#buzzcut rafe

rafe gripping the tops of your thighs, arms wrapped around them like they're bracketing him into your cunt. rafe looking up at you through his droopy eyelids, loving the way your face is screwed up in pleasure.

it makes his eyes roll back into his skull because he truly loves eating you out for hours. it's one of his favorite pastimes; loves the way you fall apart under his tongue.

you continually arching your back upwards, making the most pornographic back arch ever been seen. your thighs keep clenching and unclenching around rafe’s head, keeping him locked in place between your legs. one hand gripping the pillow above you, the other bracing rafe’s head.

you grinding against rafe's face and releasing high pitched whines because it feels too fucking good; feels ethereal.

your clit rubbing up to the tip of rafe’s nose, all the way down to his bottom lip over and over again. your slick getting fucking everywhere.

rafe pressing both palms down on your pubic bone to keep you steady, teasing you, not letting you move. you whine high in your throat in frustration, wanting to chase the friction of rafe’s mouth and tongue.

you trying to squirm away and push rafe’s face away after a while because you’re so overstimulated. rafe ignoring you and just eating, slurping, licking your cunt slower and harder. your body physically convulsing because it's just too much, but loving being addicted to the feeling.

rafe switching from kitten kissing your cunt all over, to kitten licking, to giving long fat licks from bottom to top. kitten kissing your inner thighs, rubbing his thumbs in small caresses on your inner thighs. giving pretty hickies all over them, loving the contrast of deep purples and blues and pinks and reds to your skin.

you staring at rafe because he looks so beautiful like this and always has been — between your thighs, face and mouthful of pussy, practically pleading to eat you for hours.

loving the intense eye contact when rafe gets to work, you practically melting from every sensation.

you releasing the tiniest 'uh, uh, uh"s, each word getting higher and higher in pitch because of how good rafe’s tongue is — fucking in and out of your sloppy hole. carefully caressing your clit, pursing his lips ever so slightly and sucking. the added suction makes you shiver.

rafe humming and moaning into your cunt because of how wet and messy he's getting. loving how tight you are whenever he fucks his tongue in and out of you.

he pulls back from time to time to look at the mess of you — smooth skin, bright pink and red, strings of spit and slick going every which way, shiny wetness everywhere.

your relentless clenching causes even more slick to slide slowly down your cunt, adding to the pool of fluids below you.

the only sounds in the room are the wet 'shlick' noises coming from your pussy and rafe’s mouth, your whines and moans and panting, rafe’s hums and groans that are muffled by your cunt, his heavy breathing through his nose.

rafe slowly trails his hands up from their places on your thighs to your breasts, leaving feather light touches and tracing them before focusing his attention on your nipples.

you end up riding rafe’s face. thighs tightly bracketing his head, not allowing him to move an inch. both of your hands gripping both sides of his head for the life of you, white-knuckling.

your head tilted all the way back, your hair cascading down your back and your face is faced towards the ceiling of the bedroom.

your hips and cunt grind against rafe’s lower face — cunt still grinding and thrusting against his chin, mouth, and tip of his nose.

you make tiny circles, cunt dragging deliciously against both of rafe’s cheeks, his mouth wanting to follow your cunt when it leaves his mouth.

rafe leaving light bruises on your hips and inner thighs, gripping you to keep you where he wants you and how he wants to move you. his arms wrapping over the tops of your thighs, able to grip the inner thighs and spread you open like he wants to.

you just full on fucking his mouth with your cunt. steady thrusts and grinds feel so heavenly against your wet and sloppy cunt — pink and red and warm and slippery from the relentless amount of friction and pleasure it's endured for the past few hours.

your mouth slack jawed, eyebrows furrowed upwards. rafe is eating you so good — it's like rafe was truly made to eat pussy, the way he gets off on it; the way he eats it for his own damn pleasure.

he usually humps the bed while slurping your cunt — it gets him so hard. hearing your whines, whimpers, moans, groans. wet, obscene, lewd sounds from his mouth and your cunt. needs to pound his dick into the mattress and release the pressure because it's just too much.

rafe making you come over and over and over. after you come, he doesn't stop — he keeps licking and kissing and sucking and fucking his tongue and fingers into you. you’re pratically sobbing from the amount of overstimulation you’ve endured for the past few hours.

rafe turns his head and looks at you with his eyebrows furrowed and lifts a hand to rest on your back.

“hmm?” he hums in question. he sits up and rests his back against the headboard, shirtless in all his glory and his simple gold chain rests against his collarbones.

you ignore him and reach into your bedside table to grab your laptop. your fingers move relentlessly on the keyboard and before rafe can ask what you’re doing, he sees the infamous website homepage that you have grown so accustomed to.

Sonny Angel Store USA.

he smirks to himself and rolls his eyes. “jesus, baby.”

“don’t. even.” you say firmly. your attention is locked on your laptop screen, clicking away.

the sonny angel instagram page announced a restock of your favorite collection that had been sold out for months. you had to get your hands on as many as you could buy because there was no way you weren’t getting any.

“christ, my heart is literally pounding,” you said lowly, adrenaline running through your veins. “rafe, i swear to fuck. if i don’t get any of these, i’m going to kill myself with one of your guns.”

he laughs behind you, his hand rubbing gentle circles on your lower back until he moves and gets up from the bed.

you ignore him, not caring a single ounce of where he’s going. you spam-click the tiny little plus sign next to the quantity amount until the number stops changing, then clicking the ‘add to cart’ button.

your screen takes you to the checkout page, and you have never moved so fast in your life. you half sprint to the dresser and dig in your purse to look for your credit card, but you can’t find it.

