rafesgreasycurtainbangs

[rafesgreasycurtainbangs]

princesskook!reader and rafe being coked out and dry humping at a party

DRY HUMPING W/ RAFE . . .

the party’s a chaotic blur, a haze of thumping bass, spilled drinks, and bodies packed into some kook’s sprawling beach house. the air’s thick with the sharp tang of liquor and weed, laughter and shouted conversations fighting to be heard over the music. you’re perched on a couch in the corner, legs crossed, your tight little dress riding up just enough to make you feel like the princess you are.

rafe’s next to you, one arm slung around your shoulders, but he’s not all there—his eyes are glassy, pupils blown, that jittery edge to him that only comes when he’s been sniffing lines all night. he’s coked out, buzzing with energy, his leg bouncing as he talks too loud to some guy across from you, his hand gripping a red solo cup that’s mostly vodka by now.

you’re annoyed, lips pursed, arms crossed under your chest, pushing up your cleavage just enough to make rafe’s boys sneak glances. you’re over this scene—over the sweaty crowd, the sticky floor, the way rafe’s too wired to notice you’ve been giving him the silent treatment for the last twenty minutes.

you’re horny, aching for him, the kind of need that’s been building all night, fueled by the way he looked earlier, all sharp jawline and fitted shirt, before the coke took over. you want to go home, want him to take you apart in your bed, but rafe’s not picking up on it, too caught up in his high.

“rafe,��� you say, voice sharp, leaning into his side, your hand on his thigh, nails digging in just enough to make a point. “can we go? i’m bored.”

he doesn’t even look at you, just laughs at something the guy says, his hand squeezing your shoulder absentmindedly. “chill, baby, we’re good,” he says, voice loud, that outer banks drawl slurring slightly from the liquor and the coke. “party’s just gettin’ started.”

you huff, rolling your eyes, shifting so your dress hikes up a little more, knowing he’ll notice eventually. “rafe, i’m serious,” you whine, leaning closer, your lips brushing his ear, voice dropping to that bratty, pouty tone you know gets under his skin. “i wanna go home. now.”

he finally glances at you, eyes flicking down to your legs, your cleavage, then back to your face, and there’s a spark there, that dark, hungry look he gets when you push him. but he’s still buzzing, not ready to leave. “what’s the rush, princess?” he says, smirking, his hand sliding from your shoulder to your thigh, gripping it hard. “you lookin’ this good, we ain’t leavin’ yet.”

you scowl, crossing your arms tighter, turning your body away from him slightly, giving him the full brat treatment. “fine, stay then,” you snap, voice dripping with attitude. “i’ll just sit here and die of boredom.”

he laughs, low and rough, and you feel his hand slide higher up your thigh, fingers brushing the hem of your dress. “oh, you’re gonna be a little bitch tonight, huh?” he says, voice teasing but with that edge that makes your pulse race. he leans closer, lips grazing your ear, his breath hot. “what’s got you so worked up, baby? tell me.”

you bite your lip, trying to hold onto your annoyance, but the way his hand’s creeping up your thigh, the way his voice is all low and dirty, is making it hard. “i’m horny, rafe,” you admit, voice a little whiny, turning to face him, your hand grabbing his wrist to stop his teasing. “and you’re just… ignoring me.”

his smirk widens, eyes darkening, and you can tell he’s getting off on your attitude, on the way you’re practically squirming already. “poor thing,” he says, mock-pity in his tone, his hand slipping under your dress now, fingers brushing just close enough to make you tense. “my princess all needy and i’m not givin’ her what she wants, huh?”

“rafe,” you hiss, glancing around, aware of the crowd, the people not far off, but he’s already moving, shifting you so you’re straddling his thigh, your dress hiked up just enough to stay decent. your eyes widen, and you grab his shoulders, whispering, “what are you doing? people can see.”

“let ‘em look,” he says, voice rough, one hand on your hip, the other gripping the back of your neck, pulling you close so his lips are at your ear. “you’re my girl, yeah? gonna take care of you right here.” he’s high, reckless, and you know he doesn’t care who’s watching, that possessive streak in him flaring up at the thought of anyone seeing you like this, knowing you’re his.

you’re about to protest, but then he flexes his thigh, the hard muscle pressing right against you, and you gasp, the friction hitting exactly where you need it. “rafe,” you whimper, nails digging into his shoulders, and he chuckles, low and dirty, guiding your hips to rock against him.

“that’s it, baby,” he murmurs, voice thick with that drawl, his hand on your hip setting a slow, steady rhythm. “just grind on me, yeah? gonna make you feel so fuckin’ good.” his words are filthy, coaxing, and you’re too far gone to care about the party anymore, your body moving on instinct, chasing the pressure, the heat.

you’re trying to be discreet, keeping your movements small, but it’s hard when he’s watching you like that, eyes locked on your face, all intense and hungry, like he’s getting off on every little sound you make.

“fuck, you’re so hot like this,” he says, voice low, his grip tightening on your neck, pulling you closer so he can kiss you, messy and deep, tongue claiming you. “my needy little princess, humpin’ my leg in front of everybody.”

you moan into his mouth, half-embarrassed, half-thrilled, the risk of it all making it hotter. people are close, but the couch is tucked in the corner, and the music’s loud, the crowd too drunk to care. still, the idea that someone could see you, could know exactly what you’re doing, sends a thrill through you, mixing with the way his thigh feels, the way his hands guide you.

“rafe, please,” you whimper, voice shaky, and he smirks against your lips, flexing his thigh again, making you jolt. you’re soaked, you know you are, probably leaving a mess on his jeans, but he doesn’t care, just keeps you moving, keeps coaxing you with that low, dirty voice.

