luvelola

[luvelola]

simon riley x reader (written with black!reader in mind but has no mention of race or “y/n”.)

masterlist !

this was supposed to only be about dry humping but i got a little carried away…

cw: MINORS DNI!!, porn no plot, dry humping, oral (f and m receiving), breast play, mirror fingering, squirting, overstimulation, simon being vocal, and me trying to write in his accent and failing. this is the filthiest thing i’ve written

it starts with you in his lap.

soft light creeping through the window, your thighs on either side of his waist, his back leaned into the couch. your skin’s warm from sleep, shirt thin and riding up as you move against him. your shorts barely cover anything. his sweats are thick but not thick enough.

he’s already hard beneath you.

“hell,” he mutters, his voice low, groggy, still gritty with sleep. “sat on me for what, two minutes? already got me bricked up…”

you grin, shifting your hips deliberately. he groans. it’s deep—a guttural sound from somewhere in his chest—and his hands fly to your waist, squeezing like he’s trying not to lose it.

“you’re such a tease, sweetheart.”

“am i?” you whisper, rolling your hips again, slower now, dragging your soaked panties over the shape of him through both your clothes.

he grunts, then ducks down to your chest—mouth catching the hem of your shirt, dragging it up over your breasts. they spill out naturally, warm and heavy, nipples already tight. the second they’re exposed, his mouth is on you—licking over one, then sucking deep, lips sealing around your nipple while his tongue circles.

you moan softly, arching your back, grinding harder as he sucks harder—wet sounds echoing in the quiet room.

“god, simon…”

“yeah?” he pants, switching sides, mouth slick against your skin. “you like that? these fuckin’ tits… you know how crazy they drive me, don’t you?”

you can’t answer. not with the way he starts bucking up beneath you, cock dragging deliciously over your clit through all that fabric.

you’re both panting now.

he licks your nipple again—then bites gently, just enough to make your thighs tremble. his hands slide behind you, under the cotton of your shorts, grabbing your ass and pulling you forward.

you let out a soft cry as your clit presses perfectly against the ridge of his cock.

“fuckin’ hell,” he growls. “grind on it. go on, love—get yourself off.”

you obey. roll your hips hard. again. again.

and that’s when it gets filthy.

wetness spreads fast between your thighs. the fabric of your panties is ruined. your shorts are drenched. you can feel the shape of his cock, stiff and twitching, the head dragging exactly where you need it.

he’s not helping. just watching. panting. fingers bruising into your hips.

“jesus christ,” he hisses, voice shaking. “you’re so wet it’s soakin’ through… i can feel it, sweetheart…”

your moans turn breathy. frantic. legs shaking as you bounce, faster now, grinding your clit into the shape of him over and over and over until—

you fall apart.

you shake as you come, crying out against his mouth, your thighs clamped tight around his waist. your whole body jerks as you rut against him, humping like you’re possessed, still chasing every last ounce of it.

“oh—fuck—fuck, simon—!”

he grabs your tits again, both hands now, kneading them hard while he ruts up into you—

and then he’s gone.

he chokes, hips jerking beneath you. “shit, love—i’m comin’—fuckin’ comin’ in my fuckin’ pants—”

his head tips back. a raw moan tears from his throat as he ruts up once, twice, cock twitching, cum spilling in thick, hot pulses into his boxers.

you both sag.

soaked. clothes ruined. sweat clinging to your skin.

and then, after a beat—he leans forward, mouth back on your tits.

still licking. still sucking. like he never wants to stop.

“not done with you,” he mutters, breathless. “need to taste it.” and he carries you upstairs.

literally. carries—one arm under your thighs, the other behind your back.

when he sets you down, on the bed, directly in front of the mirror.

he sits behind you on the edge of the bed, legs spread. you’re between them, back against his chest, thighs parted. his arms curl around your waist. one hand moves under your shirt, squeezing gently. the other dips lower.

you lock eyes with your own reflection.

“look at yourself,” he says, voice rough in your ear as he moves lower to kiss behind your ear. “look how needy you are…”

you squirm when his hand moves higher up your shirt.

“so sensitive,” he murmurs, licking just below your ear. “clit’s probably still twitchin’. s’not enough, is it? want more?”

you nod. breathless. already aching.

his hand slips beneath your ruined shorts.

two fingers slide between your folds. hot. slick. soaking. you cry out when he rubs over your clit—slow at first, then with tight circles, steady pressure, drawing it all back up.

his other hand doesn’t leave your chest. not once.

he cups you. rolls your nipple between his fingers. pinches until you arch. his mouth finds your neck again, then your shoulder, and you can feel the heat in your belly building.

then—

he sinks two fingers inside and you clench, hard.

“oh god—oh god, simon—”

“yeah. fuckin’ perfect,” he groans, fingers thrusting deep, curling just right. “so fuckin’ tight. y’already came and you’re still pullin’ me in…”

he watches in the mirror. watches your face, your mouth, bouncing every time his hand moves. watches your legs start to tremble when he adds his thumb to your clit, circling fast now, faster, wetter.

your thighs start to twitch.