“fuck.” you spit out. your arms are shaking, and you dump the entirety of your purse out onto the dresser. lipglosses, spare sonny’s, and gum wrappers tumble and fall from your purse and onto the floor.

you don’t realize the body standing next to you until a few seconds later. you look and there’s rafe, handing you his black amex between his middle and pointer fingers.

he just looks at you and shrugs, almost like a ‘what’s the problem?’ kind of look. you don’t give him a second look before taking the heavy card and rushing back to your side of the bed.

you furiously type in the card information, too much time already wasted, and click the ‘confirm purchase’ button. the screen loads and loads and after ten seconds, you see the ‘thank you for your purchase!’ screen.

you let out a yelp of happiness before hopping off the bed and wrap your arms around rafe’s neck.

“thank you, baby.” you say softly with a smile. you peck his lips and squeal, hugging him again.

“you act like i don’t buy them for you every time,” he says matter of factly. “still don’t know why you have a credit card when you have quite literally never had to use it with me.”

he wraps his arms around your back, his hands at the base of your spine. “either way, i’ll always take care of you, doll. weird toy obsessions and all.” he plops a chaste kiss on your lips with a playful smack to your ass.

you roll your eyes and move away from him. to the shelving unit right next to your vanity and it’s too full. you turn around slowly and look at your boyfriend who’s leaning against the doorframe and just waiting for you to ask.

“…. i think you’re gonna need to put another shelf up.”

bonus!

you’re sitting in the bathroom painting your toenails, soft music playing from your phone when rafe calls your name.

“hold on. gimme a minute.” you say. you cap the nail polish and wave your hands over your left foot, trying to get the paint to dry even though that’s physically impossible.

you check your phone and notice that it’s almost an hour later than when rafe usually gets home. you don’t think much of it; he’s been swamped at work, trying to get this one deal set and stone.

you waddle out of the bathroom and into the bedroom. you make your way to the bed, and sit down on the edge of it with your feet on the floor.

rafe is standing by the door with both of his hands behind his back, dressed in a sleek gray suit, red tie, gold rings on his hands, and a watch that looks about fifty years old but could easily pay your guys’s mortgage for half of a year.

“what’s going on?” you say. you squint your eyes a bit at him, wondering what he could be planning.

he shrugs and pulls a box out from behind his back. and it’s just a plain brown box. nothing out of the ordinary. it’s not small by any means, but it’s not a giant packing box either.

“got these for you. had ‘em shipped to the p.o. box that i use for work. didn’t want you to go peeking if it got delivered here.” he says simply.

he walks over to you and hands you the box, then moves to the bathroom to get undressed. acting like you got a random envelope in the mail talking about how you could save an extra fifty dollars this month if you signed up today for a new wifi plan.

you hear him taking off his clothes to get in the shower and open the brown box.

“rafe! what the fuck!” you yell excitedly. you sift through the box and it is full to the brim with fucking sonny angels. at least three hundred dollars worth, if not more. all different series, limited edition ones that haven’t been sold in a couple years. you do a quick mental count and you lost track after ten. it felt like the box was endless.

you drop the box on the floor, careful of your still drying toes, and half the box spills over the floor at your hurry. you walk into the bathroom and see the silhouette of rafe’s naked body through the fogged door of the shower.

he knows of your love for little collectibles, whether it’s sonny angels, miffy figures, smiskis, mofusand kitties, or even labubus. he always acts uninterested when you babble about rumors of a new series or how a new figurine is being made. but he loves how happy they make you and seeing you happy and joyful is the biggest thing that makes his heart grow fonder.

“rafe! what — when did you do that, what the hell?” you open the door a bit so he can hear you better. he pulls his face out from under the spray of water and wipes his face with his hand. then he steps towards you a bit.

“dunno. maybe like — couple weeks or so ago? even paid for fuckin’ express shipping, but they ended up coming today. so — sorry they’re late.” he gives a soft smile and reaches for his body wash.

you tear up because it means so much to you. like okay what the hell, they’re teeny tiny little naked baby figurines with different head coverings, what the fuck is so great about them?

it means a lot that he cares about your hobbies and interests and on his own accord, searched online to buy you more than you could ever ask for. just the initiation and attention to detail about something that truly means so little to others, but the world to you.

you sniffle and laugh. “hope you know that you’re opening each one with me.”

he groans and smiles, tipping his face back under the water. he gurgles a mouthful at the motion.

“yeah, yeah. whatever,” he responds. you close the door and make your way back to the bedroom when you hear,

“i’m telling you right now. if we open one and we get the fuckin’ mouse, i’m taking it for myself. don’t fuck with me.” he says firmly.

your mouth drops open. well, well, well.

like you’d come back from the country club’s bar, sunset radiating beautiful shades of orange, pink, and blue on your skin. he opens his arms to welcome you back to your group with a, “hey, baby.”

he takes a drink out of your hand — his — takes your free hand and twirls you around, your floor length silk dress, whirling around your ankles. he’d wrap that arm around your waist, making you turn around with your back to his chest. the other arm free to hold his drink, eyes scanning the rest of the area making sure everyone knows you’re his.

some possessive part of him wants everyone looking at the both of you. wants everyone to see his arm around you, daring anyone to waltz up to the both of you and compliment you or him, ready to rub into their idiotic minds that you’re his and he is yours.

he tenses the arm around you at the thoughts running through his mind. it somewhat gets him off that no one else can have you, that he’s parading you around town, that he is showing you off in front of everyone’s faces and they can’t do a goddamn thing about it.

he smirks into his drink, not paying any attention to whatever conversation you’re having with whatever stuck up assholes are trying to pique your interest. he swallows his drink, then moves his head to behind your ear, and gives a few chaste one-two-three kisses letting you know that he’s all but thinking about you.