EX-CONVICT!BABYDADDY!RAFE X FEM!READER
EX-CONVICT!BABYDADDY!RAFE x FEM!READER
WARNINGS .ᐟ unprotected p in v, breeding kink if you squint, heavyyyy angst, rafe being an asshole (as per usual), brief mentions of guns/police raid and drugs
NOTES .ᐟ guys, i need him so bad, like actually. based on this concept from my silly little brain. dad!rafe stays in my mind 24/7, but this is me we're talking about, so of course, i had to put a lil spin on it. also this turned out way longer than i meant it to, woah
After almost four years, you were finally starting to feel like you were getting your shit together. You were living in a nice house in a nice neighborhood where everyone knew everyone—the kind of place where people literally asked their neighbors for cups of sugar. You had a stable job that allowed you to live comfortably and provide for yourself and your daughter, and you had a big St. Bernard, lovingly named Moonshine after you'd watched one too many episodes of Moonshiners, that provided a sense of safety and security when the nights were cold and the paranoia started to creep into your mind.
Being a single mom was not easy, and it definitely hadn't been a part of your life plan, but then, you met Rafe Cameron—the ever charming, sweet talking man that he was. He swept you up and made you feel like the only girl in the world, like nothing else mattered as long as you were by his side, so when you found out you were pregnant, you were over the moon at the idea of starting a family with him.
But Rafe Cameron was a liar. He was selfish and manipulative, and he turned your life right on it's head.
You could still remember the day the police kicked in the door of your apartment, bursting in with guns drawn, pointed directly at you. You were eight months pregnant and having a gun pointed at you—at your baby—made you physically ill.
They had raided the apartment and found copious amounts of drugs. Your heart dropped, and you immediately felt like an idiot. How had you not known? You knew he made more money than he realistically should have, but the thought never even crossed your mind that this could be the reason. You were heartbroken and angry. Angry that he had lied. Angry that he put you in this position. And, angry that he was leaving you.
Rafe was arrested, and eventually charged with possession with intent to distribute due to the amount of drugs they found, which resulted in a five year sentence. You were sad and angry, not only because you were losing the man you always thought was the love of your life, but also because now, you were alone, and your daughter wouldn't know her father for the first five years of her life.
This anger and resentment festered, mixing with longing and a deep, aching sadness. You couldn't bring yourself to answer his calls or letters, let alone visit him. You didn't know who he was anymore. The man that you saw sporting handcuffs and an orange jumpsuit at his trial was not the same man you fell in love with, and you wouldn't pretend like he was.
You had known Rafe's release date was approaching, but you were under the impression that you still had a little over a year to plan on what you were going to do when it finally came. That's why you were so unsuspecting when you went to answer the harsh knock at your door.
It was a Thursday night, and you were cuddled up on the couch with Moonshine, who was practically the size of you. A horror movie was playing on the TV before you, one you'd seen practically a million times, and every few minutes, your gaze would flicker to the baby monitor on the coffee table that displayed the feedback from a camera in your daughter, Rhiannon's, room.
You jumped a little at the harsh sound of a knock on your front door, the horror movie already having you on edge. You could be paranoid sometimes, especially being a single mom, so realistically, you knew you shouldn't have been watching it so late at night, but they were your guilty pleasures that you couldn't indulge in the light of day because of your toddler.
Moonshine immediately jumped up, a low growl escaping his throat as his hair stood on end. Your brows furrowed at his odd behavior, pausing the movie and unfurling yourself from your comfortable position. Your steps were soft on the hardwood, your socks cushioning the sound as you padded over to the front door, patting the dog's head comfortingly as you unlocked the door, completely unaware with what would greet you on the other side.
As you opened the door, the cool night air hit you, carrying with it the faint scent of cigarette smoke. You blinked in surprise, expecting to see a neighbor, but instead, you found yourself face to face with Rafe Cameron.
Your eyes widened, the air knocked from your lungs as you took him in. He was changed, broader and more imposing, his muscles flexing under his tight black t-shirt as he crossed his arms. His hair was buzzed, his chiseled jawline sporting stubble that made him look older, more mature.
He looked so different, but still, somehow, the same. You were hit by a wave of emotions—longing, love, sadness, but most presently, anger. Who did he think he was showing up unannounced in the middle of the night after all these years, especially looking so unapologetic and devastatingly handsome.
His piercing blue eyes bore into yours, captivating and dangerous like a wave pulling you under when you least expected it. "Hey, baby," he greeted, his voice low and smooth, like honey dripping off his tongue. The term of endearment fell from his lips without any semblance of warmth as he stared at you with an intensity that made you want to shrink in on yourself.
"What are you doing here?" You asked, your jaw clenching and grip on the door's edge tightening. You shivered a little as the cold air bit at your bare skin, barely registering the low growls of Moonshine behind you due to your tunnel vision on the man standing before you.
He smirked confidently, knowing the effect he had on you—the effect he always had on you. His eyebrow arched as he took in your appearance, his eyes lingering on your bare thighs, courtesy of your pajama shorts. "Aren't you going to invite me in, sweetheart? It's been a long time." He took a step forward, his broad frame filling the doorway intimidatingly.
You swallowed hard, resisting the urge to step back and let him intimidate you into getting what he wanted. You craned your neck to look up at him, his close proximity looming over you, making him seem even taller and more imposing than he already was. "And whose fault is that?" You managed to say, despite the pit in your stomach—a mix of dread, anxiety, and strangely, desire.
Rafe's gaze sharpened, his eyes glinting dangerously. He uncrossed his arms and braced one hand on the doorframe beside your head, leaning in closer. It made your breath catch in your throat, but you held firm. You couldn't let him see that he was getting to you. "Let me in," he clenched his jaw. His anger at you for abandoning him in there had been bubbling up, and your defiance was bringing it to the surface.
A light flickering on in the house across the street caught your eye. Old lady Flanigan had a habit of making everyone else's business, her business, and she was a nasty gossip. Unless you wanted people talking, you either had to let him in or get him to leave, and one of those would be a nearly impossible feat. "Rafe, you can't be here. You can't just barge back into my life after all this time," you told him firmly, your own eyes blazing with a fiery intensity.
"And why not?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous. His body was practically vibrating with pent-up anger, his muscles taut as he leaned in closer, his breath fanning across your face. "Did you ever think about me? Did you ever think about what you did to us?"
"What I did?" You scoffed, anger bubbling up inside you at his accusation, blaming you as if he wasn't the one that went to prison and left you alone. "Are you fucking kidding me?" The old woman across the street was now shamelessly watching through her window, and you knew you had no choice but to let him in before her nosey ass called the cops on the strange, clearly out of place man lurking in the neighborhood.
He followed your eyes, looking over his shoulder to the nosy neighbor, his expression darkening. Without another word, he pushed past you, entering the house and forcing you to step back.
Your jaw clenched at his blatant disregard or respect for your wishes as you gently closed the door behind you. Moonshine barked, baring his teeth at the intruder, clearly sensing the tension and jumping into action to protect his family. "Moonshine, stop," you told him firmly. You were proud of him, but you didn't want his barking to wake Rhiannon. The last thing you could deal with right now was Rafe and a crying toddler. You could only focus on one temper tantrum at a time.
Rafe's eyes narrowed as he watched you control your dog, a muscle ticking in his jaw. His gaze then swept the interior of your home, taking in every detail as if memorizing it. "Nice place," he commented flatly, turning back to face you. "Where's my kid?"
You took a deep breath, your gaze hard at him calling your daughter his kid, like he had any right. He didn't even know her name or that she was a girl. "She's asleep," you told him, crossing your arms over your chest.
His piercing eyes bore into yours, unyielding. "Her name." he demanded gruffly.
"Rhiannon," you informed him hesitantly, your gaze darting to the monitor on the coffee table, making sure she was still asleep.
His expression flickered briefly, a flash of something softer, almost vulnerable, in his eyes before it was quickly concealed. He nodded once. "I want to see her." It wasn't a request. His posture remained tense and coiled, ready to react to your response.
You huffed, running a hand through your hair and heading to the kitchen with him hot on your heels. Maybe you wanted to busy yourself. Maybe you wanted an excuse not to have to look at him. Maybe you just wanted to walk away from him, to assert some kind of power. Either way, your next words were spoken with your back to him. "I told you. She's asleep. It's the middle of the fucking night, Rafe, what did you expect?"
He followed you into the kitchen, his presence overwhelming in the small space. The air felt charged, thick with unspoken words and unresolved tension. "I don't give a fuck what time it is," he growled, his voice low and intense. "I've missed four years of her life already."
You rounded the kitchen island, planting your hands on it as you turned to face him, feeling more comfortable with the counter between you. Not because you were scared of him but because, despite yourself and despite your anger, you longed to touch him and have him touch you. "And whose fucking fault is that, huh?" You asked angrily, echoing your earlier words that he had ignored.
Rafe's expression darkened, his jaw clenching as he stared back at you. The muscle in his jaw clenched as he ground his teeth together, trying to rein in his anger. "Yours," he bit out. "You left me in there," he accused.
"You left me out here!" Your voice raised slightly before you caught yourself, letting out a hard breath. The only way you could keep yourself from getting sad, from crying over the loss of the only man you'd ever truly loved, was getting angry at him.
"You think I wanted to go to prison?" He hissed, rounding the island and backing you against the counter. "You think I had a fucking choice?"
"You did have a choice," you said sharply, bracing your hands on the counter behind you as you stared up at him. "You chose to deal drugs, and you chose to keep dealing even after you found out I was pregnant. Prison was just the consequence of all your shitty choices."
His hand came up, slamming on the cabinet beside your head, the sound making you jump slightly. "And what about you?" He seethed, his chest heaving as his breath came in short, angry bursts. "What about your choices, huh? You could've waited for me."
"I did what I had to do," you said, glaring at him. You weren't quite sure what else to say. You had to protect yourself, your own feelings, and your child. You couldn't have stayed in touch, sick with worry every night while you soothed a colicky baby all by yourself. You had to forget him; it was better that way, easier.
"What you had to do," he repeated, his voice dripping with sarcasm and the faintest hint of hurt. "You moved on pretty quick, didn't you? Found some new dick to warm your bed, is that it?"
"Fuck you," you spat, the words stabbing you like a knife to the heart. You hadn't been able to bring yourself to even look at another man since he went away. You told yourself it was just because of Rhiannon, that you were focusing on raising her and being the best mother you could be, but deep down, you knew it was because your heart would always belong to Rafe.
"Is that it?" he repeated, his face inches from yours. His voice was low, his eyes searching yours for something. "You found some other man to replace me?"
"Maybe I have," you said stubbornly. You knew you were being petty, wanting him to hurt like you hurt, but you also knew you were a shit liar, so there was no way in hell he would actually believe you. "Maybe I have moved on."
His other hand shot out, gripping your chin roughly as he forced you to look at him. "Bullshit," he growled, looking down at you, his blue eyes darkened. "I can see it in your eyes. You haven't moved on to shit."
You stared up at him defiantly, your chest heaving with anger, which only intensified when you felt the wetness between your thighs. Even after all this time, all it took was a look and a simple touch to get you so wet, and as much as you hated it, you couldn't deny that something about his post-prison appearance—how rugged and large he was—made your knees week.
His hand tightened on your chin as he leaned in, pressing his lips to yours in a brutal, demanding kiss. It was clear he was angry, punishing you for the words you'd spoken, and you knew you should've pushed him away—yelled at him and told him to get the fuck out of your house—but you didn't.
Instead, you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer as you kissed him with an intensity that matched the war going on within you—the jumbled mess of love and hate that he had brought up within you.
He groaned into the kiss, his hands gripping your face roughly as he devoured your mouth. He pushed you further back against the counter that was now digging into your lower back, his body pinning you in place. You could feel his anger, his frustration, his desperation, and it only fueled your own emotions.
The kiss was raw and charged with a passionate mix of need, longing, and pure, unbridled anger, both of you trying to show the other that this wasn't a surrender of power or giving into the other and accepting blame. The kiss itself was an argument, a fight all of its own that didn't require words.
He hands went to your hips, lifting you onto the counter and stepping between your parted legs. Tearing his mouth from yours, he began kissing along your jawline and down the column of your throat. His lips were hot and insistent, his teeth nipping at your skin as he continued to mark you.
You panted, your chest heaving for an entirely different reason now as you let out soft gasps and breathy sounds of approval, your head falling back against the cabinet behind your head. You had forgotten how good he was with his mouth, always knowing exactly how to drive you wild.
He took advantage of the exposed column of your throat, sucking hard enough to leave a mark. His hands gripped your thighs, pulling you to the edge of the counter. You let out a low moan, your nails raking against his buzzed scalp. As sexy as he looked with a buzzcut, you wished you could run your fingers through his hair, tugging on it slightly everytime he touched you just right.
"Mmm," he hummed against your skin, his voice a low vibration that seemed to go straight to your core. He kissed his way back up to your mouth, his hips pushing forward to press his hardness against your core. "Did you forget how good I am, baby?"
You internally rolled your eyes at his cocky tone, like he had won. "God, do you ever shut up?" You asked, sounding less annoyed and effective since you were still breathless from his kisses.
His hips thrust forward again, making an involuntary whine fall from your lips at the feeling. "Not when I'm right." He smirked, his eyes crinkling at the corners. His smirk was as frustratingly handsome as it had always been, and it made you want to smack him and kiss him all at once. "And I am."
"Don't be a dickhead," you glared at him, his arrogance and your own unyielding need for him only heightening your frustration. You were desperate and aching for him, but you refused to give in and beg him like you wanted to.
"Then quit acting like you're not soaking wet for me." His grip on your thighs tightened, calloused fingers digging into the soft flesh. "I bet if I slipped my hand into your shorts, I'd find you drenched and ready for me, wouldn't I?"
His smug tone infuriated you and turned you on all at once. "Shut up, Rafe," you demanded, balling your fist into the fabric of his shirt and pulling him closer, so you could press your lips to his, forcing him to shut up and quit pissing you off.