“you gonna make a mess for me, sweetheart?” he whispers, fingers pumping harder. “gonna soak my fuckin’ hand? come on. let go. let me have it…”

you break.

your back arches. mouth drops open. your whole body tenses, then jerks—

and then there’s wet heat gushing over his fingers.

your thighs clamp shut. slick drips down to the sheets. you’re still coming, still pulsing, and he just keeps going, fingering you through it, praising you the whole way.

and he whispers, voice reverent. “look at you. such a messy girl. did so good for me…”

you collapse against him.

shaking. gasping. soaked from breast to thigh. he wraps his arms around you, mouth still against your shoulder, fingers stroking gently between your legs as you try to catch your breath.

your legs are still trembling when you turn over your shoulder to lay simon down on the bed.

“…your turn.”

he shakes his head, breathless. “don’t need it, love.”

you smile slow.

“i know. but i want to.”

he hesitates—giving you the chance to straddle his thighs, fingers curling into the sheets.

“fuck’s sake…”

you reach for the waistband of his boxers, which are still wet from earlier. you peel them down slowly, watching as his cock springs free—thick, flushed, still half-hard but twitching at the sight of you.

“already came once in these,” you murmur, dragging your fingers along the base. “gonna come in my mouth now, baby?”

he lets out a choked laugh. “bloody hell, woman…”

you take your time.

you always do with him.

you stroke him first, slow and slick, your palm dragging over the wet head, smearing his precum down the shaft. he’s warm in your hand—hot, even—and growing harder with each pass.

“that’s it,” you whisper, leaning in to kiss his hip. “let me take care of you.”

“sweetheart…”

you kiss his tip.

then flatten your tongue and drag it up the length of him—slow, steady, from base to crown.

his whole body jerks.

“ah—shit—”

you wrap your lips around the head and suck softly, flicking your tongue against the underside, right where you know it makes him twitch. your hand pumps slow at the base, matching the rhythm of your mouth. you look up, meeting his eyes.

he’s already gone.

eyes half-lidded. lips parted. hands fisting in the sheets.

he groans. “mouth’s gonna kill me…”

you hum around him—just enough vibration to make his hips jump.

then you go deeper.

slowly. inch by inch, letting him feel the heat, the wetness, of your mouth swallowing him whole.

he groans. loud. raw.

you hollow your cheeks. bob gently, eyes locked to his, tongue swirling every time you pull back, then taking him down again—wet and hungry.

your hand moves faster.

your other hand lifts to his chest, then drags down to his hip, nails scraping gently along his skin. his thighs twitch. he lifts one hand to your head, not pushing, just gripping your curls while he pants through clenched teeth.

“you’re gonna make me come, love,” he mutters. “you want that? want me spillin’ down your fuckin’ throat?”

you moan again around him.

his grip tightens.

you pull off for just a moment, letting your lips rest against the tip, still stroking him, watching his face twist up with need.

“you taste so good, simon,” you murmur, kissing the tip, “so thick in my mouth…”

his head falls back with a groan.

“jesus christ.”

you go back down.

this time faster, wetter, spit dripping down your chin as you look up at him through your lashes.

“shit—look at you,” he groans. “takin’ me so good, love…”

you can tell he’s close.

his legs are tensing. his breath is stuttering. he starts to buck—slow, shallow thrusts of his hips into your mouth like he can’t help it.

you hold him steady with one hand, working the base, and suck harder.

“fuck—fuck—gonna come—“

his voice cracks.

and then it happens.

he grabs the back of your head with both hands, hips jerking up, cock twitching hard in your mouth as he spills down your throat in thick, pulsing ropes of come. you moan as you swallow, taking every drop, letting your lips stay wrapped tight around the head until he finally gasps:

“baby… enough, shit—i’ll lose my mind—”

you pull back, slow, licking your lips.

his chest is heaving. eyes glassy. one hand over his face, the other blindly reaching for you.

you climb back up to straddle his waist, kissing his chest, your slick thighs pressed to his hips.

he lowers his hand. looks at you.

smiles.

you lean down and kiss him. open-mouthed. slow, until you feel him so limp against your lips. by the time you look at him his eyes are closed and his already snoring.

a/n: mind you, i was listening to laufey while writing this, im not sane.

©luvelola. do not plagiarize or repost any of my work as your own.

[luvelola]

wait i see it… the flirting and the giggles

i’m even more honored you thought of me when you saw the post lol

GUARDIAN'S GIFSET GLOWUPS ↳ Grace & Judd in 3.04 [originally posted January 2022]

[luvelola]

guys i just finished writing the nastiest fic for simon riley.. like the way im proofreading it like?? who wrote this

[luvelola]

MILITARY!RAFE MASTERLIST !

main masterlist !

