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Change of Scenery

Grumpy!Reader x Sunshine!Rafe

Intro

Rochester, Minnesota

Rafe rolled to a stop at the curb of their new two story house in his Jeep Wrangler with the Uhaul attached to the back. Ward had pulled into the driveway.

Wheezy had rushed out the car before Ward could officially park the car. “Wheezy!” Rose called after her, but at that point, she was already in the backyard.

As soon as Rafe hopped out of his car, his arms got goosebumps from the crisp, Minnesota air. He rounded the passenger side and took out a gray, fleece sweater from his duffel bag.

Tugging the sweater over his slim, toned frame. It probably wasn’t the best idea to move over here when it was starting to cool down for the fall.

“What did you think?” Ward asks when Rafe walks up the driveway.

“It’s.. smaller. But that’s not a bad thing.”

Rafe was excited to live in a new place. To get away from the Pogue drama. Sarah, on the other hand, wasn’t exactly ecstatic about it.

But she’d rather be with her family than staying in Outer Banks with Topper and his friends.

**

Sarah was bored from staying in the house, so she asked Rafe if he wanted to take a look at the town.

They had parallel parked on what looks to be Main Street.

“Do you think Dad is having a midlife crisis?” Sarah asked, rubbing her arms from the brisk wind.

“I don’t know, maybe. Or he’s having one of the best ideas he’s had in a long time.”

Rafe looks around at the shops on the busy street. There looks to be a few pubs toward the end of the street so he makes a mental note not to drift too far.

Rafe had stopped in front of a gift stop called “Rochester’s Best Gifts”. He opened the door for Sarah to walk in, they were instantly welcomed by the smell of vanilla and pine.

“Hi, welcome in!” A younger woman greeted, “Hello,” Rafe and Sarah said in unison.

“You’re telling me you don’t miss your friends?” Sarah questioned, raising a brow at him.

“I mean, yeah I do. But it was time to try something else. We can always go back, but at least we’ll have an experience outside of beaches and waves.”

“It’s cold as hell in Minnesota, Rafe.”

“I know, that’s why we’re going to find some jackets.” Rafe says as he picks up a plushy moose from the shelf.

“Where’s the nearest clothes store anyway?” “I don’t know. We’ll have to ask someone.” He sets the moose down and they walked out of the store.

“Thanks for coming!” The lady stated as they left the shop.

A few people gave Rafe and Sarah weird stares when they walked passed; it started to make Sarah feel a little self conscious, which Rafe noticed.

“You know we can-“ “Me cago tu madre, cabron!” You shoved the man outside, causing him to trip over the metal step of your family’s shop.

He hurdles to the ground, falling flat on his back and his legs in the air from the momentum.

“Salte la tiena mia, pendejo!” You threaten, the man scrambled to his feet and rushed across the street.

Your hardened gaze followed him until he was out of your line of sight. Rafe and Sarah witnessed the entire thing in disbelief.

Noticing eyes on you, you met the eyes of the confused pair of siblings.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but he was cussing at my Mom. And that’s something I don’t tolerate.” You said coolly, wiping your hand on your jeans before walking back inside.

Rafe found himself with his jaw nearly touching the ground. You were one of the prettiest women he’s ever seen.

The second your Y/E/C eyes met his, he melted in his t-shirt. The entire interaction made him forget that he was cold.

“Hello? Earth to Rafe,” Sarah waves her hand in front of his face. “What?”

“You should get her number,” Rafe glances through your shop window, watching as you spoke with your mother.

“I’m not good at flirting with beautiful women, Sarah. If I go in there right now, I’ll make a fool out of myself.”

“Fine, then I will.”

“Wait, Sarah- no!”

Sarah gives him a mischievous smirk and strolls into your shop. The savory aroma of your family’s cooking made Sarah completely forget what she was coming in there for.

“Oh my God, that smells amazing! What is that?” Sarah compliments, her stomach grumbling at the sight of the fresh pastellons in the hot glass case.

“There’s many names for them across the Carribbean. Pastellons, empanadas, patties. They’re all made the same.” You explained. Sarah walks toward the pastries you had baked an hour ago.

She looks outside and waves Rafe inside. Letting out a long breath, he walks inside and has a similar reaction to Sarah. “Wow,” his mouth starts to salivate the longer he sniffs the air.

“Ask them if they want a sample,” your mother tells you. “I can put up a pastellon if you want to try one.” You offer.

“Please,” Sarah answered quickly, to which you smirked. Your smile caught Rafe’s eye and he walked directly into the sweet bread table. He rushes to steady the table so nothing fell.

“Rafe,” Sarah scolds. “Sorry,” Rafe grimaces and you take a pastellon out from the glass case.

“So where are you visiting from? Florida?” You questioned, eyeing their thin t-shirts and shorts.

“Good guess, but no, we’re from Outer Banks.” “South Carolina. That’s interesting.” You cut up the pastellon into eight sections and stuck a toothpick in each.

You came around from behind the cash register and offered the plate to Rafe first. He gingerly took a piece from the plate. You watched as he ate the entire piece in two bites.

“My God,” “Have you never had Caribbean food before?” “I have, just never this good.” He looks down at the plate in silent question.

“You guys can split it however you want.” You gave Sarah the plate and walked back to your station.

Knowing you could feel Rafe’s eye on you, you quickly glanced over your shoulder.

He quickly diverts his attention to the plate of samples. Somehow, he hits knee on the wooden corner in the middle table.

He groans as he balances his weight on one leg, wrapping his hands on the hurt knee. Sarah mentally facepalms at her brother’s awkwardness.

You go back behind the cash register and pull out your phone. Sarah takes the opportunity to hit the back of Rafe’s head.

“Ouch, what was that for?” Rafe whispered to Sarah.

“Stop being an awkward dork and talk to her.” “I can’t,” “When did you become such a punk?” Sarah jabs, crossing her arms over her chest.

Your mother nudges your shoulder and you lifted your eyes from your phone.

“You should give them a tour of the town,” your mother suggests in Spanish.

“Mom, I’m not the town’s tour guide.”

“Oh come on, Y/N. Look at them. Without our help, they won’t make it through fall- let alone winter. What kind of family would we be if we didn’t help?” She explains, causing you to huff.

“I can give you guys a tour of the town tomorrow if you’re free,” you suggested, Rafe’s jaw nearly fell to the ground.

“I-Well you don’t-“ Rafe stumbles, causing Sarah to clap a hand over Rafe’s mouth.

“That sounds like a great idea, thank you.” She speaks for him, sending Rafe a glare.

Pull yourself together, Rafe.

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Could I request a part 2 to Glad you called?

Hiii, I’m pretty sure I made this but didn’t respond to this ask. So you’ll find the second part here.

Thank youuuu 🤗

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I found my white boy of the month and I was wondering if u can do a

alexios constantine x black reader please like they go to the same boarding school please and he's down bad flirts with her smut if u do them

Hiii, sorry I haven’t written for alexios Constantine before. Sorry! 😬

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are u gonna right for rafe season four

Okay, I just saw all these messages in my inbox so I’ll do my best to get through them all 😭.

But yes, I will be writing for season four Rafe 🤗

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NEW SERIES/TROPE : CHANGE OF SCENERY

Characters: Sunshine!Rafe x Grumpy!Reader

Summary: Ward and Rose wanted a change in scenery so The Camerons left their Tannyhill home and moved 20 hours to Minnesota. The complete life style change was a hard adjustment for Rafe. But thankfully, he ran into a someone who made it all worth the while.

Requests are open for this trope!

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For the Saucy Girlies 🍝😮‍💨

Angst & Smut Masterlist

🔥 = smut

History Repeating 1/2

History Repeating 2/2

School Daze 1/2 🔥

School Daze 2/2 🔥

Should We Try Again?

Go Meg

Who Loves a Party? 1/2

Who Loves a Party 2/2

Good Company

Invisible String 1/2

Invisible String 2/2 🔥

Night in Charlotte 1/3 🔥

Night in Charlotte 2/3

Night in Charlotte 3/3 - Discontinued

Be My Proxy 1/2

Be My Proxy 2/2 🔥

Love to Break You 🔥

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For the Wholesome Girlies - Rafe Edition ✨💖

Fluff Masterlist

Carry You

Protect You

My Sleepy Girl

The Sweet Times

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🎀 WELCOME TO THE ARCHIVES 🎀

My archives are the stories I’ve written since 2021. My favorite niche is Rafe Cameron and other characters from Outer Banks.

Requests will be open!

