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Okay what about about a when mommy bunny reader is sore all over from walking around the house to get the baby to sleep?

just posted this one here! hope u like it<3

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Rafe soothing Marie ♡ Rafe Cameron!

content WARNING: Rafe × Bunny!Reader marriage, maternity, fussy baby, crying.

based on this request HERE!

No one had warned her about how hard maternity would be. But now it was 2:17 AM and Y/N had been battling to put Marie Thérèse to sleep for hours. The two month old, refused to settle, her tiny fists clenching and her face twisting into a fussy grimace, her cries growing louder with each passing minute. Y/N’s eyes stung with unshed tears, her voice cracking as she whispered soothing words, her bare feet aching from pacing the house for what felt like an eternity. She was finally realising how hard taking care of a baby could be. The weight of her helplessness pressed down, and as Marie’s wails escalated, a sob broke free from Y/N’s throat, her arms trembling as she rocked the crying baby. She was desperate.

Rafe jolted awake at the sound, his heart racing as he stumbled out of bed and followed the noise to the living room. The sight of his wife, tears streaming down her face with Marie screaming in her arms, sent a jolt of fear through him.

“What’s wrong?” he demanded, almost panicked as he rushed to her side, worried.

Y/N shook her head, sobbing uncontrollably. “I don’t know why she won’t sleep—she’s so fussy, and I can’t make her stop!” Her words dissolved into a choked cry.

Rafe gently took Marie into his arms, his large hands cradling her small body as he began to rock her, his movements instinctive but unsure.

“Easy, princess. You’re giving mama a hard time.”

His hand brushed her belly with a delicate touch, and to his surprise, her cries softened, her tiny face relaxing slightly. Encouraged, he massaged her belly with careful circles, muttering, “I saw the nanny do this once… says it helps with gas or something.” His voice was low, almost to himself, as Marie’s fussing eased, her breaths evening out. Y/N sniffed, leaning closer, her red-rimmed eyes watching him as he worked like an expert. She wasn’t going to admit it, but she felt a bit jealous. She gave birth to that baby and couldn’t calm her.

“I’m useless as a mother,” she whispered, a tight knot forming in her throat. “My legs hurt, and I can’t even get her to sleep. I don’t deserve her.”

Rafe’s head snapped toward her, his expression hardening.

“Don’t you ever say that again,” he said firmly, leaving no room for argument. He shifted Marie to one arm, stepping closer to his wife, and pressed a tender kiss to her forehead. “We’re learning together, okay? You’re not alone in this. See? She’s out already,” He looked down the sleeping baby and then up to his wife, she looked so tired that his heart shrink. “Go to bed, bunny. I’ll be with you in second, you deserve magic hands tonight.”

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ©slvbun(m) — written with love.

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I’ve got a meeting in one houuuur please I don’t want toooo

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Thinking about AperolSpritz!Reader’s baby bump being so subtle, like you’d barely notice it. Meanwhile, MommyBunny!Reader bump would be poppin’ ‘cause she’s petite, making it like super obvious!

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AperolSpritz!Chapter13: What reader was wearing at the casino)))

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Love all of your writing!! Was part nine the last part of angel tears?

hhhh thank u angel! and yes, part ten will be the epilogue))

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How do you imagine bunny reader and rafes house to look like

OMG I LIVE THIS QUESTION!!!

I think their house would be something like this! I really imagine that it would be more like the first one with a pool outside like the second one)) and inside, it would be so warm with flowers everywhere bc Rafe would bring his wife and his daughter flowers almost every day!

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ᤢ ♥︎⠀ 13 ⠀⠀‌⸻ ⠀ aperol spritz / rafe cameron!

content WARNING: gossip, pregnancy, mentions of alcohol, mentions of smoking, married couple struggles, mentions of car accident, mentions of cheating.

Rafe trudged through the front door of their mansion with weight of a long day at Cameron Development pressing on his shoulders. His tie was loosened, and his navy blazer slung over one arm.

He was exhausted.

All he wanted was to find his wife curled up in bed with Theo as they read a bedtime story or giggled over his stuffed shark’s latest “adventure.” The thought warmed him, a beacon of home after the grind. But as he climbed the grand staircase, the faint sound of Theo’s laughter echoed, not from their bedroom, but from the playroom.

Rafe paused, confusion knitting his brow as he followed the sound. In the playroom, he found Theo sprawled on a colourful rug, building a wobbly tower of blocks with the nanny, Maddy, a kind-faced girl in her twenties Y/N hired not so long ago. Theo’s shark was propped beside him, “guarding” the tower, as he yapped about a “T-Rex attack.”

