rafesfavegf

[rafesfavegf]

need to have sex so good with rafe he cries 🙂

[rafesfavegf]

rafe cameron coded

[rafesfavegf]

warnings - cheating, best friends boyfriend, piv, fingering, unprotected sex, dirty talk

a/n - my first tumblr post, still figuring out the app lol

"The other woman"

It was never meant to happen, not like this. Sofia was your best friend, a nice girl who would've done everything for you. But Rafe was your first love.

Yes, it may be a dumb thing to say because you were only fourteen, and it was seven years ago when the crush started. You guys never dated, but it was that teenage crush, the one you can never let go of, even though you guys never even touched.

Until now.

His hands were all over your body, like he was trying to memorize every curve.

"Mine." He said claiming your body with his touch. His lips trailing over your neck down to your chest.

You knew it was wrong, but it felt so right. He was yours. You both knew that. The bed he shared with her, was now a holder of a secret, dirty sinful secret.

"Fuck, you're so perfect, all mine." He murmurs between kisses. His hands slides down to your thong and he just pushes it aside, brushing his fingertips against your opening.

"Rafe, please." You moan out desperately. Begging your best friends, soon-to-be husband to fuck you.

He doesn't waste time, his fingers plunge inside you, his gaze focused on your face, looking at the way you whimper and shut your eyes.

"That's it baby, gonna make you fall apart on my fingers first." He adds a third finger, stimulating your clit with his free hand.

Your eyes roll back and you forget about anything else, besides him and his fingers and the feeling taking over you.

"Cum for me baby."

That does it. You cum so hard it felt like your body reached another dimensions, and just with his fingers.

"Fuck, you're so responsive to me." He licks his fingers and brings his lips to yours, making you taste your own arousal.

Without warning he pulls away, spreading your legs and admiring your pussy.

Shrugging his pants off he wastes no time plunging inside you, hard and fast. You cry out, arching your back to him, clawing at his chest.

Claiming him.

The bed rattles and shakes, filling the room with grunts and moans.

"Gonna fill you up so nicely, you'll be dripping for days." All you could do was gasp and moan at his hard and fast pace.

He was claiming you, punishing you for making him cheat on his sweet fiancé.

"You like this don't you slut? Leading me on like this, ruining my perfect relationship." He wraps his hand around your neck, making you struggle to breathe, your face going red, ears buzzing.

And just when you thought you're loosing consciousness, he releases. His finger grazing your cheek softly, while looking deep into your eyes.

This is all you ever wanted, him loving you, claiming you as his.

He quickens his pace more, hitting your cervix every time, you moan and gasp, but still pulling him closer.

Rafe grunts, forehead dropping to yours and he cums deep inside you.

Pulling out, he quickly adjusts himself,

"Oh, and Sofia will be sending wedding invitations tomorrow"

@cherrywriterrr @rafesbabygirlx

[rafesfavegf]

where you are is home

word count: 2,012

warning?: blue collar rafe / domestic softness / suggestive at the end

you hear the door creak open at exactly 11:07 p.m.

you don’t need to look. you already know it’s him—because the room shifts. something in the air settles the second rafe cameron steps inside. it’s the weight of him. the gravity. the way he carries the whole goddamn world in his shoulders and still walks through the door like he’s starving for you.

the tv is still playing, soft flickers of an old movie dancing across the living room walls. but the second you hear the click of the door locking behind him, you pause it.

he doesn’t say anything at first. just drops his keys in the little dish by the counter like always, then leans down to untie his steel-toe boots, muttering a low, breathless “fuckin’ finally.”

you glance over your shoulder and catch him in the kitchen light.

sweaty. exhausted. his shirt is clinging to his back, damp with effort.

he’s got grease on his forearm, dried oil smeared in streaks across his hands and under his fingernails.

his work jeans are dusty, heavy with the grime of another 13-hour shift. and god—the hat. backwards. curls sticking out under the brim, his forehead damp, jaw stubbled and tight.

you swear he’s never looked better.

he looks up, eyes catching yours across the room. and then—he smiles. not the kind he gives anyone else. not the cocky grin or the bored smirk or the patronizing sneer he wears in public. this one’s soft. crooked. home.

