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post show ✟⠀rafe cameron

your underground rapper boyfriend always gets horny after performing.

pairing — fem!reader x trapstar!rafe

warnings — vaginal sex. drugs. grinding. masturbation. hand in mouth. dirty talk. groping. choking.

the penthouse smelled like a mix of weed and rafe's cologne that always lingered when he was prepping for a show. you were sprawled on your stomach across the big sectional in rafe's downtown penthouse, legs kicked up behind you swinging lazily like a bored kitten.

the micro shorts you had on rode up just enough to show the curve of your ass while you scrolled laughing at some dumb video.

rafe stood in front of the floor length mirror while his stylist adjusted the fit. tonight was one of those underground club shows in brooklyn. the kind of shows where the crowd knew every word even if he wasn't on mainstream radio yet.

"black hoodie or white one?" the stylist asked, holding both chrome hearts hoodies up against rafe's chest.

rafe had a cigarette tucked between his lips, barely paying attention as he checked his phone. "don't matter to me." he murmured around the smoke, voice low and raspy.

the stylist sighed and glanced over at you. "what do you think, doll? you're the one who's gotta look at him all night."

you lifted your head, vape in hand, and tilted it side to side like you were judging a fashion show with your pretty face. "mmm... black makes him look scary. like he's gonna rob a bank.

rafe smirked around the cig, not even looking away from his reflection. "black one then."

you smiled big, pushing yourself up on your elbows. "can i wear the white one then?"

the stylist looked at rafe. he gave a small unbothered nod, smoke curling up past his sharp jaw. "yeah let her have it."

the stylist tossed the white chrome hearts hoodie your way and you let out the cutest little squeak-scream, rolling onto your back and hugging it to your chest.

"it's gonna look big on you." rafe said, finally turning around with that lazy grin.

you sat up fully, legs still dangling, and hit him with the dirtiest little smile. "i like big things."

rafe barked out a laugh and shook his head, running a tattooed hand through his messy dirty blonde hair. the stylist chuckled too, packing up some pieces. "yall are nasty as hell."

"bro i did nothing" rafe protested, pointing the cigarette at you. "she's the dirty minded one. always got her mind in the gutter."

you grabbed one of the throw pillows and launched it at him, giggling the whole time. it bounced off his chest and you jumped up from the couch, barefoot padding over to where he stood. the white hoodie already halfway pulled over your micro shorts and top.

you pulled out your phone and started recording him while the stylist was finishing his hair, zooming in on how focused he looked. "look how cute you get when they're doing your hair" you teased, voice sweet and bubbly.

"delete that shit right now." rafe muttered, but there was no real bite. his blue eyes were soft on you through the mirror.

"nuh uh" you sang, still filming, biting your lip at how good he looked.

he finally turned, grabbed your phone gently and set it down before his hands found your waist. those tattooed fingers slipped under the hem of the white hoodie and gave your ass a firm pat, squeezing once like he couldn't help himself.

"go finish getting ready, baby. we leave in thirty. don't make me come drag you out the bathroom."

you leaned up on your toes and kissed the corner of his mouth, tasting the cigarette. "yes sir."

later when you were fully dressed, you stood in the mirror and snapped a cute mirror pic, added a little heart emoji and a song snippet from one of rafe's unreleased tracks, then posted it to your instagram story.

nothing too obvious, but enough for the internet to keep whispering about you two.

rafe came up behind you, arms wrapping around your middle. he rested his chin on your shoulder, eyes low from the percs he took earlier for the show. "you look too good in my shit. gets me fucking horny."

you grinned, blowing a strawberry cloud over your shoulder at him. "you are the nasty one"

he kissed your neck, hands sliding down to grip your hips harder.

during rafe's set, you stayed backstage the whole time just with the crew moving around you. the club was packed and you kept peeking through the side curtain, phone in hand, filming little clips of him on stage like the proudest girlfriend alive.

rafe looked insane under the red and purple lights — black hoodie up, chains swinging, that menacing stare while he spat bars. his voice raw and raspy over the beat, crowd screaming every word back at him.

you were biting your lip the whole time, your heart doing that fluttery thing it always did when you watched him perform.

when the set ended and the crowd was still losing it, rafe came off stage sweaty, adrenaline pumping. you immediately went to him, wrapping your arms around his neck and tiptoeing in your thigh highs to press a soft peck on his cheek.