Primary Master List

Master List PT 2

Master List PT 3

For the Wholesome Girlies

For the Saucy Girlies

Series 💎🫧

Change of Scenery

Sunshine!Rafe Cameron x Grumpy!reader

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are you cold, milaya? ☆⠀rafe cameron

♡⃣where you visit your mother's native town and meet her friends son, a hot soldier with a military buzzcut who swears in russian.

pairing ! :⠀fem!reader x slavic!rafe.

warnings ! :⠀smut. cursing. penetration. dirty talk. unprotected p in v. size kink. creampie. fingering. overstimulation.

you’ve been in russia for two days and already want to leave.

everything's grey. the house smells like boiled cabbage and bitter cigarettes. the village has four streets and one rusting bus stop. — your mom insisted you come. “visit where i grew up,” she said. “see real life” she said.

all you’ve seen so far is a grumpy old woman who sighs every time you speak english. nadya, your mom’s childhood friend, lets you stay in the guest room and barely speaks. she chain-smokes by the cracked window and calls you “devochka” like you're five. she has a son, but you haven’t met him. apparently he works some local patrol job or something. military-ish. you don’t really listen. you just stare out at the snow and dream of your american life.

you’re alone when a storm started. wind howling, snow beating against the windows like angry fists. nadya went to her sister’s, muttering about cabbage soup and gossip. left you with a pot on the stove, said her son, rafe, would be back “maybe.”

it's been some hours. you’re wearing a white off shoulder knit sweater and fuzzy socks when you hear it. the front door slams open.

you freeze.

heavy boots. snow slushing on the tile. then, his voice:

“blyad… zakryto vse…” (fuck… everything’s closed…)

you poke your head out the kitchen and see him.

him.

he’s peeling off a military parka, face flushed from cold, jaw clenched. thick arms, broad shoulders. there’s a buzzcut under his ushanka hat, and god, it does something to you. he looks like he came straight out of some war movie except hotter. muscles under wool, face sculpted like marble, nose red from the cold. snow melts on his sleeves as he breathes heavy through gritted teeth.

he sees you. stills.

you raise a hand awkwardly. “um. rafe?”

he squints. “you’re… american?”

you nod, already cringing.

he drops the hat on the floor, runs a hand through his blonde buzzed hair. “mama said guest here. didn’t say… girl.”

you blink. “uh. sorry?”

he shrugs off the coat. beneath it, a black thermal shirt hugs his torso tight. marked abs. he kicks off his boots, sighs. then looks at you again with this unreadable expression.

“she said to tell you there’s soup. in the kitchen,” you add, suddenly aware of how ridiculous you sound, standing in this dim soviet kitchen like a tourist guide.

he walks past you. his shoulder brushes yours. he smells like snow and cigarette and gunpowder.

you turn back to the stove, flustered.

“you want some?” you ask, already reaching for the plates.

you stretch onto your toes to reach the cabinet. your sweater lifts, revealing your waist. you don’t realize it until you hear him behind you, voice low.

“you always dress like that?”

your heart skips. “what?”

he doesn’t answer. you turn, and he’s looking at you. not rudely. not exactly. but looking. eyes trailing from your waist to your face like he’s trying to figure something out.

“it’s cold,” you say dumbly. “just… sweater weather.”

he smirks, just a little. then sits at the table, arms folded, watching you.

you serve him like you’ve done it a hundred times—ladling soup into a chipped bowl, finding bread in the fridge. hands trembling a little.

when you put the bowl in front of him, he murmurs, “you look like slavic wife.”

you blink. “what?”

he shrugs, eats a spoonful. “like girl from home.”

you snort. “i am in your home.”

he chews. then, with no warning, asks:

“you have boyfriend?” your heart thuds.

“what?” you say again, but this time it’s sharper.

he stares at you, eyes unreadable. “just ask. not many girls come here.”

you cross your arms. “why do you care?”

he gives a low laugh. “don’t. just… look like someone should care.”

you don’t know what to say to that. the kitchen suddenly feels too warm and smaller than it already is. you fidget with the sleeves of your sweater.

he eats in silence. then mutters, almost to himself:

“would take care of girl like you.”

you don’t even know if you were meant to hear it. but you did. and now your heart won’t slow down.

you don’t mean to linger in the kitchen. you don’t mean to stare when he licks the soup from the spoon.

but he’s sitting there like —arms big and lazy on the table, eyes on you like he’s not really hungry for soup at all.

“you’re from city.” he says finally, tone low.

you nod, laughing nervous. “yeah. figured?”

he licks his lips, tongue slow, and you hate that it makes your thighs press together.

“figured.” he repeats. “you look soft.” he shrugs. “just… different.”

you don't say anything. try to walk away —maybe to the sink, maybe just to breathe—but he stands before you can, blocking the small kitchen path.

you look up at him. you don’t mean to. but you do. he's way taller than you up close. face carved and rough. buzzcut sharp. blue icy eyes. god.

you try to speak, but his fingers reach out, grazing the edge of your sweater where it had lifted earlier.

“you wear this to tease?” his voice is hoarse now.

you go still.

“n-no—”

“but you bend like that,” he says, voice low. “reaching like that. little sweater lifting. like you want me to look.”

you feel hot all over. cheeks, chest, everywhere.

your voice is barely a whisper. “you were looking?”

he doesn’t deny it. instead, he moves closer.

“are you cold, milaya?” (sweetheart)

you shake your head, but your body’s already giving you away—arms crossed, chest heaving.

he lifts a hand, brushes your hair back behind your ear.

“you look cold,” he says, but there’s a dark smile on his lips. “you need body heat. da?”

you can’t answer. you nod. stupid. silent. soaked in something you don’t want to name.

he leans in slow. you feel his breath before his mouth.

“you american girls always so shy?”

“maybe it’s your buzzcut,” you whisper, trying to joke. but your voice is shaking.

he huffs a laugh. “you like it?”

“yeah,” you murmur. “makes you look mean.”

he grins. “i am mean.”

then his lips are on yours.

the kiss is rough. not sweet. not gentle.

his hands find your waist like they’ve been there before. he walks you back until your hips hit the counter. you gasp into it, and he takes that as permission — his tongue slipping in, tasting, teeth grazing your bottom lip.

your hands are on his chest before you realize. he’s hard under the thermal shirt, solid muscle and heat. you fist the fabric, try to pull him closer. you hear him groan.

his hands move lower. squeeze your hips. pull you forward. you feel the outline of him through his pants—hard, thick, heavy. your head’s spinning.

“you wear nothing under this sweater?” he breathes against your throat, fingers slipping under the hem.

you try to lie. “of course i… i am—”

he pulls back just enough to lift the sweater. you flinch, but he hums in approval. “fucking knew it.” his hands find your bare waist, sliding up slowly. fingertips hot, greedy, reverent.

“look at you,” he growls. “standing in my kitchen like something out of dream.”

you press your thighs together.

he notices. of course he does.

“you’re wet?” he asks, almost amused.

you look away. embarrassed. turned on beyond words.

his hand comes down to your thigh, under the hem of your sleep shorts.

“hm?”

“yes.” you breathe. you’re soaked.

“good.” he murmurs. “then let me feel.”

and when he finally does— when his fingers find the heat between your legs, slip past the fabric— you moan so soft he nearly loses it right there.

“fuck.” he hisses. “this pussy wet for me, isn’t it?”

you nod. you don't even care if it makes you weak. you’re panting. you’re barely holding onto the counter when he pulls his fingers from your underwear, slow, like he’s savoring every second. he looks at you with those blue icy eyes.

but then? he pulls away.

you whimper. “what—”

he cuts you off, licking his fingers. “we don’t fuck in kitchen.”

you blink, dizzy. “why not?”

“mama would kill me.” he shrugs, casually grabbing your hand. “you know how old russian women are. sacred kitchen, sacred table. no sex.”

your thighs are still shaking and he’s making jokes?

but you don’t argue because now he’s pulling you down the dark hallway. his grip is strong, like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he lets go. the storm outside howls louder, wind slamming against the windows. it doesn’t matter. nothing exists but him.

his room is small. military neat. sheets gray, floor cold. he shuts the door behind you. doesn’t lock it. doesn’t need to.

“bed,” he says, voice rough, accent thicker now. “go.”

you do. you sit on the edge, hands in your lap, heart pounding. he stands over you, shirt still on. muscles flexing under black fabric.

“take off,” he nods at your sweater.

you hesitate. still, you pull it off. slow. your nipples hard in the cold air.

he watches. hungry and proud.

“you look so fuckin’ malyshka like this. too soft for winter.”

you shift. “is that a bad thing?”

you don't even understand what he's saying but it's the way he says it.

he kneels between your legs. his big hands slide up your thighs.

“no. you’re too soft. too small. too pretty. good thing.”

your breath catches. “then why are you still wearing clothes?”

he grins. “you want to see so bad, da?”

then he stands. he peels the shirt off, slow, deliberate. his body is unreal. broad chest, scars across his ribs, abs like stone. the buzzcut just does it with all that muscle. like he’s some war god.

but when he unbuckles his belt, everything inside you goes still. he drops his pants. underwear next. your jaw might hit the floor. because his cock is bigger than imagined. thick. heavy. veiny. hanging long and hard between his thighs.

your thighs press together out of instinct. your mouth goes dry. he notices—of course he does.

“mm?” he smirks. “you scared?”

you blink fast. “that’s not… gonna fit.”

he laughs, low and deep. it’s so russian it sounds illegal.

“oh, mila. i’ll make it fit.”

and then he’s on you.

pushing you back into the mattress, climbing over you like he’s claiming land. his hand cups your jaw, thumb stroking your lips.

