This Was Everything I Have Ever Wanted And More. The Best Bday Present I Couldve Ever Gotten, Im Genuinely

This was everything I have ever wanted and more. The best bday present I could’ve ever gotten, I’m genuinely in love with you and this FIC!!! 🫶🫶

cheers to falling short

WARNINGS: dark!rafe cameron, DUB/NON-CON SMUT, drinking

Tags: reader and rafe are newlyweds, housewife kink, hate sex, breeding kink if u squint

Summary: rafe stands you up on your birthday l wc: 3.3k

Notes: this is for my sweet riri, ily and happy belated birthday @proactivetypaperson♡

!!! 18+ ONLY !!! AGELESS BLOG's & MINOR's who like/reblog/interact with this post WILL get BLOCKED to be unblocked send an ask to @prairiesrecs

The clicks of your heels reverberate throughout the foyer as you ease down the steps. You glance at your phone and curse to yourself. It’s thirty minutes past the time he’d told you to be ready. 

You didn't really do anything today- well atleast nothing outside of your norm- therefore you had no excuse to be late. Yet here you were. 

Like always, you had started the day off with making breakfast. 

The early meal was more for your husband than for you. He loved when you made him meals, and you loved making them for him. Every morning you’d get up a little earlier than him, if he’d let you out of bed, and you’d make him whatever he wanted. 

This particular morning, as you were scrambling his eggs, he came to you in a rush. He held two different color ties in his hand. One plain and one patterned.

“I need you.” He huffed, visibly flustered “Which one goes better with this suit? I- I can't decide.” 

With no hesitation you had chosen the plain one. The deciding factor being how it complimented his eyes. Like every other morning, you tied it for him only today he was… fidgety as you did so. His heightened nerves were over this deal he was aiming to secure. He had told you previously that if everything went right it would make him, and you in turn, a “shit ton of money”. 

You didn't necessarily understand why he was so keen on the deal considering how you guys already live way above your means. You were curious, but you didn't probe. He takes care of the money, he knows best. 

In that moment, you had smoothed your hands against his chest and told him, “You’re going to do great babe. You’re gonna secure this deal and then we’ll celebrate tonight. Together.” you tippy toed to kiss him, “With whatever secret you have planned for me” you smirked.

Prior to this, Rafe had told you to be ready for him in the evening. Specifically, to be ready at 8 pm. The only details he gave you were that it was for your birthday. The rest of the morning he was evasive as ever when it came to your questions about his plans.

After a lengthy goodbye kiss and some extra words of affirmation, you sent him on his way. You had spent most of the day cleaning up the house, responding to happy birthday wishes, and wondering what exactly Rafe had set out for the evening. 

At two o’clock you found yourself waiting to hear from your husband. Around his lunch he would usually call or text you to simply check in. Today however, he didn’t. 

You tried not to give it much thought, assuming that he was just super busy with his work thing. He did say that the negotiation was happening later in the day… and for that reason you didn't call him or reach out to him. You didn't want to distract him, or worse interrupt him. Especially if the meeting had already started. You were sure that he’d call you whenever he had the time. 

The day had gone on and you still hadn’t heard anything from him. Instead of worrying though, you kept yourself distracted with mundane tasks around the house. When the evening rolled around you settled on getting ready for your outing.

Your dress was easy to pick out. 

Mainly because it showcases your figure well, while still having an elegant essence to it. It’s also a dress that Rafe loves on you. Every time you wear it he can hardly keep his hands off of you. No matter the time or place.

The culprit behind your current tardiness was your hair. The original style you planned didn't turn out the way you wanted. So you had to think of something else, which took up more time than you expected..

You strut into the living room fully expecting Rafe to be sitting in the armchair with his legs spread, impatiently checking the time. To your surprise though, he’s not there. 

Your lips turn into a pout as you acknowledge your phone screen. 8:34 pm. 

The deal probably took longer than he anticipated. He wouldn't miss this. In fact he was probably on his way home right now. Likely speeding down the highway.

Thirty minutes had passed since you assumed he was on his way. Upon your wait, you cracked open a bottle of white wine, poured yourself a glass, and sat on the couch. Cheers huh? 

