she turns back to the conversation.

Something unsettles deep in Sofia's gut.

~~~~~

The dim glow of the bedside lamp casts shadows across the room. Sofia shifts beneath the covers, eyes heavy but still awake. She grazes her slowly healing wound, newly dressed.

Across the room, Rafe stands near his clothes, half-dressed, his bare back tense under the low light. He moves deliberately, pushing something under a few shirts he's picked up along the way before tucking it into the backpack he bought on their way to Argentina.

Sofia watches him for a moment before speaking. "Everything okay?" Her voice is soft, careful. Maybe this time, he'll tell her what's on his mind.

But he doesn't.

Rafe glances at her, his expression unreadable. Slowly, he makes his way back over, leaning over to click off the lamp.

"Yeah," he says, crawling into bed beside her. "Go to sleep."

__________________

Next part: Chapter 16

#rafe and sofia #rafe x sofia

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