“sure you want it?”

“yes.”

“then open.”

you do. he kisses you again, harder now. one hand sliding between your legs, back into your underwear, finding that wet heat and groaning.

“you’re dripping for me,” he growls. “fucking little thing.”

you moan when he starts rubbing slow circles on your clit, two fingers deep now.

“feel how tight you are,” he mutters. “this tiny pussy… kak eto voobshche vozmozhno?” (how is this even possible?)*

“please, rafe,” you gasp. his eyes flash.

“you beg so sweet, malyshka.”

he lines himself up, and even just the tip of his cock makes you cry out. it burns. stretches. but fuck, it’s so good.

he goes slow at first—muttering in russian under his breath.

“takaya uzkaya… suka…” (so tight… fuck…)

“ty moye malen’koye sokrovishche…” (you’re my little treasure…)

every inch feels like too much, but you don’t want him to stop. his hands grab your hips, pinning you in place.

“take it,” he growls. “take all of me.”

you’re gasping, eyes rolling back. it’s too much. feeling him everywhere. his hips snap harder now. deeper. your legs are shaking.

you feel him in your stomach.

literally.

“you feel me here?” he pants, pressing a hand to your belly.

you nod frantically. “yes— yes fuck—it’s so—”

“takaya malen’kaya” he grits. “and taking me so well.”

and then he loses it. the rhythm breaks. the thrusts grow wild.

he flips you over like you weigh nothing, fucks you from behind like it’s instinct—big hands gripping your waist, teeth against your neck.

“gonna fill you up” he grunts. “you want that?”

you whimper. “yes—yes, please— come inside me.”

“my cum. fuck— deep inside your pussy.”

when he comes, it’s with a growl in your ear and a final, brutal thrust that sends you over the edge.

you’re both breathless, sweaty, wrecked.

he stays inside you for a moment, not moving, just breathing heavy against your back.

“bozhe…” (god…) he mutters. “welcome to russia.”

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pairing ; babydaddy!rafe x babymomma!reader

WARNINGS ⭑.ᐟ pure smut, ex dynamic, swearing, praise kink, fem terms used, tit-sucking, not proofread.

NOTES ⭑.ᐟ you’re responsible for the content you consume.

WORD COUNT ⭑.ᐟ 1.1k

AUTHOR’S NOTE ⭑.ᐟ likes, reblogs, and requests are encouraged and appreciated 🐆

it wasn’t supposed to end up like this.

he was supposed to drop off june and leave. not end up in your bed, tangled up in your sheets, your bare chest pressed against his as your hips bounced on top of him, holding onto his shoulders for support.

he let out a groan of your name, his hands holding you up by the underside of your thighs, bouncing you up and down on his dick casually, helping you ride him. “fuck, baby..” he mumbled, letting out a heavy exhale. “best damn thing i’ve ever had, huh?”

you were barely listening, your brain flipping between how good it felt and how wrong it was, riding your ex boyfriend after swearing he wouldn’t get to you again, after swearing you were done with him.

despite your thoughts, your hips moved faster, clit catching against the base of him, forcing a choked moan from your lips as you leaned further into his chest. he leaned forward from his position against the pillows, his mouth closing around your nipple, sucking the bud lazily with a muffled groan. your hand flew to the back of his head, holding him against your chest with a shaky sound that sounded like a moan and a whimper, looking down at him.

“c’mere, baby,” he panted heavily, his arms lacing your torso as he held you up against him. he was looking up at you like you hung the stars, like you were his entire world, looking at you like you were still his, like nothing had changed. “ride it, baby, ride that dick like it’s yours, please.”

your hips moved faster against your better judgement, humping him desperately like he would disappear if you slowed down, the fire in your tummy burning hotter and hotter the more he spoke.

“rafe—“ you gasped, holding onto his bicep with a death grip, manicured nails digging into his skin. “don’t let me go, don’t make me stop—“

your words were jumbled, a slight crack making its way through your tone, your bottom lip wobbling as you pleaded with him. his hold on you tightened, his hand smoothing over your lower back, shushing you with a quieted murmur.

“shh, shh, shh,” he whispered, letting your hips rock against him in a desperate effort to get yourself to the edge. “take what y’need, honey, m’right here. ain’t lettin’ you go anytime soon, yeah? just make yourself cum, ma.”

you buried your face into his neck, your eyes squeezing shut as your thighs tensed up, feeling his hips raise up to buck into you. muffled whimpers fell from your lips, nails surely leaving red scrapes along his back, pulling him tighter against you. your mind was fuzzy, trying to push away the sense of guilt you felt, trying to let yourself have this.

“oh my gosh—“ you were panting now, a burning sensation settling in your thighs as you moved even faster if possible, hand tightening around the thick muscle of his bicep. “rafe, m’gonna cum—“

your voice was hoarse, raw from biting back the sob that threatened to come up. his hold on you was like an anchor, both hands splayed over your back, helping your hips bounce even if your thighs were shaking.

“c’mon, baby,” he murmured, the warmth of his voice comforting against your neck. his hand slipped around, thumbing at your clit in an attempt to soothe the burn, your hips shaking against him. “let it go, let yourself feel it, mama. y’deserve it, c’mon.”

between his cock plunging in and out of you, his thumb swiping at your clit in messy strokes, and him cooing into your ear— you were a goner. a sharp, whiny moan ripped from your throat, his hand covering your mouth in an attempt to silence the loud noise coming out of you, groaning quietly at the way you creamed around his dick.

“god, there y’go,” he groaned out, his cum spilling into you with a rough squeeze at your ass. “look so pretty when y’cum, always have— c’mere.”

his lips were on yours, his tongue brushing against yours in a way that was familiar, in a way that made the heat in your stomach dissipate in an array of affection. your lips moved against his like it was second nature, letting yourself enjoy the way his hands slid over your sides, groping at the fat of your hips and stroking the stretch-marks on your stomach.

“we shouldn’t—“ you started, his lips pushing against yours again in an attempt to silence you.

“don’t,” he mumbled, his hand resting against the soft skin of your lower back, pressing an array of messy kisses to your lips. “don’t say that after i just made you cum harder than any of those fuckers you’ve been with, alright? let me have this.”

he pulled you closer to his body, his hand resting against the back of your head with a heavy exhale, his bottom lip caught between his pearly whites. he pressed a kiss against your cheek, nose bumping against yours, before whispering into your ear. “let me hold you, just like before.”

despite your better judgment, you slumped against him, not having the energy to fight against your feelings— not having the will to deny him of what you both wanted.

another messy kiss was placed to your cheek, before he murmured— “good girl.”

© bardotfawn . copying or plagiarizing my work is not permitted.

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WHOA WHOA WHOA 🚨🚨‼️ why was this so good? what?

stockholm ☆⠀rafe cameron

♡⃣where you're kidnapped by some masked russian after school. he's very mean but... what if he's hot under that mask?

pairing ! :⠀fem!reader x slavic!rafe.

warnings ! :⠀smut. degradation. swearing. handjob. fingering. cum in face. penetration. p in v. rough sex.

you wake up with your cheek pressed to the cold floor. for a moment, you forget where you are. then you remember the van after school.

you curl in on yourself. it’s cold in the room and your legs are bare, your school skirt hitched up halfway to your thighs. you're tied and it hurts, whimpering.

you hear voices—low, sharp—cut through the silence.

two russian men. you can’t see much from where you are, but you catch black worn boots. one stands with his back to you, the other leans against the wall.

“ona yeshchyo spit? (she still asleep?)

the standing older man turns. his eyes meet yours. they’re sharp, mean. he mutters something, walks closer.

“prosnylas', malen'kaya soochka. (awake, little bitch.)

you flinch. you don’t know what he said, but his tone makes your stomach drop. the other one doesn’t even look at you.

“w-where am i?”

“don’t speak,” he snaps, grabbing your chin hard. “daddy made bad decisions. you're here like a dog until he pays, yeah?”

you spit at him. directly into his face, landing on his cheek and mouth. it’s messy. wet.

“сука!” (bitch!)

his hand raises—fast. but it never lands.

“не трогай её.” (don’t touch her.)

you see the other man now. the one from last night. he wears a black ski mask, but his eyes are unmistakable. ice blue. his voice is cold, calm.

his hand caught the other man’s wrist mid-air. they lock eyes and the other man growls something.

“ты с ней сидеть хочешь? вперёд.” (you wanna babysit her? go ahead.)

“иди на хуй.” (fuck off.)

he leaves, and now it’s just you and him.

you sit up awkwardly, trembling, sniffling. your wrists hurt. your blouse’s half open from when they dragged you in here. skirt still crooked. white socks dirty from the floor.

he looks at you. no pity. just... observation.

you blink at him. voice small. dumb.

“…are you a perv?”

his brows lift slightly. “do i look like one?”

you nod, slow. his eyes narrow. he steps closer, slow, lazy almost.