Time ticked on as you awaited his late arrival. One glass turned into two, then three. Then at one point you just stopped going back into the kitchen to refill the glass. Instead you brought the bottle with you to the couch and drank it straight from the spout. Eventually the alcohol broke your barriers down, and your true feelings seeped in. 

You were irritated and more importantly fed up, not caring anymore if you would be disturbing him. 

When you dialed him, it rang a couple times then went to voicemail. Immediately after you tried again, and instead of ringing that time it went straight to voicemail. The hell? 

You sent him a slew of texts afterward. 

The way that they noted ‘delivered’ confirmed to you that at least his phone wasn't dead. Which somewhat only pissed you off more, considering that he hadn't yet responded to you. Even with your anger though, you were still hopeful that he’d show up and fulfill his promise. Or at least that he’d do something to make today feel special for you.

At some point he did respond, “I’m running late, but I’ll be there.” The text was vague, but at least he was ok.

Even more time had passed since he responded. So much that you were now tired and completely wasted. Waiting felt like a lost cause. So much that you ended up calling it a night once the large wine bottle ran empty. 

Full of anger and irritation you stumbled up the stairs, drunkenly muttering some not so nice things about your husband. 

“What an asshole” you sneered, as you utilized the rail for support.

You hadn't even bothered trashing the wine bottle that sits empty in the living room. He could clean it up whenever he gets home. That was if he’d even notice. Truth was that you would likely have to do it tomorrow, but you didn't want to think about it. You just wanted to go to bed.

Red bottom heels dangle from your fingertips as you stand outside of your open bedroom door. You ponder it for a second, then grunt. Instead of walking inside, you make a not so steady beeline to one of the guestrooms down the hall. Fuck him.

You shut the door behind you, and glance at the clock that sits in the corner of the room. 11:36 pm. Fuckkkkk him! 

You don't bother with turning the light on as you stumble closer to the bed, "You're gonna love it baby” You mumble to yourself, childishly mocking Rafe and the words that he’d said earlier in the day.

You reach to your back and momentarily wrestle with your zipper. You come out triumphant and slip out of the soft material. Letting it pool at your feet. Next to go were your matching undergarments.  

How dare he? No, how could he? Rafe had missed dates before, but it hurt exceptionally more today because it was your birthday.

You scoff as you pull the neatly tucked sheets from their place. It would have been one thing if he told you that something came up or if something happened, but instead he practically screened you. All day at that! The thought of him makes you feel hot, and not in a good way. 

If he thinks that he can treat you like this, then come home to sleep in the same bed as you… he would have to be out of his mind. He can sleep alone in the master bedroom for all you care. It’s better anyways that you slept here. His scent alone on the sheets and pillows would have sent you into a fit of rage.

Your mind raced, as you laid there. You were upset, angry, sad, and disappointed. It all eventually brought you to tears, which resulted in you crying yourself to sleep. Alone and drunk, on your birthday.

The sound of a distant crash startles you from your slumber. The loud noise sounded as if a heavy figurine was knocked over. Being that you’re somehow still intoxicated, your mind goes to the worst. What if it’s an intruder?

“Baby? You down here?” you hear an all too familiar voice call from downstairs. You throw your head back into the pillow, thinking that you’d prefer the intruder. 

You turn onto your side, facing the direction of the door. You lay there, eyes open, thinking to yourself. Awaiting for his realization. You focus on the sounds of him trekking through the house, knowing that it wouldn't be long before he discovered you here. 

He calls your name, again and again, and you just stare off at the wall. Your gaze shifts to the door and to how the light beneath it darkens with a shadow.

“Where the hell are you?” his voice dragged, as he stood just outside the door. He sounded worried along with something else but you couldn't quite place it.

The sound of your phone ringing on the bedside table snaps you out of your daze. It was the specific ringtone you had for Rafe and without hesitation, you close your eyes and pretend as if you’re sleeping. You’d love to chew him out, but you were genuinely exhausted. You didn't want to deal with him tonight. He can grovel for your forgiveness in the morning.

The door creaked open.

“y/n? Are you in here….” His voice trailed off towards the end, probably at the discovery of your ‘sleeping’ frame. You hadn't missed the way his words blended into each other, resemblant of a slur.

The sound of his steps are heavy, unsteady even, as he nears you. His footsteps halt near the bed, leaving the room silent for a brief moment. The faint crumpling of plastic then fills the space. Whatever it is, he sets it on the bedside table before cursing to himself, voice all breathy. 