”at ease baby” - one shot

how rafe and reader met

rafe during childbirth

rafe tracking reader’s cycle on deployment

zara naming ceremony

domestic morning

current bf prank on rafe

rafe on deployment being a weirdo

butt stuff? (rafe receiving)

nighttime routine on the farm

more kids?

reader getting into fight/proud rafe

[luvelola]

Heyy girly pop! So I was wondering if you could do a rafe x reader, where reader gets into a fight(after giving a few warnings) cause someone kept disrespecting her. And rage has to pull reader off of the girl but instead of being pissed he’s all proud. And maybe a little smutty at the end???👀 anyways totally love you and your writing🩵💋

hey!!! thank you so much for the compliment and request, i hope this is to your liking. this can also be in honor of me hitting 300 followers, love you guys. also i didn’t know if you wanted this in the military!rafe au but i added it anyways😭

masterlist !

cw: very mild dirty talk, fluff, praise, hurt/comfort. military themes. rafe calls reader “mama” (i still can’t be stopped), explicit sexual content (18+), oral (f!receiving and m!receiving), mild blood mention (from hand scrape). and rafe is so country in this for some reason idk what i was doing😭

the air in the farmer’s market is thick with the smell of peaches. you’re standing beside a crate of tomatoes with zara on your hip and miles bouncing by rafe’s leg, tugging at the belt loop on his jeans.

everything about the day has been slow and good. a light breeze. baby laughter. rafe with his hand spread warm on the small of your back, grinning like it’s his second job.

he’s been like that since deployment — like he can’t get enough of touching you, having you close. keeps calling you mama in that low voice, even in public, even now as he leans down and kisses your temple.

“think we got everything, baby?” he asks, lifting the basket.

you nod. “eggs, butter, bacon, apples. yeah.”

but just as you shift zara to your other hip, a voice behind you cuts through the easy rhythm of the morning.

“some of us don’t bring the whole damn circus to shop.”

you freeze. for a split second you wonder if you misheard. but rafe’s spine straightens, and his fingers close around miles’s hand just a little tighter.

you turn, slow, your hair brushing your shoulders as you look behind you.

she’s standing there — tight ponytail, cheap sunglasses, brittle-looking mouth twisted in something bitter. the woman from the town over. you’ve seen her before at feed stores and gas stations. always staring. never speaking.

until now.

rafe shifts, but you touch his wrist without looking away from her. “it’s okay,” you murmur, soft, mostly for him.

the woman keeps going.

“all this yelling, kid noise, your dogs in the truck barking their heads off. you really think the rest of us came out here to listen to your family drama?”

your jaw tightens.

zara stirs against you and miles looks up, confused, at the way the energy around him has changed.

you crouch down. “miles, can you go to the truck with daddy and get your juice?”

he hesitates.

“go ahead,” you say, stroking his curls. “i’ll just be a minute.”

rafe starts to speak but you look up at him and there must be something in your eyes that he respects — not fear. not passivity. just calm, sure warning.

“go on,” you say.

he stares at you a beat longer, then exhales through his nose and nods. “you got five minutes. i ain’t lettin’ you get blood on your favorite shoes.”

you straighten and set zara in the crook of the truck bed before stepping back toward the market stand, toward the woman who still hasn’t stopped muttering.

you keep your voice level.

“you got something else to say, you can say it to my face.”

her eyes narrow. “i already said it. y’all act like you own this whole place with your loud-ass kids. nobody cares how many flags you wave when he’s got his tongue down your throat every saturday like a damn teenager.”

you blink once.

then you smile. “you had two chances to walk away,” you say quietly. “and i let you.”

you step forward.

“you don’t talk about my babies. you don’t talk about my man. and you sure as hell don’t open your crusty-ass mouth about what we do.”

the woman scoffs, looks around, maybe expecting someone to step in. but the older couple nearby is already pretending they don’t see it, and rafe is at the truck, arms crossed, watching silently like a lion at a distance.

“you’re just some farm wife with delusions,” the woman sneers.

you let that be the last thing she says.

your knuckles hit her cheekbone hard enough to make her stagger.

it’s one clean swing, just one — but it drops her into a crate of onions and her glasses fly off, clattering to the concrete.

for a moment the air is silent.

then—

“that’s enough, baby.”

rafe’s arms are around you fast. pulling you back gently but firmly, even as your chest heaves. his palm smooths down your side, grounding you.

you’re not yelling. you’re not screaming. just breathing hard, staring down at the woman who tried the wrong one.

“you okay?” rafe says low, brushing your curls off your forehead.

you nod.

he looks down at your hand. your knuckles are red. maybe split.

he kisses them.

“my tough girl,” he murmurs. “my goddamn wife.”

you look up at him. “you mad?”

“mad?” he grins, boyish and proud. “baby, i’ve never been more turned on in my life.”

you laugh, but it’s breathless. you can feel the adrenaline still buzzing under your skin.

“let’s get home,” rafe says. “i got some things i need to thank you for.”

the house is still when you pull up the drive.

biscuit barks once from the back of the truck before jumping out, big paws thumping the dirt. rafe ruffles his ears while shadow stays curled beneath the steps, tail twitching once.

“miles, take zara inside so you guys can wash up before dinner,” rafe says before shutting the door.

the second the door shuts behind you, rafe turns the lock and turns to you.

