✮⋆˙ . bsf!rafe keeps 'accidentally' slipping inside after promising to just rub against you.
warnings — 18+ MDNI. bestfriend!reader x bsf!rafe pairing. name is self explanatory. manipulative tone & fake apologies.
cherie’s note — loosely based on this p!link.
your knees are bent, thighs open for him, trembling slightly from how real this feels — arms curled near your chest, lip caught anxiously between your teeth, breathing too fast for someone who's supposedly not having sex.
things had always been… complicated with you and rafe. secrets whispered in the dark, your body tucked into his bed more often than your own. he’d even taught you how to kiss — unforgivable, in hindsight. because now, whatever this was… it felt like the point of no return.
rafe kneels between your legs, stroking himself in slow, lazy pulls. deliberately. "just relax," he murmurs, voice low like he's talking you through something innocent. like this was something every best friend did — and you could definitely be convinced of such when it was him doing the talking. "i'm not gonna put it in. i told you."
he presses the head against your slit, sliding it up your folds, gathering the wetness along the underside of his throbbing cock. the squelch that bounces off the walls is unmistakable, a clear indicator of just how much you wanted this, despite the way your pulse raced. you jump at the first pass and he smiles — quick, hidden, gone before you even get the chance to look at him.
"how're you this worked up already?" he teases under his breath, more to himself than to you. "barely even touching you."
you squirm underneath him, embarrassed. "you're... rubbing on me..."
"mhm." he drags the swollen head down again, circling your entrance with soft precision — though his mind is anything but soft. not with you, sprawled out beneath him, eyes wide like a prey caught in a trap. his trap.
you gasp, a soft sound that shoots up his spine — and that's when he lets the tip catch you. not fully. just enough to make your body pull him in that tiny, helpless way you can't control. the thick head of his cock breaches the tightness of your cunt, and your thighs tremble slightly from the pressure.
"sorry," he breaths, pretending to pull back. "didn't mean— you're so warm, and wet. hard to aim."
you believe him immediately, like you always do, nodding. your cheeks burn, "it's okay. just... just be careful."
"i am," he promises, thumb stroking the soft skin of your knee. "i got you."
except he keeps doing it. that same slow glide, catching on you again, the head pushing just barely inside before he rocks back like it's truly accidental. each time, you make this soft, strangled sound that goes straight to his cock.
"you okay?" he murmurs.
you nod quickly, swallowing away at the nerves. "it just feels... weird."
"good weird?"
you nod again — and the way you do it, wide-eyed and trusting, makes him exhale shakily.
he strokes himself harder, a little faster, hips following the rhythm. the spongy tip of his cock keeps bumping and sliding against your slit with every pass, the feeling so dizzying you swear you could see stars. your slick coats his hand, helping the slick grip glide effortlessly against himself — makes everything sloppy and hot and impossible for him to 'aim'.
rafe swears he can lose himself in the sight of you alone. swears he'd give anything to see this everyday — you, eyes glassy and blinking slow, completely fucked-out and trembling under his guidance. so vulnerable. so trusting. pliant, too — keeping your thighs perched open enough to allow him the space he demands, without having to be asked.
you force a tiny breath out, shaky and full of shame, and he rewards you by rolling the head down again. and this time, when it catches, it sinks just a little deeper than before. enough to make your eyes fly fully open. enough to make your hips lift before you can stop yourself, telling him everything he needs to know.
he freezes. not really. just enough to pretend he's surprised.
"shit," he mutters, voice going hoarse. "that—that was deeper than i meant. m'sorry, baby."
and despite his apology, he stays there a beat too long — buried millimeters inside of your warm heat, throbbing. he pulls out slowly, letting a slick string stretch between where he’d previously pushed inside of you.
your heart jumps into your throat, "it's okay, ray," you whisper quickly, like you don't want him to feel bad. "was just an accident, right?"