“Hey, champ,” he said, forcing a smile as he scooped Theo into his arms, the boy’s small body warm and squirming. “Where’s Mommy?”

Theo giggled, his sticky fingers patting Rafe’s cheek.

“Mommy’s a fairy now!” he chirped. “She cut her hair, daddy! Short, like poof!” He waved his hands, mimicking fairy wings, his shark flopping to the floor. “She’s so pretty!”

Rafe’s smile tightened, his voice laced with concern as he turned to Maddy, Theo still in his arms.

“Where’s my wife? She didn’t say she was going out.” His tone was calm, but his jaw clenched, the unease growing.

Y/N always texted if she was stepping out, especially since she was five months pregnant.

Maddy stood, brushing her hands on her jeans. “She left a couple of hours ago, Mr. Cameron. Didn’t say where, just that she���d be back later. I assumed she told you.”

Rafe nodded, his mind racing, a flicker of worry tightening his chest.

“Thanks, Madeleine,” he said, setting Theo down and ruffling his hair. “I bet she looks like a fairy, buddy, I’ll go look for her, okay?” he murmured.

He pulled out his phone, dialing Y/N’s number—no answer.

His calls to her closest friends, Bella and Kate, went to voicemail, their cheerful recordings mocking his growing panic.

He hesitated, his thumb hovering over Dimitri’s contact, dreading the call. Y/N’s father was a bear of a man, protective and blunt, and Rafe could already hear his booming accent: You don’t know where my daughter is?

Steeling himself, he dialed. Dimitri picked up on the second ring. “Rafe,” he said. “What is it?”

“Hey, Dimitri, just checking if Y/N’s with you,” Rafe said, keeping his tone casual, though his grip on the phone tightened.

Dimitri’s pause was heavy. “You don’t know where my daughter is?” he asked and Rafe sighed. “She’s not with me. She said she was working from home today.”

Rafe’s jaw clenched, his free hand raking through his buzzcut.

“I’ll find her,” he said, ending the call before Dimitri could press further. His heart pounded as he dialled Topper, hoping for a lead.

Topper answered, his voice relaxed. “Yo, Rafe, what’s up?”

“Y/N’s not home. You seen her?” Rafe asked, pacing the playroom, Theo now engrossed in his blocks, oblivious to his father’s worry.

Topper hesitated. “Uh, yeah, actually. My wife said she saw Y/N at the casino earlier, with some of the girls. They were at one of those high-stakes tables. Didn’t think much of it, but… yeah, she was there.”

Rafe’s relief was immediate but fleeting, replaced by a surge of worry.

The casino? Y/N, five months pregnant, in a smoky, chaotic gambling den?

His mind flashed to their wilder days, before Theo, when they’d ruled the casino’s poker tables, Y/N’s sharp wit and fearless bets cleaning out pretentious Kooks while Rafe cheered her on. She was a killer player, her serene smile disarming opponents, but now? Pregnant and out without a word?

“Thanks, Top,” he muttered, grabbing his keys, his blood pressure spiking.

“That woman’s gonna kill me one day,” he grumbled, kissing Theo’s head before heading out, telling Maddy he’d be back soon.

The drive to the casino was a blur. Rafe’s heart thudded as he strode through the gilded doors, the familiar clatter of chips and laughter hitting him like a wave. The main room was a haze of cigar smoke and crystal chandeliers, the high-stakes table tucked in a corner, surrounded by velvet ropes.

And there she was—Y/N, across the room, her presence magnetic even in the chaos. Her hair was shorter, a sleek bob just above her shoulders. She wore a fitted black dress, her baby bump subtly rounded, her beauty stealing his breath. She looked like a fairy, as Theo said, her laugh ringing as she leaned over the table, placing something on the table.

But then Rafe’s eyes caught a glint of what she just dropped on that table—her six-carat engagement ring, placed among the chips as a bet. His stomach dropped, and he crossed the room in long strides, weaving through the crowd, his jaw tight.

“Y/N,” he said as he grabbed the ring, holding it up. “What the hell are you doing?”

Y/N’s head snapped up, her eyes widening, then narrowing as she furrowed her brow.

“Rafe, I’m fine,” she said, her voice defiant, though a flush crept up her neck.

The other players glanced awkwardly, but Rafe didn’t care.

He muttered an apology to the table, slipping the ring into his pocket and grabbing Y/N’s faux fur coat from the chair, draping it over her slim shoulders.

