#boxer!rafe

he’s in the gym long after everyone’s cleared out, the lights half off, just the hum of the overheads and the dull thud of gloves hitting the bag. his knuckles are already split, tape coming loose, but he keeps going anyway like if he tires himself out enough, it’ll quiet the way he’s thinking about you.

it doesn’t.

every punch is heavier than the last, not even clean anymore. sloppy. distracted. because all he can picture is you, curled up in his bed, probably on his side, tucked into his sheets like you belong there more than he ever has. wearing one of his shirts.

he stops mid-swing.

just stands there, chest heaving, sweat dripping down his jaw, staring at nothing.

“fuck,” he mutters under his breath, dragging a hand over his face.

he checks his phone. no new messages, but that doesn’t matter he already knows you’re asleep. you always are at this hour, all tucked in and waiting without even realizing it.

that soft, quiet life you live… it gets under his skin in a way nothing else does.

he pulls his gloves off with his teeth, rough and impatient. the drive home is fast. reckless. one hand on the wheel, the other tapping against it, restless, like he can’t get there quick enough.

and when he finally walks in, the whole place is quiet.

just like he knew it would be.

he doesn’t turn on any lights. doesn’t make a sound. just heads straight for the bedroom, heavy steps softening the closer he gets.

and there you are.

exactly how he pictured.

asleep in his bed, tangled in his sheets, face all relaxed and pretty.

he stands there for a second. just looking at you.

all that anger, all that noise.. it’s just gone.

“…there she is,” he murmurs, voice low, almost careful.

he strips down quick, tossing his things aside, then climbs into bed behind you, big arm wrapping around your waist, pulling you into him like it’s instinct. like he needs you there to settle.

his face presses into your neck, breathing you in slow.

“missed you,” he mumbles, half into your skin, already calmer, already softer.

and for the first time all night, he finally relaxes.

credits to @princessbrunette for boxer!rafe au!

pairing: boxer!rafe x ditzy!reader

WARNINGS ⭑.ᐟ manhandling, swearing, mentions of boxing, degradation kink, slight dacryphilia (if u squint), & choking.

NOTES ⭑.ᐟ you’re responsible for the content you consume.

WORD COUNT ⭑.ᐟ under 1.0k

AUTHOR’S NOTE ⭑.ᐟ likes, reblogs, and requests are appreciated and encouraged 🐆

it’d been a long goddamn day.

between busting his knuckles in the ring, getting home later than he was supposed to, and you mouthing off at him— he was pissed.

you’d been whining at him— complaining about how much he was training, how the money on your card was running out, and how you needed your hair done soon. he brushed you off in the moment, knowing you’d forget about it within an hour— which resulted in a full on tantrum from you. stomping your foot, raising your voice at him, and your hands curling into fists at your sides.

he’d had enough.

that tantrum landed you in your shared bed, your face pushed into the pillow, his hips pounding into yours with a sloppy rhythm. you knew you were in the wrong— you wanted to end up in this position, wanted his attention and the way his rough hands molded your body into a position he wanted.

“rafe—“ you garbled, fresh tears springing at your eyes as you attempted to lift your head, hands trying feebly to grasp into him. his hand reached up, pinning both of your hands against your lower back, delivering an even harder thrust.

“you don’t get to ask for things right now,” he mumbled, groaning when he felt the way your pussy clenched. “sat there mouthin’ off to me and y’think i’m gonna let you grab all up on me like your personal toy? nah, baby.”

your whimpers were muffled by the pillow, wet tears dampening the silk pillowcases, your hips pushing back into his helplessly— hearing the grunts and groans fall from his lips every now and then.

his pace picked up, if even possible, the loud smack! of his hips into yours echoing off the mansions walls, grunting into your neck as he got closer to the edge.

your heart was thumping out of your chest, hips squirming as you tried not to cum around him so fast, barely able to contain it when his balls slapped against your clit with every harsh thrust of his hips, and—

“oh god—“ you whimpered, your eyes squeezing shut as you buried your face in the pillow, creaming around his cock with a muffled cry, feeling his fingers dig into the fatness of your ass.

he groaned out loudly, spilling into you with a curse falling from his lips, watching your ass ripple as he buried himself into you. you both sat there for a moment, heavy breathing filling the room as you felt the clammy sheen settle over your warmed skin, your lashes wet from the tears.

“i put five grand on your card,” he mumbled, pulling out of you and delivering a smack to your ass. “fuckin’ brat.”

this is so boxer rafe AWW

pairing: boxer!rafe x ditzy!reader

WARNINGS ⭑.ᐟ mostly fluff, suggestive descriptions of polaroids.

NOTES ⭑.ᐟ sorry for the hiatus! 🐆

WORD COUNT ⭑.ᐟ under 1k.

AUTHOR’S NOTE ⭑.ᐟ likes, reblogs, and requests are appreciated and encouraged .

rafe was sitting at the dinner table when you woke up.

he was shirtless, hard muscle earned from countless bloody noses and bruised knuckles, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips— you were puzzled.