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c/w .ᐟ.ᐟ language, pet names, tipsy behavior, rafe is down bad and so are you, sexual tension + heavy petting
2,799 words
The sun is warm on your skin as you step out of the Island Club, laughter still bubbling on your lips from the table you just left behind. The smile sticks too, your head a little floaty, your limbs looser than you intended them to be when you asked your boyfriend for the golf lesson earlier in the week.
The mimosas had started innocently enough, one turning into two, then another round ordered for the table. Suddenly everything felt lighter and warmer, the conversations with your friends turning into more tea than table talk.
Your purse strap slides down your shoulder as your hands reach to slip off your heels, your bare feet hitting the cobblestone.
That is when you see him, already out front and waiting exactly where he said he would be.
Rafe leans back in the golf cart, one big arm stretched along the back and the other resting lazily on the wheel. His hardened features soften completely when he sees you, a smile curling on his lips, a quiet chuckle slipping out when he notices your heels dangling from your fingers and your bare feet on the stone.
His head tilts slightly, sunglasses low on his nose, his thumb tapping rhythmically against the wheel of the golf cart.
Your stomach flips, that warm feeling spreading as you try to collect yourself, suddenly aware of every step you take. His eyebrows lift, noticing the soft sway in your hips and the way your smile refuses to settle.
“There she is,” he says, the smile reaching his eyes. You try to bite back a grin and play it off, but it only makes it worse, because you’re clearly not as composed as you think you are.
By the time you reach the cart, he is already leaning forward, his elbow braced on his knee to get a better look, not wanting to miss a thing.
“Hey, baby,” he says teasingly. “You have fun?”
“Mhmm,” you hum, nodding a little too eagerly.
His gaze flicks down briefly as he taps the seat next to him. He holds out his hand for you, gold watch glimmering in the sunlight, helping you inside. The second you’re beside him, his hand comes up, cupping your face, and you lean into it naturally as his lips press against yours.
He groans against your lips, smiling against your mouth as the sweetness of your lip gloss mixes with the champagne still lingering on your tongue. His thumb rubs gently against your cheek, soaking in the moment with you.
“You a little gone, sweetheart?” He murmurs, his voice softer now, lips brushing against yours.
“No—Me?” You ask, your response not nearly convincing enough, and it only makes him laugh quietly under his breath.
“Just thought I’d ask,” he feigns genuine curiosity, leaning back, his arm coming to rest along the back of your seat.
He grips the steering wheel again, his forearm flexing with the movement, his bicep shifting under the sleeve of his golf shirt. Your eyes drift away for a moment, that same stupid, traitorous smile giving you away again, because he looks too damn good like this. It’s unfair.
The cart hums to life beneath you as he pulls away from the clubhouse, one hand still resting loosely behind you.
“I’m fine,” you insist, feeling him eyeing you in your peripheral. He studies you for a moment, seeing your reaction, hoping to get a little more if it has you giggling like that. Then his tongue drags slowly over his bottom lip when your eyes meet his again.
“Thirsty?” He chuckles, nodding to the cup holders, something bright and citrusy, condensation dripping down the side.
“Might have had a little too much fun,” you mumble under your breath, and he snorts at the understatement.
“Well, just in case,” he smiles. “Brought you some water too, pretty. And… your golf shoes.” Your eyes fall to your lap, shoes still hooked around your finger. “Toss ‘em back there.”
“Thank you, baby,” you say, leaning closer to toss your heels in the back basket. His arm tightens around you at the contact, pulling you closer, pressing a kiss on your forehead. “M’sorry.”
Rafe pulls back and looks down at you, searching for your eyes. “What are you sorry about?” He asks, the question genuine, like maybe he said the wrong thing.
“I asked you to teach me and—well,” you giggle, your hand coming up to squeeze his bicep when he takes a sharp turn, your head falling onto his shoulder a little heavier than usual.
He rolls up beside the tee box fast, cutting off the engine before turning to look at you. “I just wanted to spend the day with you, baby. I don’t care if you had a few. I’m just teasin’ you, honey. It isn’t like we can’t come again—you’re not gettin’ rid of me.”
“Okay,” you giggle.
“That smile,” he mumbles, pressing his sunglasses up on his nose a little. “That’s all that matters, aight?”