“let me see your hand again.”

you lift your fingers wordlessly. your knuckles are scraped, a little swollen. rafe brings them to his lips, soft like reverence.

“gotdamn,” he mutters against your skin, “you been holdin’ all that in and didn’t say a word.”

you shrug a little, exhausted from the adrenaline now, the adrenaline and heat and sharpness of what was. you feel it in your legs.

but rafe sees it. he always sees it.

he pulls you in slowly, lets your head rest against his chest.

“you got me, baby,” he says, quiet and sure. “i got you.”

his voice rumbles through his body, pressed to yours. you nod against him.

“was that too much?” you ask, not sure why..

he leans back and cups your face, eyes locked on yours.

“you were everything,” he says. “she should’ve never opened her mouth. and you swung like it was your job to protect what’s yours.”

his thumb slides down your cheek.

“ain’t nothin’ sexier than you lookin’ out for us like that.”

your throat tightens.

he kisses your forehead, then your lips — long and slow — and you can already feel the shift in the air.

because his hands don’t leave you. because his body has been on edge since the second he heard that woman’s voice and even more so after watching you land that punch.

“mama,” he says low, a little out of breath already, “you gotta let me love on you proper now. you don’t know what you do to me when you get like that.”

you nod again. whisper, “i want it, rafe.”

and then he lifts you into his arms, bridal style, and carries you to the bedroom.

he’s not in a rush.

he kisses your hand again first, then each finger, kneeling at the edge of the bed as he lays you back.

he kisses your bare thigh, your knee, up the inside of your leg. eyes watching yours like he needs to see your every breath.

“my girl,” he murmurs. “my strong, soft girl. always protectin’ what’s hers. always makin’ me feel like the luckiest sonofabitch on this whole earth.”

you reach down and thread your fingers into his hair. “come here,” you whisper.

he kisses you again, hot and full and reverent. and when he slides down between your thighs, you already feel the warmth building.

his mouth is like worship. you forget the ache in your knuckles, the voice of that woman, the tightness in your chest. you forget everything.

he eats like it’s his last meal — slow, dirty, perfect. tongue lazy against your clit, one hand under your thigh and the other gripping your hip like he owns it.

you arch, sob a little, and he moans right into you.

“that’s it,” he breathes. “let me hear it. give it to me, baby.”

you do. again and again. until you’re trembling, nails in his shoulders.

when he finally pulls back, his lips are slick and swollen. he kisses the inside of your knee again, then your belly, your throat.

“my turn,” you whisper against his jaw.

you take care of him the same way — gentle hands first, then firmer. he leans back on the headboard, his abs twitching as you slide down slow, mouth around him.

he groans like he’s unraveling.

“god, baby, fuck. always so good. so sweet. so nasty when it’s just us.”

you hum around him and he grips the sheets, other hand tangled in your hair.

“look at you,” he pants. “jesus. suckin’ the soul outta me like i ain’t just watched you knock a woman into a pile of onions. my girl.”

you both laugh but it’s breathless — dizzy.

by the time he flips you back beneath him and slides in, it’s like all the tension of the day bursts.

he moves slow, then faster. he’s half groaning, half praising you through it all.

“my sweet thing,” he breathes into your neck, “so damn tight. fuck, i love bein’ inside you. love the way you hold me like this.”

you wrap your arms around his shoulders. “don’t stop, rafe.”

“never could.”

he pulls your leg over his hip and pushes deeper, harder — just like you beg him to.

it’s headboard-thumping, breath-stealing, soul-deep kind of love.

you come with your fingers digging into his back and his name half-sobbed on your tongue.

he finishes not long after, face buried in your neck, calling you baby, baby, baby, over and over.

when he finally collapses beside you, he’s still panting. pulling you into his arms.

“we don’t ever need to go to that market again,” he says, half laughing.

“nah,” you murmur, still breathless. “we’ll grow our own onions.”

rafe laughs harder, kisses your cheek. “god, i love you.”

“love you more.”

his arms tighten around you.

“mama,” he says, and it’s soft, a little teasing. “i ever piss you off in public, you gonna swing on me too?”

you roll your eyes. “i’d never do that.”

he grins. “but if i did need it…”

you smack his chest lightly.

“okay, okay,” he laughs. “but damn. you got hands, baby. real hands.”

you smile against his skin, warm and wrapped up in the best kind of peace.

the kind only earned after a long day, a soft man, and a kiss that says you’re mine.

a/n: again, i’m sorry that this is so country😭 and if you want a version outside of military!rafe pls let me know!!

©luvelola. do not plagiarize or repost any of my work as your own.

