This Is So Good And Cute!!

this is so good and cute!!

44 and Steve because you KNOW Steve would be the mom to kiss his girl in front of the gang because he knows they hate it

You’re so right bestie

44. public kisses

Warnings: F!reader

The summer of 1986 was shaping up to be a good one. Hawkins was in the middle of a heatwave that had everyone flocking to the outdoors to enjoy the sunshine, and Steve was no exception. He had his favourite sunglasses perched in his hair, the cut-off denim shorts that you had helped him make when his favourite jeans got ripped on his legs, and the new Queen album playing quietly through the car stereo.

And a car full of sugar-rushed teenagers.

“-listen to something else now? This song sucks,” Mike was complaining.

Steve glared at him in the rear view mirror and opened his mouth to reply, but Max beat him to it.

“Shut the fuck up, Wheeler. You’ve got no taste.”

“Says the one who listens to Kate Bush on repeat.”

“Anyone slanders Kate Bush and they’re walking to the lake,” Steve warned without taking his eyes off of the road as he turned into your street.

A chorus of mocking “oooh”s came from the kids, and he barely resisted rolling his eyes. He still wasn’t quite sure how his life had turned out this way, spending his summer chauffeuring for a bunch of nerds, but the sight of you coming out of your front door was the perfect distraction.

Your face lit up at the sight of him and he felt his stomach flip pleasantly at the delighted wave you sent him as you came down the path. Your eyes were obscured by your sunglasses, an oversized T-shirt almost slipping off of your shoulder under your dungarees and giving him a tantalising glimpse of the strap of your bikini.

He wasn’t sure how he had gotten lucky enough to spend his summer as your boyfriend either, but he certainly wasn’t complaining.

His smile only widened as you ducked your head bashfully as you came down the path, feeling the warmth of his adoring eyes on you. It never ceased to amaze him how surprised you always seemed by how much he loved you, how beautiful you were to him, how-

Dustin’s face appearing from his periphery and blocking his view of you pulled him harshly from his reverie.

“You disgust me,” the boy announced.

“Like you don’t stare at Suzy,” Steve shot back.

“I don’t actually, because my love is too far away for my eyes to reach,” Dustin replied loftily.

“Cry me a fucking river, Shakespeare.”

You had reached the car by that point and, spotting Dustin in the passenger seat, went to open the back door. Steve’s eyes widened.

“Nope, absolutely not. Henderson, move.”

Dustin stared at him incredulously.

“What the hell, Steve? I was first to get picked up, ergo I get to ride shotgun.”

“But now we’re picking up my girlfriend, ergo you need to move.”

“Do you even know what ergo means?”

“I know you can ergo sit in the back or you can ergo home, dipshit.”

You were watching in amusement from outside the car. You wouldn’t have minded sitting in the back but your boyfriend’s antics were so cute.

As Dustin got out of the passenger seat and slipped under your arm to get to the back door, grumbling, you gave him an apologetic look before climbing into the front seat.

“Hi, baby,” Steve greeted you sweetly as you fastened your seatbelt.

As soon as you were secure, he leaned over to give you a soft kiss that warmed you from the inside out. The moment was only slightly ruined by the kids’ disgusted groans from the backseat.

“Gross, you guys.”

“There are kids here!”

“In public? Seriously?”

Steve broke the kiss with an annoyed sigh and you bit your lip to stop yourself giggling at him.

“The next person who tells me what to do in my own car is getting kicked out. Clear?”

He was met with polite silence, and he grinned at you.

“That’s what I thought.”

<33

hi lovey <33 i admire your work so much and hope life is treating you well <3

not to bug you but i was wondering if you could write this thought for me? the thought being drunk rafe and he's so touchy and sweet with you. he's like, "i'm gonna marry you one day" all saccharine sweet and you're like, "baby u have to sleep" and he's like, "okay but what flowers should be have at our wedding?" ahhhh it’s just so cute!

╰┈➤ drunk rafe gets a little emotional

warnings: alcohol consumption, swearing.

summary: barry delivers y/n a very early birthday present, a very loved up, drunk rafe.

“incoming!” barry called from the front of the house, causing y/n to rush from the kitchen. she wasn’t too surprised, barry had called her not too long ago, warning her he was bringing rafe home, yet failed to mention the state he was in.

pulling the door open in a flash, she ran out hurriedly, expecting some sort of crime scene, as usual. yet was pleasantly surprised to find her boyfriend stumbling up the drive way, an arm slung around barry’s shoulder.