“c’mon, baby, you can do it,” he says, lips brushing your ear, his hand on your hip grinding you down harder. “wanna feel you come like this. wanna see my pretty girl lose it f’me.” his words are your undoing, the praise and the filth mixing with the pressure, and you’re trembling, so close, your breaths coming fast and shallow.

you’re trying to hold it together, but it’s too much—his voice, his hands, the way he’s watching you like you’re his whole world. “rafe,” you gasp, nails digging into his shoulders, and he groans, low and rough, his own breathing uneven now, like he’s right there with you.

“fuck, you’re gonna make me lose it,” he mutters, his hand slipping to grip your ass, urging you faster, harder. “come f’me, baby. right here, let everybody know you’re mine.” his words push you over, and you’re coming, hard, a soft cry slipping out as you shake against him, clinging to his shoulders, his neck, anything to anchor you.

he’s not far behind, his grip bruising as he tenses, a low “shit” hissed against your ear as he comes, his jeans probably a mess now, but he doesn’t care, just holds you close, kissing you sloppy and deep as you both come down, panting against each other.

you’re dazed, giggling softly, still straddling his thigh as he leans back, smirking, looking way too pleased with himself. “still wanna go home, princess?” he teases, voice rough, his hand stroking your back, possessive and soft all at once.

you swat his chest, half-embarrassed, half-satisfied, but you’re grinning, leaning into him. “you’re such an asshole,” you mutter, but you’re kissing him again, slow and sweet, knowing you’re not going anywhere for a while.

⩇⩇:⩇⩇

𓂅 taglist ― @littlelamy @dollyfiles @drewstarkeyswife0 @icaqttt @urcoolgf @camercns @pointocean @dsfault @rafestoothbrush @huhidontknowstuff @drewssgirl

[rafesgreasycurtainbangs]

thank you so so much for the tags my two pretty angels @sirensdollesque @lacyydollette

🏷️ @cherrygirlfriend @cameronsbabydoll @isasweetie @dollyfiles

thank you for the tags my loves mwah @isaadore @fantillisgirl

Your picrew + the last song you listed to!

no pressure tags 🏷️ @pixiebratz @piastriprincess @lovings4turn @littlelamy @urfavluvergirl @hardbeingcasual + anyone who would like to join 🫶🏻

[rafesgreasycurtainbangs]

THE FLOWER PRANK . . .

you’re sprawled on the couch in your apartment, the late afternoon sun filtering through the blinds, casting lazy stripes across the room. rafe’s next to you, one arm slung over your shoulder, his thumb idly tracing circles on your skin as he scrolls through his phone, half-watching some golf highlights on the tv.

it’s one of those chill days, just the two of you, takeout containers scattered on the coffee table, the vibe easy and comfortable.

but you’ve got a little plan brewing, something you saw on tiktok last week that’s been stuck in your head—a girl pranking her boyfriend by sending herself flowers and signing them from some random dude, just to see how he’d react. you figured it’d be fun to try with rafe, knowing how he gets when he’s even a little jealous.

you’d ordered the flowers a couple days ago, a bouquet of roses, nothing too over-the-top, and signed the card with “-Jake,” some generic name that could belong to anyone. the delivery’s supposed to come any minute, and you’re trying to keep your face neutral, but your heart’s racing, half-excited, half-nervous about how rafe’s gonna take it.

“you good, baby?” rafe asks, glancing over, catching the way you’re fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. his voice is low, that outer banks drawl thick as always, and his blue eyes narrow slightly, like he’s trying to read you.

“yeah, just comfy,” you say, flashing a quick smile, leaning into him to sell it. he hums, satisfied for now, and goes back to his phone, but you can feel the anticipation bubbling under your skin.

there’s a knock at the door, and you jump up, maybe a little too fast, brushing your hands on your shorts. “i’ll get it,” you say, trying to sound casual, and rafe barely looks up, just nods, still focused on his screen.

you open the door, and there’s the delivery guy, holding a bouquet of red roses, wrapped in cellophane with a little card tucked in. “delivery for you,” he says, handing them over, and you put on your best shocked face, eyes wide, mouth slightly open as you take them.

“oh, wow, uh… thanks,” you say, loud enough for rafe to hear, and you close the door, cradling the flowers like they’re a total surprise. you turn back to the living room, and rafe’s looking up now, brow furrowed, his phone forgotten in his lap.

“who’s that from?” he asks, voice flat, but there’s an edge to it, like he’s already suspicious. he sits up straighter, arm sliding off the back of the couch as he leans forward.

“i… i don’t know,” you say, playing it up, setting the bouquet on the counter and plucking the card from the flowers with a dramatic little frown. you open it, reading aloud, “had a great time last week, can’t stop thinking about you… Jake?” you let your voice go up at the end, like you’re confused, and you glance at rafe, who’s staring at you now, jaw tight, eyes narrowed.

“jake?” he repeats, slow, like he’s testing the name, and he’s already getting that look—lips pressed into a line, one hand gripping his knee a little too hard. “who the fuck is jake?”

you shrug, biting your lip to keep from smiling, keeping your eyes wide and innocent. “i have no idea,” you say, holding the card up like it’s evidence. “this is so weird. i don’t even know any jakes.”

rafe’s not buying it, not completely. he stands, crossing the room in a couple strides, his hands shoving into his pockets like he’s trying to keep them under control. “you don’t know any jakes, but some dude’s sendin’ you flowers?” he says, voice low, that possessive edge creeping in.

he’s close now, towering over you, and you can see the way his jaw ticks, the way his eyes flick between you and the roses like they’re personally offending him.