“We’re leaving,” he said, leaving no room for argument, guiding her out as her protests trailed behind.

In the car, Y/N’s complaints filled the air.

“You can’t just drag me out like that, Rafe! I was having fun, I was in control!”

Her hands gestured wildly, her new bob bouncing with each word, her eyes flashing with anger and something almost frantic. Rafe gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles white, trying to stay calm.

Was she drunk?

She didn’t smell like alcohol, but her behaviour was off, her usual calm replaced by a restless edge. He opened his mouth to respond, to ask what the hell she was thinking, but then he saw her reach into her clutch, pulling out a cigarette.

His temper snapped.

“What the fuck?” he yelled, his hand darting to snatch the cigarette before she could light it. “You’re pregnant! Are you serious right now?”

His voice boomed, his heart racing with fear and frustration, his eyes wide as he tossed the cigarette out the window.

Y/N yelled back, her voice cracking. “Oh my God, Rafe! I just—God! I’m not a kid!”

Her hands shook, her words tumbling out, and before she could say more, a deafening blare cut through the night—a car’s horn, its headlights blindingly close. Rafe’s instincts kicked in, his hands yanking the steering wheel in a violent turn, tires screeching as he swerved off the road, the car lurching onto a grassy embankment, jolting to a stop in the dark.

Silence followed, broken only by their ragged breathing. Y/N was shaking, her hands clutching her small bump, her face pale, her eyes wide with fear. Rafe’s heart pounded, his hand reaching for hers, his voice steady despite the adrenaline.

“You okay, love?” he asked, his eyes scanning her, his fear for her and their unborn child drowning out his anger.

She nodded, her breaths shaky, tears spilling down her cheeks as the shock settled in. Rafe grabbed his phone, calling for roadside assistance, his voice firm as he requested an ambulance, explaining his pregnant wife needed to be checked. As he hung up, Y/N’s sobs broke free, her shoulders trembling as she leaned into him.

“I’m so sorry, Rafe,” she whispered, her voice raw, her face buried in his chest. “This is all my fault. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I just… I heard the girls at the club the other day. They said you were with a blonde at La Mer, over and over, and I—I couldn’t think straight since then. I thought… I don’t know what I thought.”

Rafe’s brow furrowed, confusion flashing, then clarity hit. He pulled back, cupping her face, his thumbs brushing away her tears.

“A blonde?” he said, his voice softening, a chuckle escaping despite the moment. “Love, that was Sarah. She’s been helping me plan a surprise party for you, for the pregnancy. She dyed her hair blonder to ‘match Jamie,’ I told her she was crazy, but yeah, it was her.” He pulled out his phone, scrolling to a video Sarah had sent: a shaky clip of La Mer’s private dining room, decorated with sketches for the party, fairy lights and yellow roses everywhere. “See? That’s what we were doing. Guess the surprise is ruined now.”

Y/N’s eyes widened, fresh tears spilling as she watched the video, her lips parting in a pout. She felt dumb and guilty for believing gossip over her husband. She wasn’t like that.

“Oh, Rafe,” she whispered, her voice breaking as she cried harder. “I’m such an idiot. I’m so sorry. I knew they were lying. I’m so sorry.”

Rafe shook his head, pulling her close, his arms wrapping around her as she sobbed into his shoulder.

“Don’t be sorry,” he murmured, his hand rubbing her back. “I’d never disrespect you. Not even in my thoughts. I gave you my word in front of God, in front of everyone, and I’m not failing you or Theo. Never.” He cupped her face, his eyes locking onto hers, fierce with love. “We’re okay. You’re okay. The baby’s okay. That’s what matters.”

As they waited for the ambulance, Y/N’s shaking eased, her head resting against his chest, his heartbeat grounding her. She sniffled, a small watery giggle escape from her lips as she nuzzled closed. “I hate pregnancy hormones.” She whispered, her lips curving into a faint smile against his shirt.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ©slvbun(m) — written with love.

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ᤢ ♥︎⠀ 09⠀‌⸻ angel tears / rafe cameron!

Y/N woke that morning with a clarity she hadn’t felt in months. The mansion’s grandeur had once felt like a fairy tale, but now it was a tomb, draining her spirit until she was little more than bones and sadness.

She couldn’t stay, not another day.

She was dying here, slowly, invisibly, and she refused to let the mansion consume her entirely.