“bare! look! that’s my girlfriend, have you met her? awh man, she’s great!” he gushed, pointing towards her frantically. chuckling, barry shot y/n an apologetic glance, knowing she was in for a long night with this one.

“yes, rafe. i’ve met her plenty of times..” he sighed, pushing his friend through the front door, accidentally sending him crashing onto the floor.

ignoring the drunken mess behind her, she turned to barry, thanking him for bringing rafe home safely, for once.

closing the door behind her, she turned to her boyfriend, humming and harring about what to do with him. “okay, come on” she huffed, ushering him up the stairs. “where are we going?” he beamed excitedly, turning to face her, grinning ear to ear. “we’re going to bed baby”

“bed? no, i want to spend time with you angel..” he cooed, tripping over the last step, distracted by her sheer beauty. “you can, in bed” she stated, attempting to be stern with the intoxicated, six foot two giant now holding onto the wooden railing for dear life.

“fine, fineee…” he slurred, following her into the bedroom like a kicked puppy.

once she’d convinced him to get under the covers, she did the same, kicking her slippers to the side.

after a moments silence, she internally cursed at his sudden need to ramble on.

“you know, i love you so much. like, you are just so amazing, and-and so beautiful it like, honestly? it makes me want to throw up..” he gushed, turning around to face her, pressing a wet kiss to the tip of her nose.

she lay silent as he continued, talking him to herself about her as if she wasn’t there.

“when we get married, can we have a big cake? i love cake..” he sighed, his mind drifting to all types of baked goods.

“yes of course, if..you go to sleep, now” she suggested, awaiting a drunken refusal.

“yes ma’am!” he cheered, saluting her before turning back over, too far gone to go on his usual rant about her hair is always in his face.

taking the win, she rested her head on his back, appreciating the heat radiating from him. just as her mind fogged over, her ears perked up once more.

“we should get a dog…”

thinking about doing that one bow trend with rafe 🎀

you’d literally have to beggggg him, he’d be like “what? why? fucking stupid.”

you’re more pissed off than anything, if you’re being honest the picture is more for you than it is for anything else. rafe’s biceps turned you on like nothing else ever could. you had so many pictures of rafe’s arms, it was embarrassing but oh my god they just did something to you.

“cmon, it’s just a cute little trend. please?”

“fine,” he could never say no to you. ever. even when he put up a fight, he never had intentions of saying no to you.

you took the light pink strip of ribbon you had and tied it around his arm, a heat growing between your legs just from touching rafe’s arms and seeing how big and juicy they looked.

rafe watched as you tied the ribbon around his arm, you barely had enough, underestimating how big his arms really were, despite literally gripping onto them every time he fucks you.

you snapped a picture, more than a few but rafe didn’t need to know that.

“that’s it?” rafe asked.

“yeah,” you giggled, you had no intentions of posting it anywhere, you took those pictures to keep them all to yourself.

rafe flexed his bicep, making the ribbon fall off his arm completely. “you like these big arms don’t you baby?” rafe said in a cocky tone, half joking, half not. “my turn to get what i want,” he tackled you with kisses.

love love love this <333

I need a domestic Spencer blurb pls!!!

"You're so tired," Spencer notes, looking at you with a little smile. It's filled with love and tenderness, and it makes your heart swell.

"A little." You admit, but you both know you're lying. It's been a long, exhausting three days, and you're so grateful to be on the jet home.

He puts his book down on the table, opening his arm up so you can tuck yourself under it. No one's looking, but you're far too tired and in need of comfort for him to turn down the offer.

It's not a big space, but you pull your feet up onto the seat, laying your body across his lap where you can rest your head on his lap. It doesn't look comfortable, but it surprisingly is.

His book stays abandoned on the table as he rests his hand on your neck where his thumb can stroke over your cheek gently.

"Tell me something." You request sleepily.

Spencer happily obliges, starting on a ramble about different types of clouds. It's just based on what he's seeing out the window, but it's the most interesting thing you've heard.

"You can sleep, you know?" He pauses mid-sentence to tell you. "I can tell you're holding back."

"Wanna listen to you." You whine quietly, words slurring a little.

He chuckles slightly. "I'll tell you the same thing at home if you can't sleep tonight." He promises.

