PLEASEEEE can u show the time where reader caught rafe punching the squishmallows that really sent me
"don't laugh, okay?" you say it softly, right outside the door to your bedroom.
"why would i laugh?" rafe’s asking seriously, but you're already a tiny bit embarrassed of what lies on the other side of the door and you're unsure how rafe will react.
"it's, like, a third of the size of your room-"
"shut up and open the door."
you sigh, turning the handle and pushing to let yourself in first. rafe follows, staring around the tiny room observantly. his eyes flicker from corner to corner, taking it in. you stand to the side patiently, playing with your hands, in particular the ring rafe had just gotten you, fiddling and twisting it repeatedly.
he walks around for a second, stopping at your bookshelf to take a look at the titles on the shelves and then moving on, staring at the photos on the wall and then sniffing a stray candle on the nightstand. he finally stops at your dresser, glancing over the lotions and perfumes littered on top to stare at the framed picture of the two of you perched right in the center, odds and ends he's gotten you in the last month scattered around.
"so?" you question quietly, eyes big.
"which drawer's got your panties?"
"rafe! shut up."
"it's a cute room. why'd you get so worried?"
"i don't know. habit." you settle on the bed, bringing your biggest squishmallow onto your lap, holding it in your arms comfortingly. rafe's still looking around.
"always had one favorite color, huh?"
"yes," you admit, squeezing the stuffed animal harder. rafe finally comes to join you on the bed, gesturing to the squishmallow as soon as he does.
"what the hell is that?"
"this is ricky. he's a clownfish. he has a career, i just can't remember-"
"huh?"
"they all have jobs and hobbies, rafe. the squishmallows. i think he's an underwater singer or something."
"you sleep with that huge thing on the bed?"
"every night. when i'm here, at least. i should get one for tannyhill!"
"don't know about all that." he takes it into his hands, moving it around, observing it from all sides. "every single night?"
"yeah. why?"
"nothin'."
the conversation changes to the books on your nightstand, and you forget all about the squishmallow resting on your bed until you step out to get a cup of lemonade for rafe.
walking back in, you wonder if you put enough sugar in, when you open the door to see rafe smacking your squishmallow with his right hook, right to his little face.
"what are you doing?!" it spills out before you can stop it, the lemonade almost falling out of your hand.
"look at the dent. how does it go back to how it was?" he questions, while you look over at him, horrified. "what's inside it? feathers, or some shit?" he looks over to get an answer, when he looks at your distraught face.
"what?"
even when he sleeps over, he's never allowed to touch your squishmallow again.
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just weak thinking about rafe putting his rings on ur fingers bc u said u liked them ugh
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catching him in a calmer mood, the two of you laying on the cameron’s couch together after a long day, your floppy haired boyfriend staring down at your hands as you play with the rings adorning each of his thick fingers.
“bet it hurts when you punch someone.” you murmur, twisting the thick plated ring around his middle finger.
“hurts without the rings.” he defends lightly, brows creasing in the middle as he turns his palm to face you, your much smaller hand sliding up it to continue your fiddling.
“yeah but these are like knuckle dusters.” you converse quietly, feeling calm and serene with his chest rising and falling against your back. “i like them.”
at this comment, he takes his other hand off your waist and starts pulling off his rings one by one, sliding them onto your fingers. you giggle at the way they hang loosely around each digit, and his chest rumbles with a low chuckle behind you.
“they’re a little big.” you muse, holding up your hand.
“yeah well that’s alright, ‘cos you only need one ring from me.” he starts to fold your fingers down gently, until the only one still standing is your ring finger. “and when the time comes i’ll make sure it fits you right, yeah?”
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can you write a scenario where - rafe cums on readers open mouth, tongue out, he pauses and takes of his gold ring and places right on top. He takes of a photo of reader, he loves owning her.
aww i appreciate you but i have zero talent for writing
i’ll tag some sluts that i love, who deliver fire ☺️
@drudyslut @rafesmuse @sugarcoatedstarkey @drewstarkeyslut @blueicequeen19 @rafetopia @rvfecamerons @sadfury @babygorewhore @miguelsangel @maybankswhore @rafeandonlyrafe @dark-fics-4-you
ps: don’t hate me, I forgot some amazing writers but y’all can blame drew 🥲 too cock drunk from the latest content.. love y’all 🫶 feel free to comment !
