grace

─ hi. eighteen. ★ ⤷ requests are open ✧˖°.

[bardotfawn]

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call me grace ★ eighteen. in love with older men. yapper galore. doe eyed. she / her. rafe cameron is my religion.

★ now playing: HOUSE TOUR - sabrina carpenter.

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౨ৎ feel free to message me, interact with posts, or send me requests/questions through my inbox !

you can find me at @fawnparadise, my alt account.

please read my guidelines before interacting with my blog.

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⤹ NAVIGATION .

i. guidelines.

ii. masterlist.

@bardotfawn 🐆

[gxtitobxby]

frank langdon the type to say “biiiiiiig stretch” when he’s sliding inside you… “there you go, baby, see? you got it” kissing ur wet cheeks oh :(

[bardotfawn]

mmm… thinking thoughts…

[kosmogrl]

september was practice… in october I’m getting my shit together

[kosmogrl]

in november I'm getting my shit together

[kosmogrl]

in december I’m getting my shit together

[kosmogrl]

in february I’m getting my shit together

[kosmogrl]

in march I’m getting my shit together

[kosmogrl]

in april I’m getting my shit together

[kosmogrl]

in may I’m getting my shit together

[kosmogrl]

in june I’m getting my shit together

[ririsaltar]

── .✦ Toxic love . . . babydaddy!rafe x ex!pogue!reader

contains: rafe's still obsessed with you and you swear you've over him.....but you're not :3

warnings: getting back w your ex, vague smut, unresolved feelings

you’re washing your dinner plates in the sink when you hear it – that sound of rafe’s truck pulling into your gravel driveway. the same sound you convinced yourself you forgot. 

you didn't look up. just kept scrubbing. pretending as if you were not wearing his old t-shirt – the one you allegedly threw out a month after moving out of tannyhill.

rafe fills the doorway a minute later. shoulders broader than last saturday, jaw sharper as if he’d been clenching it for a week straight. 

the air in the kitchen gets thick the second he steps inside. you still don’t turn around, just grip the plate a little tighter, knuckles going white against the ceramic.

“you lock your door?” his voice is low, rougher than you remember. like he’d been smoking again even though you told him a hundred times to quit.

“you literally stepped in without a key. the fuck d’you think?”

a beat of silence. 

then his boots scrape against the floor, slow and deliberate, closing the distance until you feel the heat radiating off his chest at your back. you don’t flinch. don’t give him the satisfaction.

“you’re wearing my shirt.” his fingers ghost over the collar where it hangs loose on your shoulder. “said you burned it.”

you shrug him off, finally turning, eyes cold even as your stomach flips.

“maybe i lied.”

rafe’s mouth tightens. he looks wrecked – dark circles under those blue eyes, stubble thicker than usual, like he hadn’t slept in days. like he’d been driving around kildare trying to talk himself out of coming here.

“you been ignorin’ my calls” he says. “blocked my number again.” 

“maybe i don’t wanna talk.”

“you never wanna talk.” he steps closer, caging you in against the sink. his hand lands on the counter beside your hip, knuckles brushing your thigh like it used to. “but you wear my clothes. you leave the window in the laundry room unlocked. you let me in every time.”

“maybe i feel sorry for you.”

“yeah?” his other hand finds your waist, thumb pressing into the soft skin just above the hem of your shorts, turning you around to face him. 

“then look me in the eye and tell me you don’t still want this.”

you open your mouth. nothing comes out. 

rafe’s jaw works. his gaze drops to your lips, then back up, and there it is – that raw, possessive hunger he never learned to hide.

“that’s what i thought.”

and then he's kissing you before you can argue. hard, desperate, tasting like expensive coffee and stubbornness and regret. your back hits the edge of the sink, a plate clattering into the basin. your hands fist in his shirt, the same way you had dreamt last night, dragging him closer, hating yourself for how good it feels.

he breaks away just long enough to mutter against your mouth, “i missed you, sweetheart.”

and you hate that you missed him too. that your body remembers every inch of his, the way he used to hold you after, the way he’d whisper 'i love you' like it was a secret he couldn’t keep. the way he used to touch you. 

“don’t.” you breathe, but your voice cracks on the syllables.

rafe groans, lifting you onto the counter with his hands under your thighs, shoving plates aside without care.

“too fuckin’ late for that.”

his hands slide up your thighs, hooking into the waistband of your shorts. your breath catches, but you don't stop him. you can't stop him – not when his fingers are already dipping beneath the fabric, brushing over the damp heat between your legs.

"fuck," he groans softly, thumb pressing against your clit through the thin cotton of your panties. 

"you’re already soaked for me."

your head falls back, a shaky moan slipping out before you can bite it back. "shut up, rafe."

he huffs a laugh. low, breathless, almost pained. "make me."

his fingers pull your panties aside, sliding one, then two knuckles deep inside you without warning. you gasp, hips jerking forward on instinct and he groans at how easily you take him even after all this while.