His gaze drops from your face to the line of your neck, following the way the little black golf dress fits you like it was made for you, skimming your waist, hugging your hips, and showing just enough skin to make his hand tighten slightly around the wheel.
“And you… you look so damn good,” he says, softer this time. Your nose scrunches as you smile bashfully. “Missed you.”
“Missed you too,” you murmur.
“You ready for this?” He asks, nodding toward the course ahead, a stretch of green and crisp white flags, golf carts zipping around with regulars and pros. “Or do you wanna go home and hang out by the pool instead?” His tone lifts slightly like he is already thinking about it.
“No, I’m ready,” you answer quickly, remembering how happy he was when you first asked.
“Yeah?” He asks, his brow lifting slightly as he reaches for his drink. “You sure? I mean… I wouldn’t exactly be mad about going home.”
“Later,” you giggle, watching him smile against the rim of his glass before he glances at you and gives you a small wink.
He gets out first, his shoes hitting the grass as he adjusts his hat, his fingers hooking the brim and flipping it around so it sits backward on his head. He moves around the cart while you do the same, stretching out his arms and rolling his shoulders, and for a second you just stand there watching him.
Butterflies stir in your stomach as you take him in, tall and strong, sun-kissed under the afternoon light, his blue eyes scanning down the fairway to check on the group ahead.
He glances over at you and catches you staring just as you tug on your golf shoes, teetering slightly as you hop on one foot, grabbing the cart for balance.
“C’mere, baby,” he murmurs, beckoning you closer as he drops down onto one knee in front of you.
He looks up at you as he reaches for your shoe. “What club do you think we’re using, sunshine?” He drawls, tying one before moving to the other.
“Um…” you say, a little flustered as he stands again, close enough that your chest brushes his. “Nine?” The answer comes out more like a question, and he smiles.
“Mhmm…” He hums, pulling a hat down onto your head before pressing a quick kiss to your lips.
“Lucky guess,” you giggle.
“Nah,” he says easily. “You’re just a natural.” Rafe reaches into your bag, pulling out a club, handing it to you.
The two of you walk toward the markers side by side. He digs into his pocket, pulling out a ball and a tee, then scratches your name onto the scorecard just above his before glancing up to watch the pair ahead move toward the green.
“Alright, baby, first thing is your stance,” he starts, stepping closer as he gestures toward the ground. “You want your feet about shoulder-width apart and your weight balanced.”
“Mhmm,” you agree as he mirrors your stance, standing a few feet in front of you.
But in reality, you’re not hearing a single word because it all starts to drift away and blur together into something that sounds blah, blah, blah, proper name, place name, backstory stuff, because you’re just watching him.
You notice the way his mouth moves when he talks, the way his arms flex when he adjusts his grip on the club, and the way his voice softens slightly, like he actually cares about getting it right for you.
Your eyes move over him slowly without trying to hide it, and when you finally look back up at his face, you realize he is already looking at you.
“You’re not listening to a damn thing I’m saying, are you, baby?” He asks, a quiet, bashful laugh slipping out, a faint flush creeping across his cheeks.
“What?” You ask softly, your hands dropping to the club like you even know what you are fixing, which only makes him laugh harder.
The head of his club taps against the grass as he tries to collect himself, but he cannot even pretend to be annoyed about it.
If anything, it looks like he loves it, like he loves you like this, a little distracted and completely caught up in him.
He steps closer again, slower this time, and it’s less about the lesson now and more about you, his attention shifting between your eyes and your mouth as he exhales quietly through a small smile.
“Alright,” he says, his voice dropping slightly. “Yeah… this isn’t gonna go how I planned.”
“I’m sorry,” you repeat softly, echoing yourself from earlier without even realizing it.
“Baby,” he murmurs, his tone lowering just enough to make it clear he does not want to hear you apologize again.
You nod, taking in a little breath, brows furrowing as you try to focus on your stance, and the club face.
He grins at that, his eyes moving over you again, slower this time as he takes in the dress, the way it flutters in the breeze, and the way your tongue pokes out a little as you try to mimic his shoulder position.