“you’re tied up, crying. little uniform. looking at me like that... i could do anything i want to you right now.”

your heart stutters. eyes wide and scared.

but he exhales, bored. “but nah, not my thing.”

you frown. “…then why’m i here?”

he walks past you, drops into a couch like he owns the room and everything in it. you’re still on the floor.

“until daddy pays,” he says, “you’re mine.”

“did you have to tie me up?” you whine. “i’m not gonna run.” he doesn’t even look at you.

“i still think you’re a perv.”

his head turns slowly. those blue eyes find you again. unblinking. he crosses the room and grabs your face. not hard enough to bruise, but hard enough to make you gasp. fingers on your jaw, thumb pressing into your cheek.

his voice drops. “ty budesh’ sebya khorosho vesti, da?” (you’re going to behave, yeah?)

your eyes flutter. “yes... sir.”

in the middle of the night, you wake up shaking. the room’s dark, except for the orange flicker of a streetlamp bleeding through the broken blinds.

you sniffle again. louder than before. your stomach aches from crying. a groan cuts through the silence.

“blʲyat’...” (fuck...)

he’s on the couch still, mask on, shirt off now — broad chest rising and falling slow beneath a thin blanket. he lifts his head lazily, annoyed.

“what now?” his voice is thick, sleepy accented. “why the fuck are you crying again?”

you blink at him, eyes wide and stupid. you lift your hands weakly. “it hurts.”

he stares at you for a long second. then drops his head back with a groan. he doesn’t ask what. he sees it. the red. the chafed skin. he exhales like the world’s most exhausted man, gets up, and walks toward you. you feel small, stupid. he doesn’t say anything.

your eyes follow him, curious. “you’re probably hot under that mask.”

“yeah?” he says low. “you thinking about what i look like, little girl?”

you nod. “mm-hmm.”

he lifts you like you weigh nothing. you suck in a breath. he smells like cigarettes. his fingers dig into your thigh, big hand wrapped around your soft skin. he throws you back over his shoulder. you squeak while he tosses you onto the couch.

you bounce, skirt flipping up slightly, landing on your side. you let out a soft moan on impact.

his head snaps to you.

“…what the fuck was that sound?” he asks, voice tighter now. there’s almost a smirk behind the mask.

you look up at him, blinking. he steps closer, slow, arms folded.

“you that sensitive, kotenok?” (kitten)

you don’t answer.

he takes the knife from the side table and crouches in front of you.

“не двигайся” (don’t move.)

he slides the blade under the tie. a tiny flick — and it snaps. your wrists fall to your lap. they burn.

you don’t say thank you, just stare at him, wide-eyed. his face is close.

”you try anything…”

you nod slowly. “...you kill me. i know.”

you reach down to pull your tiny skirt lower — it barely covers your thighs, and it’s riding up a lot. he sees that too. he chuckles low. like it’s amusing to him.

“so shy now,” he murmurs. “i bet if i touch you again, you cry”

your thighs press together before you can stop yourself. he notices. of course he notices.

he doesn’t smile. just watches you.

“…my dad's probably looking for me right now,” you whisper.

he snorts. “no, princess. your daddy forgot about you.”

you have glassy eyes again. you try to hide them but he sees. he crouches beside the couch, pats your cheek like you’re a sad little dog.

“aw. don’t cry now,” he mocks. “was just getting cute.”

his hand drops to your thigh. plays with the edge of your skirt. pushing the fabric just an inch higher.

“…you’re mean,” you whisper.

he tugs the skirt back down. just a little.

he lifts the knife again but slower this time. deliberate. he drags the flat of it down your sternum. slow. the cold steel parts your already unbuttoned shirt, brushes the edge of your lace bra.

your breath hitches. he watches your chest rise.

then the blade glides lower. down your stomach. your waist. the hem of your skirt. he doesn’t break eye contact.

you open your mouth to say something—anything—but then something shifts. you glance down.

you see it. the tent in his pants. tight.

you giggle, it slips out before you can stop it.

his eyes narrow. “what’s fucking funny?”

you bite your lip, whispering, “…you’re hard.”

he looks down. stiffens.

“blyad’,” (fuck)

he covers it with his hand, turning slightly. annoyed.

you tilt your head. smile, soft.

“…i can help if you want.”

his head snaps toward you. brows low, eyes dark. the room is heavy with silence. he watches you. like he’s waiting for you to flinch. for you to backpedal. you don’t.

“god. you're so stupid” he says, voice lower.

“i am.” you whisper.

he leans in, slow. his hand cups your jaw again, rougher this time. thumb brushing your lip.

“you want to touch me?” he asks, voice tight.

you nod, heart pounding. “i think you want me to.”

“you dumb little girl…” his thumb presses into your cheek.
“offering help to the bad guy?”

“you’re the one hard over me,” you whisper back, a little breathless. he stares. then he laughs — actually laughs — low, disbelieving.

“pizdets,” (fucking hell)

he pulls you into his lap. thighs against his. his hands on your waist now, under your shirt.

his jeans press against the inside of your thighs. your fingers twitch, hovering over his chest like you’re not sure if you’re allowed to touch.

you look at him. really look. blue eyes. cold. amused. like he’s watching a child try something they don’t understand. he doesn’t move. doesn’t speak. just tilts his head slightly, watching.

your fingers brushing the lines of his abs. he doesn’t move. just lets you explore. you reach out with shaky hands lower to his waistband. his eyes narrow.

you press your palm over his crotch. he’s hard now. not all the way, not yet. but thick and growing under your hand.

you glance up, mouth parted. he watches you. doesn’t say a thing. like he’s waiting to see what this dumb little girl’s gonna do next.

you undo the button. then the zipper. you peek... he still doesn’t stop you.

when you pull it down, your breath catches — he’s only half-hard but already thick, heavy. you blink, unsure, shy.

his hands slide rough to your ass. you gasp.

“you want it, but you don’t know what to do?” he mutters.

you nod dumbly, and he tsks like you’re disappointing him. his hands keep grabbing you, kneading your thighs. then you see the knife. he lifts it without a word, presses the tip to your chest and cuts.

your shirt splits with a soft shrrrk — your lace bra peeking underneath. you flinch, heart racing. he hums low. not in comfort but in amusement.

he tosses the shirt to the floor slow, like he enjoys watching you squirm. his hands are on your bra with his palms rubbing over the lace, thumbs circling your nipples until they perk. you whimper and he groans quietly.

his hips twitch. you keep touching him, stroking his cock slow and clumsy, fascinated by the way he thickens under your hand.

“you don’t even know what you’re doing.” he growls, but there’s a hint of restraint under it. like he’s about to snap.

he curses. again and again.

“eto pizdets…” (this is fucked…)

then suddenly he moves. grabs you by the waist, throws you rough back onto the couch like you weigh nothing. you squeal.

he walks to a cabinet. you sit up on your elbows, heart pounding. he opens it and pulls out a wallet. opens it slowly and takes out a condom.

you swallow. he groans low under his breath, shoving the drawer shut.

“going to get me in trouble for this.” he mutters, voice flat, like it’s your fault. “so you better behave.”

you smile a little, still breathless. “…you were a perv after all.”

he drops on the couch and spreads his legs wide. then grabs your ankles and drags you by your thighs, flipping you so you’re on your stomach over his lap. your skirt rides up, legs kicking a little from surprise.

he grabs the back of your neck and pushes you down gently. “stay still.”

you shiver. his fingers play with your skirt. dragging it up slowly, teasing. you try to look back again, curious and confused. his palm lands on your ass hard.

his fingers hook into your panties, tugging them down slow.

“i’ll show you what pervs do to dumb little girls like you.” he murmurs and you moan softly, hips twitching.

he presses you down harder, dragging one finger up the back of your thigh, slow, right to where your panties were just a second ago.

he hums when he finds your pussy already wet.

“this all for me, baby?” he murmurs, amused.

you don’t answer. you can’t.

he drags the edge of his finger through your folds, just barely, not enough. he’s fucking teasing.

he pulls away and you whine, twisting, trying to rub your thighs together. looking for that friction.

“stop moving,” he says. “or i’ll leave you like this.”

he pushes your legs apart, slowly, like he’s checking how far they go. then leans in, voice rough.

“anyone ever touched your pussy before?”

you swallow. “no... just me.”

he groans under his breath. “of course.”

his fingers return. this time two slide in with ease, your body clenching tight around them.

“tight little thing,” he mutters. “you touching yourself at night thinking about bad men like me, huh?”

you nod weakly, already shaking. he curls his fingers, rough, hitting that spot, watching your body twitch.

then he pulls away again. you moan in frustration.

“you cum when i say,” he snaps. “not before.”

you nod frantically, desperate. “yes– yes sir.” he grins satisfied.

he stands, grabs your wrist. “c’mere.”

you stumble after him, skirt still bunched, panties at your knees. he drags you to the edge of the couch, pushes your chest down against the armrest.

your toes barely reach the ground. he’s so much taller than you, you have to stretch to stay in place — ass up, legs trembling.

you feel him behind you. he grinds his cock between your thighs.