Your grip on his shirt loosened, hand sliding down his hard, muscular chest to his waistband. You had always seen the trope of guys working out their frustrations in prison movies, but you didn't know that was actually a thing. Your fingers fumbled with his belt as he slipped his tongue into your mouth, sliding it along yours in a way that had you moaning against his lips
He groaned low in his throat as you finally worked the belt buckle open, sliding the leather through the loops and dropping it to the floor with a clank. His hands immediately slid up your thighs, hooking into the waistband of your shorts and pulling them down your legs—with the help of you awkwardly shifting to lift your ass enough to do so.
He discarded the garments to the floor with his belt, his palms running along your bare thighs as he parted your legs wider, opening you to him. His calloused fingertips brushed against your center, feeling your slick folds, making you gasp into his mouth. "Told you," he grinned against your lips, finding it in himself to be a complete dick, even when he was about to be inside you.
"Asshole," you mumbled, fingers deftly popping open the button of his jeans and unzipping them. You hooked your fingers in his waistband, shoving his pants and underwear down as he had done to you.
He kicked his pants and boxers off the rest of the way, stepping between your thighs again. His hard cock was flushed, the tip glistening with precum. He gripped himself at the base, rubbing the head through your slick folds teasingly. "What was that, baby?"
Your breath caught in your throat. "Just put your dick inside me before I kill you," you threatened him, though you both knew you wouldn't do anything, not really.
He chuckled lowly, the sound sending shivers down your spine. "You want it so bad, don't you?" He teased, his tip nudging against your entrance but not pushing inside. "Beg for it, baby. Let me hear how much you need my cock." He didn't need to be angry when he could punish you like this. He knew begging was the last thing you wanted to do, but he also knew that you'd do it.
"Don't piss me off right now, Rafe," you gritted your teeth, the feeling of him against your entrance making you dizzy with desire.
"Or what, baby? You'll what?" He pressed against you again, the tip of his cock pushing inside just slightly before pulling back out. "Tell me what you'll do if I don't give you what you want." He was pushing your buttons, knowing exactly how to make you snap.
You practically whimpered at the feeling of him pulling out. "Fuck- fine, please, Rafe," you panted, furious with yourself and him that you were giving into him. "Please just fuck me already."
The confident, victorious smirk that instantly appeared on his face had you wanting to slap him. "Now was that so hard?" He condescend. Your annoyed retort died in your throat as he finally pushed into you, making you moan, your head falling back against the cupboard at the feeling of him inside you after so long.
He groaned as your tight heat enveloped him, his fingers digging into your thighs hard enough to bruise as he started to move. His body tensed, using every ounce of his self control not to cum on the spot. Four years of fucking himself in his hand was nothing compared to the way you were squeezing him right now.
One hand moved up to your mouth, muffling your growing moans and whines. "Shh," he cooed. You were thankful for it. You knew you had to be quiet, but the way he was pounding into you made it nearly impossible.
"Did you miss me, baby?" He leaned down, breathing hotly against your neck as he nipped at your throat. "Did you lay awake at night thinking about me stretching you like this?" He flexed his hips, driving deep inside you.
You nodded, letting out a muffled "mhm" against his palm as your back arched into him. He felt so good, better than you'd remembered, and you hadn't had sex in four years, so you were so worked up.
"Good," he purred, his teeth scraping against your skin as he continued to pound into you relentlessly. "Because I missed you too, baby. Missed this tight little cunt wrapped around my dick." The hand on your thigh dipped down between your legs, his calloused thumb rubbing circles on your clit.
You gasped against his palm, your eyes rolling back at the mix of sensations. You were already so pathetically close, feeling that familiar aching deep within you.
He could feel your weepy cunt starting to flutter around him, and he was more than glad that you were so close so quickly because he didn't know how much longer he could hold back. "Gonna cum inside this pretty little pussy, baby. Gonna get you pregnant again, and this time I'm not gonna miss a damn thing"
His words turned you on more than they should have, snapping that coil inside you and sending you over the edge. You tensed around his dick, feeling your orgasm wash over you as you cried out his name.
"Shit, baby," he groaned, burying his face into your neck, his facial hair tickling your skin as he pushed himself deep inside you, painting your insides white with his release. His breath was hot against your already heated skin, a thin layer of sweat coating both your bodies as he slowly softened inside you.
Your chest rose and fell rapidly as you tried to catch your breath, his hand falling from your mouth to brace himself on the counter. You couldn't believe that after all these years of promising yourself you wouldn't let him back into your life, you had so easily opened your legs and even let him cum inside you—because clearly that worked out so well for you last time.
He stayed buried inside you for a moment, enjoying the warmth and the feeling of finally being home where he belonged. He eventually pulled out, his softening dick slipping from your tender cunt.
You had to tell him that he couldn't stay, that it would confuse Rhiannon to wake up to a strange man in the house, but you didn't know how, not after what just happened.
He stepped back, allowing you to get down from the counter. A silence fell over both of you as you got dressed, neither one knowing what happens now. He finished buttoning up his jeans, his eyes flicking up to you as he ran a hand over his buzzed head. "So... what now?" He asked gruffly, breaking the silence.
"You can't- you have to go," you told him, pulling your shorts back up and crossing your arms. It seemed unfair to say such a thing after sharing such an intimate moment, but you needed to think of your daughter. She didn't even know who Rafe was.
"You're kicking me out?" He echoed, as if he couldn't believe it. "After... that?" He gestured vaguely, a muscle in his jaw ticking.
You pinched the bridge of your nose, both of you finding yourselves right back where you started. "You cant just... be here. Rhiannon doesn't even know who you are." The words seemed cruel as soon as they left your lips, but they were true. You wished they weren't, but they were.
"I know. Fuck, I know that. Don't you think I know that?" He was frustrated, your words like a slap to the face. "But goddamn it, I want to know her. I want to be a part of her life."
"I'm not saying you can't be, but... she's four, Rafe. She's old enough that you can't just walk in and call yourself her father," you told him firmly. "It's going to take time. I don't want to overwhelm her."
"Time?" He asked incredulously. Deep down, he knew you were right, that you were doing what was best, but he was so angry at himself, and instead of facing that anger and acknowledging that this was his own doing, he was taking it out on you. "I've already missed four fucking years. First steps, first words, first everythings."
"I can't keep going in circles with you, Rafe," you ran your hand through your hair, utterly exhausted. "You do this my way, or you don't do this at all." It hurt you to be so cold. You wanted Rhiannon to know her father, but she was just a kid. She wouldn't understand why her dad just showed up out of the blue, and you didn't know how to explain it to her.
He stared at you, his face unreadable. For a long moment, neither of you said anything. Then, he spoke, his voice low. "Alright. Fine. Your way. But you better not shut me out again. I'm not gonna miss anymore. Understand?"
You nodded, thankful that he was going to stop fighting you on this. "Do you have a-a number or something?" You asked, unsure how long he'd been out, if he got his phone back and was able to pay the bill or if he bought a burner. You didn't even know where he was staying.
He shoved his hands in his pockets. "It's the same as my old one," he said gruffly, clearly annoyed by your previous ultimatum.
"Right, okay," you nodded, your fingers drumming against your upper arm. You two stood in silence for a long moment. Rafe didn't want to leave, and you didn't want to tell him to.
Rafe's gaze fell to the floor, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed thickly. "Can I see her before I go?" He asked softly. "Just... just to see her."
There was a shift in his demeanor, a vulnerability about him that told you he really did care about Rhiannon, even if he'd never met her. "Yeah," you found yourself nodding, turning to lead him to her room. As you entered the living room, you could've sworn Moonshine was giving a disapproving side eye. "Don't judge me," you mumbled.
He followed you down the hallway, his heavy boots thudding on the floor. He paused in the doorway of Rhiannon's room, looking in on her sleeping form. She was curled up on her side in a princess toddler bed, her little arms wrapped around a stuffed cat. Rafe's expression softened as he took her in.
His eyes swept over the room, the nightlight plugged into the wall illuminating the space. The walls were painted a light shade of pink, toys strewn about. A small bookshelf sat tucked in the corner, various children's books inside, some sitting on the floor in front of it.
He stepped into the room, moving closer to the bed. He crouched down, his eyes fixed on Rhiannon's sleeping face as he reached out, his large hand gentle as he brushed a strand of hair from her forehead. "She's so little," he murmured softly, almost reverently.
You leaned on the doorway, a small, sad smile pulling at your lips as you watched the exchange. You found yourself wondering what life would have been like if Rafe never got locked up, your heart aching as you thought about sharing all of Rhiannon's firsts with someone, bickering over whether she would've said mommy or daddy first. The wobbly first steps, the soothing and band-aid applications after she scraped her knees. What would it have been like to share those moments with him?
Rafe's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed thickly, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "She's beautiful." He turned his head to look at you, and you saw the sheen of moisture in his eyes. He blinked it away quickly, clearing his throat as he stood, masking his emotions as he always had. "I should go."
You hesitated, for a moment wanting to throw everything you'd said out the window and tell him to stay, but you knew you couldn't. You just nodded, letting him push past you. You didn't move from your spot, even after you heard the front door open and shut. You simply closed your eyes, leaning your head against the doorframe as a few tears rolled down your cheeks.
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Summary: when a blizzard hits and traps you and your wife into your new house, you both find the perfect opportunity to christen the whole house. Word Count: 6.5k Warnings/Tags: domestic fluff, dirty talk, thigh riding, shower sex, oral sex, fingering, praise, kitchen sex, grinding, strap-ons, rough sex, spanking, orgasm denial, multiple orgasms, choking, table sex, soft smut, sofa sex, dom rhea/sub reader
the shrill chime of a phone alarm cruelly tore you out of your peaceful slumber, a groan indicating your annoyance leaving your lips instantly, head burying further against your makeshift pillow, the comfortable surface beneath you shaking in a small chuckle. rhea couldn’t stop the inevitable smile that took over her face at your reaction, still amused at how much you hated waking up early, your wife the polar opposite. her arm swiftly reached on the nightstand to turn the noise off, a muffled noise of appreciation leaving you as your head nuzzles further against her chest, the dark haired girl's fingers moving to your hair, softly scratching your scalp.
“i need to get up now,” she murmurs ever so softly, apologetic in her tone as your arms defiantly wrap around her middle, pulling her impossibly closer, legs tangled under the sheets as you refuse to move.
“five more minutes,” you mumble against her, her body shaking momentarily as she huffs out a small laugh, lips pressing against your hair, smile stretching wider as you melt against her body, the embrace lulling you back to your desired sleep.
"i can’t my love,” she whispers, a small noise leaving you. “not all of us have the day off,” she teases, pointing out how she still had to go to work today.
the two of you had finally moved into a larger house outside of the city, wanting to have a proper place of your own as opposed to the apartments in new york or living with damian, meaning you had to find the time to unpack properly and decorate the house in not only your belongings but christmas decorations. you had taken the next couple days off to kick start your new journey in this house, your body begging you to take advantage of the extra sleep you could have before being productive.
“plus, i don’t want h to be annoyed with me right before christmas,” she jokes, knowing how the man she was having a meeting with soon liked to secretly get her a gift, always playing it off coolly, “we both know I’m his favourite.”
“there’s no need to brag,” you mutter, making her laugh softly once again, her body cruelly parting from yours, your eyes gradually fluttering open to squint at her in annoyance, a pout evident on your face. her lips press to yours softly, making the expression switch to a small, shy smile, her eyes gazing at you adoringly as your arms move to grab her pillow, bringing it towards your body to cuddle instead. “now go shower, we don’t want h's favourite to be late,” you grumble playfully, face half smushed against the soft fabric, her angelic laugh filling the room as she listens to your words, knowing she needed to start getting ready.
while rhea was in the shower, your body started to dip in and out of consciousness, gradually falling back asleep, your duvet tucked tightly around you to keep you warm, face pressing further against her pillow, nose picking up her faint scent on it. you smiled at the smell of her, your ears faintly picking up the sound of the shower stopping, mind barely processing it as you continue to fall back into the peaceful slumber you were torn out of.
your eyes only fluttered open when you felt the bed dip next to you, rhea now fully dressed in comfortable sweatpants and a black tank top with 'motionless in white' in bold writing, your gaze flickering over her outfit briefly before meeting her softening sky blue eyes, the various shades overflowing with love and care.
“i’m going now,” she murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead, your lips pulling up into a drowsy smile. “i’ll see you late babe,” she brushes a few strands of your hair out of your face, your eyes meeting hers, conveying your tiredness but also love.
“have fun,” you mumble playfully, knowing how boring these meetings could be, “make sure you wrap up warm,” you remind her, the dark haired girl adamant she couldn’t feel the cold, the way her cheeks and nose redden proving her wrong.
“i will, i will,” she says, holding her hands up in surrender as you reprimand her choice of clothes in cold conditions often, her lips meeting yours one last time before she starts to head out.
rhea leaves you all wrapped up, her eyes lingering on your form as she savours the domesticity of the moment, body soon moving to grab the remainder of her things, grabbing a thick hoodie as you told her to.
soon enough, she’s at the front door, keys jingling in the lock as she twists it, unlocking the door and gently opening it. her eyes widened in surprise, confusion and shock at the mountain of snow piled in front of the door, almost as high as her waist, completely blocking her exit and the entire driveway, no way for her to leave. she curses under her breath, knowing there was absolutely no quick solution for her to get out, the dark haired girl deciding that she was just going to have to let h know the meeting would have to happen without her, explaining her situation.
whilst rhea was sorting out her predicament, you had nodded off once again, quiet snores escaping you as your body stretched across the bed, relishing in the warmth and comfortable surface as much as possible. however, once again you were ripped away from your sleep, a grumble escaping you as you flutter your eyes open at the noise, rhea's figure barely visible in the corner of your eye. you tilted your head to get a better look at her, confusion on your face as you started to watch her remove her shirt, her head tilting as she senses you wake up, smile playing on her lips.
