#obx fluff

The problem isn't that you didn't like it, oh you fucking enjoyed it. Instead, the problem is the fact that you were a squirmy person, barely able to keep your limbs still as he drives his cock in and out of your pussy rapidly.

Your hands flew to his shoulders, nails digging into his burning skin, only to let go and grip onto the sheets instead, not even knowing what to hold onto anymore. Your back arched, hips stuttering frantically in his hold, making his control on your hips movement a tad difficult, meanwhile your toes curled with your legs restless and your head thrown back over the pillow.

A moan escapes your throat, loud and desperate, "Fu- mm.. fuck!" You gasped, "S-so fast! I... I can't- please!" You pleaded with him, your shaky hands reaching for his wrists to try and pull them off your hips.

"You can, baby... I know you can..." Rafe assured you with ragged breath, his voice incredibly calm for someone who's raging cock is pounding into you, "Shit... stop moving, can you?"

He let out a grunt, patience growing thinner with each movement you made, which then led him to grabbing your wrists with one hand and pinning them up above your head on the pillow.

With your hands stuck on that position, you could only arch your back and move your legs as the tip of his cock kept on hitting all the right spots to make your toes curl even more. It might just be your favorite feeling in the whole wide world.

"Stop moving around, baby..." Rafe groaned, feeling your tits pressed against his chest due to how much you were arching your back, his ears filled with your desperate, mumbled, and frantic pleas. "I know, I know... You can take it, okay? Just... ah fuck..." He whispered, ragged breath and moans of his own filled your ears.

Yet now with only one hand on your hip, it was harder to guide them to move against his when your just kept on squirming and wriggling, so much that his dick managed to slip out once. Which to Rafe, once was plenty.

Rafe let out another groan, "Goddamnit!" He took his hands off your wrists– only to flip you over onto your stomach, hands guiding your hips to be lift up to provide him with your ass in the air, "Fuck... hold on, baby..." He cooed, as if as a silent apology.

As he thrusted back into you hard and deep, his hands held your wrists behind your back tightly, the slight grin on his face showed how he was assured that now you weren't gonna move as much. Not even gonna be loud, not with your flushed face pressed against the pillow, surely.

"Ra... Rafe..." You managed to moan against the pillow, eyes rolled to the back of your head and drool pooling onto the white pillow case. The position you were in had the least possibility to squirm around, only able to wiggle your fingers.

Rafe just kept on pounding into you, longing to feel those walls squeeze around him and hear the loudest and dirtiest moan leave your swollen lips, to know you were satisfied with the night just as much as he was. And while he's at it, he was still busy holding your wrists together, keeping your roaming hands still from clawing onto him.

an weird sense of pride filled his body, seeing your marks on him would always bring this reaction.

knowing you as well as he did, rafe assumed that you were a little rougher, knowing that he was going to the gym in the morning and would therefore be taking his top off.

pulling himself out of the trance he was currently swept up in, he looked up to topper who was still staring at him.

rafe casually shrugged his shoulders, "don't know how that happened"

someone else laughed and chimed in, "bet it was his girl, she always did look wild"

the weight that rafe had just picked up fell back to the floor, causing everyone to fall quiet, hushed "oooh's" going around the group.

topper hesitantly put his hand on rafe's shoulder, "just ignore him, man"

rafe nodded and tilted his head towards the exit, "fuck off before i break your neck" he grunted, sighing as he moved back to the weights.

he wasn't wrong though, you really were wild.

You shake your head, climbing up her bookshelf ladder. “No, baby.”

His jaw works once before he nods to himself, looking down at the hoodie in his hands.

“I think she’s just ready.”

He lets out a quiet huff through his nose. “Ready for what?”

“To be thirteen.”

His shoulders sink almost immediately.

“You know…” you continue softly, sliding another pile of books into the next box. “Max moved down the hall when he was thirteen.”

“I know.”

“She probably just wants her own space.”

“I know,” he mumbles, every answer gets quieter than the last. “…Still hurts.”