“rafe, i swear, i don’t know what this is,” you say, doubling down, holding the card out for him to see. “maybe it’s a mistake or… or someone’s just messing with me.” you’re trying so hard to sound convincing, but there’s a tiny quiver in your voice, and you’re not sure if it’s from nerves or the effort of not laughing.

he snatches the card from your hand, scanning it like it’s gonna give him answers, and his frown deepens. “had a great time last week?” he reads, voice dripping with irritation. “what the fuck’s that supposed to mean? you were with me all last week, baby.” he steps closer, eyes locked on yours, searching, and you can feel the jealousy rolling off him, sharp and hot.

“i was!” you say, nodding quickly, laying it on thick. “that’s why this makes no sense. i’ve been with you, rafe. you know that.” you reach out, touching his arm, trying to soothe him, but he’s still tense, like a coiled spring.

“then why’s some fuckin’ guy sendin’ you roses?” he snaps, tossing the card on the counter, his hand raking through his hair, a sure sign he’s pissed. “you got some dude on the side i don’t know about?” it’s half a joke, but the way he’s looking at you says he’s half-serious, too, like he’s waiting for you to slip up.

“rafe, no,” you say, shaking your head, stepping closer, your hands on his chest now, trying to pull him back. “you know i’d never. this is probably just… i don’t know, a weird prank or something.” you’re so close to breaking, the urge to confess bubbling up, but you hold it together, batting your lashes, playing the innocent card.

he exhales, sharp, his hands landing on your hips, pulling you against him, but it’s not gentle—it’s possessive, like he’s reminding himself you’re his. “better be a fuckin’ prank,” he mutters, eyes boring into yours, and you can see the annoyance simmering, the way he’s fighting not to let it take over. “ain’t nobody else gettin’ flowers to my girl, aight? just me.”

you nod, biting your lip, and you can’t help it—you crack a tiny smile, just enough to tip him off. his eyes narrow, and he tilts his head, studying you. “what’s that look?” he asks, voice suspicious, fingers tightening on your hips.

“nothing,” you say, too quick, and he raises a brow, not buying it.

“bullshit,” he says, but there’s a hint of a smirk now, like he’s starting to catch on. “you know somethin’. you pullin’ one over on me, baby?”

you laugh, can’t help it, and it’s enough to give you away. “okay, okay!” you say, throwing your hands up, giggling as you step back. “it’s a prank! i sent them to myself. saw it on tiktok, thought it’d be funny.”

rafe’s face shifts, annoyance melting into something else—half-relief, half-exasperation. “you fuckin’ serious?” he says, but he’s laughing now, shaking his head, stepping closer to crowd you against the counter. “you little shit, gettin’ me all worked up over some fake-ass jake?”

“it was funny!” you defend, still giggling, but he’s got you pinned now, his hands on either side of you, trapping you between him and the counter. his eyes are softer, but there’s still that possessive glint, like he’s not totally over it.

“funny, huh?” he says, leaning in, his lips brushing your ear, voice low. “you know what ain’t funny? makin’ me think some other guy’s got his eyes on my girl.” he kisses your neck, slow, deliberate, and you shiver, your hands gripping his arms.

“sorry,” you say, not sorry at all, and he pulls back, smirking, shaking his head like he doesn’t know what to do with you.

“you’re gonna make it up to me,” he says, half-teasing, half-serious, and you grin, knowing he’s already over it, but he’s not gonna let you off that easy. “no more fake jakes, aight? only flowers you’re gettin’ are from me.”

“deal,” you say, leaning up to kiss him, soft and sweet, and he pulls you closer, like he’s making sure you know exactly who you belong to.

⩇⩇:⩇⩇

𓂅 taglist ― @littlelamy @dollyfiles @drewstarkeyswife0 @icaqttt @urcoolgf @camercns @pointocean @dsfault @rafestoothbrush @huhidontknowstuff @drewssgirl

[rafesgreasycurtainbangs]

ur theme is AMAZINGG

STOP HELLO?!!!! your theme is so so beautiful im obsessed with yours!!

[rafesgreasycurtainbangs]

thank you so much for the tag my angel girl

coffee or tea , early bird or night owl , sandalwood or lemongrass , spring or fall , silver or gold , pop or alternative , freckles or dimples , snakes or spiders , mountains or fields , thunder or lightning , norse mythology or greek mythology , green or red , flute or guitar , ruby or diamond , butterflies or honeybees , cake or cookies , typewritten or handwritten , secret garden or secret library , rooftop or balcony , spicy or mild , concert or theater , london or paris , van gogh or monet , petrichor or sea salt , denim or leather , chatter or music , forest or desert , dragons or unicorns , masquerade ball or yuletide party , violence or heartbreak , hugs or kisses , bergamot or lilac.

no pressure tags: @cameronsbabydoll @lacyydollette @isasweetie

thank you for the tags @bradshawed & @lacyydollette ♡︎

coffee or tea || early bird or night owl || sandalwood or lemongrass || spring or fall || silver or gold || pop or alternative || freckles or dimples || snakes or spiders || mountains or fields || thunder or lightning || norse mythology or greek mythology || green or red || flute or guitar || ruby or diamond || butterflies or honeybees || cake or cookies || typewritten or handwritten || secret garden or secret library || rooftop or balcony || spicy or mild || concert or theater || london or paris || van gogh or monet || petrichor or sea salt || denim or leather || chatter or music || forest or desert || dragons or unicorns || masquerade ball or yuletide party || violence or heartbreak || hugs or kisses || bergamot or lilac.

no pressure tags: @rotapathetic @st6ined @soangelbaby @hrtfilm @turnerrst @bruisedboys !