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“rafe, i want a soda,” you tell your boyfriend from your comfortable seat, settled under your blanket waiting for the movie to start. rafe’s talking to kelce and topper about something quietly, adjusting his backwards cap and staring straight ahead—at people you recognize as the pogues he’s been terrorizing as of late. you rise from your position, tapping his shoulder to get his attention. kelce and topper stop talking, getting into their chairs when rafe turns to talk to you.
“yes, princess? what now?”
you should be good—rafe always tell you to keep your nose out of his business stuff, especially when he’s making his rounds at a party trying to sell coke. you usually always comply anyways, not asking questions since the first time and not caring either, as long he swears he’s safe and not doing as much of the stuff as he used to—but this isn’t about his business. you can tell there’s something going on with those pogues and he’s planning something that you want to make him stop.
“movie’s starting. and i want a soda.”
“kelce, give her your soda,” rafe says, turning back around to finish his conversation, when you interrupt. you shake your head at kelce, who holds the pepsi can in his hand, stopping right as he was about to toss it to you.
“it’s not diet, rafe,” you comment with a sweet smile, hoping you can distract him from whatever he’s trying to talk about with his boys.
“really kid? i think you’ll be fine-”
“please, rafe?” you interrupt again, pouting. he shouldn’t have given up so easily—but your pout is one of those things he can’t resist.
“pain in my ass, kid, really.” you smile at rafe, thanking him while he grumbles. “you better sit tight and watch this stupid movie after this-”
“popcorn too! do you guys want anything?” you turn, asking kelce and topper.
“all good, thanks princess.” you crinkle your nose and turn back, not really liking it when anyone but rafe addresses you like that—it feels like a joke when they say it.
rafe comes back with your stuff, handing it to you with a roll of his eyes, but you notice he’s smiling when you thank him. you curl up next to him on the same chair, head on his chest trying to watch the movie. you notice he’ll turn to look at kelce and topper, and then the pogues sitting ahead of you.
each time he starts looking, you try to distract him, bringing your straw or a piece of popcorn up to his mouth, and then he looks down at you instead, with a sweet smile and a kiss to the top of your head.
you should have guessed it would only work for so long—the two pogue boys get up and the three boys with you rise instantly too. in a desperate attempt to keep him with you, you drop the soda onto the grass and call to your boyfriend before he gets too far.
“rafe, uhm, this spilled so i need a new one-”
“one minute, princess, i’ll be right back-”
“no, rafe, wait-” but he’s gone before you can say or do anything else.
you sit in the lawn chair, too distracted to focus on the movie, worried about what rafe is gonna do to them. it’s only a few minutes later that you hear screaming, and look up to see the entire projector screen aflame. you get up immediately, panicking at the horde of people trying to get away, when you take a step backwards and bump into something hard. you yelp, but familiar hands hold you hard and guide you out back to the parking lot, hands that can only belong to your boyfriend.
you don’t get a clear look at rafe until he parks at tannyhill—a pink and red lesion on his cheek that wasn’t there before.
“rafe, your face-”
“kid, why d’you think i’m trying to take care of business with these pogues? huh?” you’re silent, not able to compose any kind of answer that would make sense.
“i-i don’t-”
“exactly. you don’t know. these, these pogues? they’re fuckin’ crazy. they held a gun to top’s head. they set that fire, not carin’ who would get hurt.” he watches you stare at him with big eyes and parted lips, taking in everything he’s saying. he knows it’s a little manipulative, not giving you any context or telling you he caved in pope’s face with a nine-iron. you’re listening, and paying attention, finally. “let you get away with a lot of stuff, kid. don’t make me regret it.”
like he doesn’t know why you make him go buy soda or try to distract him with a kiss at the beach or at the club. he brushes it aside because he likes to let you think you’re getting away with it.
“have you learned your lesson about interferin’?” you nod eagerly. “good girl. now c’mon.” he takes you upstairs to his bedroom and lets you apologize down on your knees.
“good fuckin’ girl-” is what comes out of rafe’s mouth when you settle infront of him, on your knees, hands unbuckling his belt. he repeats it, but it comes out as a grunt when you take him into your mouth, big, watery eyes staring up at him while you impale your throat with his thick cock. he wipes the tears away with his free hand, the other one gripping your hair while he slides your mouth up and down with his motions.
“that’s right, nothin’ to say now, huh? good girl, don’t worry, i’ll forgive you. you gonna meddle again? hm?” he pulls you off, your mouth letting go with a little pop sound.
“no, no, never again-”
“good girl,” and he brings your mouth right back.
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