Rafe kneels down on the floor, arm stretching under the bed, pulling out a box. He wipes a light covering of dust with his palm, Winnie’s Treasures etched across the top in Rafe’s scratchy writing, making his lips draw to the side and his eyes go wide like he already knows he’s close to tears. He doesn’t need another reason to let them slip.

He pulls back one flap, peering inside, then the other. His heart swells and his nose scrunches, his lashes fluttering fast as the memories come flooding back—and some stirring up nothing at all—no recollection of why he’s seeing what he’s seeing. A forgotten memory. And, he can’t decide what hurts the most.

The first thing he reaches for is the little stuffed bunny tucked against one side of the box, once white but softened into a warm cream after years of being dragged through the house by one floppy ear.

Rafe turns it over in his hands, his thumb finding the corner where the fur has been rubbed almost completely raw, worn flat from Winnie brushing it back and forth across the tip of her nose whenever she was tired.

His expression crumples as he stares down at it, remembering how that same ear would disappear beneath her tiny fist while she fought sleep against his chest.

“She wouldn’t go anywhere without this thing,” he murmurs, running his thumb over the bare patch again before carefully setting the bunny beside his knee instead of burying it beneath everything else.

He lifts out a tiny yellow sleeper no bigger than both of his hands, unfolding it carefully, the little feet dangling. The cotton has gone softer after years tucked away in storage, but one tiny milk stain still clings stubbornly near the collar.

His thumb rubs over it without thinking, just like it had in the middle of the night thirteen years earlier when he’d stood over the washer with a toothbrush and some stain remover, convinced if she looked perfectly clean that would somehow convince everyone around him that he had it together—that you weren’t two twenty-year-olds with two babies and not a single clue what you were doing.

A quiet laugh slips through his nose.

You watch him smoothing the fabric flat again, fingertips tracing little wrinkles that had settled over the years, and your chest tightens because he still handles every piece of your children’s lives like they’re made of glass.

“We really had no clue what we were doing,” you whisper, seemingly reading his mind.

“No… We were pretty convincing though,” he chuckles softly.

“We were,” you whisper. “Remember when she had her first cold?”

Rafe hangs his head between his shoulders, chuckling softly. “‘Course I do… Why was that so scary?”

“I remember we finally got her to sleep and we snuck into her room, just to make sure she was breathing.”

“And every twenty minutes after that,” he whispers. “I still check. Can’t help it.”

“I know.”

Rafe folds the sleeper, laying it back into the box again. “…No way.” He slides an old vinyl record free, laughing under his breath before the cover is even visible. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

Dust clings to the cardboard sleeve until he wipes it away with the side of his hand, turning it over slowly like he hasn’t seen it in years.

“I couldn’t sing a damn song off this album,” he mumbles, replaying those moments he’d walk circles around the nursery with Winnie tucked against his shoulder, humming softly until she fell asleep.

He pulls the record out of the sleeve, studying the back, each scuff telling a story. His eyes lift to yours for a second, the smile on his lips turning quieter before he slips the record carefully back inside its sleeve.

He reaches into the bottom of the box again and pulls free an old paper envelope. A handful of photographs slide into his palm when he tips it over, the first one stopping him before he can look through the rest.

Max is balanced in Rafe’s arms beside Winnie’s hospital bassinet, dressed in tiny boat shoes and a little polo with his baseball cap turned backward over hair long enough to curl around his ears.

“Look at him,” Rafe whispers. “He was still a baby too.”

“He was,” you say softly, when he turns the picture toward you. “You wouldn’t let anybody cut his hair because you said he wasn’t ready.”

“I wasn’t ready,” he corrects, laughing gently as his eyes move across the picture again.

The laughter slowly fades, leaving him staring at two children who had once fit together inside his arms and now needed bedrooms on opposite ends of a house too big to ever feel full without them.

His features tighten, holding back tears. He flips the next photo and that emotion he’d been fighting finally breaks free, his thumb brushing beneath one eye before the tear can fall any farther.

His girl.