“did i sleep all day?” you question, tone bewildered and full of disbelief.
“you’ve been asleep since i left?” rhea teases, purposely faking an expression of shock, trying her best to hide her smile at the way you sit up in bed, rubbing your eyes to try and wake up, seemingly confused as to where you were, what time it was, and what had happened.
“what-” your eyes meet hers, noticing the hint of mischief in them, your eyes then instantly going to the small clock on your nightstand, reading the time and groaning. you flop back onto the bed dramatically earning a soft laugh from the dark haired girl, her now in an old sleep shirt and comfortable joggers, climbing onto the bed. “you’re so mean,” you grumble, not too pleased with her little joke, your hands wrapping around her pillow and whacking her with it will the little strength you could be bothered mustering, her fingers wrapping around it and pulling it out of your grasp.
“i really am,” she chuckles out, “i’m just so cruel,” her tone dropping an octave as her body moves to straddle yours, fingers caressing your waist, cold hands meeting your warm skin as your shirt hitched up. “what can I do to make it up to my dear wife?” her voice playful and teasing, your eyes opening to meet her amused blue, an inevitable smile pulling at your lips, hands reaching out for her body.
“help her decorate the house,” you say, eyes flickering between her teeth biting down on her lip gently, fingers sliding under her shirt, drawing idle circles against her soft, creamy skin.
“is that all?” she murmurs, leaning down so that her lips are ghosting yours, teasingly brushing against yours in an intoxicating manner, heat instantly consuming your body. you can feel a couple strands of her hair brush your cheeks, her eyes darkening as she tilts her head, barely putting any pressure on your lips as you gaze into her blue with a lustful look.
“hmm let me think,” you murmur, pretending to ponder the thought, arms wrapping loosely around her neck, pulling her body closer to yours, her entire weight pressing into you. “kiss me,” you whisper, her obliging and connecting your lips intimately, a sensual sigh leaving both of you. the kiss was loaded with a tenderness and affection that made your heart melt in your chest, the slow pace allowing you both to savour every little feeling and sensation you caused each other. your heart drummed wildly in your chest, wet mouths moving together languidly and her teeth scraping over your lips while her hands are firm with their touch at your waist, one moving to cup your cheek to deepen the kiss.
eventually, you pull away from each other, her body moving to lay next to you as you smile against her, lips still pressing against each other as you couldn’t resist her, your mind soon catching up with the fact that she was still home, the meeting with h entering your mind.
“you’re not skiving the meeting are you?” you mumble into a kiss, her laughing softly against you as you raise a brow at her, head resting against the pillow as you search her eyes for an answer. the blue softens at your words, fingers brushing your hair back away from your eyes, then settling on brushing over your cheeks, her expression loving as you wait for her response.
“no angel,” she softly chuckles, “i can’t go anymore,” your brows furrow at her words. “we’ve been snowed in,” she explains, your expression switching from confusion to amusement, a soft laugh leaving you at the ridiculous scenario.
“oh no,” you manage out, humour evident in your tone as it was just such a shame you were going to be trapped in your house with your wife all day. “what are we going to do?” your tone still light-hearted and playful, her lips tugging up into that signature smirk of hers.
“i can think of a few things,” she purrs, her hands slipping under your shirt and rising, teasingly ghosting the underside of your breasts, your brow rising at her bold move.
“oh yeah?” your tone fauxing innocence as you loll your head back, letting her lips move to the underside of your jaw, placing soft kisses and occasionally nipping on your skin, earning a soft gasp every time. “tell me them,” you murmur, hands going to her hair, ruffling the dark locks, gently scratching the shaved underside of her head as she sucks a mark on your neck, pierced tongue lathing over sensitive skin, arousal swiftly pooling between your thighs.
“i say we christen the whole house,” she jokes, the two of you only having had sex in the bedroom as you had only moved in this week, the furniture around the house already set up. “i want to watch you come on my fingers, my face, my cock,” you groan at her dirty words, her hands cupping your breasts, touch confident as you arch your back closer to her, desperate to feel the pleasure that she’s promising you.
“fuck,” you sigh out, the idea something you definitely want to try, mouth parting at the feeling of her knee slotting between your thighs, your clit brushing against her toned leg perfectly. “please,” you sigh out, her lips ascending up your neck and along your jaw, coaxing you to lower your head to meet her addictive lips, eyes fluttering close in pleasure as your hips slowly roll against her, heat bubbling in your lower abdomen.
“yeah? You like the idea, angel?” she rasps against your lips, accent wrapping around her words making your head start to spin with desire and arousal. “show me how much you want it,” she purrs, one hand slipping from under your shirt to guide your hips against her leg more securely, a low moan leaving your lips.
“shit, rhea,” you pants out, hips rolling harder against her muscular thigh, a smirk playing on her lips at the way your face contorts with pleasure, forehead leaning against hers. her fingers teasingly ghosted over your nipples, mouth still relentless as she slides her tongue against yours, firm and dominant as you whimper at her taunting touch, desperate for her. you can feel her smirk into the kiss at your submissive noise, teeth gently nipping her lower lip to put some sort of fight for dominance up, her tongue effortlessly sliding back into your mouth and stealing your breath away. “please, I want it so bad,” you groan, panting into her mouth, going back for kiss after kiss, refusing to part from her mouth, “i want you to ruin me. everywhere,” your hips roll a little faster, a low groan escaping her at your words, lips lingering against each other when you part from her to gasp in pleasure, her tensing her thigh pleasantly for you to continue grinding against.
“you’re already ruined angel,” she teases, her thumb brushing over your nipple, her pinching on it softly to make you gasp lewdly into her mouth, hip bucking against her leg harder, a desperate noise leaving you. “i’ve barely touched you and I bet you’re dripping,” she husks out, hips stuttering against her thigh as your fingers tighten their hold on her dark locks, keeping her as close as possible while her hands slide down your body to your ass, firmly gripping onto you and guiding you along her thigh at a consistent pace, your hips faltering at the pleasurable sensation.
“rhea,” your tone a breathless sigh, laced with desire as your first release of the day approaches swiftly, a low chuckle escaping her at your needy tone, “fuck.”
“oh baby, are you going to come already?” she teases, tone a little condescending making your cheeks heat up with humiliation, warmth pooling between your thighs at her words, a whimper leaving you. Her teeth gently bite down on your lip before releasing it, her tongue soothing over the dull pain as you whine again, her eyes meeting your desperate ones while your hips are pulled along her thigh, clit brushing perfectly against the toned muscle.
“shit,” you sigh out, another wave of pleasure taking over your body, your lips captured once again in a passionate kiss. “yes,” you confess shyly in between a heated kiss, her eyes raking over your desperate form, eyes squeezed shut, lips kiss swollen and constantly searching for hers, hips rutting against her thigh like your life depended on it. “please, i’m so close,” you murmur, feeling her smirk into the next messy kiss.
“come for me angel,” she whispers, a desperate noise leaving you as you crash into your release.
with a final roll of your hips, your body tensed against hers, a string of moans being muffled by her incessant mouth while pleasure consumed you entirely, your hands shooting down to her hips, pulling her impossibly closer. her hands slowed your movements against her thigh, letting you buck against her as you rode out the last waves of your orgasm, body melting against hers as you panted for breath.
her gentle breath caressed your lips as you eventually opened your eyes, shamelessly smiling at her and claiming her lips once more, her mirroring your expression and smiling into the kiss, fingers moving to rest at your hips. her blues soften as the gaze lingers, her brow raising subtly at the mischief that appears in your eyes, the way you sinfully bite on your lower lip also gaining her attention.
“where next?”
your back swiftly met the cold tiles behind you, back arching off the wall at the contrast in temperature between your body and the surface, rhea kissing you apologetically as she pins you to the wall in the shower. your hand blindly reaches for the controls, turning on the water to have it running down your bodies, warming the rest of you up as heat was already building between your thighs, her lips attached to your jaw as your head lolls back, smiles playing on your lips.
your hands roam her naked body, caressing every inch of skin you could reach tenderly, touch growing in confidence as you work your way up and down her body, eventually settling on sliding your hand to her core, hearing her breath hitch as her mouth ghosted yours.
“i want you to use me,” you murmured against her lips, tone laced with submission, rhea groaning into a lewd kiss while her hands moved to your hair, brushing the wet strands back away from your face. her lips press against your lips messily, tongue sliding into your mouth briefly, earning a desperate whimper before she smirks into the kiss as her mind runs wild with sinful thoughts.
“on your knees, angel,” she rasps out, flipping your positions so she could lean against the tiles, her fingers threading through your soaked locks and guiding you onto the floor. you can't stop the small curse that leaves your lips as you settle on your knees, hands sliding down her perfectly sculpted body, fingers gliding over toned muscle and soft curves, resting on the back of her tattooed thighs as you peer up at her, her fingers caressing your cheek gently. “you look so pretty on your knees for me,” she murmurs, another groan leaving you as your lips move to pepper kisses along her thighs, eyes still trained on her, watching how her blues darken with desire.
your hands gently prompt her to spread her legs further, your mouth moving to kiss her core, lips deftly wrapping around her clit and sucking gently, a low moan escaping her. the noise goes straight to your core, the huskiness to her voice making your head spin, the taste of her on your tongue further fogging your mind with arousal as your mouth explored her wet sex. you moaned into her core at the feeling of her fingers pushing you closer to where she desperately needed you, nuzzling your face closer so that your mouth was covered in her slick, tongue swiping through her folds, teasing her entrance before moving to softly lick at her clit, a low groan being dragged out of her.
“fuck, just like that,” her voice raspy and low, your eyes fluttering open and peering up at her, a small noise leaving you at the sight of her. Her head was lolled back against the tiles, dark strands sticking to her forehead while her free hand went to her chest, groping at the soft flesh while her hips started to rock against your face, your eyes admiring her beauty. her sharp jawline caught your attention as you couldn’t take your eyes off of her, fingers drifting closer to her core as you needed to see her, hear her, fall apart from your sinful touch.
you slid a finger into her effortlessly, a guttural noise escaping her when you curl it at her sweet spot, her fingers tightening in your hair while her hips buck, her blue eyes casting their gaze down to look at you, her mouth parting as you keep the eye contact. with her blue eyes entranced by you, you slide in another finger and suck on her clit harder, pleasure and arousal coursing through you both at the action.
“angel,” she moans and your entire body reacts to how she moans your name, arousal instantly consuming you, the throb between your thighs incessant. “that’s it, good girl,” she pants out softly, her orgasm swiftly approaching as you thrust your fingers into her a little faster, curling them perfectly each time, the praise making you moan into her core.
the vibrations make her hips buck once more, your free hand lifting one of her thighs and guiding it to rest over your shoulder, letting her roll her hips against your hand easier as well as allowing you to swirl your tongue around her more comfortably, the ache in your jaw being ignored as you had to see her come undone.
you can tell she’s getting closer as her moans grow a little louder, her hips grinding against you a little frantically, chasing her release as you flatten your tongue, letting her use you as you wanted. her reactions encourage you to keep going, hips rolling harder against you, basically fucking your face as her fingers tighten their grip in your wet hair, keeping you as close as possible.
“fuck, i’m so close,” she groans out, focussing all of your attention towards her clit to drive her over the edge, her walls clenching around you desperately signalling how close she truly was. “baby,” she moaned, ragged breaths spilling from her lips before a guttural noise escaped her, body about to crash into her release. “don’t stop,” she groans out sinfully, back arching off the tiles and neck straining as her head lolls back, pleasure consuming her entire body as her hips rock against you, desperately chasing the waves of her high while your fingers and tongue continue to please her.
you waited until her hand softly pushed you away, working her through her aftershocks before settling on peppering kisses to her inner thighs, forehead resting against her soft skin as it was just so addictive, your entire body somehow longing for more of her.
“come here,” she murmurs softly, guiding you back up to meet her lips, the kiss a clash of teeth and tongue as you languidly explore each other's mouths, the dark haired girl moaning at the taste of herself. the kiss eventually fades away as you both lean against one another, her arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you impossibly closer, a smile tugging on her lips as you both relax under the warm spray for a moment.
after you’ve savoured the moment enough, you eventually start to wash each other’s bodies, relishing in the intimacy before deciding to have some food to recharge, an idea entering rhea's mind, one she knows you're going to love.
breakfast was filled with domesticity as you simply sat with each other, relishing in the peacefulness of the moment together as your shoulders brushed, her tatted hand resting on your thigh, thumb tracing idle patterns against your skin while her other hand cared for a warm cup of coffee. it was the perfect moment, the two of you relaxing and recharging as planned before rhea announced she was going to grab something, your mind not paying too much attention to it as you moved to place your empty coffee cup near the sink, leisurely moving around the kitchen and letting your eyes scan over the living room, planning on how to decorate it with all the christmas decorations.
your arms braced your body against the countertop as you got lost in thought, mind picturing the best location for the christmas tree you were going to buy tomorrow, eyes flickering between two corners.
you jumped a little when a pair of muscular tatted arms wrapped around your body from behind, instantly relaxing at the familiar perfume that invaded your senses, a small smile growing on your lips as you lean backwards to rest against her body, eyebrows raising at the feeling of something between her legs, a low groan escaping you.
“what are you thinking so hard about?” she innocently muses, head resting against your shoulder, hands drifting down your barely covered body, resting at the waistband of your panties as you both decided there was no point in dressing properly, the house warm enough.
“where we’re going to put the tree,” you murmur back, going along with her innocent act, pushing your hips back further against the strap on, her lips pressing against your neck, teeth scraping over sensitive skin. “which corner do you think it would look better in?” you ask, moving your hands down your body to meet hers, guiding her hand to slide your panties to the side, wanting to feel the toy buried deep inside you.