[rafesgreasycurtainbangs]

ur user is making me yearn for s2 rafe even more sighhh

i need him to ruin me

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HAI GORGEOUSSSS!!!!!!!

HAI MY LOVEEEE!!!!!

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ur blog might be one of the prettiest ive ever come across <33

awww thank u bb <33

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love ur theme btwww!!! <3

ahhh i love u nonnie!!

[rafesgreasycurtainbangs]

us btw

literal twin flames babe

[rafesgreasycurtainbangs]

thank u so much angel for tagging me i love u so so much

type : aesthetic , character , color , movie , lyric , &&. celebrity into pinterest to find your vibe

・🏷️ @sweeethrt @cameronsbabydoll @littlelamy @rafeysangelbaby @isasweetie @rafessecret @rafesbabygirlx

tagging game !! ๑₊˚⊹

type aesthetic , character , colour , movie , lyric , and celebrity into pinterest to find your vibe :3

I keep seeing people do these and thought why not make one ! here's mine:

no pressure tags:

@ribbonlovergirl @oopsiedaisydeer @bernardsbendystraws @silverspringsstare @mattsvoicemail @whor3ing @sturns-mermaid @eeyoresturnz @chrisssiren

[rafesgreasycurtainbangs]

I peek at all my moots pages every now and then and I am dying over your themeeee. Gorgeous girl 🩵🫶🏼

stopp i’m so honored ml 😇😇 ur theme is so satisfying

[rafesgreasycurtainbangs]

HIS GIRL’S BIRTHDAY . . .

you wake to the softest brush of lips against your temple, a warm hand gliding over your bare shoulder, tracing the curve of your arm.

the room’s hushed, early morning light barely slipping through the heavy curtains of rafe’s bedroom at tannyhill. his scent—salt, cedar, and that musky edge that’s all him—wraps around you, pulling you from sleep.

his body’s pressed close, chest flush against your back, one heavy arm draped over your waist, fingers splayed possessively across your stomach. you feel his breath, warm and slow, fanning over your skin as he murmurs, voice rough with sleep, “happy birthday, baby.”

you stir, blinking slow, a sleepy smile tugging at your lips. “mm, mornin’,” you mumble, voice thick, nestling deeper into his warmth. he chuckles, a low rumble that vibrates against you, and shifts, propping himself up on one elbow to gaze down at you.

his blue eyes are soft, crinkled at the corners with a tenderness that makes your chest tighten. his hair’s a mess, golden-brown strands falling over his forehead, and he’s got that look—like you’re the only thing in the universe worth seeing.

“c’mere,” he says, voice gravelly but warm, tugging you gently to roll onto your back. you do, and he’s right there, hovering over you, one hand cupping your face, thumb brushing your cheek slow and deliberate.

“my girl’s birthday,” he says, almost to himself, like he’s in awe. “fuck, how’d i get so lucky, huh?” he leans down, kisses you soft but deep, lips moving with purpose, like he’s pouring everything into it. you melt, hands sliding up his bare back, feeling the flex of muscle under your fingers, warm and solid.

he pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, nose brushing yours. “love you so damn much,” he murmurs, “so fuckin’ grateful f’you, baby.” his hand slides to your hip, squeezing gently, pulling you closer until your legs tangle with his under the sheets, the intimacy of it making your heart race.

you nod, a little overwhelmed, voice soft. “i know. love you too, rafe.” your fingers thread through his hair, and he hums, leaning into your touch like he can’t get enough.

he’s always been touchy, craving physical closeness, always needing his hands on you—your waist, your thigh, the small of your back. but today, there’s something extra in the way he holds you, like he’s making sure you feel every ounce of how much you mean to him.

he kisses you again, deeper now, tongue sliding against yours, slow and lazy, like he’s got nowhere else to be. when he pulls away, he’s grinning, boyish but with that mischievous glint in his eyes.

“got plans f’you today, angel. whole damn day’s yours.”

you raise a brow, curious but still half-lost in the haze of his kisses. “plans? what kinda plans?”

he just smirks, tapping your nose lightly. “you’ll see. c’mon, let’s get you up. wanna start this right.”

you’re not used to this—birthdays have always been quiet for you, barely a blip on anyone’s radar, maybe a quick text or a card if you were lucky. but the way rafe’s looking at you, like today’s a holiday he’s been planning forever, makes your stomach flutter.

you sit up, stretching, and he’s already moving, grabbing one of his t-shirts from the floor and tossing it to you. “put this on, baby. you look too damn good in my clothes.”

you laugh, pulling the shirt over your head, the fabric soft and smelling like him. he watches you, eyes darkening as you stand, the hem falling just above your thighs, leaving your legs bare. “fuck,” he mutters, stepping closer, hands finding your hips.

“you’re gonna kill me today, i swear.” his grip tightens, just enough to make your pulse quicken.

“rafe,” you giggle, swatting his chest, but he catches your hand, kissing your knuckles before tugging you toward the bathroom. he’s got the shower running, steam curling in the air, and he’s undressing you with a gentleness that feels almost reverent.

his fingers linger, sliding over your hips, your waist, like he can’t help himself. “shower first,” he says, but his touch says he’s not in a rush to let you go.

you step under the warm spray, and he’s right behind you, hands roaming slow, not sexual but intimate, washing your hair with a focus that’s so rafe—careful, deliberate, like he’s savoring every second. “you’re too good to me,” you murmur, leaning back against his chest as his fingers massage your scalp.