"you killed it baby." you whispered against his sweaty skin.

he smirked, already pulling a cigarette from his pocket. the club promoter came over right away, clapping rafe on the back. "that shit was crazy, cameron. you got the whole spot buzzed tonight. you're welcome back anytime."

rafe nodded, blowing smoke out the side of his mouth, casual as ever. "appreciate it. we'll run it back then."

you let out a small yawn, covering it with your hand. rafe turned at the sound. "yo baby, you tryna leave or you wanna stay?" he asked, pupils blown wide from the coke and whatever else was in his system, that hazy blue stare locking on you.

you laughed softly and grabbed his face with both hands, squishing his cheeks a little. "you're flying right now, aren't you?"

rafe just smiled that lazy, wasted smile and ate your mouth right there in the middle of the backstage area. tongue deep, one hand gripping your waist under his oversized white hoodie you were still wearing.

people around pretended they weren't looking. the crew members suddenly were very focused on packing cables and cases, but you could feel the eyes. rafe didn't care. he never did.

outside by the blacked-out van waiting. rafe had his hood up, cigarette almost finished, leaning against the side of the vehicle.

he pulled you close, voice low against your ear. "how about you get in the back and blow me real quick, hm?"

you shook your head with a teasing grin, pushing his chest lightly. "not right here, rafe. driver's literally waiting for us."

he groaned dramatically, head falling back against the van like he was suffering. "c'mon baby... i'm so painfully horny right now."

you giggled and decided to torture him a little more. glancing around to make sure the street was mostly empty, you lifted the hem of your top (and his white hoodie) just enough to flash him your tits, perky and cold in the night air. "you always get horny after a show"

rafe's eyes dropped instantly, breath catching as he reached out with those tattooed hands and groped them so casually.

"fuck... i love these." he panted, pupils still shot, squeezing gently but greedily.

you leaned in and pressed a slow, open-mouthed kiss right over the hard bulge in his jeans, lips lingering just enough to make him twitch. rafe looked down at you with those completely wasted eyes, lips parted, looking so gone for you it was almost cute.

you straightened up, fixed your top, and kissed him sweetly on the mouth this time. then you tugged at his hoodie strings, pulling him closer like he was your favorite toy. you hummed happily and climbed into the van with him.

finally at rafe's penthouse, he was deep in the comedown now. eyes heavy, movements slow and stumbling as the coke started to crash on him.

"come on baby, almost there." you whispered sweetly, almost innocent.

you pushed him gently until he sat on the edge of the big bed, legs spread, black hoodie still on. he looked so pretty, god. you stepped back a little, biting your lip as you started stripping slow for him. first the hoodie, then the top underneath, letting your tits bounce free.

you turned around, arching your back while sliding the micro skirt and shorts down your legs, rubbing your ass against his lap teasingly as you moved.

rafe smiled lazily, that wasted but hungry look on his face. his hand came up fast, covering your mouth gently but firm as you stood between his legs. "love that i can touch you however i want."

his other hand traced your waist, fingers sliding down slowly until he cupped your pussy, middle finger brushing through your wetness. you laughed against his palm, and slapped his chest playfully.

"rafe." you mumbled against his hand, voice muffled and bratty. "you're so desperate already."

he grinned and suddenly grabbed you, throwing you onto the bed with that easy strength. you bounced once on the mattress, giggling as he stood up and stripped.

black hoodie off, chains clinking, jeans and boxers shoved down. his dick was already hard, the tip leaking as he looked at you like he was starving.

"let me fuck you already." he said, voice raspy and yearning, crawling over you. "been thinking about this pussy the whole ride home."

you smirked up at him, legs wrapping loosely around his waist. "yall rappers only think about sex, huh?"

rafe laughed low and covered your mouth again with his tattooed hand. "my baby's so smart," he murmured, eyes half-lidded. "you're always talking shit with that pretty mouth."

he pulled back a little, sitting on his knees as he started jerking himself slow, watching you. you spread your legs wider and touched yourself too, fingers circling your clit, soft moans slipping out while you stared at him.

"rafe... i want it." you whined, voice breathy.