“hmm the corner near the tv so we see it more often,” she answers, nipping gently on your neck while her hand moves to position the toy near your entrance, slowly grinding her hips against you, teasing you as much as possible.
the throb between your thighs is relentless as you feel the tip of the toy slide in and out of you tauntingly, rhea’s lips pulling into a smirk as she hears the small groan of annoyance leaving your lips.
“rhea,” you sigh out, tilting your head back to peer into her eyes, the green completely replaced with darkness and desire, body flush against yours as she continues to roll her hips, dragging the toy up and down your dripping folds.
“tell me how you want it,” she murmurs, lips ghosting yours, finally settling the toy at your entrance and slowly thrusting it in, a wave of pleasure flowing through you as her hips press into you, pinning you against the countertop, your hands bracing your body.
“rough,” your tone an affected whisper, "please, just fuck me.” her eyes somehow darken even more at your words, a dominant glint appearing in her eyes as she pulled the toy out of you, thrusting it in a little harder, her hands gliding over your body, eager to give you what you want.
“remember to use your safe words whenever you need to,” she reminds caringly before kissing your lips briefly, feeling you nod into the kiss before her hands move to between your shoulder blades, guiding you to lean forwards, bending you over the kitchen counter.
with every touch, you felt your body burn at the sensation, heat building swiftly at the pit of your lower abdomen as your hands reached across the cool surface, her hands sliding down your body to rest on your hips, the toy being slid out of you until only the tip remained in. when a desperate noise escaped you, she thrusted her hips into you hard, a broken moan leaving you at the pleasure that jolted through you, the feeling of it being buried so deep inside you making your head spin with desire.
your fingers pressed harder into the countertop, desperately trying to hold onto something as the room quickly fills with the lewd sounds of your moans, pants and the sound of the toy repeatedly being drilled into you, her pace merciless and rough as promised, hands gripping your waist tightly as she pounds into you in the middle of the kitchen.
“shit,” her tone low and raspy as her eyes can’t tear away from the sight of her cock being swallowed by your cunt, your arousal coating the toy. “you’re taking me so well angel,” she pants out, her hands guiding you to lift one of your legs up onto the countertop, spreading you out for her, the toy reaching even deeper inside you and hitting your sweet spot with every single thrust at the new position.
“fuck,” your moans grow louder as she snaps her hips into you, her tatted hand wrapping around your raised thigh flexing the veins slightly. helping you keep the flexible position, fingers digging in to create a pleasurable dull pain, your mind completely fogged with the thought of her and the toy being pumped mercilessly into you. “just like that, shit, don’t stop,” you beg with a submissive and desperate tone, rhea moving her hand to spank you roughly, knowing just how you like it, earning another loud noise to reverberate around the room, your eyes squeezed shut at the overwhelming feeling of pleasure consuming you.
“you want more angel?” she pants, her hand rubbing over the reddening area, soothing the skin as she continues to drill her hips into you, strings of moans and chants of her name spilling from your lips.
“please, again,” you whimper, her hand roughly colliding with your other cheek, a red mark forming where her hand had just spanked. “rhea,” you groan after another spank, her dominance somehow making you even wetter, the mix of pain and pleasure causing the heat between your thighs to become intolerable, a pathetic whimper leaving you.
“oh angel,” she coos, her hands soothing once more over your sensitive skin before sliding to your core, fingers brushing your clit and making your body jerk against her, a lewd noise escaping you at the buzz of pleasure that washed through you. “you wanted me to be rough, can’t you handle it?” she teases, tone a little condescending, her sultry voice further adding to the warmth pooling between your legs, walls clenching around the toy desperately.
“i can-fuck, i can take it,” you manage out, her finger firmly circling your clit, body acting on its own as you try to push your hips back in time with her movements, your orgasm rapidly approaching at the vast amount of euphoria and pleasure coursing through you.
“are you sure about that, baby?” she husks out, her hips thrusting harder and deeper into you, more pleasure flooding through you, your body on the edge of another powerful release. “hold it,” her tone leaves no room for argument, a displeased and pitiful noise leaving you, body begging to let your release crash over you.
“rhea,” you plead, her hands snaking around your waist and guiding you to stand again, the toy cruelly being pulled out of you when she can tell you can’t hold it anymore, an annoyed groan leaving you as she turns you around.
her lips silence your frustrated noises, hands going to the back of your thighs, lifting you up, your legs instinctively wrapping around her waist as her tongue slides into your mouth, dominating the heated kiss as she carries you to the dining table nearby, placing you on the edge of it, lips refusing to part.
her show of strength has you moaning into her mouth, gasping in pleasure when she slides the toy back into you, the guttural noise being swallowed by her mouth, lips hot and feverish, partly sucking on yours to drag more noises out of you, arms braced by your side and hips rutting up into you.
“fuck,” you groan, the noise muffled by the wet sounds of your mouths, the feeling of her firm tongue dominating your mouth making you delirious with arousal, the toy that was being thrusted deep inside you making it even harder to think.
“angel,” she pants out and it’s sinful that someone can sound so hot, a whine leaving you as the tip of the toy hits your weak spot repeatedly, eyes squeezed shut with pleasure while her hand moves to your throat, applying pressure that has you whimpering. “look at me,” she commands, your eyes fluttering open as your mouth parts, broken noises being ripped out of you while more arousal pools between your thighs at her predatory look.
the feeling of her hand at your throat, hips mercilessly pounding into you and your previous release being denied has you right back on the edge already, a hint of embarrassment filling you at how quickly she was able to have you begging once again, the shame vanishing at the look of pure desire and hunger in her eyes as she needed to see you come undone for her right now.
“please,” you manage out, eyes pleading with her, her lips once again meeting yours, addicted and intoxicated by each other as you refuse to part for a moment, your hands moving from her body to ruffle her hair, keeping her as close as possible. “i’m so close, please don’t stop,” your tone breathless, her hand still firmly wrapped around your throat, lips parting from yours but you chase them, leaning in and panting against her mouth softly, claiming them to try and muffle your moans.
“come for me,” she groans into your mouth, a string of saliva forming between your mouths before you crash them together again, a low, guttural noise being ripped from the back of your throat when your body is finally thrown into your release.
your moans become unrestricted as your orgasm floods through you powerfully, body buzzing with satisfaction as you clench around the toy, obeying her words as you come all over the strap, vision blurring with pleasure. your fingers tighten their grip on her hair, earning a small hiss from her while her teeth gently nip on your lip, a groan leaving you as you roll your hips as best you can, trying to ride out the last waves of pleasure.
rhea’s lips softly pepper kisses around your face as you recover, a smile pulling at your lips at her gentle and tender action, arms wrapping around her neck loosely, forehead resting against hers while soft pants fill the room.a surprised squeak leaves you when she lifts you off the table, your legs once again wrapping around her securely, face hiding at the crook of her neck as she takes you over to the sofa, falling back gently onto it, having your body straddle her lap.
your lips press a lewd kiss to her neck, tongue licking a stripe over her warm and addictive skin, her head lolling back against the soft cushions behind her, baring her soft skin for you to mark. teeth scrape ever so gently against her skin, earning a small groan from the dark haired girl as you pull back to see her darkened blue, her hands caressing the skin of your hips as they slide under your loose t-shirt, her mouth tugging up into that signature smirk.
you can’t help but let your gaze flicker across her features, admiring them all and subtly biting on your lip, eyes descending down her sharp jawline and the creamy skin of her neck, trailing lower and gazing lustfully at her breasts, the shape of them visible through her shirt. your mind couldn’t help but think back to the many times you’ve had your head between them, lips wrapped around her nipples to drag out sinful sounds, eyes peering up at her aroused state as she would guide you lower, eager to feel your mouth on her lower.
you were snapped out of the various thoughts by her tipping your chin up to make you look into her amused blue, her brow slightly raised.
“my eyes are up here angel,” she teases leaning forwards to press her mouth to yours, a smile on both of your lips as the pace is slow and intimate, your hands resting on her shoulders as hers wrap around your waist, lifting you up and guiding your back down onto the toy, a low moan leaving your lips.
“i can’t get enough of you,” she mumbles into a slow and tender kiss, her hands softly guiding you up and down the toy once more, your lips parting to gasp into her mouth at the feeling, the new angle having pleasure slowly spark through your body, the slower and more intimate pace having your heart melt in your chest, mind unable to comprehend how much you love her. “i’ll never get enough of you,” she whispers into a kiss, a small whine leaving you as your hips raise and sink back down onto the toy, her hand drifting lower to your ass, guiding your movements, the base of the strap grinding against her dripping core.
“fuck, rhea,” you murmur, your eyes meeting her darkened but loving gaze, the heat between your thighs doubling at the mere glance, eyes squeezing shut at the wave of pleasure that consumed you when her hand moved between your bodies, finding your clit to slowly push you over the edge. “i love you,” you softly pant into her mouth, breath fanning over her lips as you struggled to kiss her back, breathless from the overwhelming feeling of pleasure and love coursing through you, the dark haired girl’s smile growing wider.
“i love you too, angel,” she hummed into your mouth, lips stealing occasional kisses as your lips lingered against one another, brushing delicately as your fingers dug in slightly at her shoulders, groaning at her husky tone. “i love this body, the way it reacts to my touch,” she murmurs, lips travelling along your jaw, eventually reaching the shell of your ear and nibbling softly on your earlobe, her sensual breaths making your mind cloud with the thought of her. “the way it’s always at my mercy, the way you're always at my mercy,” she continues with a raspy and sultry tone, her accent beautifully wrapped around her words making you moan lowly, a sigh of pleasure escaping her.
“rhea,” you whine and it’s nothing but desperate, fingers threading through her hair and tugging her head back gently, needing to look at her as your body is once again ready to fall over the edge, her hips leisurely thrusting up into you as your pace becomes more frantic, the base of the toy perfectly brushing over her clit.
“yeah, angel?” she teases in a pant, her free hand moving back to your throat, fingers splaying around your throat softly, applying a small amount of pressure as her hips thrust up harder, chasing her own release.
“please,” is all you can muster, mind not able to produce anything else as your hips bounce hurriedly on the toy buried inside you, her lips silencing the small moans escaping you.
“lose control for me,” she whispers and you can’t help but let out a wanton moan of her name, body tensing in her lap as your release crashes through you. The sight of you, mouth parted and hips rutting against hers, throws rhea into her own orgasm, pleasure consuming you both entirely as you move one another, chasing the last waves of ecstasy together, eventually slowly and relaxing against one another, melting into a tender embrace.
soft pants and gentle breaths filled the room as you relaxed against her comfortable body, rhea resting against you as you both recovered, your fingers threading through her hair in a comforting manner, scratching her scalp tenderly. The dark haired girl’s hands slide up and down your back in a loving caress, warmth fluttering in your chest as your eyes flutter open, meeting her softening blue as she presses her lips softly against you, conveying her love for you into the intimate action.
“i love you,” she whispers once again, your smile growing before you move to hide your face at the comfort of her neck, hands moving to wrap around her body, cuddling closer into her body.
“i love you too,” you murmur, lips pulling up into a teasing smile, rhea feeling the action and awaiting your amusing comment. “but this isn’t getting you out of helping me decorate,” a soft chuckle leaves her lips, body shaking against you as she can’t help but smile, her heart beating wildly with love.
“oh no,” she sighs out dramatically, as if it was the worst thing possible, not minding helping you in the slightest. “we can do that later,” she says, hands caressing down your body, her lips pressing against yours as she smiles into the kiss, your head shaking playfully at her antics, “but right now, i want to cuddle before i have you screaming my name again.” You groan at her words, grinning against her lips, not minding this new mini plan.
“that sounds like an amazing idea,” you whisper amused, unable to wipe the smile off your lips, warmth bubbling in your chest at how much you love this woman.
more lee byung hun. Thats all. Thankz
lee byung-hun x actress!reader
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byunghun0712
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byunghun0712 #오징어게임2 #SquidGame2
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yourusername
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yourusername it’s a wrap!!
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user12 watching this for my husband
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y/nandbyunghun omg they’re so cute together
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frontmansmask so excited to watch my man on screen😍
yourusername
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yourusername watch squid game season 2 now on Netflix!
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byunghun0712 #오징어게임2 #SquidGame2 ❤️
user10 @/byunhun0712 why did he put those hashtags in the comments ?💀we know it’s squid game
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hoooooyeony will watch!
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frontmanswife his hand omg.
7xi.a @/frontmanswife I literally licked my screen
yourusername
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yourusername he wants that cookie so bad
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byunghun0712 cookie 🍪 ?
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I think I might be obsessed with him
anyways thank you for the request
SUNRISES, PENALTIES, AND LOSING SLEEP OVER YOU ── RAFE CAMERON ONE SHOT
── SYNOPSIS when Rafe can't sleep, he ends up at the soccer field to get some practice in. however, he can't seem to stop his sunrise practices when he discovers the pretty girl who reads on the bleachers is there every morning. ── WARNINGS language, so much fluff??? ── WORD COUNT 5.6k. ── NOTES consists of jock!rafe and nerd-ish!reader, college au, mainly rafe pov. ── SONG OF THE CHAPTER everything is embarrassing by sky ferreira
Rafe contradicts himself this time -- he actually doesn't mind being up before the sun if that means some more practice...and some peace and quiet.
Surprisingly, he's quite the night owl, fighting the plague that puts him to sleep by distracting himself with literally anything he can get his hands on, even if that meant school work that's been pushed off for the last minute. He can go all night at a bar and he's the only one out of his friends to be able to actually pull all nighters on their designated movie night.
While this has severely skewed his sleeping schedule, Rafe prefers to get things done while the rest of the world around him is asleep, you know, for some alone time.
Sure, Rafe's a pretty social guy: he enjoys time with friends and his teammates and classmates, and he definitely jumps at the chance to spend time with them whenever he can. It's a pretty rare occurrence where he isn't with someone or talking to someone, because he's a light converser and easy to fall in stride with. He's the stranger that people often fall in love with and never see again, perhaps it's the handsomely boyish smile or his ability to talk to a brick wall.