Packing took hours, not because she had much to take, but because each choice felt like a betrayal of the life she’d built with Rafe. She stood before her closet, her fingers trembling as they brushed over the dresses he’d chosen—silk, satin, pastel perfection. She left them hanging, untouched, and chose instead a few simple pieces: a soft sweater, a pair of worn jeans, a cotton sundress that reminded her of the girl she’d been before Rafe’s control. From the guest room, she gathered her books and her leather journal. She didn’t pack much, just the necessities and the things that felt like hers, not his.

Before leaving, Y/N sat at the guest room’s small desk, her pen hovering over a sheet of cream stationery. Her heart ached with guilt, that stubborn part of her still whispering that she was wrong to leave, that she owed Rafe for the life he’d given her, for the love she’d once believed in. She wrote a letter, her handwriting shaky but deliberate:

Rafe,

Thank you for the years we had. But I can’t stay here anymore. I’m sorry if this hurts you, I just need to find a way to breathe again. I hope you find what you’re looking for.

She folded the letter and placed it on the bed beside her diamond engagement ring, because she couldn’t take it with her—it was his, a symbol of that cage she was escaping. She slipped on her sneakers, slung the bag over her shoulder, and walked downstairs. At the front door, she paused, turning to take one last look at the mansion. The high ceilings, the peonies she’d tended in the garden, it was a home she’d tried to make, a dream she’d poured her heart into.

But those walls had nearly devoured her.

She stepped outside, the salty air sharp against her skin, and began walking, not knowing where she’d go but certain she couldn’t return.

She didn’t know Rafe was home early that day...

He’d slipped in quietly, his car parked around back, as always his mood a tangled mess of frustration and something he wouldn’t name. He stood at the living room window, hidden behind the heavy drapes, and watched her leave. She didn’t see him, and he was glad for it, because the sight of her walking away cracked something deep inside him.

For a moment, he wasn’t the man who’d yelled, who’d blamed, who’d pushed her away.

He was eight years old again, his face pressed to a different window, watching his mother’s car disappear down the drive, her suitcase in the trunk, leaving his father because he’d failed her as a husband. Rafe’s jaw tightened, his throat burning as he swallowed tears he hadn’t shed in years. He’d done the same his father did to his mother to Y/N.

He’d broken her, just as he’d always feared he would.

He stood frozen, his hands clenched into fists, his nails digging into his palms. He wanted to run after her, to grab her, to beg her to stay, but his feet wouldn’t move. He’d pushed her too far, ignored her pain until she’d become a ghost in his house. The letter and the ring on the guest room bed confirmed it: she was gone, and it was his fault. His angel, the girl who’d followed him with starry eyes at fifteen, who’d loved him through his worst, was walking out of his life, and he’d driven her to it.

A maid’s voice broke the silence. “Mr. Cameron, when should we clean the guest room and change the sheets?”

Rafe’s head snapped toward her, his eyes blazing with fury.

“Don’t touch that room,” he growled. “Close it off. Don’t go in there. Ever.”

The maid flinched, nodding quickly, and scurried away. Rafe turned back to the window, but Y/N was gone.

He stormed to the guest room, slamming the door behind him, and stood in the center, breathing in the faint scent of her—lavender, vanilla, the ghost of her presence. The bed was unmade. He didn’t touch them. He couldn’t. If the maids washed those sheets, they’d take the last trace of her, and he wasn’t ready to let that go.

He sank onto the bed, his hands shaking as he stared at the ring. He saw her in flashes: her shy smile at fifteen, her tear-streaked face when her father caught them, the way she’d looked at him with hope before he’d crushed it with his words. He’d wanted her to be his forever, but he’d caged her instead, because the way he was thought to love was selfish, controlling... now the mansion felt emptier than ever. And as Rafe buried his face in his hands, for the first time in years, he felt the sting of tears he couldn’t stop.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ©slvbun(m) — written with love.

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"Your generation has never learned the pleasures that a trained palate confers on the disciplined few."

Queer (2024) dir. Luca Guadagnino

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dark is the night sounds so intriguing 🤭🤭🤭

OMG I’M HONOURED BBY! THE PLOT OF THAT ONE IS LIKE SUPER SAD

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SingleMom!Reader × Police!Rafe

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I'm really scared to interact with followers/who reads my story..

I don't want to do reblog/tags/anon tags(?) but it's so rude to not do that when these beautiful people have been supporting and reading my shitty ass story. I feel so bad lmaooo. There's one time there's ask from anon and they put like -(emoji) telling me they liked my story and don't listen to other people and I didn't put any hashtags back because I DIDNT KNOWWWW and then I deleted because I'm stupid (⁠╥⁠﹏⁠╥⁠).