[luvelola]

would rafe want more kids?

masterlist !

oh absolutely — rafe would love the idea of more kids with reader, especially now that he’s back home and in recovery. that kind of brush with death only made him cling tighter to the life he’s built — you, the babies, the dogs, the farm. he’s already protective as hell, and something about seeing miles and zara running barefoot through the yard while you stand on the porch with flour on your hands just makes something ache in him in the best way.

you’re in bed, the house quiet except for the hum of the crickets outside. the kids are asleep, dogs curled at the bedroom door, and you’re tangled beneath him, his weight solid and familiar over you. one of his hands is still in a cast, so he’s gentle tonight — but still rafe, still greedy, still whispering how good you feel.

and somewhere between kisses and broken moans, he mutters it against your mouth:

“gonna give me more, baby? hm? another baby — hell, maybe two. fill you up and pray they stick.”

you freeze for half a second — just enough for his grin to spread.

“what?” he drawls, nuzzling your cheek. “can’t stop thinkin’ about it. you, all soft and round again. miles helpin’ you bake while zara talks to your belly. a whole little flock runnin’ ‘round the farm.”

your breath catches.

and he just keeps going — murmuring it low, rhythmic, between thrusts like a secret:

“two more. twins maybe. one that looks like you. one that’s got my mean little smile. don’t that sound good, mama?”

even outside the bedroom, it would come up. like when he sees you brushing zara’s curls on the porch, the morning light golden on your face. or when you’re dancing barefoot with miles to old music while breakfast cooks. he’d watch for a long moment, arms crossed, heart so full it almost hurts — then casually say:

“could see another one at your hip. or two. think we got more love left in us.”

and the way he says it? not pressure. just devotion.

you’d always be his soft place to land — and he’d want to build as much family with you as your body, heart, and soul could carry.

[luvelola]

night time routine on the farm

masterlist !

as the sun lowers behind the hills, drenching the fields in golden light, the farm starts to quiet down. the animals settle. the wind softens. and inside the home — tucked behind acres of trees and fencing — a gentle rhythm begins.

🐐 outside: evening chores (6:30–7:15pm)

rafe is outside in sweats and boots, shirt half-tucked from dinner, with biscuit at his side. zara’s in her hoodie with rainboots on the wrong feet, skipping beside him. she helps scoop feed for the goats while rafe checks fencing and tops off water buckets.

miles handles the chickens — grumbling a little but serious about his job.

collects eggs into a worn basket, gently shoos princess peep (the mean hen) away from the nesting box, and checks that rufus, the red-feathered rooster, is in the coop.

meanwhile, shadow is on perimeter patrol, ears twitching at every sound, while biscuit watches the kids like a sleepy bodyguard.

by 7:15, the sun is kissing the hills. the animals are fed. coops locked. little boots are muddy. biscuit is muddy. rafe’s hands are muddy — and yn, watching from the porch with a dishtowel over her shoulder, is already shaking her head lovingly.

🛁 bath time & wind down (7:30–8:00pm)

inside, yn runs a warm lavender bath for zara, who always insists on bringing in a rubber duck and a glow stick like it’s a rave. she sits beside the tub, gently combing through her curls with conditioner and detangler while zara babbles about her “heart puff” and how she’s gonna grow wings one day.

in the other room, rafe helps miles rinse off after his “big boy shower” — miles hates washing his face but rafe makes it a game. tonight, he pretends the soap is “face armor for a goat knight” and miles shrieks laughing.

shadow curls up in the hallway while biscuit sprawls in front of the tub. peaceful guard duty.

📚 bedtime stories & lights out (8:00–8:30pm)

rafe reads to miles in bed — the same book. miles always makes rafe do the dragon voice. halfway through, he’s out, thumb in his mouth, one arm wrapped around butterscotch’s plush lookalike.

in zara’s room, yn reads a different book depending on the night. zara snuggles in with her unicorn nightlight on and whispers, “daddy did okay on my hair,” before drifting off.

🕯️ farmhouse quiet (9:00pm)

downstairs, it’s candlelight and soft music. rafe and yn share tea or wine at the kitchen table. shadow and biscuit are sprawled on the rug. the windows are open just enough to let in the crickets and the hush of wind through the trees.

rafe leans his head against yn’s shoulder and murmurs something low. sometimes flirty. sometimes tired. always tender. they talk about nothing and everything. he pulls her into his lap before they head upstairs.

🌌 last check (before bed)

rafe makes one final walk outside before locking the doors. flashlight in hand, he circles the coop, glances at the barn, pats biscuit who follows lazily. the goats are already curled up in hay. the chickens are roosting. the night is still.

inside, yn brushes her curls out, wraps them in a scarf, and waits for her husband to crawl into bed behind her.

miles sighs in his sleep. zara flips onto her side. the dogs snore.

and the farm goes quiet in the night.