And yet, there's moments like right now where some alone time is needed.
Once again, Rafe's been up for nearly a day now, the sun just peaking over the horizon behind him, signaling the start of a lot of people's days (and the end of his, since it's Saturday and he'll need to recharge before going out tonight). The sleep simply...doesn't come to him.
Not easily, anyway.
After nights out with his friends (or when they go to bed), Rafe normally tinkers with things in his room, building trinkets from scratch or blueprinting random designs because he's bored, which he doesn't normally admit to people. His ability to draw was something his father always told him to push down deep, to ignore and focus on the money-driven careers of the world: business, science, all that crap.
Well, his father isn't here. And even if he was, Rafe wouldn't really care, anyway.
Sleep doesn't come very naturally to him during the night, which is highly unusual considering he has no insomnia or trouble sleeping. He just doesn't get tired. Usually the sunrise shining through his window signals him to try and sleep.
He doesn't recall the last time he's really looked at a sunrise, this time being exceptional with colors portraying burning passion and dragon fruit, and the dirty-blond hums to himself, halting his movements to stop and enjoy it for a second.
The soccer ball planted on the ground by his foot is still as Rafe's balance. He holds himself together to take a deep breath in and observe the world around him.
Sure, he's never up this early but, goddamn, it really is pretty.
Hues of pink, orange, purple emerge in sight, getting lighter by the second and changing into something more tranquil. He's at ease. There's something more content and comforting about sunrises than sunsets, and while he cannot put his finger on the exact reason, he deems this a fact.
Rafe mentally notes to do some sunrise workouts more often.
At his university, he's on the club soccer team, which isn't the big leagues but it keeps him and shape and the competition isn't nearly as stressful, which he likes. Rafe enjoys the sport to have fun, and while he does care about winning and beating these other lame schools, at the end of the day it's just putting a ball through a net and spending time with his teammates, so he never holds a grudge if his team loses.
He's spent so many years fighting for love, fighting for affection, fighting for meaningless trophies to impress his father that in the end he just...realized it is what it is. Once Rafe learned the implication of life will happen anyway regardless of how certain things go, his outlook on competition changed.
Anger subsided into contention, rage simmered into acceptance, and fear contorted to nonchalance.
Rafe learned a long time ago that, no matter how athletic he may play or how many As he may earn, nothing will ever satisfy his father's insatiability for perfection.
That lifted a considerably heavy weight off his shoulders, once he started living to please himself rather than everybody else.
Of course, he still plays with heart and the frustration of the game naturally spurs during heated moments. But the implications of self pressure are no longer there, and Rafe has found incredible solace with his teammates.
They usually go out after games to celebrate, win or loss, anyway.
Rafe can't really argue with that.
The reason Rafe's alone now is because 1. all of his friends are sleeping and 2. he didn't get drunk enough to pass out.
He had a couple shots early in the night, but curse his heavy weight intake for making it hard to get drunk. So now he's here at the practice field at the ungodly hours of the morning - because he's bored and doesn't want to sleep just yet, and he doesn't have to worry about any classes, just about his plans tonight.
Besides, his skills could always use some tidying up.
Rafe goes back to his workout routine after his admiration for the sky, the sun rising behind him mindlessly while he dribbles the ball up and down the field to practice his precision, working on mind trick tricks in terms of scoring (Rafe is a forward, no way could he play defense).
Sweat glistens his forehead as the coolness of the night gradually dissipates, and he doesn't know how long he's been on this field, maybe a few hours? Days? At this point, someone could've told him he's been here for a year and he'd probably take their word for it.
But Rafe, after shooting the ball and missing, notices someone sitting on the bleachers with a book.
You.
A very pretty girl, who now has the book in your lap and is instead watching him.
Rafe just shrugs and gives a welcoming wave with a smile that you definitely can't see, but instead of waving back, you instead close the book with such gentleness and sit up to speak.
"Isn't the ball supposed to go in the net?"
Rafe recoils.
What?
He bites back a laugh because at this ungodly hour, everything is funny no matter what. He decides to ignore the hot raspiness of your voice and pushes it to the back of his mind, because he'll want to think about that later.
Despite his internal turmoil, Rafe plants his hands on his hips and cocks his head to the side. "I don't suppose you could do better?"
You chuckle sweetly, even Rafe can hear that from the distance and thinks it's faint music to his ears. "No, I can't. Have fun playing kickball, though."
Rafe simply stands there, blinking with a dumbfounded expression and a hint of a grin, taking a moment to soak in the faint image of you, a beautiful stranger, who goes back to reading your book. Shamelessly, he continues staring at you, as he can can make out how your silhouette is swallowed by a crimson hoodie looking comfortable enough to make Rafe yawn.
Fuck, now he's tired.
It doesn't take long for Rafe to pack up his things after doing some last work-downs and begin walking off the field (and of course the exit gate is right by the bleachers). The sun is now risen, just barely, and he can already feel the heat coming to bite him in the ass. He's never been a fan of the heat, especially at the start of the school year where it's basically sweltering summer.
Besides, he's been yawning for the past few minutes and his movements are more sluggish than they were before, so he takes this as a hint to finally get some rest.
You look up from your book and notice the alarmingly attractive soccer player leaving. Going against your normal tendency to hide and avoid talking to people you don't know, you can't help but feel inclined to smile when the stranger perks up and makes eye contact with you. The wild thumping of your heart only augments when you notice how pretty his eyes are, a bright blue despite the exhaustion behind them.
Rafe sends you a boyish smile and a nod, almost as if he's known you forever and bidding you a familiar farewell.
Once he gets closer, he notices your coffee sitting idly beside you, ice melting as the sun starts beating down on it. He also notices how pretty you really are, much prettier up close.
"Do you always read at the ass crack of dawn or what?" Rafe decides to pipe up, making his tone lighthearted so you don't think any different.
You huff out a laugh. "I've been here every morning since the semester started, and I'm just seeing you for the first time, why?"
Despite the certainty of your tone, Rafe doesn't ignore the sheepish look that immediately creeps on your face, trying to act cordial but he can tell by the way you're wringing your fingers together, you're somewhat skeptical of him. He decides to spare you and not to comment on the nerves, because he also feels heat in his face (he's gonna blame the workout, not the hot stranger talking to him).
"Late night, couldn't sleep, and I was bored so I thought I'd shoot around until I got tired."
"Wait a minute," you say, your tone suddenly serious and your expression indulgent, "you haven't slept yet?"
Rafe shrugs nonchalantly, not taking into consideration that other people have normal sleeping schedules, finally meeting someone who does.
"Nah, this is normal for me. I'm surprised you're up...willingly...that's honestly terrifying and I'm scared of you," he jokes and spins the soccer ball on the tip of his ring finger.
You widen your eyes and let out a low whistle, the look of shock coating your features. "Not sure if I should be fearing you instead. I can't tell if you're a god or just fucking stupid."
This makes Rafe bark out a laugh, one that he doesn't expect to come out, but the fact that this beautiful, fragile, and relaxed stranger just dropped the f-bomb nonchalantly is somehow fucking hilarious to Rafe...or perhaps it's the lack of sleep that makes his perception of things much more different and jagged.
Either way, he doesn't care, because the smile on your face is something Rafe's mind is never, ever going to forget.
"Probably the latter, unfortunately," Rafe admits in that cheery self-deprecating tone that everyone takes normally. "Well, sunny, I'll leave you to it."
Then he pauses for a second, biting his tongue to refrain from saying something too forward.
"I'll hopefully see you around?"
Your blush intensifies (at the nickname or his confidence, you don't know), and neither speak on it. "Yeah, that'd be nice. See ya, kickball."
Before Rafe can defend his sport, you open your book back up and pick up where you left off, lounging back and crossing your legs to get more comfortable as Rafe splutters and huffs out a response that you seemingly ignore.
Your small smirk of victory makes Rafe want to either punch it off or kiss it off. Please don't ask him which one he prefers.
Rafe's been at the soccer field almost every morning now for the past week.
He figures that he'll sleep during the day on the weekends and in between his classes during the week, setting a multitude of alarms and not getting the amount of sleep he wishes to. His sister, Sarah, hassles him because she wants to meet this stranger who's been taking up all of Rafe's free time, finally happy that her brother is 'seeing someone' who isn't a complete jerk.
His best friend, Kelce, begs Rafe to introduce them or at least tell them a name, and have even tried to sneak out of his apartment with Rafe to spy on them (to which Rafe immediately shut down). But Rafe likes the idea of keeping you all to himself, just for a little bit.
Sure, his sleep schedule is even more messed up, but seeing the beautiful stranger every morning is such a goddamned bonus.
Oh, and it's no longer stranger. He learns your name the third time you see him.
Rafe learns that you're majoring in graphic design but that you have a serious love towards history and art, and immediately shy-ed away when he asked you to draw something, anything, on the spot.
And Rafe thinks it's so attractive that you're calm, collected, and easily embarrassed. You're shy, no matter how much you try to hide it. But you've been getting more and more comfortable with him every morning and he counts that as a huge step in his book. The books you read every morning are nonfiction pieces for your classes, and bring a sketch book a couple times a week as a substitute when you don't feel like indulging in history at the ass crack of dawn.
He's been practicing soccer every morning now and his teammates comment on his change in precision and dribbling, and all Rafe can do is shrug and bitch about how he's the best on the team and can't help his natural talent (which his friends are used to hearing, and immediately humble him).
Well, little do they know you're the entire reason for that, and Rafe teeters between telling you that or keeping that to himself.
The only downside to all of this is that Rafe's sleep schedule is...no longer.
He stays up during the night, partying, sketching, whatever, and then makes his way to the field around five-am to practice and wait for you to get there (to make it look like he's already been practicing), and sometimes he doesn't even practice but instead waits on the bleachers for you if he has a game that day, not wanting to push it.
But then Rafe stays with you well into the morning, time that he usually spends sleeping is spent talking and chatting ears off.
Pathetically, he doesn't want to miss a day with you, yet he's really fucking tired.
Maybe you'll understand? Or you won't, and Rafe will have to go back into a panic to figure out if you're actually into him or not.
Rafe genuinely thinks he's dumb, because you'll graze his hand against his or subtly compliment him, and he doesn't know how to respond, and will just carry on normally because he doesn't want to assume anything is going on.
Because if there's nothing happening between you, then Rafe doesn't want to be embarrassed for thinking that way.
Rafe needs verbal confirmation if you're into him, because these subtle ways of being touchy and flirty are very confusing to a dumb person.
A.K.A., him.
The realization that you're horrifically down bad for Rafe Cameron hits you at approximately 3:22am on a random Sunday, a week after you meet.
You'd gone to bed around eleven, trying to get some early shut eye before your Renaissance history exam tomorrow. The prep had you cozied up in the library all day, forcing yourself to reiterate the material to no end until you were seeing your handwriting in your head when you shut your eyes.
That's usually your tale-telling sign to know when to wrap it up.
But the effort to get plenty of rest proves fruitless in its attempt due to the giant fucking spider you see a foot away from your face.
Panic rises in your chest.
After all, you often wake up naturally during the night at least once to turn over or stretch your legs and sometimes think you see something, like the hoodie on the back of your chair that looks like a person or the piece of string on your floor that emulates a snake. In the moment, you try to convince yourself that it's one of those pranks your brain likes to play on you.
When it moves, however, that's when you scream.
You fliiiiiing off the bed, landing harshly on the tile with a thud, probably dragging half of your bedspread with you as you fumble for the lamp switch on your dresser.
The light makes it worse, because it proves your suspicions as you stare at the biggest spider you've ever seen on the wall, inches from your pillow.
Of course, you panic.
Heart racing, you freeze in your spot as you can't seem to take your eyes off of it, scared that it'll disappear into your sheets or behind your bed if you move or look away for a fraction of a moment. It's a standoff, you realize, and it doesn't look like it's going anywhere.
And there's no way you're getting near it.
Your fingers shake as you reach for your phone on the dresser, not once taking your eyes off the creature. Once it's in your hand, you pause and suck in a breath.
What the fuck is your phone gonna do?
Think, you repeat in your head. Breathe. Call Laney.
Your thumb ghosts over your best friend's contact, but your heart sinks when you catch a glimpse of the time.
Christ, it's the middle of the night. No one is awake at this hour.
You groan, eyes flickering between your phone and the spider that stays still on your wall, probably thinking of its plan to kill you, or whatever arachnids normally plot.
Trembling in place, you run through your options.
A. You could attempt to throw something at it, but that would only work if you had a guaranteed throwing accuracy, which you do not have. This will probably result in you missing entirely, and the spider vanishing in your sheets to never be seen again. Nope.
B. You could attempt to call Laney or your RA for some roadside assistance, but you know that Laney of all people, who once shrieked and ran from a wasp (it was really a fly), would really be of no help. And your RA often slept through a lot of concerning events, as in multiple fire alarms, a cat fight right outside his door, and, once, a literal firecracker. Nope.
C. You could grab your lighter and attempt to light it on fire. Given the circumstances, you're also guessing that's a fat nope.
D. There's a-
Your endless spiraling comes to a halt when you get a text, a fucking text, none other than from Rafe Cameron. At three in the morning.
Rafe: hey! someone make a greg and rowley edit to fake plastic trees. got me fucked up lowkey. heres the link. lets debrief about it later.
A moment passes and you blink hastily at the message, wondering if your eyes are playing tricks on you or if he, truly, is awake right now casually looking at god knows what. You re-read it once, twice, double checking the time stamp he sent it, mere minutes ago, and your chest pains in embarrassment at what you're about to do.
Your gaze darts from the text to the spider and back to the text.
God, your options are thin.
Before you can talk yourself out of it, you're pressing on his contact, hitting the call button.
It rings once. "Please don't tell me I woke you up from that stupid text."
"No, um." You bite your lip as you eye the spider. "Uh, are you busy right now?"
"Besides talking to you? Nothing, pretty. Isn't it past your bedtime?"