"Looking forward to it." You finally let your eyes slip closed, relaxing just a little more.

loveee this

𝐚 𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐝 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

eddie fights to get his usually shy and moderately intoxicated girlfriend to bed when you insist on clinging to him at every turn. requested here. fem!reader, 2.5k.

cw intoxicated reader

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

You're holding onto Eddie's arm tight enough to leave little fingerprint bruises behind. He doesn't think he'd mind, and he doesn't try to slacken your grip as he helps you up the stairs into the trailer. 

"Do we have to be quiet?" you whisper. Or, attempt to whisper. 

"Nah, Wayne's working." He closes the door behind you and leans over your shoulder to put his car keys in the bowl on the sideboard. "Oh, hey." 

You've given up on clinging to his arm and have started cuddling his waist instead. Eddie feels his eyes go wide, peering down at you almost like he's worried you'll realise you're being bold and move away. You rub your cheek against his leather jacket and sigh. "I love your hugs," you say dreamily, words slurred but understandable.

This isn't news to him, but it's definitely nothing you've said aloud before. Eddie's your boyfriend, he knows you enjoy a warm hug, but he's your new-ish boyfriend, and you're one of the shyest people he's ever met. Half the time he kisses you and your cheeks catch fire. 

"Yeah?" he asks fondly. 

You break the hug quicker than he'd like and bend at the waist. Laughing unsurely, you attempt to untie your shoelaces, wobbling like a cardboard house in a hurricane. Eddie catches onto your shoulders to hold you up, but you can't last. 

You make a strange sound, indignation and admission at once, and put your hands behind you to sit down. You go down hard enough to make the kitchenette shake, trailer walls not especially durable. 

"Shit, are you okay?" he asks, kneeling down in front of you. 

You blink at him glassily. "Will you take my shoes off, please?" 

"Yeah," he says. He laughs and tries not to. "Yeah, I'll take your shoes off for you. Pass em over." 

You put one of your feet on top of his knees clumsily. Eddie unties the bunny knots you'd made earlier, neat and tidy, not wanting anyone to judge you for messy laces, you'd said. 

He slides your shoes off and gives your toes a squeeze. Sober you would blow a gasket, shuffling away from him with a flustered squeak, but drunk you must like it. You leave your foot on his thigh and offer him the other shoe. 

"Do you like my socks?" 

Eddie digs his nail into the second bunny knot. "I love them. Why, are they new?" 

Your socks are normal white crew socks with a black hem stripe, black toes, and black heels. You hum at his observation appreciatively, your hand straying to your stomach. "And my underwear, too." 

"How much did you have to drink while I was in the bathroom?" he asks. Eddie's seen you in your underwear, but it's still unlike you to allude to your skivvies while fully dressed. 

"Not much. Why?" 

"It's not like you to talk about underwear," he tells you, sliding off your shoe and giving your foot a squeeze just as he had the first time, thumb digging into the sole. 

You giggle and yank your legs up and away from him. "That tickles." 

"Sorry, sweetheart." 

"It's okay. I forgive you, duh." 

He laughs, thrilled to see you this adorable and this beamingly happy. He can make you smile like no one else, and of course you're not always shy when you're with him, but it takes time. Eddie wouldn't change you for anything, it's just a real nice thing to see you so proudly happy. 

And hopelessly drunk. You lay on the floor of your side for a moment, jeans riding up your calves as you curl in on yourself, your jacket falling off your shoulder. 

Eddie crawls to your side. He indulges himself, sliding his hand between your cheek and the floor to lift your head. You meet his eyes dozily, sparks of happiness to be seen in your dilated pupils and the apples of your cheeks as you smile at him. 

"Are you feeling okay?" he asks. 

"You–" you begin, not sure where you're ending, "I missed you." 

"You missed me?" You're loaded. "Don't worry about missing me, sweetheart, I'm right here. Can I ask you for something?" 

You nod hurriedly. "Of course you can," you breathe. 

"Will you help me get to bed?" 

You reach for his elbow, your hand coasting up the length of his arm to his shoulder. "Stay here," you say. You're pleading with him, eyebrows drawing together, fingers screwing up in the folds of his jacket. 

"You'll be comfier on my lumpy mattress than you are on the floor, trust me." 

"I'm tired," you say. 

"Come to bed with me," he says softly, mirroring your tone. 