“hey, baby,” he murmurs.

your heart fucking skips.

“you’re late,” you whisper, already curling your knees up on the couch to make room for him.

“yeah,” he groans, dragging his feet toward you. “framing went over. boss made us stay, said it had to be done tonight or he’d have my ass.”

he reaches you and kneels down in front of the couch with a grunt, hat tipping back a little as he drops his forehead against your knee. you bring a hand up and run your fingers through his hair, damp and thick and smelling like lumber, sun, and sawdust.

“you smell like… wood,” you mumble with a smile.

“pine,” he mutters. “cut beams all day. shit got in my hair, too.”

“you’re filthy.”

“mm. you love it.”

he doesn’t move at first—just nuzzles into your leg, sighing like he hasn’t breathed properly all day. his hands slide slowly up your thighs, rough palms dragging against your skin like he’s grounding himself. you can feel the heat radiating off him, the sheer weight of him. the need to press you under it.

you tug gently at the brim of his hat. “get up here.”

“not yet,” he says, voice low, eyes flickering up. “lemme just… stay here for a second.”

and you do. you let him.

because you know rafe. you know this is how he unwinds. not with words, not with talk—just touch. presence. warmth. you.

after a minute, he finally shifts, groaning as he lifts himself onto the couch beside you. the weight of him sinks into the cushion instantly. he smells like cedar, salt, and sweat. something industrial and earthy. something him. his arm slings around your waist without hesitation, pulling you flush against him.

you wrinkle your nose. “you’re gonna ruin the couch.”

“so?” he murmurs, lips brushing your neck. “i’ll buy you a new one.”

you laugh, and he hums, burying his face in the curve of your shoulder.

“missed you,” he says, muffled.

“you saw me this morning.”

“still. missed you all fuckin’ day.”

you run your hands over his chest, fingertips catching the edge of a sweat-stained pocket. “you been lifting shit again?”

“mhmm. three flights. no elevator.”

“jesus.”

he shrugs. “kept thinkin’ about you, though. kept me sane.”

you blush. even after all this time, even after countless nights like this, he still makes your stomach twist in the sweetest way. and when his hand slides lower, gripping your thigh with a bit more pressure, it only gets worse.

“you eat?” you ask, voice breathy.

he shakes his head. “just coffee. and a granola bar.”

you make a disapproving noise and start to move, but he tightens his grip around your waist.

“no. stay,” he growls. “please. just… need this. need you.”

you let out a soft sigh, sinking back into him.

his body molds to yours like it was carved to fit this shape—this spot on the couch, in the quiet dark, surrounded by the flicker of TV light and the hum of the old ceiling fan. his hands wander slowly, not sexual, just possessive. like he’s making sure you’re still here.

like he needs the reassurance that something in this world still belongs to him.

you lean your head back against his shoulder, fingers lacing with his. his other arm stays wrapped around your middle, thumb brushing the skin beneath your shirt.

he still hasn’t changed. still in his dirty jeans, boots kicked off lazily by the door. work shirt rumpled and riding up slightly. you can feel the dried sweat on his skin. it clings to you, familiar and comforting in its own way. real.

you press a kiss to his jaw. “you should shower.”

“don’t wanna move.”

“you’re getting the blanket dirty.”

“fuck the blanket.”

you smile, eyes fluttering closed. “so needy.”

“you like it.”

he shifts, suddenly—one arm scooping under your knees, the other behind your back. you squeal as he lifts you into his lap, settling you across him like you weigh nothing.

“better,” he says, voice low.

you’re breathless. “you’re insane.”

he just smirks, hat still backwards, hair messy and curling at his temples. “nah. just obsessed.”

he adjusts you slightly, palms rough as they slide up your thighs. the muscles in his forearms flex, and you trace the veins without thinking. he watches you the whole time, eyes heavy and dark.

“you’re mine, y’know,” he says suddenly.

you blink. “obviously.”

“no. like. mine.” his grip tightens just a little. “i think about it all the time. when i’m up there on the scaffold or carrying drywall or some shit. just keep picturing you right here. like this. on me. warm. soft. safe.”

your breath catches.

his voice dips even lower. “i’d kill for this. for you.”