“Yeah,” he hums, pretty distracted himself. “Exactly like that.” You smile proudly, following behind him as he takes a practice swing of his own. “Alright, baby. You’re up.”
You look ahead, watching the old men in front of you cruise off in their cart toward the second hole. You crouch down, sinking your tee into the grass, settling your ball on top, watching it wobble slightly before it finally steadies.
“Atta baby,” he says, his tone easy and approving, like you did something far more impressive than setting a ball on a tee, but it makes you smile anyway.
You step into position, lining yourself up with the ball as you adjust your feet the way you’ve seen him do before. He walks around you, watching you closely. “Alright, hold on,” he says, stepping in. “Let me fix a couple things.”
You nod, your eyes still fixed on the ball.
“See how this hole runs?” He says, one hand coming up to rest on your waist as the other points ahead. “It’s gonna hook left once you get some distance on it, so you don’t want to aim straight down the middle, you want to offset a little to the right.”
You glance over your shoulder at him, smiling as you see just how close he is, his eyes nowhere near where they need to be as his gaze traces from the hem of your skirt, following where the fabric stretches over your back, dipping low.
His eyes meet yours and he smiles. “You listening?” He asks as he smirks.
“You focusing?” You giggle, gasping as his hand comes down to swat you playfully on the butt.
“Am I focused?” He snorts, laughing under his breath. “I’m focused, baby. I’m locked in.”
“Mmm… Sure,” you tease him, tightening your hold on the club. You glance up where you need to go, squinting into the sun a little bit before you look down at the ball, your hold tightening on the iron as you try your best to lock in yourself.
“Sheesh, baby,” he says, pulling you right out of your focus, stepping in closer to look over your shoulder, shifting back into teaching mode. “Your grip—”
“What?” You ask.
“Hey, don’t move,” he adds lightly. “Your stance is perfect but you’re squeezing the life out of this thing. Relax.” The final words fade off his lips as he steps in behind you.
His chest pushes against your back, solid and warm, the heat of him seeping through the thin fabric of his polo. He keeps talking through it, calm and patient, like this is still a real lesson and not something that shifted the second he got close enough to hold you in his arms.
Your fingers loosen around the club like he told you to, but the effort is half-hearted at best because you are too aware of him—of the way he is standing behind you, his body lining up perfectly with yours.
His hands come in, settling briefly over your grip, so big they almost completely cover your own. “Like this,” he says quietly. “Not too tight, just let the club do the work.”
Music drifts from the golf cart, the afternoon breeze swirling around the subtle sweetness of wild roses and freshly cut grass as that little liquored-laced buzz of yours mellows you out even more in the North Carolina heat.
“Baby…” He murmurs; a quiet breath of a laugh leaving him warm and close against your ear. “Stop wiggling, yeah? Your stance was perfect.”
You hum softly in response, still not fully present, your weight shifting again just enough that you end up settling back into him instead of finding your stance again.
“Back straight, alright?” He mumbles. “Bend at the knees—” His breath catches, the word leaving him as you do your version of whatever that is.
His grip tightens over yours, not correcting anymore, a helpless laugh tumbling out of him before he can stop it, his control slipping almost instantly as his head drops forward, pressing into the curve of your neck when you push back into his lap.
You giggle breathily, catching your error—catching the way he reacts too. And for a moment you pause, realizing exactly what’s happening, and how much he’s enjoying the lesson.
“Fuck, baby, just—“ He huffs out a breath. “Keep… Keep goin’,” the words barely pass his mouth, and you can hear the lusty smile on his lips.
You bite your lip, grinding your hips a little more for the fun of it; ass pressing against the thick bulge beneath his shorts.
His hands drop down to grip your thighs, drifting inward. You turn your cheek and your lips ghost over the top of his, his smile spreading across your mouth before he kisses you soft enough to make your lips and your whole body tingle.
He lets it happen longer than he should, long enough for it to sink in and feel good—too good. A cart of old women rolls by, heading back from the 18th hole, and he clears his throat, snapping himself out of it, forcing himself away from you, blinking a few times as he tries to reset and remember where the two of you are.