“this how you wanted it?” he murmurs. “get used like a hole?” you nod, desperate, panting.

he lines up, pushes just the tip in — then pulls back. you whimper.

“shut up.” he slaps your ass. makes you jolt. holds your hips, positions you right where he wants you.

then he pushes in, slow. your walls stretch painfully around him, hot and thick and pulsing.

you gasp. he groans.

“fuck… so fuckin’ tight.”

he holds himself still once he’s in deep. then begins to move. hard and fast. no mercy.

he fucks you like you’re not supposed to enjoy it.

he grabs your hair, yanks your head back, keeps fucking you through every noise, every squirm, every twitch of your body begging for release.

“you wanna cum?” he growls.

“yes– please–” he pulls out.

you scream in frustration. he drags you back by your thighs, flips you to your knees on the floor. his cock’s right in front of your face now.

“mouth.” he says.

you open it eager. lips wet, eyes glassy.

but he doesn’t let you take him in. instead, he strokes himself — rough, fast.

he watches you look up at him, wide-eyed and ruined.

his voice breaks. "looking fuckin' pathetic."

you moan, thighs pressed tight, needy and undone. he groans once, deep in his chest— then finishes all over your face.

his cum messy and feels warm.

you flinch, mouth still open, cum dripping from your cheek to your chin.

he pants heavy. still towering over you.

then finally — finally — he pulls the mask off.

his face is flushed. jaw sharp. dirty blonde buzzed hair. blue eyes blown black with lust.

he stares down at you. and for the first time—

you see his smile.

“все равно нужно, чтобы папа заплатил.” (still need daddy to pay.)

[itsthestutterforme]

Carry You (Rafe Cameron x black!reader)

Summary: You noticed Rafe getting too much in his head about taking over his dad’s construction business so you decided to plan a little surprise when he comes home from work.

Warnings: none, this is a pretty wholesome story y’all. Let this cleanse your feed from smut for a little bit. 😂

Inspiration: “Carry You” by Novo Amor

**

Rafe’s voice sounded like he was in a tunnel, but it slowly brought you out of your sleep. Opening your eyes, you see Rafe’s bare back turned to you. His phone tilted to his ear as he spoke in a low tone into the phone.

“Rafe?” you grumbled, a yawn quickly escaping you. He looks over his shoulder at you, a serious expression weighing on his brow.

“I’ll be on my way soon. Just don’t do anything until I get there, alright?” He waits until the man confirms before hanging up.

“Hey, baby,’ he greets, pressing a warm kiss to your lips and you hummed in response. “I thought you were spending the day with me?” you spoke against his lips.

Laying back down, he follows your lips for another kiss, crawling back into bed and sliding in between your legs. “I know, baby. But I never have an official day off being the boss.”

Taking a deep breath, you slowly blink up at him. You ignored your heart racing from his toned abdomen pressing against your lower stomach.

“Don’t be upset with me, please?” “I’m not. I just - I miss you very much.” “I’m right here. Hey,” he takes your face into his hands, caressing the apple of your right cheek.

“I’m right here, okay? I’m not going anywhere.” “Okay,” you gave him a nod.

“I know it’s been a while since we had some time for ourselves. But I’m doing this for us, so we can build a family. That’s why I get up every day to do this. Don’t lose sight of that, alright?”

“I believe you, Rafe. We’re okay.” “Yeah?” he asks, not fully convinced. “Yeah, I'll probably head back to sleep.”

Still holding your face, he pulls you closer to plant a kiss on your forehead. He waits a few seconds before pulling away and pressing his forehead to yours.

This was it- this was all you wanted. For him to be present. Not for a few moments in the morning, but throughout the day.

You’re proud of him for taking over his dad’s business, but you hadn’t truly realized what that meant until it was too late.

And now, you’re not too sure the relationship can survive that kind of strain.

You can imagine what it does to a relationship to go from seeing someone every day to him leaving in the morning before you had the chance to kiss him goodbye.

“I love you,” you whispered, bumping his nose with yours. “I love you too, baby. So much.”

It pained him to leave you like this. It pained him to leave you at all. He misses you as soon as he steps foot outside of Tannyhill.

He hesitantly pulls away from you and slides out of bed. You couldn’t bring yourself to watch him get ready.

You knew it would make you emotional and the last thing you needed was Rafe tearing himself in half trying to make you feel better and giving his crew direction.

So you brought the covers over your head and turned on your side, waiting until you heard the door open and close.

But I’m doing this for us, so we can build a family.

**

“Girl, that sounds like a good problem to have. A man wanting to provide for you.” Cleo suggests, taking a sip of her Pineapple Dacquiri as she lounges by your pool.

You adjust yourself in the pool chair, laying on your side. “Would you like a refill, ma’am?” Your bartender asked Cleo.

“It’s just Cleo, sweetheart. And yes, I would love another one.” “Thanks, Tracy.” You said with a smile, to which she reciprocated.

“I still can’t believe you have your own private bartender.” Cleo jests. “Rafe insisted. Once I said that I loved Tresh’s drinks at The Flamingo, he hired her part time soon after.” You explained.

“Come on, say what you need to say, girl.” Cleo initiates when Tracy returns with her drink.

You took a long sip of your Mango frozen margarita, you continued, “I know I probably sound selfish but I’m just scared, Cleo. What if he starts to lose feelings for me? What if the distance pushed us so far apart, we can’t find our way back together?”

“This is where I tell you that I love you but you’re letting your mind run rampant.” Your shoulders sag a little, because you knew she was right.

Cleo is one of your closest friends because you know that she’ll tell you the truth, even if it hurts your feelings.

“If there’s one thing I know about Rafe Cameron, it’s that he loves you more than he loves himself. You make him a better person. And that’s saying a lot considering I don’t like the man.”

You chuckled, moving the straw in your margarita. “As soon as you set foot in Outer Banks, he worked to make you his. You did in one hour what most girls in this town spent months trying to do. And you did it without lifting a finger.”

“I’m sure he misses you just as much as you miss him. And I’m sure that he feels bad for even allowing your thoughts to get to this point.”

“What should I do then? Can I even do anything?” “Do you love him?” “Of course,” “Then maybe think of something that reminds the both of you why you gravitated towards each other.” She explains.

You found it hard to stay serious. “That was very wholesome of you to say,” he says. “You know what, Y/N?” She snarks, her Caribbean accent grew heavier with her annoyance.

“No, I’m not making fun of you. I just remember when you called me a softy when I said stuff like that.”

You both took another sip of your drink. “Looks like those rom coms with Pope are starting to pay off.” You added.

“Yeah, they’re not too bad.” A comfortable silence fell over the two of you. “I’m grateful for you, girl.”

“I know,”

**

Rafe just arrived home from one of the most stressful days at work. It was tax season and his accountant was missing some documents.

When trying to find those, the accountant realized his contractor’s permit was expiring this week.

Even after all that, Rafe still managed to stop by the grocery store on the way home to get you flowers.

He feels awful that he hasn’t been spending a lot of time with you the past couple of weeks.

He rehearses his apology in his head as he walks up the stairs, the bouquet on the crook of his arm as he unlocks the front door. When he enters the house, he’s met with the instant aroma of candles.

He looks down to see small tea candles lining the edges of the walls and rose pedals scattered in the middle all the way down the hallway.

“Babe?” he calls out confused. This couldn’t be for him, was it? “I’m in here,” you spoke from the living room.

Rafe follows your voice until he’s greeted with your warm smile and a cake in your hands.

“What is all this, Y/N?” Rafe questions, looking around at the balloons littering the ceiling and more rose pedals around the living room floor.

“It’s a You’re-Doing-Great party. See?” you moved closer so he could see the cake. You wrote ‘You’re Doing Amazing Rafe’ in blue buttercream flavored piped icing.

Rafe pauses for a moment, staring at the cake in your hands. You thought he was dissociating until you saw tears building up in his eyes. No one ever truly told him he was doing a good job.

The only time he heard it was when his Mom was still alive. Now, he just hopes that he’s doing well. Most times than not, he barely believes he’s a good person.

No one told him he was doing a good job, let alone throw him a party. “Rafe,” you said softly, setting down the cake. “I-I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to feel sorry about, come here.” You open your arms and he falls to his knees, dropping the bouquet on the ground.

He wraps his arms tightly around your abdomen. Instinctively smoothing your hand over his buzz cut, he softly cries into your stomach.

“I thought about what you said this morning. You said ‘But I’m doing this for us, so we can build a family.’ And I knew exactly what was going through your head. You succumb yourself to stressful situations because you think you deserve it. And you try to handle everything by yourself because you don’t want me to witness when you make mistakes.” you started, his cries slowly subsided the longer you spoke.

“You’re way too hard on yourself, Rafe. I know because I am too. We really are our own worst critics. You deserve some cake and some rest.”

He pulls away from your stomach with a few stray tears leaving his eyes. You wiped them away with your thumb as you held his face in your hands like how he did this morning.

Pressing a soft kiss on his lips, his eyelashes flutter at your closeness. “I thought you were going to leave me,” he confessed.