“rafe—”

“not jokin’.”

you look at him, and the intensity in his eyes almost makes you squirm.

you reach up, brushing the hair from his forehead. “you don’t have to. you just have to come home.”

he nods once, jaw clenched. “always.”

his lips brush your collarbone. your neck. the edge of your jaw. not asking for anything—just there. you melt into him completely, and he holds you tighter. like something might take you away if he lets go.

his hands are everywhere now. one on your hip, the other tracing circles on your thigh. not sexual. not yet. just a man claiming his peace. the only place the noise dies.

you kiss him—slow and soft and tired. he groans against your lips, hands tightening.

“you sure you don’t wanna shower?” you whisper again.

“if i do, you’re coming with me.”

“that’s not a punishment.”

“i didn’t say it was.”

you bite your lip.

his voice turns rough. “if you keep lookin’ at me like that, i’m gonna make a mess on this couch. don’t think you want that.”

you laugh, burying your face in his neck.

“stop,” you mumble. “i was trying to be sweet.”

“i know, baby. i’m just sayin’. you get me too worked up.”

he breathes you in again. deeper this time. his hand slips beneath your shirt, fingertips pressing lightly against your stomach.

“love you like this,” he murmurs. “all soft and quiet and just mine.”

“you always say that.”

“’cause it’s always true.”

you lie there like that for a long time. the movie still paused. the world outside gone. just the two of you. his skin against yours, his smell, his weight, his presence. everything warm and real and achingly good.

his breathing slows.

yours matches.

and even though he’s covered in dust and sweat and sawdust, even though his boots are probably leaving marks on the rug, you’ve never felt cleaner.

never felt safer.

never felt more home.

tags: 🏷️ @rafesbabygirlx @rafesfavegf

[rafesfavegf]

hot on the line

word count: 2,045

warning: blue collar rafe / mentions of sexual themes / suggestive phone call / light dominance / filthy mouth

the call comes in at 3:42 p.m.

you’re lying on the bed in your tank top, fan spinning lazily overhead, when your phone buzzes once. just once. his name. no text. no voicemail. no facetime.

just the call.

you answer on instinct. “hi.”

his voice is low. hoarse. strained. tired. “you alone?”

your lips curl. “yeah.”

“good.”

you bite your lip and adjust the phone against your ear. you can hear background noise—tools clanking, someone yelling, a saw buzzing in the distance.

“where are you?” you ask softly.

“site out by taylor’s creek. been here since six. it’s a bitch.”

you hum. “you okay?”

“better now.” a pause. “what are you wearin’?”

you blink. “excuse me?”

“don’t play dumb,” he mutters, and god—he sounds wrecked. like he’s been thinking about this all day. “i got five minutes before we pour concrete and you’re all i can think about. so tell me what the fuck you’re wearin’, baby.”

you shift on the bed, thighs brushing. heat blooms instantly at the base of your spine. “just… a tank top.”

“no bra?”

“no.”

you can hear the breath catch in his throat. hear the metal clang of something dropping near him.

“fuck. don’t do that to me.”

“you called me, rafe.”

“’cause i needed to hear your voice,” he says, low and filthy. “needed to picture your pretty mouth makin’ those little noises you make when i get you goin’. needed to know if you were thinkin’ about me too.”

you let your hand trail slowly over your stomach, just enough pressure to make yourself squirm. “i was.”

“yeah?”

“mhmm.”

“jesus, baby…”

he exhales hard, like he’s leaning against something. you can hear the sweat in his voice. like the weight of the heat and labor is finally breaking him down.

“you been good for me today?” he asks, slower now.

“i tried.”

“but?”

you grin. “i wore your shirt around the house this morning.”

“the white one?”

“the one you left in the dryer.”

“baby…” his voice is strained again, and you know he’s palming the front of his jeans now, trying to adjust without anyone seeing. “don’t fuckin’ tell me that.”

“you said you wanted to know.”

“you know what that does to me.”

“what exactly does it do?”

you can hear the edge in his breath. the way his control is unraveling slowly. the tension behind his teeth.