His large hand gently connects with your face and his thumb moves to softly rub your cheek. 

“You’re this upset huh?” He sniffles, “Yeah. I guess I fuckin deserve it.”

It became apparent to you quickly that he was drunk. Why was fucking drunk?? Maybe he was even high too from the way he was repeatedly sniffing.

His lips press against your cheek, then to your lips. When he pulls away you think that maybe he’s going to leave you alone. That maybe he realized it was in his best interest to let you be. 

You then hear some ruffling sounds, and associate the noise with shifting weight. Was he picking up your clothes?

A cold gust of air rushes you, as the covers suddenly disappear from your body. The chill is fleeting though, dissipating when his rather hot skin presses up against yours. You gasp, at the feel, unable to pretend you were asleep anymore. 

“What the-” Your words are cut short when his lips engulf yours. 

His hand practically cradles your jaw in his grasp as he attacks your lips with his. Your eyes widen at his behavior, and you instinctively press your hand to his muscular chest. The movement hardly does much to deter him, but you're able to pull away from him.

His eyes are half lidded and his lips are parted, desperate and wanting, as you stare at him in awe.

“Get off” you sneer out of disgust. He not only reeks of liquor but he tastes like it too. How the hell did he even drive home like this?

“Relax.” He coos as he caresses your jaw. There’s this intense look in his eyes when he continues, “It’s me.” 

“I know that.” You tut, “And I don't care. Get out.”

You were now upset for more than a few reasons. He was visibly fucked up, he blew you off to get like this, and on top of it all he drove home like this!

“You’re mad… I- I’m sorry alright?” He blinked slowly, “The investors took the deal- and they wanted to get drinks- and we- I lost track of time… and-”

“I don’t want to hear it” you snap, “Get out, and leave me alone.”

“I’m sorry…” He leans in to kiss you, as if that were to make things better. You tilt your head away evading his lips, and he rolls his eyes back into his head. “I’ll make it up to you. Look I promise.” 

He tugs your head back in his direction and presses his lips to yours. You whine, out in protest but he doesn't care. His hand moves to your shoulder, and roughly nudges you so that you now lay on your back. His lips never leave yours as he positions himself between your legs. 

With his movements, you feel his hard member press up against your inner thigh. It makes you gasp which only grants him access to your tongue. He swirls his against yours, overpowering you with the tastes of liquor and desperation. When his head moves to burrow between your neck and shoulder his breath fans against your clavicle.

“Let me start making it up to you now, hm?” His words sprout goosebumps along your skin. 

Your focus drifts, when his member lines up with your slit. The initial connection makes you feel tingly. Then when his hips start to slowly grind against yours, pleasure begins to seep in. 

His lips are relentless against yours, as his tip now glides effortlessly along your clit. The feel has a slight rush going to your head, while your core clenches needily at nothing.  

It was embarrassing that you were physically responding to him like this. Even mad at him, he had an affect on you. Your body had practically given in to him, but you surely weren't going to allow him the verbal or emotional satisfaction along with it.

“Rafe seriously get off.”

“Relax, alright. Let me treat my birthday girl” He murmurs, before pressing his face into your chest latching onto one of your perked nipples. 

“Rafe-” You could feel a fucking cascade surge within you, as he laved at your chest. Shit.

His large hand rests at your ribs as he sucks and rolls his tongue against your bud. He alternates between the two, teasing and biting at your soft skin. All while continuing to rock against your slit. … and fuck does it feel good. 

His head raises from your chest, and he sports a devious smirk. “Always so sensitive here, huh? Making a mess all over my cock and I havent even fuck you yet.”

Heat flows to your face, and you look away from him irritated. He could be so cocky, and he was in no position to be! Not after his actions today!

Within an instant his hand swiftly grasps your face, forcing you to keep eye contact with him.

“Baby you’re soaked, stop denying me.”

He closes the distance between your lips, but before they connect you tilt your head up. Throwing him a curve ball this time. You hardly get to relish on your victory, when his hand slips away from your jaw and his fingers curl around your throat. 

His grip tightens, and you gasp, as he possessively presses his lips to yours.

“Don’t piss me off. Try me again and see what happens.”