You respond by pressing a longer kiss on his lips, his shoulder relaxed as his lips fell in sync with yours.

“If you think I’ve spent the past two years with you just to leave when things get hard, you have another thing coming, Rafael Cameron.” you professed when you broke away from him. His eyes dilated the longer he looked up at you.

“Come on, let’s cut some cake. Dinner is on its way.” You offer your hand to him and he swiftly stands to his full height, towering over you.

“Guess what flavor the cake is?” It doesn’t register that you were asking him a question until you look up at him expectantly.

What quickly captivated him was how your perfect, princess cut ring was tucked snug in the glove box of his car.

[itsthestutterforme]

Ｂｉｒｔｈｄａｙ Ｂｌｕｒｂｓ

Ｎｕｍｂｅｒ 𝟸

𝓯𝓻𝓪𝓽𝓯𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽𝓬𝓵𝓾𝓫!𝓻𝓪𝓯𝓮 𝔁 𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻

+18 -> “𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐... 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚕𝚎𝚝 𝚖𝚎 𝚍𝚘 𝚒𝚝.”

c/w: reader is possessive over rafe, physical violence (reader fights), caregiver dynamic (rafe), verbal insults, name calling, blood mentioned briefly, pet names, oral sex (female receiving) + fingering

2K

ᯓ★

𝓯𝓻𝓪𝓽 𝓻𝓸𝔀 𝓫𝓵𝓸𝓬𝓴 𝓹𝓪𝓻𝓽𝔂…

You’re tucked right up against Rafe, his arms wrapped tight around your waist from behind, his lips brushing your neck every few seconds. You’re laughing, head tipped back against his shoulder, swaying your hips to the music as you sing along, your body grinding into his.

But you can’t ignore her. Amber. Standing way too close, glued to Topper’s side but shooting those lingering glances at Rafe when she thinks you’re not looking.

Her voice cuts in every few minutes—snide, pointed, dripping with that syrupy fake sweetness that makes your skin crawl. She’s been nasty to everyone all night, but with you, it feels personal. And you hate it; hate the way she leans into conversation like she still belongs next to him.

You hate that she and Rafe have history—that she’s kissed him, touched him, knows him in ways only you wanted to know him.

Rafe’s focused on you—his mouth on your skin; hands on your hips. He doesn’t see it. Doesn’t see the way Amber’s been practically throwing herself at him, right there in front of you, or so it seems.

Her laugh rises above the music. She tosses her hair, low top clinging to her body as she rolls her hips on Topper’s lap, waiting for Rafe to look, and you hate her for it. Point blank.

Rafe leans down, voice warm and low at your ear. “She’s nothing,” he murmurs, lips grazing your earlobe. “Nothin’ to worry about, baby. Let her embarrass her, alright? Desperate as hell.”

You tip your cup back and finish the last of your drink in one swallow, biting back a tight little huff.

Rafe chuckles, kissing you again, dragging his lips along your neck as he murmurs, “M’gonna grab us drinks, alright? Save my spot—” He flashes a look down at you, smirking—“And try not to kick her ass, aight?”

You give him a dry smile, rolling your eyes, feeling her gaze burning into the side of your face before he’s even two steps away.

When Topper wanders off to grab another drink, Amber seizes her moment. “God,” she snaps suddenly, loud enough to slice through the music. “You’re exhausting to watch.”

You slowly turn your head toward her, pulse quickening but your smile stays razor-sharp.

You lean in close, letting your voice drop just for her.

“I’m sorry. What now?” You say, tone sugar-sweet, “I’m exhausting? I’m tryin’ to enjoy my night with my boyfriend. The only one that’s exhausting, Amber, is you. Fucking cunt.”

Her eyes flash with surprise, then anger. She lets out a cold little laugh and tilts her head, giving you a once-over, dripping disdain.

“Finally found a backbone, huh?” she sneers. “Guess you really are Rafe’s type after all.”

You stiffen not because you need her approval, but because it was even a question in the first place. She leans in further, her voice like poison.

“You think this is a backbone?” You murmur. “This is restraint, bitch.”

Amber’s smile falters just a little but she recovers fast. “Sure it is,” she drawls. “You know, you’re not the first one he’s paraded around like this. He gets bored easy, you know that, right?”

You breathe in through your nose, steadying yourself but your pulse is racing; nails digging crescents into the palm of your hand enough to pinch.

Amber smirks, leaning in so close her cheap perfume clogs your nose. “How long do you think before he starts texting me again?” She whispers. “He’s thought about me plenty. Maybe not lately, I’ll give it to you, you’ve got the man distracted for a moment but trust me, babe… he remembers.”

“You wanna know what he remembers? How insufferable you were. How he couldn’t even fake it anymore.” You let your smile widen. “That’s why he left you. That’s why he’s here, wrapped around me.”

“Looking at me,” she corrects you and you swing—fast and clean—your fist connecting square with her cheekbone. Its crack cuts through the bass before the crowd begins to erupt, liquor sloshing as faces turn towards the mayhem. Amber flinches, cupping her face in horror, her features distorting with fury and shame.

And she’s wrong, you’re exactly Rafe’s type: strong, sharp, dangerous when fucked with.

You lunge again, fist twisting in her hair as you drag her sideways, swinging another punch. You don’t stop—“Baby? Hey—Hey. What the fuck?” Rafe’s voice cuts through the noise, sharp and loud.

His eyes go wide as he sees you on top of Amber, hair wild, teeth bared, knuckles flying. And Amber? Helpless and flailing.

It takes half a second for him to react—fast and instinctual—hooking his strong arms under your own, lifting you clean off her, wrapping you up tight against his chest as you kick and twist.

You get one last wild shot in, a solid kick straight into Amber’s gut as he hauls you backward, sending her falling back into Topper as the crowd roars.

Rafe’s breath is hot at your ear, his laugh choked with adrenaline as he tries to steady you. “What’s gotten into you, baby?” He murmurs, half-concerned, half-impressed, by the sight of you like this. “Fuck, princess.”

Rafe’s body tightens around you, locking you to his chest as you struggle, your pulse racing against his.

His heart pounds just as fast as yours, and under all that worry; all that chaos, there’s no mistaking the way his lips curl. The way he looks down at you like you’re his dream girl come to life. He doesn’t even think about setting you down. He doesn’t want to.

He shifts his grip, arms locking under your thighs as your legs wrap instinctively around his waist, arms draping loosely around his neck.

His breath is warm and quick at your temple, the adrenaline still burning off him as he carries you through the crowd.

He steps through the front doors of the frat house, eyes squinting through the darkness, eyes darting over your face, expression tightening when he sees the aftermath. Blood rolls slowly down your cheek from a sharp little gash and his brows draw together, worry knitting deep.

“She got you,” he murmurs under his breath, voice worn with concern.

Your eye’s already swelling, tight and hot, turning dark as he heads up the stairs—doesn’t even slow down when the catcalls and whistles echo behind him. His steps are quick but careful, jaw locked, one hand held up, ready just in case.

The bathroom’s quiet when you get there, door clicking shut behind him. He sets you on the counter without saying a word.

You stay still, legs swinging a little, heart still racing. He steps back just a bit, like he needs space to really take you in. The scene hits him. The familiarity of it all. Except usually it’s him sitting there—bloody, bruised, and aching while you dig around for the first aid kit; you pouring alcohol over his cuts; you fussing and wiping him clean.

He moves over to the medicine cabinet—the same one he’s watched you open a bunch of times after late-night fights—and swings it open, grabbing a bottle of tequila off the top shelf, then pulling out the old first aid kit stuffed behind it.

He tries not to smile, but that’s a fight he won’t win. Even like this, scratched and swelling, messy and fierce you look so sweet. So utterly his.

You reach to your side, fingers trembling as you grab a clean rag, running it under the faucet, warm water running between your fingers, pressing it gently to your cheek but your hands won’t steady.

“Your hands are shaking,” he murmurs, stepping in close again. “Here… Let me do it.”

You drop the rag without argument, leaning slightly into his touch as he takes it from you and starts tending to the cut himself. Rafe’s fingers are rough but careful, and every time he dabs at the blood or places a bandaid just so, he presses a kiss to your lips.

Your heart melts as much as it pounds. A quiet little laugh slips out and you mumble, soft and warm, “I look like you right now.”

He laughs too, that sound sending your stomach flipping and your heart racing. His eyes gleam up as he pulls his hat off, runs a hand through his messy hair, then fits it onto your head backwards. His fingers come up, framing your face, tilting your chin up to him.

“Now you do,” he murmurs, the corner of his mouth lifting into a smirk before he kisses you again but this time, the kiss deepens instantly.

His body moves between your thighs; hips pressing flush against the counter as his mouth claims yours.

You smile against his lips because you can feel it. He loves this… Loves that you didn’t back down. That you fought for him without hesitation. That you made a scene—his girl throwing punches because you couldn’t stand the idea of anyone threatening what’s yours. Just like he would.