"And we'll have a hug?" 

Holy fucking shit, Eddie's fucked. He thinks, I'm gonna marry this girl, cheeks aching with the effort it takes to keep his huge smile at bay as he helps you sit up. 

"I'll give you as many hugs as you want," he says, brokering a deal with you right there on the floor. 

You agree to his terms, holding your hands out to be pulled up. Eddie stands and pulls you, and you do your part, attempting to stand with a wobble as you go, but he's right there to catch you. Thus begins another round of clinging, your fingers braceleting his wrist, your hips on his. 

Eddie leads you down the hallway. It takes longer than it should, what with your face in his neck and your less than subtle sniffing. He smells better than you do, your shirt soaked with what could be craft beer but might just be a half a cup of cider, neither of which he pictures you drinking. 

"Who tipped their drink on?" he asks, pushing the bedroom door open with his elbow. 

"What?" you ask, lifting your head from his neck. He looks down at you briefly. 

"What happened? You have beer all down your shirt, babe. Did someone tip their drink on you?" 

"Robin did, she said to tell you it was Steve." You raise a hand to his cheek. It's cold, and it smells like your moisturiser. "But I don't keep secrets from you." 

He doesn't mean to melt under your touch. He has things he should be doing, depositing you in the bed, changing your shirt, tucking you in for the night with a glass of water and a bottle of Tylenol for your perusal in the morning, but it's a startling delight to have you stroking his cheek. You usually only do this when he's half asleep or you're very tired; hoping he'll forget, maybe, and forgetting your own inhibitions. 

"You don't?" he asks gently. 

Your fingertips slip from the soft part of his cheek up to his eyelashes. You don't touch them, breathing out the side of your mouth rather than in his face. Drunk but not enough to stop treating him with care. 

"No… except for last Friday when we went to the Hawk. I really did need to use the bathroom." 

Well, Eddie knew that. You're shy, that doesn't make you a good actress. "And now we have no secrets," he says, covering your hand on his cheek. 

Your eyes slip closed a touch. Eddie doesn't really believe himself, he's sure there's lots of stuff you don't tell him. He guesses when you need something to drink because you hate asking, and he can't work out whether you like hotdogs or if you're just humouring him when he makes them, but he thinks any secret worth having is one you've let him in on. 

He puts you on the end of the bed. 

"Can I help you get changed?" he asks, already turning for the wardrobe where he keeps your left behind pyjamas and miscellaneous clothes, washed and pressed and waiting for you the next time you come around. 

"You haven't asked if you can undress me in ages." 

He laughs like an idiot, scooping an oversized t-shirt and a pair of your pyjama pants into his arms. "Now, that's not true. I always ask, but half the time you're already getting there." He turns to you, finds you've disappeared into your shirt, elbow twisted into the bottom and arms slack. "Like that," he laughs. 

"Stuck," you mumble. 

He chucks your pyjamas down and slips his fingers under your shirt where it's folded at the top of your shoulders. "Lift your arms, sweetheart. There you go." 

He laughs again when he sees your rumpled hair and face, dropping your acidic smelling shirt on the floor. "There she is. Hey, gorgeous," Eddie teases, running the side of his hand down your cheek quickly. "Bra on or off?" 

"Can I have my shirt first, please?" you ask.

He loves you. Your shyness creeping back in despite his having seen it all before is endearing, and he wouldn't ever say no to you. "Of course you can. Do you need my help again?" 

"I think this part will be easier." 

You're right about that. You get your shirt on easily enough, unclipping your bra without help. Nor do you need help with your pants. 

Eddie strips off quickly, swapping jeans for plaid pants and his t-shirt for a ribbed undershirt. He stretches out day long aches and kicks aside your dirty clothes on his way to the light switch, flicking it off, only his lamp left on now. 

You look lovely. Makeup smudged, watching him move around his small room with your face propped heavily in your hand, a practically cherubic smile playing on your lips. 

He pulls back the sheets and grabs you by the waist, lifting you very slightly to encourage you up against the pillows. You look at him like he's a wonder, adoration softening each line of your features. Your lips part slightly, your eyebrows rise upward. 

He thinks it might be really special, to be looked at as you look at him. 

"Let me get you a glass of water," he says. 

Neither of you have managed to brush your teeth. Honestly, he doesn't think you can stand up any more to try. Water will have to do. 