“Baby,” he says, shaking his head slowly, like he does not even know what to do with you anymore.
“I’m sorry,” you say quickly, the words tumbling out as you laugh, shaking your head while you reposition your hands. “I’m sorry, okay, let’s try again. I’ll be good, I promise.”
You line yourself back up with the ball like you mean it this time, adjusting your stance and squaring your shoulders. His hands hover over your hips. A quiet, defeated laugh slips past his lips because it hits him that there’s no version of this where he finishes the lesson. Not a single chance that he makes it through the front nine, let alone the back without taking that dress off you and getting you underneath him.
“Nah,” he decides, almost immediately.
Before you can react, his hand hooks around your waist, the other taking the club off your hands. He guides you back toward the cart with a smile on his lips.
“Rafe—”
“We’re not doin’ that,” he mutters under his breath, still half-laughing as you start to assure him that you’ve got this, but all he’s got is you on his mind. “We’re gettin’ outta here.”
“Why?” You ask, as if the answer isn’t written all over his face and strained against the zipper of his shorts as the two of you step into the golf cart again, not a single swing marked on the scorecard.
“So you can do that again.”
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warnings: unprotected sex, slight sub!rafe (?), praise, hair pulling, titty sucking, spanking, groping, light biting, face sitting, oral sex (f. receiving), tongue fucking, overstimulation
a/n: this one is for my plus sized baddies ໒꒰ྀི ˶> ˕ <˶꒱ྀི১
“fuck, fuck, fuck..” to say that rafe was gone and so far away in his own state of hysteria would be putting it nicely. he looked thoroughly flushed underneath you, his cheeks and the tips of his ears burning a bright pink as your hips moved up and down his length. rafe laid there at your mercy, his fingertips digging so hard into the plush flesh of your thighs, you couldn’t help but whine at the slight discomfort every time he managed to grip you even tighter than before. with teary eyes, rafe gazed up at you as his jaw fell slack, his eyebrows knitting together as you switched from bouncing on top of him to dragging your hips slowly over his lap so he could revel in the feeling of you being wrapped around him— so warm and tight.
“holy shit, baby,” rafe groaned, craning his neck to look down and see where you two were connected, “f-feels so fucking good.” he shuddered, blinking slowly as his eyes rolled to the back of his head. you watched rafe’s chest cave in with every breath, his bangs sticking to his forehead as he cursed obscenities through gritted teeth. moving his palms to the curves of your hips, he urged you to lean down and rest against his chest, one arm wrapping tight around your waist, and the other gripping the roots of your hair as his mouth latched onto your nipple. “oh—!” you cried out when he started fucking up into you, the plap! plap! plap! of his skin meeting yours making your cheeks heat.
rafe couldn’t comprehend anything else except for the sweet scent of your perfume, the softness of your skin, and the wetness that surrounded his cock with every thrust inside your needy cunt. “i don’t know what you do to me,” rafe held you close, “every time i’m inside you, i can’t fucking think.” he laughed, feeling damn near psychotic by how fast the smile left his lips when he felt you clench around him. slamming his palm down, you yelped when rafe grabbed a handful of your ass without any kind of gentle regard, his teeth nipping at your skin as you reveled in the pure unadulterated pleasure licking your insides. “this body is perfect,” he grunted, groping at your tummy, “you’re perfect.”
before you could register his words, rafe was pulling out and scooting down the bed so he could seat you on his face, his strong arms wrapping around your thighs before his tongue was flicking against your clit. doubling over, you threaded your fingers in his hair as a broken moan sounded from your lips. “oh god!” you squealed, your shoulders dropping in defeat upon feeling the familiar tension beginning to coil in your belly. rafe didn’t care about being soft or sweet when he was devouring you like a man starved. times like this called for your ass and thighs to smother him in a way that had his cock standing up in the air by itself, the tip of his nose nudging your sensitive bundle of nerves as he worked your entrance with his tongue— the combination making you cum on his face in record time.