The restriction of air makes it hard for you to pace your breaths, and an uncontrollable moan slips out as he works your clit. 

That devilish grin appears on his face again. Then all at once he sheathes himself into you. Warmth spreads throughout your body and your focus falls to the soft moans that escape from his lips. His soft, pink, pretty lips that hover just over yours.

His eyes are half lidded as he rocks into you, completely and utterly blissed out.

“God you feel so fucking good” He praises.

You snap out of your fucked out daze, and remeber that you had to be strong. You needed to prove your point.

“This isn't me-” you gasp at a particularly deep stroke, “This isn't me forgiving you. I’m still mad at you”

His hips are slow and calculated as he thrusts into yours. “Is that right?” He chuckles lowly, “You’re so mad at me… that why you're dripping around me and sucking me in? Is that it huh?” 

His pace quickens, stroking along your walls just right. Making you so sensitive. You hate how good he’s making you feel. The swirl of emotions and confliction and alcohol has your lips parting.

“Fuck you” you whine out. 

He snickers at that. Which meant nothing good.

His pace increases almost instantaneously. He pounds into you, harder and less gentle than before. His hand moves to splay along one of your thighs. Pinning it to the mattress to further spread your legs open for him. 

The new angle allows him to reach new depths that make your vision go spotty. His hand tightens around your airways, and the pleasure has you clenching your eyes shut. You were close, you could feel it.

“Please” you moan out, not sure what exactly you're begging for at this point. “Please”

As soon as the pleas fall from your tongue, he pulls out of you. The emptiness has you longing and aching to be filled again. 

He flips you over, so that you're laying on your tummy. Your face gets buried into a pillow and a lewd muffled moan escapes your mouth when he buries himself inside you again. 

He holds you down at your waist, fucking you into the mattress with a silent rage.

“You hear that?” he taunts, knowing damn well that all you can hear is the sound of your smothered moans.

To your surprise his hand snakes around your neck, lifting you from the pillow. The sound of you squelching around him accompanied by the slapping of skin fills the air. Oh that sound. 

At this rate you can hardly remember what you were holding out for.

Your gaze trails to the bedside table, more so what sits on top of it. A bouquet of flowers. Fuck maybe he actually is sorry. 

You feel your walls begin to tighten. Your orgasm was approaching fast and you didn't know how much longer you could last. His pace was relentless.

“Rafe slow down” you whine, and pout.

He drops your head back into the pillow, then presses his chest to your back. His ragged breath fans over your ears. 

“You feel too fucking good.” He continues stroking your walls, “You make it so hard to stop. Shit maybe I shouldn’t stop. Maybe I should fuck you all night and give you a baby as a birthday gift huh?”

You grab a fistfull of the fitted sheet as your walls flutter and tighten around him. Letting the waves of electricity flow through you as he continues fucking you through it.

“Already such a perfect little housewife, the only thing missing is a little one running around. Isn’t that right?”

RAFE CAMERON in S03E06 THE DARK FOREST Not really, Rafe. It could be one of a very few people.

@peachprairie @rvfecamerons 🥺🥺

Taking anti-depressant pills?? Seeing a therapist??? Journaling??? No need babe, my fav writer just dropped another x reader fic.

ceilings

18+, minors PLEASE dni! You're kinda cute and I would say all of this / But I don't wanna ruin the moment / Lovely to sit between comfort and chaos

It’s a single, wet splatter on your cheek at first.

Another as you lean forward to swipe a fresh strawberry, the plastic punnet crimping underneath the weight of your fingers.

The raindrops grow a little heavier, a little harder to ignore, descending into a full-blown deluge by the time you’re scrambling up.

“Oh shit.” Rafe reaches for your wrist and tugs you into him deftly, throwing his jacket over your head to protect you from the downpour. The Patagonia logo blurs and glistens as water rolls over it. “Here, c’mon.”

He swipes the picnic blanket up in a hurry, snacks still sprawled over the checkered thistle as he fastens the clip and places it under his armpit.

Unbeknownst to him, you have your face to the sky, grey pullover on your shoulders and hair darkened by rain. The cloudburst plunges your socks in tepid water.

“Polaris,” he breathes out, his strong arm held over his forehead. “The fuck are you doing? Come on —”

“Rafe Cameron,” you interrupt abruptly, shaking your head. You reach up and clasp the pillow of his bicep, pulling down to give the deluge free reign on his features. “It’s warm.”