“makes me wanna come home early,” he growls. “makes me wanna bend you over the goddamn counter with your legs shaking and my fuckin’ name in your mouth.”

your breath catches. you squeeze your thighs together and try not to make a sound, but he hears it anyway.

“you like that, baby?”

“yeah,” you whisper. “i miss you.”

“i know, baby. i miss you too.” his voice softens, just for a second. “i’m tryin’ to be good. tryin’ to make good money for us. build something real.”

“you are.”

“doesn’t feel like it when i’m fuckin’ hard on a scaffolding, thinkin’ about your ass in my shirt.”

you laugh, and he groans.

“god, i love that sound,” he says. “drives me fuckin’ insane. i’m losin’ it out here.”

“you always talk like this at work?”

“only when i can’t stop picturing your hand down your shorts.”

you flush all over. “i didn’t say—”

“you didn’t have to.”

he’s breathing heavier now, and there’s a muttered “fuckin’ christ” under his breath that makes your spine arch just a little.

“i’m gonna take you apart when i get home,” he says quietly. “slow. real slow. you’ll be beggin’ me to stop.”

“no i won’t.”

he chuckles. “no. you won’t.”

you bite your lip, breath quickening. your voice drops. “how much longer?”

he groans. “two hours. maybe three. boss said we’re behind.”

“you better not show up with dirty hands and try to fuck me on the couch again.”

“i will show up with dirty hands, and i will fuck you on the couch again.”

you shake your head, trying to stifle your smile. “you’re so cocky.”

“’cause i know you’ll let me.”

you don’t argue.

“hey,” he says suddenly, quieter.

“what?”

“you really miss me?”

“of course.”

another pause.

“you think about me when i’m gone?”

you nod, but realize he can’t see you. “yes.”

“you sleep in my side of the bed?”

“every time.”

he groans again, and something about the softness under his filth makes your chest ache.

“you know what i think about?” he asks.

“what?”

“comin’ home. every fuckin’ day. i think about this exact moment—hearin’ your voice. picturing you in bed. smellin’ dinner, or that lotion you wear. seein’ you in my clothes. touchin’ you.”

you swallow hard.

“i don’t give a shit how tired i am,” he says. “you’re always worth it.”

the line goes quiet for a beat. both of you breathing, both of you holding the weight of it in your chests.

then you hear someone yell his name in the distance—“cameron! let’s go!”

he sighs. “gotta get back.”

you nod, voice small. “okay.”

“but listen to me.” his voice hardens again. “don’t touch yourself. not yet.”

“what?”

“you heard me.”

“rafe—”

“i’ll be home by eight. you wait for me.”

“you’re a menace.”

“you love it.”

you pause.

“i do.”

“good. now go put that shirt back on.”

“why?”

“so i can tear it off you later.”

you hear him chuckle low before the line goes dead.

you stare at the screen, heart pounding, face flushed, thighs trembling.

you toss the phone down and bury your face in the pillow.

god help you when that man walks through the door.

tags: 🏷️ @rafesbabygirlx @rafesfavegf

[rafesfavegf]

OMG IM ACTUALLY GONNA SCREAM.

I can't login into my wattpad account. Im gonna have a fucking psychotic episode

#wattpad #rafesfavegf #rafecameron

[rafesfavegf]

Please please please

Trigger Warning: This story contains themes of emotional abuse, manipulation, heartbreak, betrayal, and intense arguments. It includes 18+ language (swearing, shouting, emotionally volatile exchanges), destruction of property, and references to past emotional manipulation. Reader discretion is advised.

They weren’t lovers. Not anymore. Just ghosts with matching scars.

The Outer Banks hadn’t changed, not really. Sunlight still burned the sand. The waves still rolled in like they hadn’t seen too much, like they hadn’t swallowed too many secrets. But two years had passed since she’d last seen him—since the walls cracked and everything between them was obliterated. And now, here he was.

He stood like a fucking mirage in the middle of that dusty marina lot, beside the same Range Rover he used to pick her up in, before everything went to hell. Before they screamed each other hoarse in the house his daddy built on lies. Before he punched a hole through her bathroom mirror and she shattered his phone against the kitchen wall. Before gold made them monsters.

She could feel the sting in her throat already, just looking at him.

