#lap privilege

rafe treats y/n like she’s made of glass. like she’s something soft, delicate—something his.

and she lets him. because how could she not? when he’s always looking at her like that? when his touch is always so gentle?

like now—when she pouts at him from the passenger seat, arms crossed, lips pursed in that way that makes him weak.

“what?” he asks, fighting back a smirk, reaching over to squeeze her thigh.

“you didn’t let me carry the bags.”

rafe exhales, shaking his head. “because you don’t need to. what kind of boyfriend would i be if i let you carry heavy shit, huh?”

y/n huffs, turning to the window. “they weren’t even that heavy.”

and that’s when he knows—she’s just being a brat.

so he leans over at a red light, pressing a kiss to her temple. “my sweet girl,” he murmurs, lips dragging down to her jaw. “so spoiled, huh?”

she mumbles something under her breath, but he catches it—“not spoiled.”

he just grins. “nah, you are, angel. i made you that way.”

because he does spoil her. carries her bags, opens her doors, pulls her into his lap just because. worships her. and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

so when they get home, and she starts trying to grab the shopping bags again, he just tuts, plucking them right out of her hands.

“what did i say, baby?”

she pouts up at him. “but—”

rafe just shakes his head, pressing a quick kiss to her lips. “no buts. let me take care of you.”

she lets out a dramatic sigh but doesn’t argue, instead watching as he carries all the bags inside like it’s nothing.

“you know,” she says, plopping onto the couch, stretching like a cat, “i could have helped.”

rafe raises a brow, setting the bags down before making his way over to her. “oh yeah?”

“yeah.”

he hums, settling beside her, pulling her into his lap with ease. “but you like when i baby you, huh?”

she rolls her eyes, but he sees the way her lips twitch, how she doesn’t move away when he starts pressing slow, lazy kisses to her neck.

“admit it,” he murmurs, voice low, teasing. “you like being my spoiled little baby girl.”

she exhales, tilting her head slightly as he keeps kissing, hands gripping at his shirt.

“maybe.”

rafe chuckles, pulling back to look at her. “yeah?”

she shrugs, playing with the collar of his shirt, but when she finally looks up, she’s got that look in her eyes—the one that makes him weak. the one that tells him she’s just as obsessed with him as he is with her.

so he kisses her—slow, deep, like he’s got all the time in the world.

when they finally pull apart, he brushes a thumb over her cheek, voice soft. “good girl.”

-

now she’s curled up in his lap, fingers lazily playing with the chain around his neck, lips slightly swollen from how he’d kissed her stupid just moments ago.

and he can’t help himself.

his hands roam—slow, lazy, like he’s got nowhere else to be. one hand resting on the small of her back, the other tracing patterns along her bare thigh, dipping beneath the hem of her shorts.

“you tired, baby?” he murmurs, voice soft, knowing.

y/n hums, blinking up at him, looking dazed, floaty. “a little.”

he smiles, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “you wanna nap?”

she makes a noise, nuzzling closer, pressing her face into his neck. “mmm. just wanna sit here.”

and his heart melts.

because she’s never really said it, but he knows—knows she feels safest when she’s with him, tucked against him like this, wrapped up in his warmth.

so he just hums, rubbing slow circles into her back. “yeah? my lap comfy, huh?”

she nods, sighing contentedly. “mhm. best seat in the house.”

rafe chuckles, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “yeah, ‘cause it’s your seat, angel.”

she doesn’t respond, but the way she sighs again, soft and sweet, is enough.

he keeps holding her, fingers tracing slow, absentminded shapes against her skin, lips pressing light, fleeting kisses to her temple, her forehead, her jaw.

and when he feels her breathing even out, feels her relax completely in his arms, he knows she’s drifted off.

he smiles to himself, tightening his hold just a little, letting his head rest against the couch.

yeah, he thinks, pressing one last kiss to her forehead. he could hold her like this forever.

-

rafe doesn’t move—not even an inch. not when his leg starts going numb, not when his arm starts to tingle. because y/n is asleep, all warm and tucked against him, and he’d rather die than wake her up.

his baby girl—soft, sweet, always pressed up against him like she belongs there. (she does.)

he’s careful as he shifts just slightly, just enough to cup the back of her head, fingers threading into her hair. she stirs a little, sighing in her sleep, pressing closer.

rafe just smiles, running a thumb over her cheek. she looks so peaceful like this, face smushed against his chest, lips parted, lashes fluttering faintly.

he has to kiss her.

so he does—just a light press of his lips to her forehead, lingering for a second before pulling away.

but she feels it.

she exhales softly, shifting in his lap, stretching like a cat before blinking up at him, still sleepy, still floaty.