rafe made sure to hold you in place when overstimulation set in so that you couldn’t pull away from him until he was done, your orgasm ripping through you as you shook and trembled in his hold. you were nothing short of intoxicating, your sticky succulence driving rafe mad with lust as he continued lapping at your glossy folds. he could never get enough of you— not when every time felt like the first time all over’s again. hearing you cry, seeing you squirm, feeling your body react to every praise and compliment he showered you with.. there was never going to be another feeling that could top this one.
watching you for months from behind foggy glasses and shaky hands, jerking off to the thought of you with his earbuds in and a pillow clutched to his chest, pretending it’s you. whispering your name like a prayer, like he’s ashamed of how bad he wants it.
so when it actually happens—when you kiss him, when you pull him onto your bed, when you say “do you wanna…?”—he nods like a fucking puppy. eager, dumb, eyes already wide and blown-out.
he tries to act confident. really, he does. tells you in this shaky little voice,
“i-I’ve seen a lot of videos, I know what to do…” like it’s something to be proud of. like his entire sex education isn’t a pornhub rabbit hole and three reddit threads.
but the second you guide him in? game over.
his hips jerk forward way too fast, eyes rolling back as he gasps, forehead pressed to your shoulder.
“oh god—oh fuck—fuckfuckfuck, i’m sorry, I didn’t—”
he whines. actually fucking whimpers into your skin, clutching your waist like he’s drowning in it.
"y-you’re so warm—can’t—can’t help it—feels s-so good, I—I didn’t mean to—"
and then he just freezes, pulsing inside you, biting back a sob because he came already. not even thirty seconds in.
he can’t look you in the eye. rolls off you like a guilty little rabbit, red-faced and mumbling apologies into your neck.
“i swear i’ll make it up to you. i’ll—i’ll go down on you, okay? for as long as you want. just… don’t hate me.”
he does make it up to you. tongue trembling, nose buried in you like it’s his job, moaning every time you tug his hair and call him good. (he cries again when you cum on his tongue. it’s kind of sweet.)
"two weeks," rafe grunts, his voice rough with frustration as he shoves a third finger deep into your pussy. "two weeks away from me and you've clamped shut like a fuckin' virgin."
you are splayed out on the edge of your mattress, your suitcase still abandoned by the door where you dropped it five minutes ago. you haven't even taken off your shoes. rafe didn't give you the chance. he has your legs hooked over his broad shoulders, bending you in half, exposing your tan-lined pussy to the harsh bedroom light and his relentless assault.
"rafe, slow down… it hurts," you hiss, your hips twitching involuntarily as he twists his wrist deep inside you.
"it's supposed to hurt," he retorts, sweating as he forces his fingers to scissor open, stretching your walls apart. "you think you can just go on vacation and forget how big i am? i have to make room."
he withdraws his hand, the wet squelch echoing loudly, only to immediately replace it with the blunt, angry head of his cock. he doesn't lube it up. he uses the juices he just coaxed out of you, spitting on the head for good measure before lining himself up. the sight of his erection — thick, vein-wrapped, and visibly throbbing — makes your breath hitch. it looks too big. after fourteen days of nothing, he looks massive.
"relax," he commands, grabbing your hips with bruising force to anchor you. "don't fight it. open up."
he pushes forward. it's a slow, gruelling invasion. the head of his cock forces your entrance to stretch into a wide, taut circle, the skin turning pale with the strain. you cry out, digging your nails into the duvet, feeling completely stuffed before he's even halfway in. the sensation is overwhelming — a feeling of being split open, filled to absolute capacity.
"fuck, you're tight," rafe groans, his eyes rolling back as he feels your internal muscles squeezing him in a panic. "look at you taking it. taking every inch."
he drives his hips forward in a sudden, brutal motion, burying himself to the hilt. the impact knocks the wind out of you. you feel him hit your cervix, a deep, dull thud that radiates through your entire core. you are completely impaled, your body moulded around his intrusion.