“nah,” he says, voice soft in your ear. “you deserve this. deserve everythin’. gonna make sure you know it today.”

when you’re both out, wrapped in towels, he’s pulling you back to the bedroom, sitting you on the edge of the bed. “stay,” he says, like you’d argue, and disappears into his closet.

he comes back with a small, wrapped box, tied with a simple ribbon. your stomach flips—gifts aren’t something you’re used to, not like this.

“rafe, you didn’t have to—”

“shh,” he cuts you off, sitting beside you, the mattress dipping under his weight. “open it, baby.” his hand’s on your thigh, thumb rubbing slow circles, grounding you.

you untie the ribbon, heart pounding, and lift the lid. inside is a delicate gold necklace, a tiny wave-shaped pendant glinting in the morning light. your breath catches. “rafe… this is…”

“saw it and thought of you,” he says, voice low, watching your reaction like he’s hanging on it. “like how you’re always calmin’ me down, y’know? my own little piece of the ocean.”

he takes it from the box, fastening it around your neck, fingers brushing your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. “looks perfect on you.”

you touch the pendant, eyes stinging. “i’ve never… no one’s ever done this for me,” you admit, voice small. “like, made my birthday a thing.”

he curses under his breath, pulling you into his lap like it’s instinct. “fuck, baby, that’s not right. you’re…” he shakes his head, jaw tight, like the thought pisses him off. “you’re everythin’. deserve to feel like it every damn day, ‘specially today.”

you laugh softly, blinking back tears, and he kisses your forehead, your cheeks, your lips, like he’s trying to make up for every birthday you’ve ever had that wasn’t enough. “gonna change that,” he promises, voice thick. “startin’ now.”

the day’s a whirlwind of him spoiling you. breakfast is at a seaside café, where you share pancakes and he steals bites from your plate, grinning when you roll your eyes. his hand’s on your thigh under the table, fingers brushing lazy patterns, always touching, always close.

after, he drives you to your favorite beach, the one you’ve always loved, and he’s packed a picnic—sandwiches, fruit, a bottle of wine.

you sit on a blanket, his arm around you, watching the waves as he tells you stories, makes you laugh, keeps you tucked against his side like he can’t stand the thought of you being far.

“you’re spoilin’ me,” you say at one point, half-teasing, but he just shrugs, kissing your temple.

“good. you should be spoiled.”

later, he takes you shopping, insisting on buying you a dress you’d eyed in a boutique window. “try it on f’me,” he says, leaning back in the chair outside the dressing room, and when you step out, his eyes darken, a slow smirk spreading.

“fuck, angel, you look…” he doesn’t finish, just pulls you to him, kissing you right there in the store, hands gripping your hips like he’s seconds from taking you home.

dinner’s at a rooftop restaurant, all twinkling lights and ocean views. he’s reserved a private table, and he’s watching you across it, eyes soft but intense. “you happy?” he asks, voice quiet, like he’s checking.

“happier than i’ve ever been,” you say, and you mean it. his hand finds yours, fingers lacing together, and he smiles, that rare, unguarded one that makes your heart skip.

when you’re back at tannyhill, the air feels different, charged. he’s quiet as he leads you upstairs, hand firm in yours, like he’s been waiting for this all day. in his room, he lights a few candles—something you never expected from rafe, but the soft glow casts shadows that make the moment feel sacred.

he’s behind you, hands on your shoulders, lips brushing your neck, slow and deliberate, sending heat through you.

“been thinkin’ about you all day,” he murmurs against your skin, voice low, rough with want. “my girl. wanna take care of you tonight.” his hands slide down your arms, fingers brushing the straps of your dress, and you shiver, leaning back into him.

“rafe,” you whisper, turning in his arms, and he’s right there, eyes locked on yours, so close you can feel his breath. he kisses you, deep and slow, hands roaming your back, pulling you flush against him until there’s no space left.

the dress slips to the floor, pooling at your feet, and he groans softly, hands gripping your hips, your waist, like he’s starving for you.

“so fuckin’ beautiful,” he says, voice thick, guiding you to the bed with a gentleness that makes your heart pound. he lays you down, hovering over you, his weight a comforting press as he kisses you again, slow and teasing, building a heat that’s almost unbearable. “you okay, baby?” he checks, thumb brushing your cheek, eyes searching yours.

“yeah, ‘m good,” you murmur, pulling him closer, hands sliding over his shoulders. “just… want you.”

he smiles against your lips, kissing you deeper, hands exploring every inch of you like he’s memorizing you. “gonna take my time,” he says, voice a low growl, dripping with intent. “make you feel so good, angel.”

he starts slow, lips trailing down your neck, your collarbone, kissing every inch of skin like he’s worshipping you. his hands are everywhere—sliding over your hips, your thighs, fingers brushing just close enough to make you tremble but not enough to satisfy.

he’s deliberate, teasing, watching your reactions, the way you arch into his touch, the soft gasps you let out when his lips find a sensitive spot.

“look at you,” he murmurs, lips against your stomach, hands gripping your hips. “so fuckin’ perfect f’me.” he’s coaxing, voice soft but commanding, like he’s guiding you through every sensation.

his kisses dip lower, and you’re already a mess, hands fisting the sheets, breath hitching as he takes his time, drawing it out until you’re practically begging.

“rafe, please,” you whisper, voice shaky, and he looks up, eyes dark with want but still so soft, so focused on you.