"goddamn, sweetheart. missed this pussy so bad."

your nails dig into his shoulders. "don't–don't talk like that-"

"like what? like i own this?" he curls his fingers, finds that spot that makes your knees buckle in a second cause he’s got it engraved into him as muscle memory. 

"because i do. always have."

the counter digs into your ass as he works you open, his thumb circling your clit in punishing rhythm. you're already close – too close, too fast, and he knows it. he always knew your body better than you did. knew your tells before you even knew it was showing.

"'m gonna cum," you whimper, hating how desperate you sound.

"yeah, you are." he pulls his fingers out, and you whine at the loss. but then his belt's undone, jeans unzipped, and his cock springs free – thick, flushed, already leaking at the tip. he lines himself up, dragging the head through your slick folds, teasing, because even when he’s desperate for you he’s still fucking rafe cameron.

"look at me."

you do. his blue eyes are dark, pupils blown, jaw tight.

"tell me you want it."

you hate him. you love him. you want to slap him and ride him until you forget your own name.

your answer is hooking your legs around his waist and pulling him in. 

he slams into you in one brutal thrust, both of you groaning in unison. his forehead drops to yours, breath ragged. "fuck–fuck, you feel-"

"move," you beg. "please."

he does. hard. fast. the plates in the sink rattle with every snap of his hips, the counter creaking against the floor. his mouth finds your neck, teeth sinking into the juncture where your shoulder meets your throat – marking you, claiming you, like he never lost the right.

your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling, and he growls against your skin. "missed you," he grits out between thrusts. "missed this. missed you."

"i hate you," you breathe, but your walls are clenching around him, pulling him deeper.

"i know." he drives into you harder, faster, thrusts turning erratic. "hate you too, sweetheart."

it's a lie. a beautiful, desperate lie.

his free hand slides between your bodies, pressing hard on your clit, and that's it. you shatter, crying out his name muffled into his shoulder as your orgasm rips through you. he follows seconds later, burying his face in your neck, groaning your name like a prayer as he spills inside you.

for a long moment, there's nothing but heavy breathing and the ticking clock on your kitchen wall. his forehead rests against your shoulder, eyes closed, chest heaving in time with yours.

"i love you." he murmurs, voice strained but sincere.

you dont bother saying it back.

but he knows the truth. so do you.

you love him. and that lying is so goddamn hard.

© ririsaltar

taglist: @raevyng @coastalcowgirlie @bonjourjiminie @kelbrave @skankhvnt42 @rafesgreasycurtainbangs @harrrrystylesslut @raf3cam3r0n

💌: i dont know how i feel about this one.....

[bardotfawn]

lowkey forgot about this account.. oops

[groovyangelkisses]

shane, who absolutely holds the back of your neck in missionary so he can watch your jaw drop and eyes widen when he slips inside just so he can mock your facial expression and smile, “‘s good inn’it? ‘s that it right there sweetheart? that hittin’ the spot?” in a nasty cooing voice :((

[glossykissies]

btw he (canonically) refers to himself in third person as ‘daddy’ all the time. he only amps it up more when he realises how much you like it ⸝⸝ᵔᴗᵔ⸝⸝

[glossykissies]

scott managed his stress well, atleast it seemed like he did — because as stoic and strict as he was, he didn’t seem to take his work frustrations out on you.

you however, you were known to let it pile up, and really — it didn’t take much for you to explode and flood the room with your waterworks.

your man knew this, appearing in the doorway to the kitchen — straight-backed and observant as always as he watches you smash about, nearly breaking the dishes as you clean them — somehow irritated about the mess you made making breakfast before you went to work this morning. you wished there was someone else to be a mad at.

“whats up with you?” scott asks bluntly yet with zero malice. you jump, clutching your chest and throwing an annoyed look his way due to him sneaking up on you.

“ugh, what — i can’t have a bad day?” you snap, brow furrowed and bottom lip fighting to push itself out.

“you can.” he speaks slowly as he watches you with an unimpressed gaze as you carry on. scott had time today. he might not say it too much but he’s always got time for you. “come here, put that down.” he commands. it’s calm, but full of authority. you resist, clutching the wet plate in your hands as if he’d threatened to snatch it off you as you turn to look at him, frowny but curious. you shake your head, testing the waters and he shifts his weight onto his hip impatiently, raising his eyebrows beneath that dumb cap on his head. he clicks his fingers once and points directly infront of him.

“come over here, now.” he tells you again. you huff, but immediately obey without second thought. your hands are wet and soapy as you skulk over to him, plate placed aside.

scott whips a dish cloth off the counter as you approach, eyes not leaving yours. you don’t approach fast enough so he tugs your wrist gently once you’re within reaching distance and you stumble a little toward him before he dries your hands off with the cloth. the small act of care makes you physically shrink, already feeling a little more hazy for him.