You feel his fingers curl at the back of your neck, leaning in even closer. His kiss turning rougher by the second, deepening so fast it steals your breath. Rafe’s mouth moves hot and rough against yours; tongue sweeping past your lips as his grip tightens on your waist.

Then he’s moving you—strong hands sliding under your thighs, pulling you to the very edge of the cool counter, tilting you back just enough so your spine bows; knees falling open around him.

Rafe’s hand moves up your thigh, slow, pushing your skirt higher ‘til it’s all bunched around your hips. His breath catches when he sees how wet you already are, panties stuck to your skin.

His knuckles scrape as he drags them down your legs, sliding your panties off, just letting ‘em fall.

“Fuck, baby,” he mutters, voice all rough and blown out, eyes dark. “You’re… god, you’re so fuckin’ perfect. Perfect for me.”

His words send heat rushing through you, make your skin flush hot as he sinks to his knees right there on the bathroom floor.

His big fingers glide between your folds, sliding through your slick, groaning under his breath like he can’t take it.

Rafe’s fingers circle your clit teasing, smiling as your body reacts; hips tilting, craving more then he pushes two inside you—deep and slow—filling you perfectly. His other hand braces your hip, holding you tight.

You gasp and he leans in even closer, resting his cheek briefly against your thigh as he works his fingers in your soaked pussy; scissoring and curling, digits glistening and wet with arousal.

“You want my mouth too, don’t you?” He rasps, looking up at you, his grin wicked, his eyes soft and hungry all at once. “Bet you do… Bet you’re desperate for it.” He chuckles darkly, breath hot against your inner thigh. “I am.”

The first slow, wet drag of his tongue on your clit has your head falling back, fingers diving into his hair, pulling tight as a broken gasp slips from your mouth.

He groans like he’s starving, devouring you with a messy kind of worship, reserved for you. You whimper at the greedy strokes of his tongue, punctuated by the relentless pump of his thick fingers as he moves them just right.

Rafe’s stance shifts, adding more pressure, more depth; another finger. Your thighs shake as he hauls you right to the edge.

Your cries start to break and he groans ginto you, holding you tighter, pulling you deeper onto his mouth.

The bathroom is filled with it now: the echo of your breathless moans, the wet sounds of his mouth on you, the quiet, sinful rasp of his voice when he mutters, “That’s it, baby… Give it to me… Let me have it…”

Your climax crashes over you; body trembling, fingers knotted in his hair, back arching right off the counter as your cry splits the air and shatters.

Rafe doesn’t stop. He stays with you through it, mouth and fingers working ‘til your hips start to shake and your thighs try to close in around his head. Then he pulls back, letting out a low, smug little laugh.

He lifts his hand, sucking his digits clean, eyes locked on you. Rafe leans in, tilts your chin up, making you look at him.

“Fucking mine, always will be.” He rests his forehead against yours, breathing with you as his smile spreads with yours. “I love you, baby.”

@rafesthroatbaby | @ietss | @lilithblackkk | @cherrywriterrr | @rafecameronsfavourite | @my-name-is-baby | @urmotherlvr | @forgiveliv | @barnesboo1967 | @wtfisastiles | @k4yr14 | @taliescapes | @rafesbuzzcutseason | @sky-44 | @biascriptum | @vanessa-rafesgirl | @lolasangelz | @st8rkey | @lhhlver | @slut-4-rafey | @gri959 | @prettybabyyyy | @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account | @maybankslover | @littlelamy | @buckybarnessweetheart | @angelicameron | @lover-girlyy | @rcameronlova1 | @rafesbabygirlx | @mayanqueenxx | @bimbob1tch | @dylsdaily | @blair-bears-blog | @akobx | @countryclubwhore | @esmerai-artemis | @jkmylove97 | @wtfdudesblog | @livie4lifestarkeyblyth | @yasmin-oviedo | @queen-cs | @floredaqueen | @alexxavicry | @aerie717 | @cokewithcameron | @premiumshitt | @rcameronlova1

[itsthestutterforme]

Please Stop Touching the Thermostat

Where Rafe Cameron turns your house into an icebox, all in the name of love

It happened again.

You woke in the middle of the night, teeth chattering so hard it echoed off the walls. You pulled the covers tighter, but your entire body felt like it was submerged in ice water.

Next to you, Rafe Cameron was warm as a furnace, sprawled on his back, one arm thrown over your waist, lips parted on a gentle exhale.

“Rafe,” you hissed, nudging his ribs. “Wake up, I’m dying.”

He blinked groggily, blue eyes unfocusing and refocusing on your face. “Wha’s wrong?”

“It’s fifty-six degrees in here, that’s what’s wrong!”

He paused, then grinned, sleepy and wicked. “Mmm… snuggle closer, baby.”

“Rafe.”

He rolled toward you, hooking a leg around yours and tugging you flush against his chest. His skin was hot under his t-shirt, arms firm around your back. He buried his face in your neck, stubble brushing your skin, breath sending little shivers down your spine.

“You’re warm now,” he murmured, voice low and husky. “Problem solved.”

You tried to push him away. You tried. But he held you tighter, lips pressing gentle kisses beneath your ear, thumb sweeping little circles over your lower back.

“Rafe. This is manipulative.”

“Nahhh. It’s love,” he said, smirking. “Plus, I sleep better when you’re all over me.”

You glared. “I’m literally trembling.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, gaze suddenly soft. “Baby… you know I’d keep you warm forever, right?” His thumb brushed over your cheekbone. “I’d build a fire with my own two hands. I’d carry you around in my hoodie. I’d—”

“Then why not just set the thermostat to a normal temperature?!”

He bit his lip, as if suppressing a smile. “Because… then you’d drift to the other side of the bed. And I hate when you’re all the way over there.”

Your chest squeezed at the sincerity in his eyes.

“Rafe.”

“Look, I’m just sayin’…” He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, fingertips brushing your temple. “When it’s cold, you curl up against me. You tuck your little feet under my legs. You tuck your face here—” he guided your head into the crook of his neck “—and sigh all soft, like I’m the best thing that’s ever happened to you.”

Your throat tightened. “You… are the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

He froze, lashes fluttering. Then his whole face broke into a grin so wide, it made your heart squeeze. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you whispered.

He dipped his head and kissed you, slow, lingering, lips brushing yours like he was memorizing the taste of your breath. One of his hands slid up your spine, warm and gentle, while the other settled protectively over your ribs.

“Love you,” he mumbled, barely pulling away.

“Love you too,” you breathed.

He kissed your cheek. “Good. Now stay right here, or I’m turning it down to fifty-four.”

“Rafe—!”

But he was already chuckling, shifting until he was half on top of you, tucking the blankets tighter around you both, pressing kiss after kiss into your hair. His nose nuzzled your temple as his palm stroked slow, soothing patterns across your back.

And despite the cold, your chest felt so warm it could’ve lit up the whole room.

Because Rafe Cameron might be a thermostat saboteur but he was also a big softie when it came to you.

[itsthestutterforme]

Please Stop Touching the Thermostat

Where Rafe Cameron turns your house into an icebox, all in the name of love

It happened again.

You woke in the middle of the night, teeth chattering so hard it echoed off the walls. You pulled the covers tighter, but your entire body felt like it was submerged in ice water.

Next to you, Rafe Cameron was warm as a furnace, sprawled on his back, one arm thrown over your waist, lips parted on a gentle exhale.

“Rafe,” you hissed, nudging his ribs. “Wake up, I’m dying.”

He blinked groggily, blue eyes unfocusing and refocusing on your face. “Wha’s wrong?”

“It’s fifty-six degrees in here, that’s what’s wrong!”

He paused, then grinned, sleepy and wicked. “Mmm… snuggle closer, baby.”

“Rafe.”

He rolled toward you, hooking a leg around yours and tugging you flush against his chest. His skin was hot under his t-shirt, arms firm around your back. He buried his face in your neck, stubble brushing your skin, breath sending little shivers down your spine.

“You’re warm now,” he murmured, voice low and husky. “Problem solved.”

You tried to push him away. You tried. But he held you tighter, lips pressing gentle kisses beneath your ear, thumb sweeping little circles over your lower back.

“Rafe. This is manipulative.”

“Nahhh. It’s love,” he said, smirking. “Plus, I sleep better when you’re all over me.”

You glared. “I’m literally trembling.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, gaze suddenly soft. “Baby… you know I’d keep you warm forever, right?” His thumb brushed over your cheekbone. “I’d build a fire with my own two hands. I’d carry you around in my hoodie. I’d—”

“Then why not just set the thermostat to a normal temperature?!”

He bit his lip, as if suppressing a smile. “Because… then you’d drift to the other side of the bed. And I hate when you’re all the way over there.”

Your chest squeezed at the sincerity in his eyes.

“Rafe.”

“Look, I’m just sayin’…” He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, fingertips brushing your temple. “When it’s cold, you curl up against me. You tuck your little feet under my legs. You tuck your face here—” he guided your head into the crook of his neck “—and sigh all soft, like I’m the best thing that’s ever happened to you.”

Your throat tightened. “You… are the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

He froze, lashes fluttering. Then his whole face broke into a grin so wide, it made your heart squeeze. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you whispered.