“…how long was i out?” her voice is quiet, groggy.

rafe grins, brushing some hair from her face. “’bout an hour.”

her brows furrow slightly. “you let me sleep that long?”

“‘course i did, angel.” his fingers move down, tracing the side of her neck, his voice dropping slightly. “you looked too pretty to wake up.”

her lips part slightly, and rafe knows he’s got her.

he smirks, dragging his hand down her arm, slow, teasing. “feel good?”

y/n nods, still dazed, blinking at him like she’s not sure if she’s awake or still dreaming.

rafe hums, tilting his head. “yeah? what feels good, baby?”

she exhales. “you.”

and he’s done for.

he cups her face, tilting it up as he leans in, lips brushing hers—soft, teasing. “yeah?”

“mhm.” her hands slide up his chest, gripping his shirt weakly, like she’s trying to pull him closer, but he’s already as close as he can be.

“wanna kiss?” he murmurs, voice low, teasing.

she nods again, breath hitching slightly. “please.”

rafe grins before finally—finally—closing the distance, kissing her soft and slow, like he’s got all the time in the world.

because he does. because he’s not going anywhere.

when they finally pull apart, she exhales, nuzzling into him, hands still fisted in his shirt.

rafe just chuckles, running a hand down her back. his baby girl.

more daddy!rafe

y/n trying to smoke

love bites

rafe couldn’t help it. he told himself to stop—over and over again—but his brain never listened. his eyes had a mind of their own, locked onto you like you were some sort of divine temptation sent just to ruin him.

it was a problem. a serious one.

because you weren’t his. you weren’t his girl, weren’t his anything except a friend—one who had absolutely no clue what you were doing to him

the pool party

it was just a regular summer afternoon, nothing crazy. a few friends, a pool, music, drinks—typical pogue vs. kook nonsense.

except nothing was typical when it came to you.

you had shown up in the tiniest bikini rafe had ever seen, all soft curves and sun-kissed skin, laughing like you weren’t absolutely wrecking his ability to think straight.

he was trying—god, he was trying—to look anywhere but at your tits, but you weren’t making it easy. especially when you leaned over the edge of the pool, dripping wet, arms pressing against the concrete, giving him a perfect view.

“rafe,” kelce said, smirking, “you’re staring, bro.”

“shut the fuck up,” rafe muttered, dragging a hand down his face, but he still didn’t look away.

the bonfire

it was cold, but you didn’t care. you were curled up in a hoodie—his hoodie, not that you noticed—knees pulled up to your chest, laughing at something jj said.

rafe wasn’t listening to the conversation. he was too busy watching the way the fabric of his hoodie stretched over your chest, the way you absentmindedly played with the strings, twisting them around your fingers, totally unaware of how badly he wanted to be the one tugging at them.

“yo, you good?” topper asked, raising an eyebrow.

rafe clenched his jaw. “fine.”

the sleepover

it wasn’t supposed to be anything weird. you’d crashed at his place before—plenty of times.

but this time? this time, you had decided to wear that shirt.

the tiny white one, the one that clung to you in all the right places, barely covering anything. and with no bra underneath? yeah, rafe was done for.

he had to physically restrain himself from staring at the way your nipples pressed against the thin fabric, obvious—taunting himself—like they were just begging for his attention.

then you stretched, arms lifting over your head, the movement making the already short hem ride up even higher, exposing more of your stomach, teasing the soft skin underneath.

“jesus christ,” rafe muttered under his breath, squeezing his eyes shut.

you finally noticed.

“what’s wrong with you?” you asked, tilting your head, amused.

rafe exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “nothing.”

but then you shifted, crossing your arms over your chest, pushing up the fabric just slightly—

and rafe lost it.

“nah,” he groaned, rubbing his face. “you need to put something else on. now.”

you blinked. “huh?”

“i—fuck,” he muttered, standing up so fast the chair nearly tipped over. “just… forget it.”

but you didn’t forget. not when you saw the way his hands clenched into fists, the way his breathing was uneven, the way his jaw tightened like he was holding back something dangerous.

and that’s when you realized—

this whole time, rafe hadn’t just been looking. he’d been starving.

the bedroom

you shouldn’t have said it. you shouldn’t have given him the green light, shouldn’t have pushed him past the edge he’d been teetering on for months.

because now? now, rafe was a man unleashed.

you barely made it through the front door before he had you pressed against it, hands gripping your waist, thumbs grazing the soft skin just below your top.