Rafe squints heavenward bemusedly, his rough palm finding purchase on your waist like clockwork. He pulls you close as your hold on his arm acquiesces, unsticking your wet singlet from your frame to feel bare skin. The heat of his touch vaporises rainwater.

“And you’re soaked,” he murmurs, reaching up to run his thumb over your bottom lip. He presses down at its centre firmly, absentmindedly, feeling your pretty mouth pucker around him.

“Thought you preferred me that way,” you hum, tilting your chin to the sky again.

Rafe ducks his head and licks a strip of rainwater from the column of your throat, ending the assail by sucking hard on your neck. Right beneath your earlobe, the sensitive spot that makes you gasp and squeeze against him.

“Prefer you that way when it’s my doing,” he answers, his voice gruff and aroused. “Don’t love when it’s something else getting my girl this wet.”

You balk. From the way Rafe’s hand freezes against your waist in tandem, you know that the admission wasn’t meant to slip out the way it has.

“Your girl?” You echo quietly, bashful now.

There’s no denying that this so-called, casual fling is toeing a dangerous line, every moment with him like gasoline to a flame.

The bones of your ribcage are beginning to singe. Not long now before it breaks through and permeates your poor, heart chambers.

“So I’m a little possessive,” he admits after a beat, trying to play it off. His hands skates over your abdomen, the valley of your breasts, tucking under your jaw and pulling you in for a kiss. Rough and sloven, an overcompensating pressure. He adds, “Can you blame me? Never learnt how to share.”

You roll your eyes playfully, reaching up and running your fingers over his buzzcut. “Spoken like a true trust fund brat.”

“You love it,” Rafe returns, grinning roguishly. His baseball shirt is soaked through and beginning to reveal chiseled torso, the length of his forearms glistening with a sheen of rainwater wetness.

There’s something about it, about being caught in the rain, that makes everything feel more vulnerable than it is. Like the precipitation is capable of making your feelings see-through, the same way that it does the cotton fabric of your clothing.

Not that you’d ever admit it. You sigh contentedly as the downpour saturates your skin, lashes sticking together as they flutter to a close.

“Isn’t this a little cliche?” Rafe hedges, rain collecting above his thick eyebrows.

You peek up at him through one eye. “Hm?”

“Getting rained on.” Rafe gesticulates vaguely, raising his eyebrows. “Wouldn’t peg you for a romantic, Polaris.”

You pout, and he reaches out and thumbs over your bottom lip again. “Why not?”

“A romantic would never agree to a summer fling,” Rafe answers, his voice lower, now. Pensive.

A pause. The deluge is unrelenting, a flurry of dark rainclouds spreading out over the horizon. “I disagree,” you say, pulling away reluctantly. “I think that’s exactly what they would agree to.”

“Time limits aren’t romantic,” he tries, more grasping at straws than anything particularly obstinate.

“They are if they allude to the promise of more,” you reply, wrapping his grey jacket around your shoulders tight. All of a sudden, the rain begins feels like sharp sheets of ice. “They are if a small part of you doesn’t acknowledge them at all.”

Before he can answer, before the full weight of your words washes over him, you add, “How do you know that rain is a romantic cliche, anyway?”

Rafe doesn’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved by the cop out he’s been given. He resigns himself to worrying about it later, wrapping his arm around your neck and tugging you into his side again. His forearm splays the dip above your breasts, an undeserved amount of soft skin at his disposal.

“You know I’ve got two younger sisters, right?” He asks, raising his eyebrows. “I’ve been forced to sit through enough God-awful romances to be able to write one myself.”

“Oh yeah?” You tease. “Go on, then. Sell it to me.”

Nearing the edge of the look-out now, Rafe’s black Jeep wrangler is creeping into view. Rainwater torrents onto the roof and rolls down over the side doors, a dry patch of concrete evident underneath the trunk and hood.

Your pace picks up as the deluge grows heavier, Rafe loosening his hold as you break into a run, his figure hot on your heels.

When you finally collapse into the front seat of his car, your chest is heaving from breathing hard, a layer of fog beginning to build on the wind-screen.