[luvelola]

Would Military Rafe be into 🍑 stuff? (On him👀?)

yes absolutely!! if it’s with the right person, and ofc it’s gonna his wife.. now this is specifically MY interpretation of military!rafe. because others may think he would feel too in himself to like that stuff but this definitely does not apply to show rafe because that man ain’t letting no one go near his butt.

masterlist !

he’s very physically confident and typically is a soft dom but he doesn’t mind laying back as long as it’s what you want (and makes him cum hard!)

if it’s ball stuff during blowjobs & handjobs he loves it.

rafe’s the kind of man who grunts a deep “fuck, baby—just like that” when you cup them gently or roll them in your palm while you suck him. he spreads his legs wider for you without thinking, lets his head fall back, hands gripping the sheets. he likes the contrast—your hands, your mouth..

if you lick or suck them? he damn near loses it. he gets breathless, might even start whispering your name like a prayer.

if it’s rimming, rafe’s not closed off to it—if you initiate it, and it’s clear you want to please him, he’s down. he might tense up the first time, but once he feels how careful you’re being, he starts to melt into it.

he’d never ask for it, but if you push his knees back and move lower while stroking him? he’ll pant through clenched teeth, muttering, “jesus, baby… you tryna ruin me?”

comment to be added to taglist !

[luvelola]

rafe on deployment being a weirdo (but like in a sexy, flirty way?) masterlist !

the kind of man who’s in the desert for six months but still manages to thirst over his wife like they just met.

📲 recipient: yn aka “sweet girl 💍” in his phone

time: 0137 military time — aka late as hell and he’s thinking about her again

📱 text:

you ovulatin’ yet or nah? asking for a friend. (me. i’m the friend.)

📱 text (2m later):

actually nvm. i just looked at the period tracker. ovulation starts friday. perfect timing 😏

📸 photo attachment:

blurry shirtless gym selfie in bad lighting, sweat glistening, dog tags swinging

caption:

tell me you miss me and i’ll take the next one in just my damn boots

📱 text (randomly at noon his time):

don’t wash the sheets.

i wanna come home and still smell you.

yeah, i’m bein’ a weirdo. what about it.

📸 photo attachment: a dusty desert sunrise

caption:

sun don’t even hit right without you under it.

🟢 voice memo #26:

“you still got that lil mole under your left tit? send proof. for morale purposes. this is a government request.”

and reader just responds with a clear close-up of the left side of her chest — just enough to show the mole. her hand is cupping just out of frame.

“for official use only 🇺🇸”

“morale restored?”

[luvelola]

omg thank you sm 🫶🫶 i try

WELCOME TO LUVELOLA’S MASTERLIST ⋅˚₊

🫧 Rafe Cameron

SMAU’s

Social Media Au , 001 , 002 , 003 , 004 , 005 , 006 , 007 , 008 , 009 , 010 , 011 , 012 , 013 , 014 (finale)

Love Me Not , introduction , 001 , 002 , 003 , 004 , 005 , 006 , 007 , 008 , 009 , 010 , 011 , 012

bluecollar!rafe x fem!reader

military!rafe x fem!black!reader , how they met , rafe during childbirth , rafe tracking reader’s cycle on deployment , zara naming ceremony , domestic mornings , current bf prank on rafe ,

BLURBS ;

#one

[luvelola]

what if in the military!au, reader does the “current boyfriend” prank on rafe? masterlist !

the video starts with yn holding the phone up at a soft angle, golden hour hitting her just right. she’s in a big t-shirt, ponytail holder sliding out of her head, and that mischievous smile that always means trouble. in the background, biscuit barks twice and a screen door slams.

she whispers to the camera like it’s a secret she’s letting the internet in on — something sweet and casual — “just showing y’all my current boyfriend real quick,” she says, voice syrupy and smooth. “he’s been real good to me lately. cooked breakfast, took the trash out, didn’t forget the dog food this time.”

then the camera pans to rafe.

he’s standing out by the fence in camo pants and a faded t-shirt, grease on his forearm, a half-drunk beer bottle sitting on a nearby post and he’s minding his business until he hears those two words.

his head snaps toward her like he misheard. “current?”

he squints. she just smiles harder. there’s a beat — like a storm cloud rolling in low — before rafe starts walking toward her, slow and steady like he’s choosing violence.

he doesn’t even say anything at first. just stares at her with that “baby, don’t play with me” look. she tries to keep it together but ends up giggling halfway through her lemonade sip. “what? temporary vibes. i might upgrade.”

he doesn’t take the bait— just tosses the beer aside and scoops her straight off the porch bench. she squeals, slippers flying, drink sloshing, phone tilting wildly.

in the chaos, two tiny voices erupt from the yard, miles yelling, sword raised like he’s charging into battle, and zara right behind him in a tutu and muddy rain boots screaming “daddy wait!! i’m da baby!!”

biscuit starts barking like he’s part of a SWAT team.

the camera wobbles and falls to the porch as yn laughs breathlessly offscreen. all you hear is her saying ‘she can’t film nothing without the whole damn squad showing up’, and rafe somewhere in the mix telling her to say current again and see what happens.

at the end, zara’s face appears on the fallen phone, nose smushed to the lens, eyes wide.

“i wanna see butterbean.”

then it cuts off.

comments:

@.randomuser#1

not biscuit acting like he got beef w/ the camera 💀💀💀

@.randomuser#2

the way he snatched you up like a grocery bag 😭😭 if mine don’t react like this, i don’t want him

@.randomuser#3

not butterbean having lore

see 62 more..

comment to be added to taglist !