"No!" you say, louder than you've likely ever spoken to him when he isn't tickling you. "You said we'd hug." 

"We will," he says, giving your hand a little shake where it clings to his. 

"Please, Eddie, I just want to cuddle with you," you confess, giving him the best case of the puppy dogs he's ever seen. 

Eddie thinks, Whatever, we'll just have to make sure we brush extra hard in the morning. He can't deny you any longer. He didn't stand a chance. 

He climbs over your legs and you tuck him in affectionately, ramming your forehead into his chest and throwing your arm around his waist with less care. You nuzzle in, a satisfied sigh leaving your lips as you get comfortable. 

"This is so nice," you praise, words sluggish, slurred even more than they were as fatigue weighs you down. 

"This is perfect," he agrees, easing as flat as he can onto his back, nothing for his arms to do now but wrap around you and hold you close. 

You sigh again. It's even happier than the first, your leg creeping up as you hook your knee over his hip. "I love you, Munson. Thanks for…" You yawn and rub your nose into his chest. "Thank you. I love you." 

"You told me twice," he says, lifting his head to give you a teeny tiny kiss on your temple. 

"It was true for both of the times," you mumble. 

Despite relaxing atop him, your arms are like a vice. He doesn't care, he really couldn't care less, 'cos if you weren't hugging him like this he'd be hugging you tighter. Eddie speaks against your skin tenderly, "I love you, too," he murmurs, sealing it with a punctuating kiss.

He rubs your shoulder, feels your arms give him one final squeeze. 

"Is now a bad time to mention I need the bathroom?" he asks. 

Your answering snore tickles his chest.

—

"Eddie." 

Eddie scrunches his face up. You look down at him, flustered, wondering if it would be better for you to run out on him and never see him again. He groans as he wakes, turning his head and distorting the stain of your lipgloss smudged the length of his neck. 

You nibble the inside of your lip. He doesn't seem particularly annoyed with you. But he is mostly asleep. 

"Eddie, how did we get home last night?" you ask, rubbing between your eyebrows. "You didn't drive, did you?" 

He'd had two beers, which wasn't too much for him to handle but is more than anyone should have if they want to drive themselves home. 

Eddie peels his eyes open. "Steve drove us."

"Oh. I'm sorry, I'm super embarrassed. I got kinda wasted, huh?" 

Eddie's hands slip under your shirt to wrap around your soft stomach. He pulls you in an attempt to make you lay down again. 

"You were very drunk," he agrees, yawning into your ribs. 

You put your hand on the other side of his head to hold yourself up. "Was I a handful?" you ask softly, brushing his bangs away from his eyes.

He smiles against your shirt. You feel the curve of his lips, goosebumps erupting underneath it. Shy, you gasp quietly and try to escape his hold, but he hugs you ever tighter, snuggling into your chest. 

"You were great. I missed sober you, though." 

"Yeah?" 

"Yeah. Drunk you doesn't get goosebumps when I touch her." Smugness colours his voice, his hand rubbing up and down your naked back roughly to chase away your shivers. 

"I wasn't weird, was I?" you worry, more than alarmed by the gap in your memory. 

"You told me all about your new underwear," —you groan— "and how badly you needed to pee at the Hawk." 

You drop your head on to his, your foreheads touching, your hand curling around his neck. "Did I do anything vaguely in the land of acceptable behaviour?" you mumble in defeat.

"You told me you loved me. Multiple times. Once in your sleep." Eddie sounds delighted.

"That's unfontunately true," you grumble, not really meaning it. 

He laughs and gives you a firm tug. "Cuddle with me, babe." 

You cuddle him if only to hide your face from the world, face in his hair, hands under his back. Eddie draws a path of fondness up and down the dip of your back, laughing at each new crop of goosebumps as they rise. He's sweet enough to let you forget the mess you've made for at least a few stolen hours that morning. 