“Shit.” Rafe’s head lolls to the passenger’s side to face you fully, his gaze skating over your see-through singlet indulgently. “That’s gotta be uncomfortable.”

You raise your eyebrows at him coyly, reaching forward and giving his shirt sleeve a playful tug. “So uncomfortable.”

A film of breath and condensation obscures the glass, keeping you hidden. Rafe nods his head sagely before peeling off his wet shirt, throwing it into the backseat before angling toward you expectantly.

“Your turn,” he murmurs, reaching forward and encircling your thigh. He gives it a quick squeeze before tugging, knee hitting the centre console as you fall against his figure.

“Hm,” you hum faux-demurely, breaking free of his hold to remove your panties. You scrunch them up before throwing them against his bare torso, his pupils stretching over bright, barely-there blue irises. “On one condition.”

“It’s pathetic the lengths I’d go to get you on top of me right now,” Rafe answers gruffly, running his tongue over his wet, bottom lip.

“Sell it to me,” you repeat, stretching over the centre console to straddle his lap. You bend down and pull on the adjustment lever, shuffling forward in an attempt to push the seat back in tandem. His hungry gaze is trained on your covered breasts, singlet slick. “Your romance movie plot.”

Rafe’s eyes lift to your pretty face, the splatter of rain on your soft cheeks, the film of gloss on your softer lips. For a moment, his lust gives way to something stronger. He takes inventory of your features, and a yearning ache sears through his chest.

It’s terrifying. He murmurs, “Boy sees girl from a distance away.”

“Meet cute?” You prompt, peeling off your top torturously slow, slow enough for Rafe’s sloven hands to take over and discard it.

“Meant to be,” Rafe’s gaze holds firm as he unties the bikini strap at your neck, “but boy has this weird feeling he’s known her in another life.”

He leans forward and attaches his mouth to your breast, rolling his tongue over your hard nipple, worshipping the breathy moan you let out in acknowledgement.

“Boy does everything he can to get girl,” he murmurs, his hand sliding along the wet underside of your thigh. You can feel your slick folds convulsing with need, the heat of his touch rivalling that within your core. “But a part of him knows that it isn’t going to last.”

“Why?” You manage to gasp out, nimble fingers fumbling with the zip of his shorts. You spring his cock free and give the shaft a careless squeeze, his strained groan rumbling through your skin like hot static.

Rafe lifts you by the hips like it’s nothing, bringing you down on his cock in one, delicious motion. “Because — fuck, you feel unreal — he — shit — he knows he can’t give her everything she deserves.”

Your head collapses onto his shoulder as he begins rocking into you, a deep, unrelenting pace that has your vision blurring. Each buck of his hips jolts electricity through your swollen clit, the tip of his cock stroking every nerve-ending within it. Hot pleasure sears through you, his rough hands pinching and grasping and kneading your soft flesh.

“But — mhm — how can he know that?” You moan out, bouncing up and down in rhythm with his thrusts. A fresh sheen of sweat coats his chiseled torso, intermingling with rainwater.

“He’s got too much on his plate,” Rafe grunts out, giving your ass a reverberating slap. “So he makes a deal with himself — shit, yeah, just like that, baby — not to get too attached.”

His grip on your waist is beginning to bruise as his pace begins to quick, growing rough and sloven as he nears the peak of his orgasm. And you’re right there with him, the knots in your core beginning to tighten; you’re so close, so hot and sticky, one last swipe of your pulsating clit all you need to find the apex.

Your orgasm rolls over you in waves, thighs shuddering with pleasure, walls squeezing against his shaft. A few more, desperate thrusts before he’s finishing too, his warm cum shooting into you, sensation enough to coax a breathy whine from your lips.

A beat. In the afterglow, your voice is softer, and you say, “And what about her?”

“What about her?” Rafe echoes quietly, his hold acquiescing a little.

You look over his features carefully, heaving chest beginning to still. “What if she’s getting attached, too?”

“Oh.” Another pause. The intensity of Rafe’s gaze makes your heart stutter. “I’d tell her not to worry. Boy isn’t very good at keeping his word.”

—

—

starting to think i have a type

omg hey riri how are u i miss u smmm 🫶🏻

OMG HEY BESTIE🥺🥺 I'm doing okay, just very low on inspiration rn but HOW ARE YOU!! I MISS YOU SM MORE <3