“i got you, baby,” he says, voice soothing but firm. “just relax f’me. gonna make you feel good.” he moves back up, kissing you deep, tongue sliding against yours as his hand slips between your thighs, slow and deliberate, fingers finding you with a precision that makes you gasp.

he’s gentle but commanding, working you with a rhythm that has you trembling, every touch calculated to push you higher.“fuck, you’re so good,” he groans, voice rough, lips brushing your ear. “so tight, so perfect. all mine.” he’s praising you constantly, words dripping with that drawl, each one sinking into you, making you feel cherished, wanted.

his other hand grips your hip, keeping you steady as he builds the tension, slow and steady, until you’re right on the edge, whimpering, clinging to him.

“rafe,” you gasp, and he’s there, kissing you through it, coaxing you with soft murmurs of “c’mon, baby, let go f’me” and “you’re doin’ so good.”

when you come undone, it’s overwhelming, your body shaking as he holds you close, whispering how proud he is, how perfect you are.

he’s not done, though. he kisses you again, slower now, hands roaming as he positions himself over you, eyes locked on yours. “you with me?” he checks, voice low, thumb brushing your cheek.

“yeah,” you breathe, nodding, still dizzy but wanting more, wanting him. “please, rafe.”

he groans, low and guttural, like your words undo him. “fuck, angel,” he murmurs, kissing you soft as he lines himself up, slow and careful, like he’s savoring every second. when he moves, it’s deliberate, deep, his forehead pressed to yours, eyes never leaving you. “so good,” he whispers, voice tight with restraint. “so fuckin’ good f’me.”

he’s slow at first, letting you adjust, every thrust measured, steady, filling you in a way that makes your breath catch. his hands are everywhere—one gripping your hip, the other sliding up to cup your face, thumb brushing your lip as he murmurs,

“you feel that? how perfect you are? made f’me.” his voice is rough, raw, but so tender it makes your chest ache.

you’re whimpering, hands clutching his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as he picks up the pace just slightly, still careful but deeper, harder. “rafe,” you gasp, and he groans, kissing you messy, all tongue and teeth, like he can’t hold back anymore.

“love you like this,” he says against your lips, voice breaking with want. “all soft and needy f’me. my perfect girl.” he’s coaxing you again, guiding you higher, every word and touch calculated to make you lose yourself in him.

his hand slides down, fingers working you again, slow circles that match his rhythm, and you’re trembling, overwhelmed, every nerve on fire.

“c’mon, baby,” he murmurs, lips brushing your jaw, your neck. “let me feel you again. know you can. so good f’me.” he’s relentless but gentle, pushing you toward the edge with every thrust, every word, his touch everywhere—your hips, your thighs, your face, like he can’t stop touching you.

when you fall apart again, it’s with a cry of his name, and he’s right there, kissing you through it, murmuring,

“that’s it, angel. fuck, you’re so perfect.” he follows soon after, a low groan against your neck, his body trembling as he holds you close, kissing your skin, whispering how much he loves you, how you’re everything.

after, he’s still touching you, pulling you into his chest, wrapping you in his arms. “best birthday yet?” he asks, voice teasing but soft, kissing your forehead.

you laugh, breathless, nuzzling closer. “you have no idea.”

he chuckles, tugging the blanket over you both, keeping you close. “good. ‘cause this is how it’s gonna be, baby. every year, just you and me.”

⩇⩇:⩇⩇

𓂅 taglist ― @littlelamy @dollyfiles @drewstarkeyswife0 @icaqttt @urcoolgf @camercns @pointocean @dsfault @rafestoothbrush @huhidontknowstuff @drewssgirl

[rafesgreasycurtainbangs]

HIS GIRL’S BIRTHDAY . . .

you wake to the softest brush of lips against your temple, a warm hand gliding over your bare shoulder, tracing the curve of your arm.

the room’s hushed, early morning light barely slipping through the heavy curtains of rafe’s bedroom at tannyhill. his scent—salt, cedar, and that musky edge that’s all him—wraps around you, pulling you from sleep.

his body’s pressed close, chest flush against your back, one heavy arm draped over your waist, fingers splayed possessively across your stomach. you feel his breath, warm and slow, fanning over your skin as he murmurs, voice rough with sleep, “happy birthday, baby.”

you stir, blinking slow, a sleepy smile tugging at your lips. “mm, mornin’,” you mumble, voice thick, nestling deeper into his warmth. he chuckles, a low rumble that vibrates against you, and shifts, propping himself up on one elbow to gaze down at you.

his blue eyes are soft, crinkled at the corners with a tenderness that makes your chest tighten. his hair’s a mess, golden-brown strands falling over his forehead, and he’s got that look—like you’re the only thing in the universe worth seeing.

“c’mere,” he says, voice gravelly but warm, tugging you gently to roll onto your back. you do, and he’s right there, hovering over you, one hand cupping your face, thumb brushing your cheek slow and deliberate.

“my girl’s birthday,” he says, almost to himself, like he’s in awe. “fuck, how’d i get so lucky, huh?” he leans down, kisses you soft but deep, lips moving with purpose, like he’s pouring everything into it. you melt, hands sliding up his bare back, feeling the flex of muscle under your fingers, warm and solid.

he pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, nose brushing yours. “love you so damn much,” he murmurs, “so fuckin’ grateful f’you, baby.” his hand slides to your hip, squeezing gently, pulling you closer until your legs tangle with his under the sheets, the intimacy of it making your heart race.

you nod, a little overwhelmed, voice soft. “i know. love you too, rafe.” your fingers thread through his hair, and he hums, leaning into your touch like he can’t get enough.

he’s always been touchy, craving physical closeness, always needing his hands on you—your waist, your thigh, the small of your back. but today, there’s something extra in the way he holds you, like he’s making sure you feel every ounce of how much you mean to him.

he kisses you again, deeper now, tongue sliding against yours, slow and lazy, like he’s got nowhere else to be. when he pulls away, he’s grinning, boyish but with that mischievous glint in his eyes.