“say it again,” he murmured, lips hovering just over your jaw.

your breath hitched. “say what?”

his fingers tightened on your hips. “that you want me to do something about it.”

you swallowed, pulse racing. “i do.”

that was all he needed.

his lips were on your neck instantly, hot and demanding, trailing down—down—until he was kneeling in front of you, fingers slipping under the hem of your tank.

“take this off,” he rasped, eyes flicking up to meet yours.

you hesitated, not because you didn’t want to, but because the intensity in his gaze made your knees weak.

“baby,” he coaxed, voice softer now, almost pleading. “let me see you.”

his hands slid up your sides, slow and reverent, as if he was savoring every inch of skin he could touch.

when you finally lifted your arms, letting him pull the top over your head, rafe let out a shaky breath, jaw tightening like he was barely holding himself together.

“fuck,” he whispered, eyes drinking you in like you were something sacred.

you felt exposed—vulnerable, even—but the way he looked at you? like you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen? it made the heat in your stomach burn even hotter.

he ran his hands up your ribs, thumbs brushing just beneath your breasts, teasing, waiting—

“rafe,” you murmured, breathless.

his eyes snapped to yours.

“please,” you whispered.

that was it. that was all he needed.

his lips were on you in an instant, warm and eager, hands desperate as they molded around soft skin. he groaned against you, like he’d been starving for this, like finally having you like this was unraveling him completely.

“so fucking perfect,” he muttered between kisses, fingers kneading, mouth trailing, lost in his obsession.

and the way he worshipped you? the way he devoured every inch of you, like he’d been waiting his whole life for this moment?

yeah. you had definitely created a monster.

the car ride

you should’ve known something was up when rafe offered to drive. he never did that unless he had some sort of ulterior motive.

but you didn’t question it. you just climbed into the passenger seat, throwing your feet up on the dash, completely oblivious to the way rafe’s grip tightened on the steering wheel.

because of course, you were wearing that top again. the tiny, white cropped tank—the one that made it impossible for him to focus on anything but the soft curve of your chest, the way the fabric stretched just enough to make his thoughts turn downright filthy.

“where we going again?” you asked, scrolling through your phone.

rafe didn’t answer.

he was too busy watching the way your nipples pressed ever so slightly against the fabric, the way your arm was resting against your stomach, pushing them up just enough to make his mouth go dry.

“rafe?”

he blinked, snapping his eyes back to the road. “what?”

you frowned. “you good? you’ve been weird all day.”

“fine,” he muttered, but his knuckles were white, fingers flexing around the wheel like he was holding onto his last shred of sanity.

then, like you were trying to ruin him completely, you stretched, arching your back slightly, and rafe actually had to pull over.

“okay, no,” he muttered, throwing the car into park.

you raised an eyebrow. “uh… what are you doing?”

rafe exhaled sharply, resting his forehead against the wheel for a second before finally turning to you. his eyes were dark, jaw clenched, breathing uneven.

“do you have any idea what you’re doing to me?” he asked, voice low and strained.

you blinked. “what?”

he let out a dry laugh, shaking his head. “you. sitting there, in that tiny ass shirt, stretching like you’re trying to fucking kill me. do you think i’m made of steel?”

your stomach flipped, but you forced yourself to play dumb. “rafe, we’re literally just hanging out.”

he scoffed. “nah. you might be hanging out, but me? i’m fighting for my goddamn life.”

your lips parted slightly, and rafe groaned, running a hand down his face. “fuck, baby, do you even realize how obsessed i am with you?”

your breath caught.

“been staring at these—” his eyes flicked down, almost resentful, like he was mad at himself for being so weak “—for months. every time you walk into a room, every time you so much as fucking breathe near me, i can’t stop looking. can’t stop thinking about how bad i want them in my mouth, in my hands—fuck.”

heat pooled in your stomach. “rafe—”

“don’t,” he cut you off, shaking his head. “not unless you want me to do something about it.”

your heart pounded. “and what if i do?”

rafe’s lips parted slightly, like he couldn’t believe what he just heard.

“then,” he murmured, leaning in, fingers ghosting over your thigh, “you better be ready to let me prove just how obsessed i really am.”