"there," he breathes, leaning down to bite the sensitive cord of your neck. "now you're full. now you remember who you belong to."
he doesn't start fast. he moves with agonising slowness, pulling almost all the way out until just the tip remains, then slamming back in to re-stretch you with every stroke. it's a torture of friction and fullness. he grinds his pubic bone against your clit, overstimulating you while he ruins your insides.
"did you touch yourself while you were gone?" he demands, slapping your thigh. "did you think about this? about my cock stretching you out?"
"yes," you sob, unable to lie. "rafe, please… harder."
"careful what you wish for."
he snaps. the slow, methodical stretching turns into a feral, desperate pounding. he hammers into you, his pace frantic, driven by fourteen days of pent-up need. the bed frame slams rhythmically against the wall, shaking the entire room. you're moaning loudly, incoherent pleas mixing with the wet, slapping sound of his skin colliding with yours. you feel stretched to the absolute limit, your body gaping open to accommodate him, adjusting to the sheer size of him until your entire world narrows down to the friction and the heat.
"i'm gonna wreck you," he snarls, sweat dripping from his forehead onto your chest. "i'm gonna leave you so loose you won't be able to walk for weeks."
he grabs your waist, his fingers digging into your skin, pulling you flush against him to maximise the depth. he hits your cervix with every thrust now, a bruising, deep pleasure that borders on pain. you wrap your legs around his back, locking your ankles to keep him there, desperate for the release building in your belly.
"rafe! i'm close! i'm gonna—!"
"cum on my cock," he roars, slamming his hips forward one last time. "squeeze on it."
your orgasm hits you like a tidal wave. your inner walls clamp down on his shaft, spasming violently. the sensation of your tightness crushing him pushes rafe over the edge. he groans, a deep, animalistic sound, and buries himself to the balls. he erupts, firing thick, hot ropes of cum deep into your womb. he pumps into you, unloading everything he's held back for two weeks, filling you until you feel heavy and bloated with his essence.
he stays there for a long time, chest heaving against yours, waiting until the very last twitch of his cock subsides. finally, he pulls out slowly. a gush of his seed mixed with your own fluids spills out of you, running down your inner thigh and soaking the sheets.
rafe stares at the mess, his eyes dark and possessive. he reaches down, swiping his thumb through the fluid leaking from your stretched, gaping entrance, and holds it up for you to see.
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Y/n locking her legs around him making him cum inside of her
⋆˚࿔ younger¡ reader && older¡rafe cameron
CUM IN ME RAFE.
You’re younger, but not a kid. Just fresh—soft in all the ways Rafe isn’t. You’ve got that glowy, untouched look about you. Big eyes, glossy lips, thighs kissed with baby oil and sunshine. You still giggle when you talk. Still blush when he says something dirty. Still wear those little skirts that barely graze your thighs and shirts so small they rise when you reach for anything. You look like sin and feel like heaven, and Rafe’s a man who’s spent too long pretending he doesn’t notice.
But tonight? He’s not pretending.
You’re in your bed, tangled in cotton sheets and innocence, and Rafe’s over you, heavy, hot, thick cock buried deep in your slick, needy cunt. His shirt is still on, bunched at the elbows, sleeves damp with sweat. You’re naked but for the bracelet he bought you last week. Pink crystals. Baby charm.
He knows better.
He shouldn’t be here. Not inside you. Not with your legs hooked high around his waist, back arching up like your body was made to take him. You’re sweet, soft, and still new to all this. And Rafe? He’s seen too much. Touched too much. He’s a man with lines carved deep in his skin and darker ones in his past.
But God, you make it so easy.
You whimper beneath him, glossy lips parted, head tilted back as you tighten your legs around his hips—ankles locking behind him like you’re afraid he’ll leave. Like you need him to stay. Like the thought of being empty again terrifies you.