He dipped his head and kissed you, slow, lingering, lips brushing yours like he was memorizing the taste of your breath. One of his hands slid up your spine, warm and gentle, while the other settled protectively over your ribs.

“Love you,” he mumbled, barely pulling away.

“Love you too,” you breathed.

He kissed your cheek. “Good. Now stay right here, or I’m turning it down to fifty-four.”

“Rafe—!”

But he was already chuckling, shifting until he was half on top of you, tucking the blankets tighter around you both, pressing kiss after kiss into your hair. His nose nuzzled your temple as his palm stroked slow, soothing patterns across your back.

And despite the cold, your chest felt so warm it could’ve lit up the whole room.

Because Rafe Cameron might be a thermostat saboteur but he was also a big softie when it came to you.

[itsthestutterforme]

You’re just trying to walk past the bar crowd, hand in your boyfriend’s and a smile on your lips — until it happens. Some guy. Too drunk.

His hand touches your ass, it wasn't some accidental touch, he full on grabbed it.

And it’s not even subtle. Meaning your boyfriend clearly saw it happen as well. You freeze.

Your smile drops. You don’t even get the chance to react because the second it happens, your boyfriend stops cold. Turns around. Lets go of your hand.

The air changes. It’s like the fucking world pauses — because when he turns around, there’s murder in his eyes.

“Hey,” he says. Voice calm. Controlled. Deadly.

The guy stumbles a little, laughs. “It was a touch, relax—”

Crack.

One punch. Right to the jaw. No hesitation.

The guy goes down instantly, knocked straight into the dirty club floor, clutching his face. Blood already pouring from his nose. People around you gasp. Someone yells. You’re still in shock.

But your boyfriend? He just stands there. Breathing hard. Shoulders tight. Fists clenched like he hasn’t had enough. “You think it’s funny?” he says. Steps forward. “Touching someone who didn’t fucking ask for it?”

The guy groans. Doesn’t answer.

“Get the fuck up.” He doesn’t. Your boyfriend lowers his voice. “I said—get the fuck up.”

You grab his arm. “Babe, stop. It’s fine—”

He turns to you fast, still fuming. “No. It’s not fine. he touched you.” pause "i should cut his hands off for that"

He looks down at you like you’re the only real thing in the world.

“You flinched,” he says again, quieter now. “He made you uncomfortable.” You nod slowly, swallowing, fingers wrapped around his wrist now, grounding him.

His eyes are still wild. He’s still breathing like he might kill someone. But he lets you pull him back. Only after he spits at the guy’s feet.

“Touch her again,” he mutters, voice low and venomous. “And I swear I’ll put you in the fucking ground.” Then he turns. Wraps his arm around your waist.

And as you walk away, tucked under his arm, he doesn’t say a word. He’s still angry. Still ready to snap. But when you look up at him? He’s already looking at you.

Checking your face. Your breathing. Your comfort. “I’m okay,” you whisper. He exhales. Softens just slightly. But not much. Because in his head? He’s still thinking about dragging that guy outside and making sure he never touches another person again.

𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐕𝐘𝐍 | Don't try to be me, you can't.

[itsthestutterforme]

Reblogging to read later 👍🏽

soft and sleepy middle of the night sex with bf!rafe

cw: smut, praise, tit play, fingering, soft sex, unprotected (p in v)

you and rafe lay curled together in the warmth you had created, limbs tangled, skin to skin in some places, the rest barely covered. that’s when rafe stirred, his body shifting slightly behind yours, drawn instinctively closer to the familiar shape of your small frame.

he didn’t open his eyes, not yet, he just pressed a soft, sleepy kiss to your bare shoulder, then another a little higher. his hand, warm and lazy, slid up your waist beneath the thin fabric of your shirt, palm settling beneath you breasts with a gentle possessiveness.

you let out a soft, involuntary sound, halfway between a hum and a sigh, and blinked slowly awake. you shifted back against him, hips pressing a little more snugly into his. “rafey…” you whispered, voice husky with sleep. “mmm.” his voice was low and rough in your ear.

“didn’t mean to wake you.” he murmured. “you didn’t,” you whispered back, turning just enough to see his face. you smiled faintly, still hazy, brushing your fingers through his tousled hair.

your mouths instinctively met in a kiss. it was slow, warm, and tasting of sleep. rafe’s hand slid upward, gently cupping your tit through your shirt, thumb brushing over the soft curve, making you breathe a little deeper, your body waking up under the careful attention of his touch.

he tugged your shirt higher, letting it bunch at your ribs, and you raised your arms in a silent invitation. the shirt slipped off and was tossed somewhere to the floor, forgotten as he leaned in and pressed a trail of kisses from your collarbone to the swell of your breast.

you arched subtly beneath him, fingers still threading through his hair, your body soft and pliant under his. “you’re so warm,” he murmured against your skin, voice gone low and reverent. “and so soft.”

you answered him with a quiet moan, pulling him closer as his mouth found your nipple, his tongue flicking over it in slow, lazy circles. one of your legs slid between his, drawing him flush against you, the heat between you two unmistakable even beneath the sheets.

you could feel the hardness of him through his boxers, thick and heavy against your thigh, and you tilted your hips up to meet him with a teasing smile. “you’re already hard,” you whispered, voice thick and sweet.

rafe groaned softly at the contact, rocking against you once, slow and controlled, his arousal evident now through the thin fabric of his boxers. your hands moved over his toned back, down to his hips, guiding him gently.

“you make me like this, baby.” he kissed you, deep and slow, his hand sliding between your thighs to cup you over your panties, teasing your clit through the damp fabric. “always.”

your lips found his jaw, then his neck, planting slow kisses as your skilled fingers slipped beneath the waistband of his boxers, just enough to brush against the side of his thick cock.

you moved like that for a while, no rush or urgency. just kisses and slow touches, the kind that built heat in waves, steady and sweet. rafe eased your lace panties down your thighs, letting his hand follow, fingertips trailing over the delicate skin at your hips.

he moved slowly until he found you wet and aching, and he moaned softly as he stroked you, slow and deliberate, two fingers gliding through your slick folds. he met your eyes as he touched you, watching your face for every little change, for the flutter of your lashes, the way your breath caught. “that feels so good…”

“i know, baby,” he murmured. “you’re dripping for me.” his voice dropped even lower, “you’re so fucking perfect like this.” you reached down then, wrapping your soft digits around his cock, he was already thick and pulsing in your hand, and you gave him a few slow strokes, loving the way he hissed through his teeth at the contact.

“i want to feel you. all of you.” you begged, arching into him already. and of course rafe couldn’t deny you anything. he was quick to line himself up, the pink head of his cock pressing slowly against your entrance. you gasped as he slid in, stretching you apart, hands gripping his shoulders as your legs wrapped around his waist.

“jesus, you feel…” he groaned, burying himself fully inside your cunt, hips pressed flush. “so tight. so wet. fuck, baby.” you started moving together slowly, your bodies rocking in a lazy, sensual rhythm.

rafe kept his forehead pressed to yours, his thumb brushing over your cheek, then down to circle your nipple again, gently teasing as he moved in and out. every thrust was deep, unhurried, like he was savoring every second, the drag of his cock inside slow and sweet.

“you feel incredible,” he whispered, hips rolling against yours. “like you were made for me.” you moaned softly, nails dragging down his back. “you’re so deep… can feel you everywhere.” rafe murmured your name into your neck, his voice shaking slightly.

“i love being inside you,” he breathed, his rhythm faltering slightly as the pleasure built. “love making you feel this good.” you wrapped your arms around his neck, kissing him messily.

“don’t stop. just like that…”you clenched around him, drawing a ragged groan from his lips as rafe buried himself deeper, his thrusts still slow, but growing more intense. the pleasure curled tighter in your belly, that slow-building heat threatening to snap.

“i’m close,” you gasped, back arching, head falling back. “i’ve got you,” rafe panted, one hand slipping between your bodies to rub your clit just right. “cum for me, baby. let go.”

and you did. shaking and gasping his name, body clenching around him as waves of pleasure rolled through you. rafe groaned loud against your neck and thrust once, twice more before he followed, spilling into you with a trembling whine, burying his face in your shoulder.

he collapsed gently against you, still buried inside, kissing your forehead, your cheek, your lips, as your breathing began to slow again. you brushed his hair back and smiled at him sleepily, your body still warm and vibrating from the closeness.

“i love you,” he whispered, voice still unsteady. you smiled up at him, dazed and glowing. “i love you too, rafe.” he pulled the blankets back over you, gathering you in his arms, and kissed you one last time before you both drifted back into sleep. and inside your bed, the world stayed still.

tags: @inbred-eater @dearapril @isasweetie @rafessecret @littlelamy @bradshawed @cherrygirlfriend @trusweethrt @inspiredangel @bluemerakis @nemesyaaa @rafekisser @deansbeer @ditzyrafe @rafesgreasycurtainbangs @lacyydollette @drewsephrry @angvl3tears @rotapathetic