I totally understand that bby! When I started my blog, I was very very scared of that, but soon you’ll feel a lot more comfortable doing it! I think it’s really important to interact with those who read your stories and also anons and take requests can help a lot to build a stronger plot! so you got this!<3

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Your first draft is the block of marble. Editing is where you chisel away and find the shape inside.

So don’t be mad that the statue isn’t visible yet. You’re still sculpting. Keep going!!!!

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introducing… bitchy princess!reader and pathetic!rafe!

heavily inspired by @rotapathetic and their pathetic rafe AU <3

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╰┈➤ All your life people had been intimidated by you. whether it be because of your comfortability in your sexuality, your exuberance, or just your demeanor. and it wasn’t like you didn’t enjoy it, having everyone be slightly nervous or flustered when talking to you. it made you feel hot, sexy, like something above them. now of course you knew you were only human, unfortunately, but it made you feel like all your flaws were only skin deep.

To be so enthusiastically and unapologetically yourself was something that not many people were nowadays, everybody wanted to be something that wasn’t themselves. like a skin being pulled over a personality worth being shown. perhaps that’s what interested Rafe the most.

rafe could lie to his very few friends (only 2, if you don’t count his sister and grandma) and say it was your tits, or your fluttering mini skirts that barely brushed your thighs. Or maybe your high heels that made you stand at an even more intimidating height than ever. But lying didn’t feel right. atleast not when it came to you.

he’d been lied to and lying all his life, trying to be something he’s not. he wasn’t popular by any means but he still felt like he had to prove something to his friends, to himself.

He’d find himself being honest when talking about you, too honest. it was scary, something he hadn’t done in a while.

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you’d met in the bookstore, of all places. he didn’t wanna be a dick and say you didn’t belong there, but you looked like you didn’t. from your white stilettos to the half up half down pigtail hairstyle, you looked like a barbie.

your glowy smooth skin covered in a white cardigan that fell just a little below your belly button, a pink mini skirt with white polka dots, and a tank top that says “my tits are right here!”, it honestly looked like you walked into the wrong store.

Rafe had tried not to stare, honest! but it was hard with how you just looked like you deserved all his attention, you practically demanded it. he kept forcing his eyes away, trying to focus on the book he was looking for, trying (and failing) to hide his growing bulge with his satchel.

you’d noticed him as soon as he walked in. the slightly flushed look on his face after speaking to the librarian, the way he hunched in on himself as her stern voice directed him to aisle 4b. He looked like he was trying to hide himself, force his 6’4 stature into a pocket of space that wasn’t there.

now you watched as he sat down at a table, turning his body away from you. his eyes peeking from in between his fingers as his hand rested on his forehead. Rafe tried to look like he was paying attention to you, but you weren’t dumb!

your eyes met as you smiled at him, the tips of his ears turning red and the slight freckles on his face making themselves known. you frowned slightly as you watched him try to hide, to ignore you. but you couldn’t have that, especially not with someone as cute as him! you had to have him, you weren’t one to play the waiting game. you always got what you wanted, when you wanted it.

as you made your way over to him, your perfume became stronger, forcing its way into his nose and clouding his senses. his ears started to ring, anxiety and shame creeping in. he knew he should get up, basically run if anything. you probably came over here to yell at him, call him a creep or a perv-

“hi! do you have a girlfriend?”

what.

‘theres no fucking way’ he thought

“i don’t wanna be a weirdo or anything but ur like super cute and totally my type. but i’ll like totally back off if you have a girlfriend, i’m not a homewrecker” your voice made its way to his ears as the ringing finally stopped. you slid into the seat next to him, scooting the chair closer to him, to the point if he turned too much he’d graze your braless chest.

“n-no,” he stuttered out, his voice cracking as he tried to get his brain to start working. “girls don’t usually go for me”

‘stupid stupid stupid!’ Rafe’s brain went into overdrive. ‘why the fuck would i say that, oh my god’

“oh well that’s great then, well atleast for me! i’ll be the one to change that. i’m give you my number, ‘kay?” he nodded, trying to play it cool as he give you his phone. your voice sounded like bubblegum, cupcakes, and lace. he didn’t know how to describe how someone could sound like inanimate objects, but you did. you sounded like perfection.