You hate how your cheeks burn at his nonchalance, but are thankful he can't see you right now, even though he might at some point in the nearby future.
"What's wrong?" Rafe's tone morphs from teasing into what sounds like concern.
"It's stupid," you whisper, swallowing your pride. "But, uh, there's a giant spider in my room, I'm not kidding the size of my palm. I'm just, like, kinda freaking out?"
There's shuffling on the other end, a grunt, then a thud.
"Ow," Rafe grumbles and it sounds far away, as if you aren't meant to have heard it. "What dorm are you in?"
Your heart flips. "Shaffer. But Rafe, you really don't-"
"Room number?"
"509. But-"
"Nah," he interrupts nonchalantly, as if he won't entertain the thought of not helping you. "I'll be there in five. Talk to me, what'd you do today?"
Rafe arrives in three minutes.
Creeping to the door without taking your eyes off the spider, you open it to reveal Rafe Cameron, clad in sweatpants and a ridiculous graphic t-shirt (that looks like it's inside out), hair disheveled and sticking in every direction, holding his phone to his ear where you're still connected on the call. His green sneakers are untied. His smile is bright.
You try not to stare. You really try. Especially since you're supposed to be keeping an eye on the problem to begin with, but it's hard to resist when he looks so disgustingly endearing.
Eager, even, to help you out.
"Good to know it hasn't eaten you yet," Rafe jests, hanging up the call and putting his phone in his pocket.
You swallow the lump in your throat and step aside to let him in. "You really didn't have to-"
He places a cool palm over your mouth, startling you into shutting up.
Blinking stupidly up at him, all your senses are inhibited when you realize how close he is, how you can smell his cologne and see how bright his blue eyes really are.
"None of that." Rafe grins at your wide eyes. "Now, where is it?"
It's almost annoying how fearless he is.
While you're huddled in the opposite corner of the room, hugging yourself through your thin pajamas, Rafe simply scans the scene in front of him: the array of sheets and blankets hazardously scattered on your floor, the spider on the wall, your hand-sized penguin plushie that Laney got you as a joke. He can't help but cheekily smile to himself, getting a glimpse of you through the items you have, the photos you have hanging up, delaying the arachnid trapping for a moment to be selfish.
You catch him staring at a photo on your wall under your miscellaneous posters, and clear your throat.
Rafe snaps his head back to you, as if forgetting why he's here. "Right, sorry, pretty."
You reel as you watch him. Looking around for items he can use for the entrapment, Rafe settles on a discarded empty coffee cup from your trash can, kneeling forward on your bed and holding the cup underneath the spider.
The thump of your heart only gets louder as you see him nudge it with his own bare hand into the cup.
Once the spider is in it, he simply puts his palm over the top, covering it with not so much a second thought.
Rafe stands normally, tilting his head with puzzlement when he turns around to face you, wide eyed and, frankly, a little horrified.
"What?"
"Wh- You-" You splutter. "You touched it."
All he does it shrug, as if it literally means nothing. "No biggie. You have any ops on this floor? I can set him down so he crawls into their room instead."
After you escort him (from a distance) to relocate the spider outside, Rafe only deems it polite to walk you back to your room. On the way back in, he catches a glimpse of himself in the window and winces at his appearance, so the whole walk back he's been subtly trying to flatten down his unruly hair. You stifle a laugh each time he brings his hand up to mess with it more, undoubtedly making it worse.
By the time you get back to your door, it's worse than before. But he's never looked better, in your opinion.
"Um, thank you," you say sheepishly, toying with the strings of your pajama pants. "I know it's late. Or early. Whatever you wanna call it."
Rafe's smile couldn't be bigger. "I was up anyway."
You frown. "I don't think that's very good for you. You know, not sleeping."
Your tone reeks of concern, frankly a little embarrassing to express such distress for his well-being despite knowing him for only a week now.
But he barely seems fazed by it, instead shrugging. "Maybe. But then I wouldn't have answered your call, hm?"
The amused gleam in Rafe's eyes make your head fuzzy.
"I guess," you mumble. "I'll get you a coffee for your...troubles."
Rafe laughs boyishly, leaning against your doorframe as if he has all the time in the world to talk to you. "No need, pretty. I'm a certified arachnid relocator. I'm putting this shit on my resume. You honestly did me a favor," he rambles. "Needed a new job to put on there, anyway."
You can't help but roll your eyes, not really understanding how he has the energy to quip with you right now.
"Right, put it under your specialty in kickball," you tease, fighting a smile when you see his brows raise. "Will you please try and get some rest?"
"Depends," he hums, tilting his head to the side in contemplation. "Will you be at the field tomorrow?"
Ignoring the way your heart leaps, you shake your head. "Can't. All the more reason to catch up on sleep, no?"
"Are you asking me to?"
"Begging, really."
Rafe then nods, but not without trying - and failing - to suppress a stupidly large grin. "Alright, fine. For you? Anything?"
When you finally convince him to go back to his room (only the building next door), you can't help but lie awake in your spider-free bedroom, staring at the dark ceiling as your mind replays the last thirty minutes over and over.
Yeah. You're already in deep.
Rafe's been meeting you for a few weeks now, ever since the spider incident, almost every morning to talk and hang out.
A couple days a week you'll get coffee before classes to keep Rafe stable, and he discovers that you two always have something to talk about, and if there's silence it's always comfortable and natural. You often watch the sunrise in silence when it first awakens, and then carry on your normal routines when the beauty is over.
It's so stupidly endearing to him that you let him share your moment with him.
Safe to say he's horrendously down bad...despite his overwhelming fatigue.
This morning has been exceptional rough for Rafe, because around three in the morning while he had been bored tinkering with things in his room, he suddenly remembered a paper that needs to be written before his noon class.
Of course, it's the middle of the night. He knows you're definitely asleep and there's no way he'd wake you up for something like this.
Naturally, Rafe spirals into a messy panic, standing in the middle of his room for a few moments debating on writing the paper here in his dorm or just taking all his things to the bleachers and doing it there while waiting for you. He does have a couple hours to spare, but Rafe doesn't think when he grabs his backpack, laptop, and book and runs out of his dorm.
The darkness of the night has never bothered him, not while the moon shines above him and illuminates his path. It's one of the reasons he loves nightfall so much, is because of the beauty of the moon and the light that it reflects on the earth. He wishes he could see the craters more clearly so he can soak in all of her beauty, but tonight he's in too much of a rush and panic to really think about the deep ideas of the moon.
When Rafe gets to the bleachers, he immediately opens his laptop and starts writing, whipping his book out so that he can reference quotes and cite pages while he lazily goes off his shitty outline he wrote a few nights ago about the premise of his paper. The words he hastily types come out as lethargic unpleasantries, and he really, really tries to focus to make it good, but his head keeps lulling forward and his fingers shake from fatigue.
He doesn't even care. He's a STEM student anyway, so literature isn't really at the top of his list of things to care about.
But god forbid he misses a morning with you.
So he lounges back on the bleachers, ferociously typing away everything he can and scraps together every piece of knowledge he has about the book.
And that's exactly how you find Rafe a few hours later: head tipped back with his legs stretched out, laptop discarded beside him with a black screen, light snores emitting from his mouth and his hair disheveled in every sort of direction.
And you think you're gonna melt at the sight.
Rafe is startled awake by a loud squawking by his ear, and yelps quietly while he shoos away the crow on the fence and tries to remember where he is and what he was doing. He sees the sun...the soccer field...holy shit, where are-?
You, sitting next to him with his laptop in your lap, waiting patiently for him to wake up. You try (and fail) to suppress a grin as you notice how disheveled he is right now, who's trying to piece together what he had been doing before he passed out.
"Good morning," you greet warmly. "Sleep well?"
"What time is it?" Rafe immediately asks, mind fuzzy from the short amount of sleep. "I have class at-"
"Noon," you interrupt calmly, trying to ignore how stupidly attractive his morning voice sounds, "I was planning on waking you up in an hour or so in order for you to have enough time to get there, but your professor emailed you and the rest of your class to tell you that class was cancelled for a family emergency. So I wasn't going to wake you at all, but that crow had other plans for you. Sorry."
Rafe sits up and rubs his eyes, cracking his back and stretching from the uncomfortable position, still foggy as he looks at your pretty and yawns. "I need to...I need to finish a paper. It's about-"
"Frankenstein?" you interrupt again, looking very prideful. "Don't worry, I've read the book before so I finished it for you. I also re-wrote everything you wrote because...well...it wasn't making sense. I mean, no offense or anything. I kinda submitted it already since it was still due at noon, so..."
Letting out a breath of relief, Rafe slouches and utterly destroys his posture as he regains his ability to think coherently.
His mind catches up to the situation. You found him asleep, finished his essay for him, and waited for him to wake up so you wouldn't disturb him?
Yup. Yeah, it's official, he's smitten with you.
"I don't know how to thank you," murmurs Rafe, unknowing of what to even say, scratching the back of his neck as he peers over at you.
You simply shrug, handing the laptop and book back to Rafe (of course while grazing your fingertips together, hopefully intentionally).
"Think of it as..." You rack your brain for words. "...Me returning the favor. You know, for the spider."
His mind is mush.
All he can think about is you not thinking twice to help him out, despite his idiocy and consistently scrappy appearance. Somehow, somehow, he hasn't driven you away yet. Just when he thinks he's fucked something up, you come back.
"That was- I wanted to do that for you."
Once again, you shrug. "And I wanted to do this for you."
Rafe blinks stupidly at you, unable to form a coherent thought. What ends up coming out of his mouth is, "You wrote a paper."
"Yeah."
"For me."
"Well, I couldn't submit the garbage you came up with. No offense, or anything, but I think you confused Frankenstein with Frankenweenie."
"That's a common mistake."
You manage to crack a smile. "Is it?"
Rafe decides it's one of the prettiest things he's ever seen. "Mhm."
But, of course, he has to ruin the moment by yawning so horrendously audacious that he nearly groans in self inflicted embarrassment.
"Sorry," he winces when he comes down from it, rubbing the side of his face in exhaustion. "That's my body's involuntary response to when a pretty girl writes my papers for me."
You roll your eyes to push away your shyness, to ignore the heat flushing your cheeks.
"You really should get some rest."
Rafe yawns again. ""M not tired."
Despite the dark circles under his eyes, Rafe looks perfectly content on these bleachers, leaning back onto the row above and lounging brazenly. His head is lulled in your direction, looking up at you with those pretty blues and a half lipped smirk that seems to be permanently etched on his face whenever he's with you.
You wring the ends of your shirt, nervously biting your lip under his intense gaze.
And you're speaking before he can call you pretty again.
"Well, how about this. After you get some sleep, we can...we can get dinner? We can even do take out, or I can try and chef something up in the communal kitchen, or something..."
His mouth drops open.
You trail off, unsure of what to make of his flabbergasted expression. Is he...Is this not what you thought it was?
But Rafe is over the moon, unable to get that stupid shocked look off his face as he realizes holy shit he thinks you're asking him out? and he can't find the energy to move, he's frozen, relaying the thought over and over in his head that you, of all people, are into him.
Are you? Or is this some sort of friend-quality time thing that's going over Rafe's head because, contrary to popular belief, he's very smart when it comes to blueprints and designs and sometimes mathematics, but also very dumb when it comes to pretty girls.
Is this a direct invitation on a date or not? His tired brain doesn't know how to think strai-
"I'll take that as a no...?"
Rafe blinks his way out of his thoughts at the sound of your voice again, and he finally finds the words and mumbles out a curse word as he notices the confused guise on your pretty face.
He immediately widens his eyes.
"No, no, no-"
Your brows raise.
Rafe recoils. "Yes! Well, I mean yes, yes, I'll get dinner with you. Sorry, I just...Yes, I'd love to."
You find it in yourself to laugh, and subtly let out a breath you've been holding for all that time Rafe had been yelling at himself in his head, debating the context of the invitation.
Blinking blearily, Rafe shakes his head, trying to figure out if he's still sleeping and he's dreaming, or if this is actually happening to him. But with the intensity of his rapid heartbeat and the way you look so vividly real and present, he deems that this is in fact not a dream, and this is happily real life.
"Good, because I don't know what I'd do if you said no," you joke, twiddling your thumbs out of nerves and letting out a low chuckle. "Probably never talk to you again."
Rafe waves you off with a proud look on his face, a wide grin, saying your name with such a saccharine tone that it makes your brain go fuzzy.
"Oh please, like I'd even think of blowing off my very own essay-writer. I may be stupid, but I am not an idiot."
This makes you laugh with that stupidly adorable smile that you can't seem to fight off that well, and Rafe takes in how beautiful you are, with your perfect grin and bright eyes that remind him of the the lightness in his chest when he finds something funny, or how your sweet voice smoothes over the ridges and hills of his heart and fills in the gaps affectionately.
(Which is painful for Rafe to endure because he loves it so much).
"You are pretty stupid," you admit quietly, timidly. "You're stupid for losing sleep over me."
Rafe closes his agape mouth at the fact that he's been caught. "Well it's worth it." Then softer, "You're worth it."
You roll your eyes and stand up, Rafe watching you do so. "You shouldn't have to accommodate your entire schedule for me. Honestly, you should go home now and sleep," you suggest earnestly, because all you want is for him to be at his best.
"Only if you'll come with."
Your heart skips a beat and you find yourself rolling your eyes once again, but this time feeling heat creep up on your neck no matter how hard you try to fight it.
It's always something about the way Rafe flirts with you so effortlessly, and how you can tell he means it.
"Fine," you agree gently, saying it as if it was a bad thing (although your suppressed grin gives that away), "c'mon, you stupid idiot."
So, Rafe gets his things together and leaves the signature bleachers with you, this time finding the gall to slip his hand into yours, gingerly squeezing.
All this time, he wondered what it'd be like to hold your hand, and safe to say it's even better than his preconceived expectations.
© salem-s please do not copy or replicate work unless given permission.
notes some fluff for these hard times. hope you enjoyed!