Rafe groans, hips stuttering, cock thick and aching deep in your soaked, fluttering cunt. Your pussy clamps around him like a vice, greedy and throbbing, all slick heat and pulsing desperation. ❝Don’t,❞ he breathes, voice frayed and breaking apart. ❝Baby, I’m close. I have to—fuck—I have to pull out.❞
You shake your head, shameless, drunk on it. ❝Don’t want you to.❞ You’re barely even whispering. ❝Want it. Want you to cum inside.❞ He stares down at you like you’ve cursed him. Like you’ve just ripped open his chest and crawled inside. His brows are pinched tight. His thrusts go shallow. His jaw clenches like it’s the only thing keeping him together.
❝What?❞ he growls. ❝Please, Rafe. I want it. Want to feel it.❞ Your fingers press into his back; your lips brush his throat. Your voice is syrup-sweet and ruined. He curses again, jaw ticking, breathing ragged. ❝Are you on the pill? Fuck, tell me you’re on the fucking pill.❞ You nod. Slowly. ❝Mhm. I am.❞
But he sees it—the way your lips twitch, the breath you skip, the way your cunt clenches even tighter around him, like it’s lying too. Like it wants it more than anything. ❝You sure?❞ he asks, panting. His eyes dark, fixed to yours. ❝Because if I stay in you, if I fucking cum in this tight little pussy—you’re mine. Do you understand me? Mine.❞ You nod again, breath catching. ❝I already am.❞
And that’s it. That’s the thing that rips the last bit of restraint from his body. He fucks forward hard—deep—his cock dragging against every slick, clenching inch inside you, splitting you open, filling you so full you swear you feel it in your belly. He ruts against your cervix, and you gasp, head thrown back, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes from how good it feels.
❝Fuck, baby,❞ he groans, nose brushing yours, his voice breaking. ❝You feel that stretch? That’s me, sweetheart. That’s my cock pushing so deep it’s showing through your tummy.❞ And you do—you can feel it. One of his big hands slides between your bodies, pressing to your lower stomach where you’re bulging just slightly. He curses low. You moan higher.
❝You’re so fucking tight, baby. Fuck—your pussy’s fluttering.❞ His eyes roll as he ruts into you deeper, harder, more desperate now. ❝Like it’s milking me. Like it fucking needs it.❞ You whine, high and broken. ❝It does. I do. Rafe—please.❞
It’s all so wet. The sounds are obscene. Skin slapping. Your whimpers. His grunts. The sloppy squelch every time he drags it out of you just to slam right back in. You’re gasping now, clinging to him, legs shaking as that heat coils tighter, hotter, meaner. ❝Come inside,❞ you cry, your voice cracking. ❝Please, Rafe. I want to feel it. Want to feel you fill me up.❞ He breaks.
He shouts your name, hips stuttering as he bottoms out, cock twitching, and then he’s flooding you—thick, hot, endless. You feel it spill deep, feel it leak out around the base of his cock even as he keeps grinding into you, milking every last drop. It’s too much. You shatter with him, orgasm crashing over you as your cunt squeezes him impossibly tight.
Your back arches. Your body trembles. You sob his name, nails dragging down his shoulders, mouth open in a silent scream. He holds you there through it all, buried deep, whispering filth against your cheek. When it’s over, you’re both wrecked. Panting. Slick with sweat, cum and heat. Rafe slumps over you, arms trembling, breath shaky as he presses kisses to your cheek, your jaw, and your swollen lips. ❝Fuck, baby… fuck. Look at you.❞
He pulls out slowly, and you both hiss at the mess. His cum drips out of your swollen, red pussy, thick and shiny, painting your thighs, the sheets, everything. You look ruined. Precious. Marked. He groans again. ❝You know what you just did?❞ he asks, brushing your hair back. ❝You just made me yours. Forever.❞
And you smile up at him—eyes soft, lashes fluttering, still trembling—with your legs wide open and his cum leaking out of you like you’ve never been more proud. And when he finally lifts his head, when his eyes meet yours, there’s something dark there. ❝You lied, didn’t you?❞ You blink, cheeks flushed, lips swollen. He smirks. Leans in, mouth brushing your neck. ❝Doesn’t matter. You’re mine now anyway.❞
── ⋆ 𝐲𝐚𝐩 : thanks anon! not sure if this was meant for a specific au, but oh well, hope you like it! <3