[luvelola]

“UP WITH THE SUN”

military!rafe x fem!black!reader , masterlist

warnings: fluff, animals, parenting, mild language, southern domestic sweetness, mentions of dirt/chores, implied canon-level affection between rafe & yn.

the rooster started at 6:13 a.m.

right on time.

rafe grunted once and rolled over, arm tightening around yn’s waist, hand resting low on her belly. she was warm, and the bed was softer than the chill in the air outside. but farm life didn’t wait for nobody.

“sun’s up, mama,” he murmured against her neck.

yn mumbled something about “you get up first.”

but a second later, two thuds hit the floor — five-year-old feet.

miles came sprinting in, wild curls and dinosaur pajamas still askew.

“daddy! zara’s sittin’ on biscuit again!”

“shit—alright, alright.”

🐓 morning rounds

the family farm was small but full of life — fenced in by oaks, soaked in sunlight, with dirt paths that led to every corner. every animal had a name, and every chore had a helper.

horses:

nova — a chestnut mare that yn grew up riding, calm as still water

tank — a big gray draft horse that rafe brought home from a base upstate

miles and rafe handled the feed buckets.

“you always gotta talk to ‘em first,” rafe told him. “let ‘em know you comin’.”

“hi nova,” miles said, solemn, “please don’t poop while i’m here.”

yn laughed from across the fence, brushing nova’s coat with one hand while holding zara with the other.

goats:

ruby and dot — spotted, noisy, and too smart for the latch on their pen.

zara loved them the most, even if they tried to eat her sleeve every time she got close.

yn crouched by the fence with zara in her lap, holding out carrot pieces.

“gentle now, baby,” she whispered, guiding her daughter’s hand. “you gotta be soft with the ones that don’t talk.”

“dot stinky,” zara announced proudly.

“she sure is,” yn laughed.

chickens:

rosie, drumstick, cleo, and big mama

biscuit chased them, shadow herded them

egg duty belonged to rafe and miles

“i see three!” miles called, holding up the basket.

“good. that’s enough for breakfast,” rafe nodded. “put ‘em in soft, like we said.”

“can i make the pancakes?”

“we’ll see if your mama lets you stir.”

dogs:

shadow (black lab) was already patrolling the fence line.

biscuit (terrier mix) was covered in straw, hiding under the porch after zara sat on him again.

🍳 farm-to-table

back inside, yn had the griddle hot.

miles stood on his step stool, whisking a bowl with flour up his nose. zara sat on the counter, sticky fingers dipping into the sugar jar. rafe cracked eggs one-handed and kissed yn’s cheek every time he passed her.

“that one’s too brown,” she said.

“just how i like it,” he smirked, flipping another.

“baby, if you burn that one, you makin’ the next batch.”

“say less.”

the dogs waited by the table like they owned the place.

biscuit barked once.

shadow growled low, her way of saying “sit down, fool.”

after, plates were full — eggs from their hens, goat cheese from ruby and dot, pancakes with blackberry jam yn made last summer. butter melted in the center of everything. coffee for the adults, apple juice for the kids.

miles talked through mouthfuls. zara dropped her fork twice. rafe reached over to wipe jam from yn’s chin.

yn looked around — flour on the counter, dirt on everyone’s boots, love in every corner.

a/n; just a cute little domestic scene of the family while rafe is home from deployment!!

comment to be added to tag list..

©luvelola. do not plagiarize or repost any of my work as your own.

[luvelola]

cute zara moment?

ofc i love that girl sm already!!

warnings: fluff overload, baby animals, toddler speech.

zara was sitting in a little ring of straw, hair puffed around her face like a halo, while yn kneeled beside her, one hand on her back. biscuit lay stretched out behind them, belly up, chewing hay like it was steak.

in front of them sat a tiny puff of yellow fluff.

the chick had just hatched that morning — all wobbly legs, sleepy eyes, and soft peeps.

rafe was leaning on the fencepost, arms folded, watching.

“she’s real little,” zara whispered, voice breathless. “like my dolly.”

“mmhm,” yn murmured, brushing a stray curl off her daughter’s cheek. “but this baby’s real. you gotta be gentle, baby.”

zara reached out both hands, cupped the chick with the softness only a baby could manage, and gasped as it peeped.

“mama! she talked to me!”

rafe chuckled low from the fence.

“she likes you, bug.”

“what’s her name?” yn asked, voice all smile.

zara blinked big brown eyes, stared at the bird, and whispered like it was a secret only they could share—

“butterbean.”

miles snorted.

“that’s not a chicken name!”

“yes it is!” zara shot back, clutching the chick to her chest (gently, thank god). “she said it!”

biscuit barked, like he agreed.

“alright then,” rafe said, shaking his head with a grin. “welcome to the family, butterbean.”

that night, rafe carved a little wooden plaque that said “butterbean” and nailed it up on the side of the coop. zara made yn paint it pink.

and every morning after, she’d march outside barefoot in her pajamas, biscuit on her heels, hands on her hips like a real farm girl.