And he looked—worse. Taller maybe, but collapsed somehow. A cigarette hanging off his lip like it was the only thing anchoring him. His hair shorter than she remembered. The same dead blue eyes.

He turned. He saw her.

And it was like the fucking Earth stopped breathing.

“Holy fuck,” he muttered under his breath. “Selen?”

Her feet rooted to the gravel. Heart pounding. The kind of pounding you feel in your ears. That primal sound of fight or flight. But there was nowhere to run.

He walked toward her slowly, dragging his fingers through his hair. His hands were shaking. Maybe from the nicotine. Maybe from her.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” she spat, the first words cutting through the air like shrapnel.

Rafe blinked. His smile was slow, bitter. “Nice to see you too.”

“No.” Her voice cracked. “Don’t fucking do that.”

“What?”

“Act like this is normal. Like you didn’t ruin me.”

He scoffed, head tilting back with a bitter laugh. “You think I didn’t ruin myself?”

“Oh, poor you,” she snarled, stepping closer. “You lied to me. For months. Used me. Fed me bullshit while your daddy played god with everyone.”

“You think you didn’t?” he snapped, voice rising. “You were playing the same fucking game, Selen! Don’t act innocent now.”

They were inches apart now. Sparks flying, violent and ugly.

“I didn’t have a choice!” she shouted. “They sent me to you, yes—but I stayed because I loved you.”

His face twisted. “You don’t get to say that.”

“I do,” she screamed. “Because it’s the fucking truth! You think I wanted to fall for you? You were the goddamn enemy!”

“And yet you fucked me anyway,” he hissed.

She slapped him. Hard. Her palm stung. His jaw jerked sideways, but he didn’t flinch. He looked at her like he wanted more.

“I hate you,” she whispered, voice trembling. “I hate that I still see you in my sleep. I hate that you made me believe you were broken, just like me. But you weren’t. You were dangerous.”

“I am broken,” he said quietly.

“Bullshit.”

“I was just better at pretending.”

Something in her cracked then. Her breath shook like glass about to shatter. “Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked, voice suddenly small.

He didn’t answer.

She pushed him hard, palms flat against his chest. “Why didn’t you fucking tell me Ward sent you?”

He stumbled back, but not far. Not enough. “Because I didn’t want to lose you.”

“You already had!” she screamed. “From the moment you let him play puppet master, it was over!”

His voice exploded—ragged, raw. “I LOVED YOU!”

She froze. He did too. The silence in that parking lot swallowed everything.

He stepped closer again, but softer this time. His voice dropped to a whisper. “I loved you,” he said again. “And yeah—I fucked up. I let him use me. I let me use you. But it stopped being about the gold a long time before it stopped being about you.”

Tears welled in her eyes. “Why are you saying this now?”

“Because it’s the only fucking thing I still regret,” he whispered. “Because I see you in every goddamn girl I’ve tried to forget with. Because I hear your voice when I’m drunk and alone and praying to anything that’ll listen. Because you’re the only thing I ever wanted, and I burned it down.”

A single tear rolled down her cheek.

“You hurt me,” she said, barely audible.

He nodded. “I know.”

“I wanted to die after you left.”

“I wanted to kill myself for what I did to you,” he said, dead serious.

She choked out a sob, covering her mouth. “Don’t say that.”

“Why not? It’s the truth.” His voice cracked. “It’s always the fucking truth with you, right?”

She backed up. Her knees hit the curb.

“I don’t know who I am without hating you,” she confessed, shaking her head. “You ruined everything good in me.”

“I know,” he said again, eyes glassy. “And I still love you. That’s the worst part.”

“I don’t,” she whispered.

And it was almost convincing.

They stood in silence, breathing each other in like poison. The air between them was sharp. Her hands curled at her sides. His lips were trembling. Neither moved.

“I’m sorry,” he finally said.

“I’m not,” she replied. “Because if I hadn’t met you, I wouldn’t know what it feels like to survive being destroyed.”

She turned to leave.

He didn’t stop her.

But just before she disappeared down the road, his voice carried—low and shattered.

“Please… please… please…”

She didn’t look back.

Tagging the one and only @rafesbabygirlx