“got plans f’you today, angel. whole damn day’s yours.”

you raise a brow, curious but still half-lost in the haze of his kisses. “plans? what kinda plans?”

he just smirks, tapping your nose lightly. “you’ll see. c’mon, let’s get you up. wanna start this right.”

you’re not used to this—birthdays have always been quiet for you, barely a blip on anyone’s radar, maybe a quick text or a card if you were lucky. but the way rafe’s looking at you, like today’s a holiday he’s been planning forever, makes your stomach flutter.

you sit up, stretching, and he’s already moving, grabbing one of his t-shirts from the floor and tossing it to you. “put this on, baby. you look too damn good in my clothes.”

you laugh, pulling the shirt over your head, the fabric soft and smelling like him. he watches you, eyes darkening as you stand, the hem falling just above your thighs, leaving your legs bare. “fuck,” he mutters, stepping closer, hands finding your hips.

“you’re gonna kill me today, i swear.” his grip tightens, just enough to make your pulse quicken.

“rafe,” you giggle, swatting his chest, but he catches your hand, kissing your knuckles before tugging you toward the bathroom. he’s got the shower running, steam curling in the air, and he’s undressing you with a gentleness that feels almost reverent.

his fingers linger, sliding over your hips, your waist, like he can’t help himself. “shower first,” he says, but his touch says he’s not in a rush to let you go.

you step under the warm spray, and he’s right behind you, hands roaming slow, not sexual but intimate, washing your hair with a focus that’s so rafe—careful, deliberate, like he’s savoring every second. “you’re too good to me,” you murmur, leaning back against his chest as his fingers massage your scalp.

“nah,” he says, voice soft in your ear. “you deserve this. deserve everythin’. gonna make sure you know it today.”

when you’re both out, wrapped in towels, he’s pulling you back to the bedroom, sitting you on the edge of the bed. “stay,” he says, like you’d argue, and disappears into his closet.

he comes back with a small, wrapped box, tied with a simple ribbon. your stomach flips—gifts aren’t something you’re used to, not like this.

“rafe, you didn’t have to—”

“shh,” he cuts you off, sitting beside you, the mattress dipping under his weight. “open it, baby.” his hand’s on your thigh, thumb rubbing slow circles, grounding you.

you untie the ribbon, heart pounding, and lift the lid. inside is a delicate gold necklace, a tiny wave-shaped pendant glinting in the morning light. your breath catches. “rafe… this is…”

“saw it and thought of you,” he says, voice low, watching your reaction like he’s hanging on it. “like how you’re always calmin’ me down, y’know? my own little piece of the ocean.”

he takes it from the box, fastening it around your neck, fingers brushing your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. “looks perfect on you.”

you touch the pendant, eyes stinging. “i’ve never… no one’s ever done this for me,” you admit, voice small. “like, made my birthday a thing.”

he curses under his breath, pulling you into his lap like it’s instinct. “fuck, baby, that’s not right. you’re…” he shakes his head, jaw tight, like the thought pisses him off. “you’re everythin’. deserve to feel like it every damn day, ‘specially today.”

you laugh softly, blinking back tears, and he kisses your forehead, your cheeks, your lips, like he’s trying to make up for every birthday you’ve ever had that wasn’t enough. “gonna change that,” he promises, voice thick. “startin’ now.”

the day’s a whirlwind of him spoiling you. breakfast is at a seaside café, where you share pancakes and he steals bites from your plate, grinning when you roll your eyes. his hand’s on your thigh under the table, fingers brushing lazy patterns, always touching, always close.

after, he drives you to your favorite beach, the one you’ve always loved, and he’s packed a picnic—sandwiches, fruit, a bottle of wine.

you sit on a blanket, his arm around you, watching the waves as he tells you stories, makes you laugh, keeps you tucked against his side like he can’t stand the thought of you being far.

“you’re spoilin’ me,” you say at one point, half-teasing, but he just shrugs, kissing your temple.

“good. you should be spoiled.”

later, he takes you shopping, insisting on buying you a dress you’d eyed in a boutique window. “try it on f’me,” he says, leaning back in the chair outside the dressing room, and when you step out, his eyes darken, a slow smirk spreading.

“fuck, angel, you look…” he doesn’t finish, just pulls you to him, kissing you right there in the store, hands gripping your hips like he’s seconds from taking you home.

dinner’s at a rooftop restaurant, all twinkling lights and ocean views. he’s reserved a private table, and he’s watching you across it, eyes soft but intense. “you happy?” he asks, voice quiet, like he’s checking.

“happier than i’ve ever been,” you say, and you mean it. his hand finds yours, fingers lacing together, and he smiles, that rare, unguarded one that makes your heart skip.

when you’re back at tannyhill, the air feels different, charged. he’s quiet as he leads you upstairs, hand firm in yours, like he’s been waiting for this all day. in his room, he lights a few candles—something you never expected from rafe, but the soft glow casts shadows that make the moment feel sacred.

he’s behind you, hands on your shoulders, lips brushing your neck, slow and deliberate, sending heat through you.

“been thinkin’ about you all day,” he murmurs against your skin, voice low, rough with want. “my girl. wanna take care of you tonight.” his hands slide down your arms, fingers brushing the straps of your dress, and you shiver, leaning back into him.