“morning, butterbean,” she’d sing. “time to rise an’ shine!”

the chick always peeped back like she knew.

[luvelola]

omg it’s almost midnight but i just hit 200 followers?? hello. like literally thank you guys so much, i love y’all. ALSO, let me know if you guys want to be on my taglist or if i should create like a link for it or smt lol. (or just send it to my asks and i wont post it)

[luvelola]

holy ur writing is soooo underrated

omg this is so sweet, thank you sm. maybe tumblr will give me the recognition i deserve 🥀

[luvelola]

Military Rafe would 100% track his wife’s periods when we was away lol

oh yes absolutely 1000%. also i LOVE when whenever i come back on tumblr i have another ask, keep em coming

he’s the type to open up that little notes app on his phone, scroll past ammo inventory and supply drop codes, and find a whole damn “mama’s cycle” file with timestamps, symptoms, emojis, and color-coded reminders (like an old man idk)

why? because he’s rafe.

he’s obsessed with her body.

obsessed with the way it changes through the month.

he learned fast what her moods mean:

“you wore socks to bed? mm. period’s close.”

“your thighs look fuller. ovulation. jackpot.”

just random shit.

and when he’s deployed?

he counts the days, scrolls back to her texts from last cycle, and like a freak, stares at her selfies and mutters,“mama, you glowing. you ovulatin’? damn.”

and when he comes home? oh, he checks in immediately.

“lemme guess, baby. fertile window?” and he’s already rolling up his sleeves and dragging her to the bedroom before she can say yes.

“perfect. legs up. now.”

he’ll say it while gripping her thighs, while pressing kisses to her belly like there’s a baby in there already or something.

and sometimes he’s playful:

“you already drippin’, mama. that egg don’t stand a chance.”

he’d even leave voice memos during deployment:

“hey baby. i know you said your back’s been hurting, so i’m thinkin’ you ovulating early … don’t you dare let that egg go to waste, save it for me.”

BUT I LOVE THEM YOUR HONOR!!!

masterlist !

[luvelola]

Military Rafe during childbirth pls!!

please keep the asks coming i’m bored😜😜 in this au rafe isn’t a pussy who can’t show emotions…but let me give just a little background info about the kids before i start.

so miles is the oldest (if you want to imagine a different name then that’s fine), he’s five and yn and rafe call him things like “buddy” or “bug.

he has rafe’s eyes and is very loud and curious and loves to help out his mama, especially in the kitchen.

his favorite color is green (bc of his daddy) and he loves wild kratts.

their daughter, zara, is the youngest, she’s 2 and rafe loves calling her peanut. her eyes are browner and she’s quiet and very judgmental (like those cute babies side eyeing everyone). her favorite color is purple and she loves bluey.

also i didn’t know if you wanted the birth to be about miles or zara so i chose miles since hes the first born.

now rafe knew pressure, i mean he was solider. he experienced pressure under fire. on a convoy. in the dark with only static in his earpiece and sweat dripping down his back.

but nothing — nothing — compared to watching yn scream through contractions while he stood there feeling helpless as hell, useless in his boots, heart beating like a damn war drum.

“baby, breathe.”

his hands were shaking. hers weren’t.

she was glistening, hair pulled back in a bun, lips cracked from biting down too hard — but she still found the strength to shoot him a look.

“you breathe,” she growled, voice hoarse. “i’m busy tryin’ not to split in half.”

he laughed through the panic. that was his girl.

rafe had been there the whole time — from the moment her water broke at 3 a.m. in their little bathroom to the emergency drive through bumpy back roads. his hand never left her thigh in the hospital. he wouldn’t even piss unless someone wheeled a nurse in to sit with her.

but seeing yn in that much pain and all he could do was whisper “i got you, mama. i got you.” he felt useless.

he cried when miles crowned.

real, silent tears rolling down his cheeks as he kissed yn’s knuckles over and over.

“you’re almost there, baby. you’re almost there.”

“you’re doin’ so good. fuck, you’re so good.”

the moment the doctor said “one more push,” rafe was leaning in, forehead to her temple, shaking all over.

and then—

wailing and sharp.

miles.

slippery and red and alive and screaming like he came out mad as hell — a perfect, wild baby with soft curls already visible, lungs already working.

yn went quiet.

and rafe?

rafe dropped to his knees beside the bed, both hands in his hair, sobbing. just sobbed. the kind of crying that cracked from deep in his ribs — not from fear, but from relief.

“that’s our boy?” he whispered, looking up at yn, eyes red. “that’s him?”

she nodded. tired, sweaty, glowing.

he got to cut the cord. the nurse tried to hand him gloves but he waved her off, bare hands out like he was touching a miracle.

“hi, buddy,” he whispered when they handed him over.

“i’m your daddy.”

and he just stood there, holding his boy like he was the only thing left in the world that mattered. rocking him slowly, eyes never leaving his face. he kissed yn’s forehead and whispered again,

afterwards, they laid together in the hospital bed, rafe tucked around yn’s back, one arm cradling her, the other holding miles against his chest.

masterlist !