Little Glimpses
Igor (Anora) x F! Reader
18+ Only Blog - Minors DNI
Warnings: smoking, alcohol consumption, cursing
Word Count: 2.5k
Notes: I have not been able to stop thinking about this man since I saw Anora. I just had little parts of stories in my head so I compiled them into one thing.
Little glimpses into the reader’s relationship with Igor.
Everything on the table shakes when the train passes by. You press your hand down, gently holding onto the crystal ashtray in front of you to stop it from dancing around. Your eyes feel heavy. So you tilt your head back, and rest them for a moment until the disruption subsides. You take a drag of your cigarette and exhale in the direction of the open window next to you- letting the smoke waft outside your small studio. Once everything stills, the only sound is the comforting tick of the clock above your stove. You take one final puff before dropping your butt into the ashtray. You watch it smolder as it slowly burns out. You need to get ready for your shift.
You hate your uniform. The bright blue polo shirt and the stupid matching visor- fucking stupid. You feel like you look like a moron and you’ve always found it embarrassing. You always took off the dumb thing when your manager went home for the night. No one comes in after midnight ever- the occasional drunk but they don’t care if you’re wearing your visor or not.
On the slow nights you read, or sometimes you’ll watch trashy reality TV on your phone. With your elbows perched on the counter, you flip through your most recent romance novel as the time passes. It’s well past 1am and the bright fluorescent lights buzz above you.
“Uh- $40 pump two, please,” a polite voice breaks your concentration. It makes you jump in surprise and you apologize quickly.
“Shit- uh, fuck sorry,” you fumble, quickly placing the book down, opened to keep your page. You take the cash he hands you as he offers a subtle smile.
“No need for apology,” he expresses, and you can now hear his accent- distinctly Russian, or maybe Armenian? You aren’t sure. His voice is soft and comforting- very kind. You’re immediately more at ease. He reads your name aloud from your name tag. It’s infuriating as much as it’s endearing.
“You’re all set,” you offer, suddenly shy. You pass him the receipt after it is printed. He nods, tucking it into his jacket pocket. You watch him walk back outside, the cold air wafting in as the bell above the door rings.
As he waits by the pump, he catches you watching him through the window of the store. When he meets your eye, he’s amused when you immediately look away- trying to play off like you weren’t looking the whole time. He’s flattered, and he can’t help but smile to himself. He’s not used to any sort of attention- he tends to go by unnoticed in his daily life. He can be intimidating when he tries- out of necessity, but that’s not him.
He’s so pretty, you observe, like James McAvoy you settle on. You avert your attention away for the final time and decide to turn back to your book and do your best to ignore the headache that’s developing under the store’s harsh lights.
It’s one of those passing crushes, at first. The kind like when you fall in love temporarily with a stranger across the grocery store. You play out the whole thing in your head to inevitably never approach them, go home, and let the cycle of daydream continue another day with another stranger.
---
You’re freezing as you stand on the sidewalk in the long line that has now wrapped around the block. Your ankles hurt from the height of your heels but they’re too cute not to wear. Your outfit is far too short and shows far too much skin for the night air, but in your defense- you and your friends didn’t imagine you’d be outside this long. Your entire body is covered in goosebumps as you wrap your arms around yourself to keep warm. Your friend offers you a cigarette which you accept gratefully as she places it in your mouth for you.
“Fuck!” you exclaim frustrated, “Why aren’t they fucking letting anyone in?” You peer over to try to see the front of the line, and you notice people towards the front are trying to reason with the club’s bouncer- who you immediately hate because you resent his hoodie and puffer jacket he wears to brace the cold. You think about how the moment you can step foot in, you’re making a beeline to the bar and getting a shot to warm up.
Someone, probably a promoter or something, emerges from the inside. He says something to the bouncer, you’re too far away to hear. The bouncer nods, and the guy starts walking down the line. He looks at the groups who are waiting, and he gestures to a few groups of just girls- you and your friends included- and ushers you all inside. You’re too elated to care as he’s saying something about needing to up the ratio of men to women blah blah blah. You quickly stomp out your cigarette and all you can think about is warming up.
You link arms with two of your friends as you head towards the inside, scurrying excitedly to get out of the cold. The bouncer nods to each group as they enter, but puts up an arm to stop you and your friends. “IDs,” he says, and you swear his voice sounds so familiar.
“C’mon man, we’re cold as shit,” your friend complains, letting go of your arm to retrieve her ID from her clutch. Looking in his direction, you immediately recognize him from the other day- the customer from your overnight shift. You aren’t sure if he would recognize you, you're positive you put more thought into the whole interaction than he did. You make eye contact and you swear for a moment he wants to say something, but he just stares. Realizing you decided to go without a bag, you bite your lip and mutter a silent “shit” as you need to pull your ID from your bra to hand to him. He says nothing, just nervously licks his lips as he takes your license.
“Thanks,” he says, handing them back. Your friends huff, and drag you inside. Your eyes linger on him as they pull you and you both watch each other until you disappear from view.
A remix of Von dutch is playing so loud and the club is packed. It’s completely dark except for the raving strobe lights that are synced to the beat of the music. You can’t hear anything over the screams of Addison Rae as your friends get a round of shots. You happily accept, tilting your head back. The burn is such a welcomed sensation to your freezing body. You let the crowd dictate where your body moves, letting yourself start to let loose.
A couple of hours later, you’re more than ready to get out of there. It was fun, but your friends have mostly paired off with men and you’re anticipating that soon they’ll be roping them into wherever the group decides to go next. You aren’t in the mood for another night of splitting a cab with one of your friends and whatever guy is going back to their place. You don’t need the reminder that amongst the group, you’re never the one getting the guy, you think pessimistically. You text your friends, lying about an early shift, and let them know you’re getting an Uber.
Standing outside, you’re freezing again, and it’s almost worse now that your body has been so acclimated to the warmth inside. You lean against the brick building and cross your arms over your chest in an attempt to warm yourself up.
“Here,” you hear him say, and you look up surprised, not realizing he was there. He offers you his jacket for you to take. “You need,” he insists. You offer a thankful smile and slip it over your shoulders. It smells like woodsy cologne and cigarettes. The warmth engulfs you and you swaddle yourself into the warm fabric.
“Thank you,” you say shyly. He nods and puts his hands in the front pocket of his hoodie. He pulls out a small pack of pre-rolls, and offers one to you. You accept and hold it between your fingers as he lights it for you.
“You probably don’t fucking remember me, but like, I think you got gas the other night at the uh place I work-”
“I remember.”
“Oh, okay-”
“You were reading a book and then what’s the word ‘ogled’ me? You ‘ogled’ me when you thought I wasn’t looking,” he teased.
“I was not ogling you!” you scoff, defensive. You can feel how warm your face is from his accusation. “It’s my job to make sure dumbasses aren’t gonna blow themselves up at the pump. It was purely a safety measure,” you lie obviously, making him laugh.
“Whatever you say,” he responds with a sly smile. You see a car start to pull up. Reluctantly, you unwrap yourself from his jacket and hand it back to him.
“Uh, that’s my Uber,” you explain and you swear he looks disappointed. He nods, accepting his jacket back.
“Can I call you?” he asks as the black sedan pulls up to the curb. You nod enthusiastically. He hands you his phone and you quickly text yourself.
“Uh that’s me,” you explain dumbly, cringing because duh. He just smiles, and it’s painfully sincere. You slide into the backseat of the car, and you can feel your phone buzz with a notification before you even finish putting on your seatbelt.
My name is Igor
---
You’re sitting on your couch as you lick the rolling paper to finish off your joint. A metal tv tray rests over your lap acting as your work station. You admire your work and then pass it to Igor, who accepts it without a word. You move the tray table to the floor so you can get comfortable, and you lean into his side as he lights the joint. The two of you share it, passing it back and forth between each other as your eyes are both focused on the TV.
It’s been a few weeks and your relationship with Igor has gone on undefined. Lines have been blurred and you can’t pin point if it’s the substances that are in your systems or if it’s just that when you’re with him, time feels like it stops- a hangout stretching into a couple days without you even realizing.
You don’t know what you’d call this. It’s not friends, and it feels much like it’s much more than casual. You assume it’s exclusive- you spend so much time together; there’s hardly any opportunities for him to see someone else. But there’s been no lines drawn, no labels given- he’s slotted himself into your life seamlessly like you’ve known him forever. His grandmother treats you like her own blood, taking an immediate liking to you. It all just works.
“What is this?” You ask suddenly, looking up at him. His eyes widen in confusion. He takes the joint out from between his lips, exhaling smoke.
“Maybe Idica, I don’t know,” he muses and you sigh in frustration at your inability to be direct.
“I’m sorry,” you laugh, hiding your face in your hands. “No, not that,” you clarify. “I meant like- you and me.”
“Oh, um,” he replies, mulling things over in his head before he speaks. “Whatever you want.”
“I don’t know what I want,” you answer honestly, and he nods understandingly, but you feel him clear his throat and you can feel him straighten his posture. You worry he misunderstood your meaning. “No, no- fuck. I made it weird,” you sigh, “I just meant like, I don’t want to mess it up by changing it. But at the same time, I don’t want you doing this with someone else- and I don’t want to do this with anyone else but you- you know?”
“I know,” he replies, he’s so patient and sweet about it. He kisses your temple and just lets you process. He’s so gentle like that, all the time. “I want the same,” he states simply. “Just us,” he reiterates, taking another hit and then passes the joint back to you.
“Just us,” you smile.
“So does this mean we’re uh, boyfriend girlfriend?” He teases and he laughs at how your nose scrunches in disgust.
“Gross,” you pretend to gag. You shake your head, like your trying to shake out the memory of him saying something so fucking cheesy. It makes him smile.
—
“He’s coming runnin’ runnin’ runnin’ runnin’ runnin’ runnin’,” you sing obnoxiously as Igor’s pulls up to the curb. “He’s coming. Ridin’ round town, they gonna feel this one.” You see his cheeks turn pink as he tries to not laugh.
“What the fuck is that?” He questions, walking around to open the passenger door for you.
“Oh my fucking god, dude. It’s Tyler the Creator- it’s IGOR’S THEME. Did you now know that? I’ve been doing that bit for like two weeks and you didn’t think to fucking look it up?” You laugh a little. You buckle up, and extend out your hand. “Give me your phone, you need to listen to it.”
Without hesitation, he passes his phone to you and then he pulls away from the curb slowly. You start the album from the beginning, and you settle back into your seat. You put his phone down in the cup holder and rest your head against the seat belt. It’s a comfortable silence as you both listen. As he drives, he rests his right hand comfortably on your thigh, his thumb making circles.
Anxiety is a tricky thing. As time passes, you begin to feel insecure for monopolizing the music. You start to feel guilty about the jab you made at Igor’s expense for not knowing this album. You begin to overthink everything, and the music playing starts to make you feel overexposed. And you begin to associate his silence with resentment.
“You can change it to whatever you want,” you say apologetically. He looks at you confused from the corner of his eye, only glancing over so he can focus on the road.
“But you like this?” He asks, puzzled.
“I don’t want to force feed stuff to you,” you try to explain, “I didn’t mean to make you sit through it.”
“I think it’s great,” he offers sincerely, “it’s good.”
“You don’t have to say that, just because I like it,” you counter, feeling insecure.
“I like the music,” he reiterates, “I like it, and I like it because it’s something you wanted to share with me.”
“You don’t have to…”
“I love when you share things with me,” he interrupts you before you begin to spiral. “Do it more often,” he says, encouragingly. He stops for the red light, and leans over to kiss you. “Please.”
He turns his attention back to the road as the light turns green and you can’t help but smile as you watch him turn the dial up.
PART TWO
A Goodnight Kiss
Jake Hill Conley x Lisbon!reader
Fluff!
Warnings:none
Literature class was always quiet.
Jake always sat two rows behind her. Always. He’d watch her narrow shoulders, the way her fingers nervously flipped through pages, the pen between her lips when she was deep in thought. She barely spoke to anyone, always heading off to be with her sisters during breaks. She didn’t really have any friends.
Whenever Jake saw her, she had a book in her hands—reading like she was starving for it, like the real world didn’t matter.
That Tuesday, the teacher handed out a sheet of paper with a bold title across the top: Assignment – Psychological and Social Analysis of “Carrie.”
“Pairs. Find your partner and turn it in by next Tuesday. That’s it, you’re dismissed,” he said, and the room exploded like someone had lit a match in gasoline—whispers, chairs scraping, people rushing out the door.
Jake watched her get up from her desk calmly, her expression as quiet and distant as always.
She didn’t have friends. No one really dared to talk to a Lisbon—people were always whispering about them, saying Cecilia’s name like it was some kind of cursed spell. But Jake didn’t believe in curses.
So, he left the classroom and searched through the crowd for her locker. When he found her, she was standing in front of it, sliding a couple of books inside. She took a deep breath, like the weight of the day was pressing down on her back.
He walked up slowly and tapped her shoulder lightly with the tip of his finger.
“Y/n, right?” he asked, and she turned to look at him, slowly, like she wasn’t even sure who she was.
She nodded.
“Wanna partner up? I mean—for the Lit project,” he said, stumbling over his words, his voice catching awkwardly in his throat.
A flicker of surprise crossed her face. For a second, Jake wanted to say: “I’m not like the other guys—I don’t care what your room looks like”, but he stayed quiet.
“Sure,” she said softly, a small smile tugging at her lips—and it warmed something inside his chest he hadn’t realized was cold.
“Well… you could come over to my place to work on it. I can talk to my mom,” she said in a shy, quiet voice, and Jake had to lean in to hear her over the noise of the hallway.
“Oh—yeah! Yeah, that’d be great. Is tomorrow afternoon okay? Or whenever you’re free,” he said quickly, trying not to sound too eager. She gave a soft laugh, and he smiled too, noticing how her cheeks scrunched a little when she laughed.