You’re sitting upright in a hospital bed with Winnie tucked against your chest, your hair tangled around your face and your eyes heavy from exhaustion, but you’re smiling down at her.

Rafe’s sitting beside you, one arm curled around your shoulders and his other hand resting over Winnie’s tiny body, but the fear in his younger face is unmistakable now that he knows what he’s looking for.

“I don’t remember this,” he admits, his voice fraying at the edges. “I know I was there. I remember bein’ scared, but I don’t remember this.”

Rafe looks down at the photograph again, his throat working around whatever he can’t quite say.

“Wish I remembered,” he whispers, his words so soft you don’t even catch it.

Rafe sets the last photograph back inside the envelope before sliding everything carefully into the box again. His palm lingers against the lid for another second before a soft creak overhead finally pulls him back into the present.

You’re balanced near the top of the rolling library ladder tucked against Winnie’s built-in bookshelf, one foot planted carefully on the step beneath you while you reach toward the highest shelf.

Rafe is already crossing the room before he really thinks about it—the ladder giving another tiny groan beneath your weight.

His hand settles instinctively against the rail, the other comes to rest against the back of your thigh, brushing once against your leg as though making sure you’re steady.

You look down at him and smile. Your stomach sinks, your heart breaking for him because his blue eyes are shimmering with unfallen tears, reddened slightly from trying to keep it together. Your bottom lip juts out slightly. You can’t help it. A chuckle breaks past his lips.

“Please,” he stops you. “Just—I’m fine, baby.”

You know he’s not, but you also know that he’s exhausted his emotions for the moment, and he’s hoping you’ll give him a chance to catch his breath.

“Co’mere,” he nods for you to come down and you step carefully onto the next rung, his hand never leaving your leg until both feet find the hardwood again.

Before you can move away, he reaches for the books in your hands and sets them beside the others waiting to be carried to her new space.

His hands settle at your hips while the curtains billow softly in the midsummer breeze. Rafe draws a deep, needed breath as your arms wrap around his neck, his big arms lacing a little tighter around your waist, needing you close.

“Keep thinkin’ about our little house.”

A smile tugs at your mouth immediately. “The air conditioner barely worked?”

“Mhmm.”

“The kitchen sink that leaked every other week.”

“…I fixed that thing six times.” He sighs. “Figured it out eventually.”

“You did,” you whisper, nails scratching into the hair curling beneath his hat. “It was perfect.”

“It was… We figured it out.”

“We did.”

His thumbs drift slowly across your hips before his eyes wander around the room again.

“I was sittin’ over there lookin’ through all her baby stuff…” he says quietly, nodding back toward the box still resting beside the bed. “And all I could think about was how fast we did it.”

You tilt your head slightly, waiting for him to gather the words he’s trying to say.

“We were runnin’ the whole time,” he whispers. “But I keep thinkin’…” He pauses, searching your face before the words finally find him. “We’re not those kids anymore. We’ve got time now.”

A smile tilts on the corners of his lips, forehead tilting forward, resting against you.

“I’d like to do it again, baby,” he murmurs. He steps just a little closer until hardly any space remains between the two of you. “…I think we’d actually get to slow down and remember it all.”

You close your eyes for a second, feeling his breath against your lips.

“What do you say, pretty…” he whispers. “One more?”

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everything stopped. the small clicking sounds from his gun immediately went silent. slowly, rafe looked up at you. “what?”

you almost folded right there. instead, you shrugged lightly. “i just think maybe we should—”

“quit playing.” his voice dropped low enough to send heat straight to your stomach.

you looked away before he could see you smiling. “i’m serious—”

the chair scraped harshly against the floor. your breath caught a little as he stood and walked toward you, staring at you like he was trying to figure out if this was real.