"then suck me first, baby. c'mere." he said, guiding his dick toward your mouth with one hand.

you made the cutest horny face, eyes big and needy, but shook your head a little. "no... i wanna grind on you. please?"

rafe groaned deep, head falling back for a second. "fuck... yeah, go on then. come here."

he laid back fully on the bed and you climbed on top, straddling him. his big hands grabbed your hips tight, fingers digging into your smaller frame as you started grinding down on his dick.

it wasn't inside yet, just sliding between your wet folds, sloppy and messy, your arousal coating him completely. every roll of your hips made wet sounds fill the room, his tip bumping your clit over and over.

"mmm yeah, fuck... just like that." rafe breathed. "look how wet you got me, baby."

you braced your hands on his chest, hips moving faster, grinding harder. "feels so good... your dick is so warm." you moaned soft, voice all sweet and filthy.

he squeezed your ass with both hands, guiding your movements, eyes locked on where your bodies kept sliding together. "keep going, pretty. before i slide in... you want it deep?"

you nodded desperately, leaning down to kiss his neck while you kept grinding, your tits pressed against his chest. "yes... mhm, but not yet. i like when you look at me so pretty."

rafe chuckled breathlessly, tattooed hand sliding to your throat, holding you lightly as you moved on him. his hips started bucking up gently to meet your grinding, chains cold against your skin.

"you're fucking evil, gets me so turned on." he whispered, voice breaking into a groan when you rolled your hips just right. "keep making those sounds for me."

you kept sliding your soaked pussy up and down his dick. the wet sounds filling the quiet penthouse bedroom.

you bit your lip, looking down at him with that horny little face, hands braced on his chest. “i can feel you throbbing between my pussy." you whispered, letting your wetness smear across his lower stomach.

rafe’s eyes were heavy burning. he suddenly sat up halfway as he pulled you closer. “let me fuck you proper” he murmured against your ear, voice raspy.

he lifted your hips just enough and lined himself up. you moaned loud as he pushed in deep in one slow, thick stroke, stretching you open. your smaller body shivered on top of him, back arching hard.

“oh my god… rafe." you whimpered against his neck, eyes rolling a little. “you’re so deep already.”

“mhm baby, that's the point.” he breathed, starting to thrust up into you while holding your hips down. the wet slapping sounds got louder, nastier, your arousal dripping down his balls every time he bottomed out. “this pussy is so fucking tight and wet for me.”

you started riding him properly, bouncing on his dick while his hand stayed over your throat. your tits bounced with every movement and rafe couldn’t stop staring, free hand grabbing one roughly, pinching your nipple.

“harder" you begged, voice muffled and needy against his tattooed fingers. “fuck me harder, baby… i want it.”

he groaned and flipped you suddenly, putting you on your back without pulling out. now on top, he hooked your legs over his arms and started pounding you deep, chains swinging against your chest with every thrust. the bed creaked under you two.

“like this?” he panted. “you like when i fuck you stupid, doll?”

“yes— fuck yes!" you moaned, nails digging into his back. “don’t stop… you feel so good stretching me out. i’m—”

rafe covered your mouth again, slamming into you faster and relentless. “then cum on my dick while i fill your insides.”

rafe groaned loud, burying himself deep and creaming all inside you, his hips stuttering as he rode it out. right after, your legs started shaking, back arching hard as you came hard around him.

both of you were breathing heavy, bodies sticky and spent. after a few minutes rafe pulled out slowly, watching his cum leak out of you with satisfied eyes.

he reached over to the nightstand, grabbed a few tissues and gently wiped between your legs, cleaning you up careful and sweet even though he was still half gone from the comedown.

“how i love sex." he kissed your thigh, voice sleepy but firm.

you giggled softly, kissing his jaw as he buried his face in your neck, already drifting. one tattooed hand resting possessively on your ass, the other stroking your back slowly.

Bizarre Magazine covers from 1946-53.

Launched in the mid-1940s by British-born illustrator, photographer, and self-styled fetish visionary John Willie, Bizarre emerged from the shadowy correspondence networks of corset devotees, shoe worshippers, bondage enthusiasts, and readers who rarely saw their private desires reflected in public culture. Presented with the elegant camouflage of a “fashion fantasia,” the magazine combined photographs, letters, illustrations, advice, and Willie’s celebrated Sweet Gwendoline cartoons, carefully avoiding explicit nudity while creating a visual language charged with restraint, ritual, theatrical danger, and impossible glamour.