“what’re you doing?” you mumbled, raising a pajama covered arm to rub at your eyes, coming up beside him. his head turned to face you, feeling your arms slip around his neck with a softened hum falling from your lips.

he smiled back at you, pressing his lips against the top of your head, fingers tightening around the polaroid in his fingers. “m’lookin’ at the pictures you snuck in my duffel, baby.” his hand rested over the arm draped over his neck, pressing a light kiss against your warm skin with a slight chuckle. “just wanna admirin’ my gorgeous girl.”

“oh, m’your gorgeous girl, now?” you hummed quietly, burying your face in his neck, smiling with a kiss against his skin. “thought i was your roommate.”

he let out a gruff chuckle, his hand sliding down to your hip and squeezing over the white pajamas against your skin. he looked back at the polaroids— admiring the arch of your back, the curve of your tits beneath your top, the small freckles littering your torso and the birth mark on your hip, peaking out from beneath the lace trim of your panties.

“you’ve always been my gorgeous girl— don’t play.” he mumbled, pressing a lazy kiss to your neck. “basically my roommate that doesn’t pay rent, though.”

you let out another laugh, burying your face further into his neck, your cheek brushing against his adam’s apple.

“y’want some pancakes, roomie?”

he let out a laugh at the smack! delivered to his bicep, pressing another kiss to your warm forehead, his arms tight around your waist.

you couldn’t help the smile that tugged your lips.

pairing ; boxer!rafe x ditzy!reader

WARNINGS ⭑.ᐟ porn with little to no plot, praise kink, dirty talk, age difference, slight breath play, mentions of boxing, fem terms used, aftercare at the end.

NOTES ⭑.ᐟ once again, you’re responsible for the content you consume, read at your own risk.

WORD COUNT ⭑.ᐟ 1.0k

AUTHOR’S NOTE ⭑.ᐟ hello!! likes, reblogs, & requests are appreciated and encouraged. thank u for the love 🐆

rafe was a force in the boxing world. with his gruff voice, buzzed blonde hair, thick biceps, bulging veins and that sharp jawline— he was impossible not to fall for.

you’d shown up to one of his matches, your eyes gleaming everytime he swung on his opponent, that hazy look returning to your face when his veins bulged. with your short denim skirt, cropped t-shirt, and high heels— he found it hard not to pounce on you.

he’d see you at almost seven more matches after that, your outfits getting skimpier time and time again, your eyes catching his more often than not.

he hunted you down after the match, sweet talking you till you agreed to go out with him, a grin on his lips as he listened to the click, click! of your nails as you typed in your phone number.

that was almost a year ago, time passing by quickly the longer you were together. matches got longer and your skirts got shorter, his possessive attitude growing stronger and stronger by the day.

you basically lived with him at this point— having a drawer in his dresser with your clothes in it, a section in his bathroom that held your toiletries and your makeup bag, a side of the pantry filled with your favorite snacks, as well as your own spot in his bed.

he’d had a little over a week off from matches, spending all of his free time in bed with you— high or not. today, you had been draped over his lap, trying to work yourself out of his hold, little hazy giggles leaving your lips everytime he tightened his grip.

which is how you ended up here— with your face wedged between his chest and his forearm, your hips in a tight hold, gruff moans and your lazy mewls filling the bedroom.

“take it, baby,” he groaned, his forearm tightening around your neck, “take it like i know you can.”

your pussy clenched around him, a choked moan leaving your lips as you scratched at his arm, your lipstick smudged from his kisses. “m’takin’ it— m’takin’ it!” you whined, your cheek smushed against his tan skin.

his forearm squeezed again, not enough to cut off your oxygen but enough to make you feel it, enough to make the heat in your lower belly burn hotter than before. “yeahhhh, fuckin’ look at you, baby, ditzy as hell on my dick, huh?”

he pulled you back against his chest, watching the way your eyes rolled back into your skull, the bounce of your tits from the roughness of his thrusts, the whines that spilled from your plump lips. his pace picked up more, a ringed hand snaking down your torso, calloused fingertips rubbing your clit in messy circles.

“c’mon, baby,” he groaned, his lips brushing against your earlobe. “you were so mouthy earlier, thinking you could fight me, what happened to that, baby? too cock-drunk to think, huh?”

your moans grew louder, thighs squeezing around the fingers between your legs, squirming against his chest. “rafe— rafe, please, s’too much.” you whined, fat tears rolling down your cheeks, a muffled moan falling from your lips.

he hummed roughly, pulling you closer against him, his fingers working faster against your clit. “nah, baby, s’not too much. my tough girl can take it, yeah? can cum for me like a good girl, huh?”

he felt you clench around his dick, a groan leaving his lips, tucking his face into your neck as he worked you faster. “c’mon, baby, give it to me. make me proud.”