“baby.” oh, that tone was dangerous. his hands settled on your hips automatically, warm and firm. “look at me.”

the second you did, you broke. a laugh escaped you and his expression immediately flattened. “…you’re annoying.”

you covered your mouth, giggling. “it’s a tiktok trend —”

before you could finish, he pulled you flush against his chest, arms wrapping tightly around your waist as he buried his face in your neck. “not funny.”

the way he said it made your heart ache a little because he’d actually believed you for a second and your laughter faded instantly. “hey,” you mumbled softly, sliding your arms around him. “i’m sorry.”

he just held you tighter. “thought you meant it.”

you tilted your head enough to kiss the corner of his jaw. “never.”

he pulled back just enough to look at you, still frowning slightly before leaning down and kissing you hard enough to steal the rest of your breath.

when he finally let you breathe again, he rested his forehead against yours. “post that video and i’m deleting your tiktok account.”

© BITTERSWEETLYBLUE , do not copy, translate or edit my work as your own nor feed it into anything for your amusement.

a/n: divider credits to @suupersonic ! join the taglist here and please let me know how yall feel about this!

The professor introduced herself as Ms. Smith. A boring name for an easy class, but she seemed very sweet. Her voice was soft as she called out attendance. You almost missed it when she called out your name. She moved through the short list quickly.

“Ah, Rafe Cameron?” She widened her warm brown eyes, searching the room.

“Present.” The boy with the blue eyes muttered. Rafe. That’s right. He was the hockey player the girls in your dorm talked about. Well, they talked about a lot of the hockey players, but you had been to a few games last year and remembered him well. He was a forward. Aggressive, mouthy, fast, and very, very, good. And apparently very good in bed. You quickly looked away from him, like he'd catch you staring.

“Alright, I want you to introduce yourself to the people to your left and right. Take a minute to get to know each other.” Ms. Smith announced, taking a seat at her desk on the other side of the room.

“Hi, I’m Evan.” The blue haired boy next to you spoke before it could get awkward. You introduced yourself, mentioning your major in finance. He tells you he hasn’t picked a major yet, but he’s a freshman playing soccer at Duke.

Next up was the girl to your left, her dark curly hair piled into a messy bun. Her green eyes were striking against her tan skin. She tells you her name is Meghan, a sophomore in communications.

Ms. Smith starts her lecture on time management, her voice the perfect cadence to lull you to sleep. You would have, if it weren’t for the athlete boys next to you chattering under their breath and chuckling at every little thing. Evan seemed nice enough, but you’d heard enough about male athletes to want nothing to do with them. Egotistical assholes who only cared about themselves. No thanks.

Ms. Smith had other plans, though. She divided the class up into their first group assignment, pointing out every other person. That paired you up with none other than Rafe Cameron. And knowing that he was the only hockey player you remembered by name, he probably had an ego the size of North Carolina.

Rafe introduces himself to you with a casual confidence that you envy, like he doesn’t expect you to know who he is but he wouldn’t be surprised if you did. He takes a moment to learn your name, and then oddly enough, he gets started on the assignment. You expected some goofing off with his buddies, or a complete disinterest altogether. But he takes charge, asking for your input now and then.

At the end of class, it feels like it will be easy enough to get an A and that you made the right decision signing up. The rest of the week, you focus on your new routine for the semester. When to get coffee between classes. The café you like to eat at that still takes your student card and is cheaper than the dining hall, even if it’s a bit further away.

You had no intention of including Rafe Cameron in your routine, but he seemed to have other ideas. Any time Ms. Smith suggested pairing up for class, he would corral you and Evan before either of you could speak. His excuse was that there had to be one group of three with the 15 students, so it might as well be you three. Nevermind the fact that you had wanted to get to know Meghan a little.

Two weeks later, you tried to be quick when Ms. Smith asks you to pair up. You turned to Meghan, hoping she would turn to face you, when someone to your right cleared their throat. You turn to Evan, who looked at you sheepishly. Rafe, on the other hand, was faking a pout.

“Not gonna join us, partner?” He accused.

“I-” You looked over at Meghan, who was already pairing up to the blonde girl who always sat next to her. “Don’t you have a hockey friend you’d rather have in the group?” You nod at the ginger guy next to Rafe.