“Tomorrow afternoon works. Jake, right?”
He nodded, still smiling.
She nodded back, her gentle eyes meeting his for a moment.
Then the school bell rang—sharp, loud—snapping them both out of the calm bubble they’d somehow slipped into.
“See you tomorrow, then,” she said, closing her locker with a soft click before disappearing into the hallway crowd.
Jake stood there for a few seconds, staring down the hall like he’d just woken up from a really good dream.
The Lisbon house was quiet.
The other sisters had gone out to help Mrs. Lisbon with a church bazaar. Mr. Lisbon stayed in the living room, watching a football game with the volume turned low. And, by some divine miracle, Jake was alone with Y/n Lisbon.
They were in the bedroom the sisters shared. The atmosphere in the room was both melancholic and delicately feminine.
If the boys at school knew he was there, they would definitely crowd around him the next day, asking stupid questions about what he’d seen inside—what the Lisbon girls’ room was like, what kind of dust mites lived in their pillows.
But Jake wouldn’t be able to answer any of that.
Because the only thing he could see was her.
Y/n Lisbon, sitting cross-legged on a faded floral bedspread, her hair loose in a graceful mess of strands, flipping through the pages of Carrie like she was searching for something very specific.
“Well… we can start the social analysis now,” she said softly, eyes on the marked page and the notebooks spread out before her.
Jake blinked, snapping out of his thoughts.
“Right, yeah,” he replied too quickly, shifting awkwardly and trying to look more focused than he actually was.
She glanced at him for a moment. A tiny smile—barely there, without showing her teeth—touched her lips and faded just as naturally as it had come. Then she turned her attention back to the book, flipping a few more pages with delicate fingers.
“Have you ever read Sylvia Plath?” she asked, gently, still not looking up from the paper.
Jake took half a second to respond, more absorbed in how the light from the window traced her profile like a charcoal sketch.
“Just The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath. It was required reading at another school… but I liked it,” he admitted, a little embarrassed.
Y/n nodded slightly, like she approved.
“That’s a start.”
Jake found himself smiling for no reason. Everything about her seemed so absurdly calm and, at the same time, so full of something he couldn’t quite name. Maybe it was sadness. Maybe strength. Maybe both.
He watched her silently, eyes tracing the line of her nose, the curve of her lashes, the way her brow furrowed just a little when she was concentrating.
She was like some ancient sculpture—one you ache to touch but know you can’t. She had the beauty of something sacred, though not unreachable.
He felt like he could really love her, if she let him.
“What is it?” she asked suddenly, still not looking directly at him.
Jake blinked, caught in the act.
“Nothing… it’s just… you seem to really like books.”
She gave another half-smile and murmured,
“I do… I like the feeling of being a little outside of reality,” she said, straightening her posture and letting out a small sigh.
Jake nodded, and they returned to the assignment.
Even though, for Jake, it was impossible to focus on writing—
—not with her soft voice reading lines from the book like a lullaby.
Jake walked down the stairs of the house.
Outside, the crickets had begun to sing, and the sky had turned a deepening shade of blue as the first stars timidly began to shimmer. The Lisbon house was glowing from within, its lamps casting a warm, golden light that softened every corner.
The sisters had returned from the church bazaar with Mrs. Lisbon and were now helping prepare dinner — light footsteps, hushed voices, and the scent of something baking in the oven filled the air.
She was walking ahead of him, guiding him to the front door. With each step, Jake watched how the lamplight spilled across her hair, making each strand glint like gold.
“Are you sure you don’t want to stay for dinner?” she asked softly, eyes on her own feet, her arms gently crossed behind her back, as if trying to hide the nervous energy in them.
“Don’t worry… I promised my mom I’d be back in time for dinner,” Jake replied, now standing too close, feeling the air between them grow thick and quiet.
He opened the front door slowly, letting the cool night breeze brush across his face.
Before stepping out, he turned to her one last time. He smiled without showing teeth and ran his hands down the front of his jeans, trying to calm himself.
“Well… I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” he said, trying to sound casual, even though his heart was pounding from the way her eyes looked at him.
She gave a soft laugh, and the sound stayed lodged in his chest.
Y/n glanced over her shoulder, checking that no one was around. Then she turned back to him — slowly — and stepped a little closer.
Their breaths met in the chilly air of the open door. Without saying anything, she leaned in and placed a feather-light kiss — just off to the corner of his mouth.
“I’ll see you tomorrow. Good night,” she whispered, pulling back slowly, her eyes shining beneath the warm light of the house.
Jake stood frozen, eyes slightly wide, lips parted. But then he collected himself, a slow smile spreading across his face.
“G…good night. See you tomorrow,” he said quietly, just loud enough for her to hear.
She smiled back — a smile that showed the most beautiful teeth he had ever seen — and gently closed the door, leaving behind only her light scent and a racing heart beating on the other side.
omg this is by far my favorite acc! Could u do a part 2 of take one,forever? Set in the future when they’re married. Reader left the show in the early seasons but came back again towards the end.
But shes now married to Jensen. And they really act like those fun married couples. Maybe they even bring they’re kids on set sometimes ?
𓂃˖ ࣪⊹ take one, forever²,
summary. you were once the star of the tvshow supernatural, alongside jared and jensen. eventually, you quit the show but you'll come to find out that a decade later, no much has changed.
pairing. jensen ackles x actress!reader genre. extra fluff!!
wordcount. 681
notes / warnings. oh, to be jensen's wife 🤭 thank you for the request sweets!
ᯓ★ read part 1
Years later, the forest's still freezing.
You’d think they’d have figured out how to warm up a damn set by now, but no—Vancouver’s still doing its icy, pine-scented thing. Only difference?
Now you’ve got his jacket and his ring.
“Careful,” Jensen calls from across the clearing, “you’re about to bust your ass on that moss.”
You shoot him a glare over your shoulder. “If I go down, I’m taking you with me.”
He laughs—deep, warm, easy. That laugh you’ve known for over a decade now. “Promises, promises.”
You flip him off, and he winks back like the absolute menace he is.
They talked you into coming back for the final season—“full circle,” they’d said. “Nostalgia,” they said. Really, it was just Jensen, smirking over his coffee one morning and going:
“C’mon, babe. Just one more run. For old time’s sake. Plus, the kids’ll love seeing Mom on screen again. We can make it a family adventure.”
And like always—like always—you’d caved.
So now you’re here. On the same damn show you started all those years ago. Same woods. Same demons. Only now, there’s a wedding band on your finger and a pair of tiny boots sitting by the craft services table, covered in mud and jelly donut glaze.
“Mom!” comes a squeaky voice from behind you.
Speak of the devil.
You turn just in time to see your youngest barreling toward you, arms outstretched like a missile of pure, joyful chaos.
“Hey,” you laugh, bending to catch her. “What happened to staying with Daddy?”
“She wanted gummy bears,” Jensen answers, jogging over with your son balanced on his hip and a juice pouch between his teeth. “And apparently, that was more important than, you know, listening to instructions.”
“She’s got your stubborn streak,” you tease.
Jensen huffs, shifting the weight of your son, who’s now trying to unzip his coat with sticky fingers. “She’s got your everything, babe. I’m just along for the ride.”
You brush a kiss to her forehead, holding her close while she babbles about a giant fake demon head she saw near the props truck.
Jensen watches you the whole time—fond, smug, like he still can’t believe this is real. Like he’s still falling for you even with a diaper bag slung over one shoulder and applesauce on his hoodie.
“Y’know,” he says casually, “you in flannel again is doing things to me.”
You arch a brow. “Jensen.”
“What? I’m just saying. It’s nostalgic. Sentimental. Romantic.”
“It’s sticky,” you deadpan, pointing to a spot on your sleeve where your daughter’s wiped her face. “And covered in god-knows-what.”
“Still hot.”
You laugh, trying to swat him, but he leans in and steals a kiss anyway—quick and warm, just enough to make your heart flutter. Ten years in, and the man still kisses you like it’s the first time.
“Okay, people!” the AD shouts. “Places for rehearsal!”
“Duty calls,” you sigh, passing your daughter off to Jensen and smoothing your hair as best you can.
“You got this,” he says, squeezing your hand before he steps back. “Go remind them who the real badass of this show is.”
You flash him a grin, cheeks flushed, heart full. “Try not to get upstaged by a toddler while I’m gone.”
“She already owns me. It’s over.”
As you walk toward set, flannel flapping behind you, you hear Jensen whisper something to the kids. Then a tiny voice calls out:
“Go, Mom! Kick the monster’s butt!”
You look back—and there they are. Your whole world, waving at you with gummy-sticky fingers and juice-stained smiles.
God, how did this all happen?
How did freezing woods and flirty banter become marriage and two wild kids and a love story still unfolding?
You don’t know.
But as you step back in front of the camera, same forest, same show, same smirk from across the set—you know one thing for sure:
You’d do it all over again.
Even the Wendigo.
Maybe.
If there’s coffee.
And if Jensen promises to keep looking at you like that—like you’re still the best damn thing that’s ever happened to him.
ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ
―୨୧⋆˚ He's in love with a single mom :: James Kelly
I never thought someone like you would come into my life. Someone who wouldn't look at me and just see my past—someone who actually saw me for who I am now. But then you showed up.
You walked into the shop needing a tire change, and instead of just standing there awkwardly or giving me the usual polite bullshit, you actually talked to me. Just small talk at first, but damn if that didn’t turn into something more. Before I knew it, we were grabbing lunch at some rundown diner, and then one day, I finally grew a pair and asked you out. Didn't expect you to actually say yes, but hell, you did.
That first date—small Italian joint, nothing fancy—but sitting across from you, watching you talk, laugh… I was gone. Hooked. So, I kissed you. Right there, first date, no hesitation. And it wasn’t just a kiss—it was the kiss. The kind that sticks with you. And from that night on, it was you and me.
You were everything. A single mom busting your ass every damn day while your ex sat on his, doing the bare minimum. But you didn’t let that break you. And your little girl—God, she was something else. Sweet, tough, full of life. Took me a minute, but I grew to love her like my own.
You both became my world. The one thing I’d do anything for. You made me feel like more than just some guy with a record, and I made damn sure to show you what it really meant to be loved. To be protected. That little girl? She latched onto me quick. And I didn’t mind one bit. I’d go to war for the both of you without a second thought.
When I wasn’t working, I was with you. Always. Couldn’t stand being away longer than I had to. Nights like this, lying in bed, my arm wrapped tight around you, your body curled up against mine, breathing steady, peaceful. I just laid there, staring at you—at the way your hair spread out on the pillow, how damn beautiful you looked even in sleep.
Talk to this bot here
If one of the pictures I used for the aesthetic has already been used, I'm sorry! But enjoy the bot anyways!
not your girlfriend. - rafe cameron.
-
He’s leaning against your car again. Shirtless. Again.
You don’t even flinch when you see him in the parking lot, arms crossed over that annoyingly perfect chest, hair still wet from whatever poor excuse of a beach day he just had. You walk past him like he’s air.
"Hey, baby," he says, smirking, falling into step beside you. "Missed you."
You don’t look at him. "Rafe, I told you. Stop calling me baby unless you’ve scheduled your first therapy appointment."
He grabs your arm, gently. "C'mon. Just one date. One. I’ll even wear a shirt this time."
You finally turn, eyebrow raised. "Wow. A shirt? That’s commitment. What’s next? Not threatening people who look at me for too long?"
He grins like that’s the most romantic idea he’s ever heard.
"You’re sick in the head, Cameron," you mutter, but you don’t pull your arm away.
"And you love me."
"I do. Which is the worst part."
He perks up. "So you admit it!"
"I’ve been admitting it. Since May." You pause. "Still not dating you."
He groans dramatically, stepping back like you just stabbed him. "Why do you play these games with my heart?"
"Because your heart comes with a criminal record and severe trust issues."
"But I’m working on it."
"You said that last week."
"I stopped bringing my gun places, didn't I?"
You squint at him. "...Did you?"
A beat.
"...Mostly."
You sigh so hard it shakes your whole soul. “Rafe.”
“I’m trying!” he whines, leaning his forehead dramatically against your shoulder. “I’m trying, baby.”
"Don't call me baby."
"But you just said you love me."
"I do. Like I love my cat. Which also bites me sometimes."
He laughs against your skin, arms sliding around your waist now like he’s trying to melt into you. You should push him away. You always push him away.
Instead, you let him hug you. Just for a second. Just long enough to feel how warm he is. How much he smells like sunscreen and trouble.
He pulls back a little, looking down at you with that annoying little smirk. “You really love me?”
“Rafe—”
“No, I just wanna hear it again. Like, properly. Full sentence. Maybe with a kiss after.”
You roll your eyes so hard they practically leave your body. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re beautiful,” he says, soft now. Sincere. That look in his eyes—the rare one that says I’d die for you, but like, in a surprisingly non-toxic way.
You shake your head, but your hand slides up his chest anyway, landing on the side of his neck. “If I kiss you, it doesn’t mean I’m your girlfriend.”
“Would never assume,” he says quickly, hopeful. “Might cry though.”
You laugh, short and sharp, and then—well. You kiss him.
Slow, warm, dangerously good. His hands tighten on your waist like he can’t believe this is real. Like he’s scared you’ll disappear.
You pull back just a little, lips still brushing his. “You really want a chance with me, Cameron?”
He nods, dazed. “More than anything.”
You tap his chest with one finger. “Therapy. Every week. No skipping. And no more guns.”
“Even the little one?”
“Especially the little one.”
He groans, head falling into your shoulder again. “God, you’re so mean.”
“And you’re lucky I’m in love with you.”
You feel him smile against your neck.
“Don’t worry,” he mumbles. “I’m gonna get my shit together. Just you wait, baby.”
“Rafe.”
“…Right. Sorry. My love.”
You sigh. “Still not your girlfriend.”
“Yet.”
You glare at him.
He grins.
And you kinda hate how much you’re smiling too.
-
read the headcanon!
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