that’s all it took to push you over the edge. a hot, white flash rushed through your body, a loud mewl falling against his forearm, your pussy creaking around his dick. he groaned at the feeling, spilling into you with a longer groan this time, his fingers slowing against your clit.

he exhaled slowly, feeling your body slump against him, a roughened chuckle leaving his lips. “y’good, baby?”

his voice was softer now, his touch gentle against your skin, holding you up against him as your thighs wobbled, holding back a grin at the hazy look in your eyes. “m’okay..”

he huffed out a chuckle against your neck, his arms lacing your torso as he mumbled quietly. “nah, baby, don’t fall asleep on me— still gotta clean you up, baby. make sure you’re nice and clean.”

you let out a grumble as his arms slid under your legs, carrying you bridal style into the bathroom, your face tucked away against his neck. “love you.”

he hummed quietly, pressing a light kiss to your neck. “love you more, beautiful.”

it happens in the second round. rafe’s corner guy rips off his drenched tank mid-break — standard procedure. he’s bleeding a little, nose slightly cracked. you flinch, but you’ve learned not to react. not in the front row. not in heels and lipstick and a fitted black dress with your heart in the ring. and that’s when the camera zooms in. right on his chest. right on the ink. your name. black. bold. clear as day. the announcer pauses. “…and it looks like Cameron’s got a fresh tattoo under the collarbone there. Could that be—uh, a name?” your heart drops straight through the floor. they zoom in again. and the internet does the rest. by the time the fight ends — win, unanimous decision — rafe doesn’t even know yet. he raises his hands. blows a kiss in your direction. bleeding. bruised. grinning like a lunatic. he still has no idea his chest is already trending on twitter.

#RafeCameronTattoo

#RafeCameronlostmasculinity

#SheWonTheFightActually

you meet him backstage, ducking past reporters. he’s icing his shoulder, head thrown back, eyes closed. his chest rises and falls slowly. a towel’s around his waist, sweat dripping down the grooves of his abdomen. he smells like blood and eucalyptus and adrenaline. you shut the locker room door behind you. “nice win.” his eyes open, and the grin returns — crooked, hungry. “nice dress.” you throw a towel at his face. “asshole.” he laughs, pulling you in by the hips. “didn’t like watching me get hit?”

“i didn’t like watching half of america get a full view of my name on your chest.” he blinks. then squints “what?”

“you didn’t notice the camera zooming in on your literal bare torso?” he groans. “fuckkk. seriously?”you nod. “It’s trending.” he groans again — louder.

“great. now your dm’s are gonna be full of weirdos.”

you raise a brow. “you upset?” he grins suddenly, cocky again. “why would I be? let the world know. they should’ve figured it out the second they saw the way I look at you.”

you should be annoyed. but instead? you’re hot under the collar. because something about your name on his skin, caught live on camera, everyone suddenly knowing he belongs to you — it does something to your chest. your thighs. your spine. he sees it in your face before you say a word.

“don’t” you warn. “don’t what?” he smirks. “you have that look.”

“what look?”

“the I-just-got-hit-in-the-face-and-now-I-wanna-fuck-you-against-this-wall look.”

boxer!rafe teaching lawyer!reader how to fight

it starts slow. after dinner. after he’s showered, still in just his sweats, wrapping his hands out of habit. you’re sitting on the couch, watching him, legs curled under you, brain chewing on something. he notices the silence. “what’s goin’ on in that head of yours?” you hesitate “teach me.” he blinks. “teach you what?” you look at his hands — bruised, careful, fast. then up at his face, all sharp cheekbones and soft eyes.

“how to fight.” there’s a beat of silence. he laughs, a little confused. “baby, you fight for a living. you chew men up in court and spit them” you smile — barely. “yeah but not like you. not with this.” you flex your fist. it’s clumsy. you don’t know what you’re doing — but the look on your face is serious. “i want to know what it feels like. i want to be able to hold my own. just… in case.” rafe’s smile fades. he gets it now. it’s not a whim. it’s not about ego. it’s about protection. about knowing what it feels like to swing instead of flinch.

“okay” he says quietly. “then come here.” you walk over. barefoot. hair pulled back. still wearing his t-shirt. he pulls a pair of gloves from his bag. holds them out. “we start here.” you slide them on. they’re big. smell like leather and sweat and him. he steps behind you, adjusting your stance, hands brushing your arms. “first rule,” he murmurs near your ear, “is don’t hesitate. you think, you lose.” you nod. “second rule,” he adds, moving to stand in front of you now, holding up his palms like targets “is aim with intention.” you square up. he raises a brow. “go ahead. hit me.” you laugh. “i’m not gonna hit you.”

one thing about lawyer!reader is that she doesn’t cry easily given her strong character and personality and when she does it means that something bad must have happened.

so i don’t really see it but what could happen is her getting mad, throwing some words she could have avoid resulting in rafe getting mad aswell so it ends up with them fighting which is something that happens quite a lot tbh.