“Holiday? He’s my roommate. I see enough of him.” Rafe shrugs. Holiday. So, the guy with orange hair came from a hockey family. His dad definitely played: Roger Holiday. Maybe his grandpa, too, if you remembered right. You could bet his ego was worse than Rafe’s.

“Fine.” You say, crossing your arms. You give Evan a gentle smile, not wanting him to think your irritation was at him. The assignment was simple enough, and as soon as class was dismissed, you nearly sprinted to Meghan to chat with her. You hadn’t been out yet, and were craving a night out with some girls.

Lucky for you, Meghan agrees, and the two of you hit the bars on Friday night. Your roommate and few other girls from class are supposed to meet up with you at the only club on campus later, but you take Meghan to your favorite bar. It has a ton of retro arcade games, and you used to come here whenever you visited your older brothers before they graduated.

“Wanna play against me?” You ask Meghan, sticking some tokens in for the Mortal Kombat game.

“Um, sure,” She smiles hesitantly. “It’s like boxing, right?”

“Yeah. Those buttons say what they do when you press ‘em. But no pressure.” You tell her, sifting through the characters.

“Oh! The hockey team is here!” She practically squeals, turning her head to the entrance.

“Nice.” You comment, picking Kitana as your player.

“You’ve been talking to Rafe, right? He’s so cute.” She gushes, and you finally glance away from the screen. Meghan’s actually blushing, her cheeks matching the lip gloss she had put on.

“Uh,” You stammer, her enthusiasm catching you off guard. “Not really.”

“Oh, come on! He always picks you as his partner in class.”

“He picks me and Evan.” You remind her, shrugging.

“Well, I saw him make a big stink when you tried to match up with someone else.” She wags her eyebrows suggestively, making you laugh. “If you won’t talk to them, I will. I’ve got a bit of crush. Is it okay if I go say hi?” Her green eyes widen, glancing back at the screen for a second. You could tell she didn’t seem super interested in playing video games, and didn’t want to keep her from talking to any boys she liked.

“Yeah, go for it! Good luck!” You try to match her enthusiasm, and she grins before sauntering off. You turn back to your game, choosing to go against the computer this round. You were rusty anyway. You get into a rhythm, starting another match when a voice interrupts you.

“Now, what kind of guy would leave a pretty girl like you all by yourself at this game?”

You freeze. You knew that voice.

Sure enough, when you turn your head, Rafe Cameron is standing behind you. For a moment, he seems taken aback, like he didn’t fully recognize you in a full face of makeup. But then his smirk returns. His eyes quickly skim your outfit, and you try to stand a little taller and more confidently.

“Hey, partner. Mind if I join you?” He asks, nodding at the game.

“Sure.” You take a moment to let the computer win before adding some tokens for another match.

You can feel adrenaline starting to simmer under your skin. Growing up with two brothers had made you competitive, or you were born that way and never grew out of it with them around. You could feel your fingers tense in anticipation as Rafe chose his character. After an excruciatingly long time deliberating, he chose Sub Zero. You picked Kitana again, going with your most comfortable.

At the start of the first round, you landed a couple hits off the bat, getting your confidence up. Rafe cursed under his breath, noticing that you were all in. He cleared his throat, and landed a few kicks. You blocked one, and started to attack again.

“Jesus, do you just button mash?” Rafe commented, voice low.

“What?” You scoff. “I know what buttons I’m pressing.”

“Doesn’t mean you’re not button mashing.” He replies, and your focus is so thrown off that he wins the round.

“You bitch.” You mutter, glaring at him.

“Watch your language.” He smirks, getting ready for the next round.

This time, you force yourself not to be distracted by him. He tries to make a few more comments, but you ignore him and win that round, and then the next. With the match won, you look up at him in satisfaction. You expect him to look angry or annoyed, but his bright blue eyes are glinting like you just stepped up to the challenge.

“My turf next.” He nods his head over to the air hockey table.

“Shouldn’t that be an easy win for you?” You raise a brow.

“Why don’t you find out? Unless you’re too much of a pussy.”