“but what if i wasn’t interested in you?” he asked. ‘stupid stupid stupid! you’re a dumbass Rafe’ his thoughts only fueled the blood rushing to his face, he knew he was probably beet red, flushing with regret. somehow you didn’t let it phase you though, only smiling as you tilted your head. “you are.”

you got up and walked off, leaving his phone on the table with your number now saved inside. a heart next to your name with a sentence in the text box already. “text me! i don’t like waiting” he didn’t even realize you had already typed your number in, let alone saved your contact. he watched you leave the aisle, turning to wave at him as you stepped out of view.

left alone, all he could think about was you and your perfume. this has to be a dream, but with how hard he was right now, he knew it wasn’t. his cock twitched as he stood, rushing to the bathroom leaving his book and unlocked laptop on the table, forgotten.

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Maybe something sad, like reader is pregnant and Rafe is just toxic as heck, and like reader has no one but him cause her parents idk kicked her out or something. Idk I just feel like crying

I don’t want to ruin everything and say I’m working n something like this, but maybe JUST MAYBE I am...

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SURPRISE 4 HIM ♡ Rafe Cameron!

Content WARNING: Rafe Cameron x Stalker!Reader, sexual content, mentions of drugs, obsession, masturbarion (m!), +18 MDNI.

Lately, nothing felt right—his body, his head, his life. The coke had dulled his edges, but it had also dulled something else. He hadn’t gotten hard in weeks. He was a Cameron, damn it, and nothing was supposed to break him.

The shower was scalding, the water pounding his shoulders, rinsing away sweat, and the chemical haze in his brain. He braced his hands on the tiles, letting the steam clear his head, but that nagging worry lingered, his body wasn’t responding like it used to. He’d tried watching porn, scrolling through his phone late at night, but nothing. Just a dull, impotent frustration that made him feel less like himself. He scrubbed his skin raw, toweled off, and wrapped the towel around his waist, his hair dripping as he stepped back into his room.

He moved to his dresser, yanking open a drawer for clean boxers, his mind already drifting to the blunt he’d smoke to take the edge off. But something on his bed caught his eye—a small, glossy square on his pillow, out of place in the mess of unmade sheets. He crossed the room, his bare feet silent on the hardwood, and picked it up. A Polaroid. His breath hitched as he turned it over, his eyes locking onto the image.

It was her—Y/N, the Kook girl who’d been creeping around his life like a shadow. She was sprawled on his bed, her hair fanned out, her skirt hiked up, and his black boxers pulled low on her thighs. Her hand was between her legs, fingers glistening, her lips parted in a flush of arousal,

Rafe swallowed hard, and he spun around, his gaze darting to the closet, the window, under the bed, half-expecting her to be there, those eyes watching. But the room was empty. He clutched the Polaroid, his fingers trembling, a mix of unease and something darker swirling in his chest. He felt hunted... someone had been in his space, touched his things, laid on his bed. But then his eyes dropped back to the photo, and his cock twitched, a sudden, unmistakable jolt that shocked him.

He hadn’t felt that in weeks. But this lit something in him.

His cock hardened, straining against his boxers, a rush of blood that made his head spin. He should’ve been pissed, should’ve torn the photo up, but his hand moved on its own, dropping his boxers, wrapping around himself. He groaned as he gripped his shaft, the Polaroid shaking in his other hand.

He sank onto the bed, his back against the headboard, his eyes glued to the image. He imagined her there, just hours ago, her fingers working herself, moaning his name, her hips bucking as she came. The thought was fucked up, wrong, but it set his nerves alight, his hand stroking slowly. He pictured her lips parted, her breaths ragged, her eyes locked on him as she touched herself, claiming his space, his scent, his life. His thumb swiped over the tip of his cock, smearing precum, his strokes quickening, his breath hitching.

“Fuck…” he muttered, his mind a haze of lust and unease. His hand pumped faster, his grip tight, his hips bucking slightly as he chased the feeling. He imagined her there now, straddling him, her slick fingers guiding him inside her, her moans filling his room. His cock throbbed, his balls tightening, the Polaroid burning into his vision, her flushed skin, her wet fingers, his boxers clinging to her thighs.

Cum spilled over his hand, streaking his thighs, splattering onto the sheets. His body shook, his strokes slowing as he milked every pulse, his chest heaving, his head falling back. The Polaroid slipped from his fingers, landing face-up on the bed, her image staring back at him. He panted, his hand sticky, his thighs a mess, the high of release crashing into a wave of disgust and realization...

He’d just jerked off to a stalker’s photo, a girl who’d broken into his room, and it was the first time he’d felt alive in weeks.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ©slvbun(m) — written with love.