“rafe,” you whisper, turning in his arms, and he’s right there, eyes locked on yours, so close you can feel his breath. he kisses you, deep and slow, hands roaming your back, pulling you flush against him until there’s no space left.

the dress slips to the floor, pooling at your feet, and he groans softly, hands gripping your hips, your waist, like he’s starving for you.

“so fuckin’ beautiful,” he says, voice thick, guiding you to the bed with a gentleness that makes your heart pound. he lays you down, hovering over you, his weight a comforting press as he kisses you again, slow and teasing, building a heat that’s almost unbearable. “you okay, baby?” he checks, thumb brushing your cheek, eyes searching yours.

“yeah, ‘m good,” you murmur, pulling him closer, hands sliding over his shoulders. “just… want you.”

he smiles against your lips, kissing you deeper, hands exploring every inch of you like he’s memorizing you. “gonna take my time,” he says, voice a low growl, dripping with intent. “make you feel so good, angel.”

he starts slow, lips trailing down your neck, your collarbone, kissing every inch of skin like he’s worshipping you. his hands are everywhere—sliding over your hips, your thighs, fingers brushing just close enough to make you tremble but not enough to satisfy.

he’s deliberate, teasing, watching your reactions, the way you arch into his touch, the soft gasps you let out when his lips find a sensitive spot.

“look at you,” he murmurs, lips against your stomach, hands gripping your hips. “so fuckin’ perfect f’me.” he’s coaxing, voice soft but commanding, like he’s guiding you through every sensation.

his kisses dip lower, and you’re already a mess, hands fisting the sheets, breath hitching as he takes his time, drawing it out until you’re practically begging.

“rafe, please,” you whisper, voice shaky, and he looks up, eyes dark with want but still so soft, so focused on you.

“i got you, baby,” he says, voice soothing but firm. “just relax f’me. gonna make you feel good.” he moves back up, kissing you deep, tongue sliding against yours as his hand slips between your thighs, slow and deliberate, fingers finding you with a precision that makes you gasp.

he’s gentle but commanding, working you with a rhythm that has you trembling, every touch calculated to push you higher.“fuck, you’re so good,” he groans, voice rough, lips brushing your ear. “so tight, so perfect. all mine.” he’s praising you constantly, words dripping with that drawl, each one sinking into you, making you feel cherished, wanted.

his other hand grips your hip, keeping you steady as he builds the tension, slow and steady, until you’re right on the edge, whimpering, clinging to him.

“rafe,” you gasp, and he’s there, kissing you through it, coaxing you with soft murmurs of “c’mon, baby, let go f’me” and “you’re doin’ so good.”

when you come undone, it’s overwhelming, your body shaking as he holds you close, whispering how proud he is, how perfect you are.

he’s not done, though. he kisses you again, slower now, hands roaming as he positions himself over you, eyes locked on yours. “you with me?” he checks, voice low, thumb brushing your cheek.

“yeah,” you breathe, nodding, still dizzy but wanting more, wanting him. “please, rafe.”

he groans, low and guttural, like your words undo him. “fuck, angel,” he murmurs, kissing you soft as he lines himself up, slow and careful, like he’s savoring every second. when he moves, it’s deliberate, deep, his forehead pressed to yours, eyes never leaving you. “so good,” he whispers, voice tight with restraint. “so fuckin’ good f’me.”

he’s slow at first, letting you adjust, every thrust measured, steady, filling you in a way that makes your breath catch. his hands are everywhere—one gripping your hip, the other sliding up to cup your face, thumb brushing your lip as he murmurs,

“you feel that? how perfect you are? made f’me.” his voice is rough, raw, but so tender it makes your chest ache.

you’re whimpering, hands clutching his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as he picks up the pace just slightly, still careful but deeper, harder. “rafe,” you gasp, and he groans, kissing you messy, all tongue and teeth, like he can’t hold back anymore.

“love you like this,” he says against your lips, voice breaking with want. “all soft and needy f’me. my perfect girl.” he’s coaxing you again, guiding you higher, every word and touch calculated to make you lose yourself in him.

his hand slides down, fingers working you again, slow circles that match his rhythm, and you’re trembling, overwhelmed, every nerve on fire.

“c’mon, baby,” he murmurs, lips brushing your jaw, your neck. “let me feel you again. know you can. so good f’me.” he’s relentless but gentle, pushing you toward the edge with every thrust, every word, his touch everywhere—your hips, your thighs, your face, like he can’t stop touching you.

when you fall apart again, it’s with a cry of his name, and he’s right there, kissing you through it, murmuring,

“that’s it, angel. fuck, you’re so perfect.” he follows soon after, a low groan against your neck, his body trembling as he holds you close, kissing your skin, whispering how much he loves you, how you’re everything.

after, he’s still touching you, pulling you into his chest, wrapping you in his arms. “best birthday yet?” he asks, voice teasing but soft, kissing your forehead.

you laugh, breathless, nuzzling closer. “you have no idea.”

he chuckles, tugging the blanket over you both, keeping you close. “good. ‘cause this is how it’s gonna be, baby. every year, just you and me.”

⩇⩇:⩇⩇

𓂅 taglist ― @littlelamy @dollyfiles @drewstarkeyswife0 @icaqttt @urcoolgf @camercns @pointocean @dsfault @rafestoothbrush @huhidontknowstuff @drewssgirl

[rafesgreasycurtainbangs]

I WAS NOT EXPECTING THAT RESPOND HELP 😭

come tickle my feet bbg

[rafesgreasycurtainbangs]

hey baddielicious

oh i am one lucky girl 🤭🤭

[rafesgreasycurtainbangs]

making out AFTER oral? yes or no?

HELL YES.