“Please, don’t say that.” You roll your eyes.

“Chicken.” He counters.

“You’re on, but I need to buy some more tokens.”

“I can-” He starts before you cut him off.

“Nope. I do not want to owe you in any way.” With that, you walk over to the token machine, eyes scanning for Meghan. She’s talking to another hockey player, a super tall one with tanned skin. When she catches your eye, she gives you a thumbs up, and you can’t help but smile. Once you scan your card and grab the tokens, you start to make your way back until shrill laughter stops you in your tracks.

A group of girls have surrounded Rafe at the air hockey table, all trying to talk to him and fiddling with the pieces of the game. They’re all fairly tipsy, but clearly happy to have run into a hockey player that they know. You find yourself standing there, tokens in hand as you hear some of them ask if they can play the game with him. And honestly, they’re stunning. Beautiful, confident girls that Rafe would probably be more than happy to drop you for. You start to head back to Mortal Kombat when you hear Rafe speak up.

“Actually, I was playing with her.”

You turn to Rafe, meeting his eyes as the gaggle of fangirls stares at you. He tilts his chin up, as if urging you to ignore them and come back. And for some reason, you do. The girls get flustered, saying goodbye to both of you and wishing him a good night as they scurry away. And then it’s just you two, facing off over the air hockey table.

Unsurprisingly, Rafe wins all three rounds. He’s too quick, his reflexes too fast. It’s not even close, and if he weren’t an athlete you’d be a little embarrassed. You roll your eyes when he celebrates like he just won the rival game in overtime.

“Okay, ready to get back to your teammates?” You try to bring him back to reality.

“What? No. They don’t give a shit. They’re down to leave without me.” He says dismissively.

“Watch your language.” You retort, and that gleam in his eyes is back.

“Besides, partner, we’re now 1 to 1 at these games. We gotta play at least one more to see the real winner.”

“Fine. Pick a game that’s not basically what you do for a living.” You tease, secretly loving the challenge. He pretends to be annoyed at you, shaking his head. Walking around the arcade, he slows in front of the basketball hoops. What he doesn’t know is that you played for a few years. Not good enough to be a college athlete, but good enough for high school. You try to play it off and act nervous.

“How about this one?” Rafe’s smile grows.

“I don’t know…” You trail off, pretending to scan the arcade.

“We’re doing this one. Give me the tokens or I’m buying.” He insists, and you do everything you can to hold back a smirk. Hook, line, and sinker.

You make the most shots each round easily, giggling at Rafe’s grunts of frustration. You shrug as if it was an accident, as if you got lucky. But he’s not buying it, his mouth set in a thin line.

“That how you wanna play, partner?” He growls in a way that makes your cheeks flush, and you work to keep your composure.

“It’s only fair. You made me play air hockey.” You bat your lashes, playing innocent. “Looks like I win.”

“Nah,” He shakes his head, marching up to a racing car game that’s nearly enclosed. “One more. Let’s go.”

“Rafe,” You hesitate, looking back at Meghan. She seemed fine talking to the other boys, and some of the girls from class had shown up. But you weren’t planning on ignoring them all night.

“What, afraid you’ll lose?” He already knows that’ll get under your skin. Of course it does. You sigh, taking a seat at the racecar next to him. Dropping in the tokens, you wait for him to pick a race course, but he’s just looking at you.

His blue eyes are still confident, amused, determined. But he doesn’t say anything. It’s like he’s finally taking you in now that you’ve both paused. Suddenly, you’re aware of how close together you two are in this stupid arcade game. And suddenly, it feels too hot, his gaze too intense, yet you can’t look away.

A loud smack on the back of the racecar seats startles you both. You turn to see some of the hockey boys peering in, and you try to look as unassuming and normal as possible.

“Cameron!” One of them calls. “Let’s go. Reyes is looking for you.” “Ah, shit. Sorry.” Rafe says to you, chuckling as he slides out of the racecar seat. “This isn’t over, okay? Find me tonight.” He leaves you with a wink.