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you for reading!! I hope you enjoyed, please reblog if you have the time it makes a huge difference for me ♡

rafe’s always touching you.

the first time he did it was on your first date—dinner at a fancy restaurant on the beach followed by a walk on the soft sand. he picks you up in his truck and you’re wearing something pretty and short, how you guessed he’d like. rafe keeps a firm, yet gentle grip on your thigh while he drives.

you wonder if it’s a little forward for a first date—because after all, it’s only been a week since you first met him at the beach, when he bought you a lemonade and talked to you like he already knew everything about you, before jj interrupted. 

rafe parks his truck and hops out while you pull down the mirror in his passenger seat so you can apply another layer of lip gloss. you haven’t even undone your seat belt when he swings around, opening the door for you. you smile at him sweetly, thinking about how he’s such a gentleman. another thought floats around your head—how wrong your friends were about him. 

he takes your hand into his to help you get down, and his other hand floats around your hip incase you stumble. holds onto your wrist while the two of you walk into the restaurant, presses his fingers into your shoulder after he finishes pushing in your seat for you. during dinner, you’re sure he’d find some other way to touch you if you weren’t already playing footsie with him under the table.

after dinner he takes you for ice cream and keeps his arm swung around your shoulder while the two of you walk around the beach, watching the sunset. when he kisses you, he puts both hands on your face, holding you between them while your lips are attached to his. 

maybe it is a little forward, but you never think about it again—that’s just how rafe is. warm to the touch, deeply possessive, he likes making sure everyone knows who you belong to. you don’t dwell on it much, in fact, you like it, more than you could have imagined.

he guides you with one hand on your lower back, moves you through the crowd at the country club. everyone gets out of the way when he’s walking by, anyways, but he likes to make sure you’re not getting pushed around by some drunk idiot or star-struck waiter. with him always by your side, you feel safer, protected, at peace. no one tries to bother you anymore, with annoying boys turning around the second they see who the arm around your back belongs to. you think even adults are treating you better, with the way the lady at the shop runs around trying to cater to you, the way the waiter at dinner dashes to get you another lemonade.

you feel bad, since it feels strange. you don’t want to be treated any differently. but with the way rafe spoils you and how nice everything with him is, you wonder if you could get used to this.

you accompany him to house parties, hand rubbing your back soothingly while he’s drinking a beer. you’re half asleep on his shoulder, not used to these types of kook parties where everyone is snorting powder off of glass and mirrors instead of smoking on the beach. one of his friends says something that you can barely understand in your sleepy state, but you see him gesturing at you and hear a laugh. it’s almost automatic—rafe’s touch gets harder by tenfold. he says something low and quiet. “why’re you even looking at her?”

“just a joke, rafe, take it easy-”

“get the fuck outta here before i put your head through the table, asshole.” 

you keep him company when he’s working, or at least doing whatever it is that he calls work with barry. you sit on the couch, legs sprawled across his lap and his hand on your ankle, fingers messing with the little anklet he got you—no R pendant matching the one around your neck but rather a pretty yellow stone, rafe’s birthstone. your nose is buried in your book, flipping through the pages when you hear something that catches your attention.

“you really wanna have this talk in front of your girl, country club?” 

you could try to be inconspicuous, but it wouldn’t work for a second. rafe would see right through you if you lied to him, and as a result, you’ve never even attempted to do so.

you lower your book so your eyes are visible, glancing between your boyfriend and barry. rafe turns to look at you, fingers still on your anklet. you worry he’ll break it with the way he plays with it. then he turns, pulling out headphones from his pocket and offering them to you. you look between the two boys one more time, wondering if you should say something. you ultimately decide against it.

you put them on and blast the music, going back to your book. you only look up one more time, when rafe is gripping your ankle so hard it hurts. you jerk your foot against him, making him loosen his touch. he rubs the skin he’s just bruised the rest of the time you’re there.

when the two of you are walking back to his truck, probably headed back to his place for the night, he brings you in for a hug the way always does, arm around your neck, pulling you close. he presses a kiss to your forehead.

“you were real good in there,” he murmurs against your hair. you’re a little confused, looking up at him for some clarity. 

“hm?”

“nothing, kid. get in the car.”

he drives you home, fingers tapping on your knee the whole drive. when you get to tannyhill, he doesn’t even let your feet hit the ground before scooping you into his arms like a bride, carrying you up to his bedroom. 

he holds your hair when you get on your knees in front of him. he grips your thighs when he eats you out. but you think your favorite touch from rafe is when you’re in his lap, your tits against his chest, his arms wrapped around your back, foreheads touching and lips glued together, when every part of you is touching every part of him. 

when the two of you are done, you collapse on the bed next to him. he moves your head so you’re laying on his chest, hand resting above his heart, legs tangled with his, fingers playing with each other.

yeah, you think in your fucked-out state. i could get use to this.