“alright? can you tell me what you need right now?” he hunches his back, huge frame barely accommodating to your height to be more level with you. instantly, your eyes get a little watery, foul mood melting away just a little more. “i can’t read your mind.”

you whine, annoyed with his addition — because you want him to know. you don’t wanna tell him. you go to push his arm lightly and he catches your hand.

“don’t do that right now, don’t. i don’t want to have to spank you. not right now, your heads not there.” his eyes widen with warning and you melt away, pulling your arms to your chest to hug yourself in order to self soothe. scott’s observant enough to sense this and he puts his warm hands on your shoulders. “i’m gonna ask you again what you need—”

“you!” you answer, cutting him off but he can tell you don’t really mean to snap by the way you glance up at him to see if you’re in trouble.

“i’m right here.” he prompts you to say more, but you crumple— shaking your head as you start to cry. “okay. okay.” he sighs, picking you up like you weigh nothing. ten tonnes, off your shoulders like that.

you wind up on his lap, bottoms and underwear removed completely, his cock sat deep inside you, curve and all on the couch. scott has one hand on your back, the other on the remote as he controls the volume of the tv to one of a more calming nature as he finds something for you to relax to.

“next time i want you to tell me you need this, do you understand?” his warm breath tickles the top of your head.

“mmph.” you nod, buttons of his white shirt grazing your cheek as you blink slowly, eyes rolling back each time they flutter closed.

“say ‘i need lap time with daddy.’ practice. go.” he jostles you lightly.

“need lap time with d’ddy.” you shudder, walls trembling around his thickness. he rewards you with a kiss at your crown.

“there we go. not so hard.” he wouldn’t say so, but you think scott needed this just as much as you did.

[bardotfawn]

need steve harrington to eat me out thanks

[cameronsbabydoll]

[bardotfawn]

Hihi! Just recently started writing fics for rafe! Would you be open to being mutuals? <3

baby i LOVE your fics so much, i’d be absolutely delighted to be mutuals 🤎🤎

[ririsaltar]

──★ ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ ᴡᴀᴠᴇꜱ with latina!gf and s2!rafe

you don’t want to be here.

the outer banks is too quiet, too slow, all salt and stillness where LA used to hum.

you miss traffic, streetlights, the way the air felt alive at night.

here? everything smells like ocean and money and nostalgia you don’t share.

the house your dad buys is big, beautiful, wrong. boxes stay unpacked longer than they should. your nails are freshly done, gold jewelry catching light that feels unfamiliar, your name resting against your collarbone like a reminder of who you were before this place.

your dad calls it an opportunity.

ward cameron.

partnerships. expansion. words that mean nothing to you except that they’re the reason you’re stuck here.

the country club is your first real taste of it.

linen dresses, polo shirts, polite smiles stretched thin. you stand out without trying. cute clothes, LA confidence, purse hooked on your arm like armor. that’s when you notice him. rafe cameron, exactly the kind of boy you’d avoid back home. cocky. loud. too comfortable in his entitlement. flanked by two idiots who you learn are topper and kelce like they’re extensions of him. he clocks you the second you walk in. his eyes flick to your jewelry, your nails, the way you carry yourself like you don’t need permission to take up space.

he smirks.

you roll your eyes.

the dislike is immediate.

he says something sharp under his breath when you pass. you fire back without missing a beat. sparks fly without softness. his tone is patronizing, your smile is fake.

ward and your dad talk business while the two of you circle each other like rivals, both convinced the other doesn’t belong. you think he’s a spoiled kook prince with a temper problem. he thinks you’re loud, spoiled, out of place. when you leave, you’re annoyed for longer than you want to admit. when he watches you go, he’s irritated by how much space you took with you.

time passes.

weeks blur together. beach days you don’t enjoy yet. dinners you tolerate. rafe becomes a fixture in the background. always fighting with the pogues, always tense, always angry. you still don’t like him. not really.

until one night.

the beach is quiet.

he’s sitting alone near the shoreline, shoes kicked off, beer hanging loose in his hand. no topper. no kelce. no attitude on display. just rafe, shoulders slumped, staring at the water like it owes him something. you hesitate before approaching, then sit a few feet away. close enough to feel him tense. not close enough to touch.

“thought you hated it here,” he mutters.

you snort. “i do.”

that makes him glance at you. really look this time. gold glinting against your skin while the ocean hums between you.

you talk about LA, about how different it is. how quiet makes you restless.

he talks less, listens more than you expect. admits he hates the noise in his head. takes a sip of his beer like he’s grounding himself.

there’s a moment.

not romantic. not soft. just… human.

you stand first. dust sand from your hands and legs.

“night, cameron.”

he watches you walk away, something warm and unfamiliar settling in his chest. for the first time since you arrived, the outer banks doesn’t feel so small.

© ririsaltar

divider by @uzmacchiato <3

taglist: @raevyng

A/N: intro post is outtttttttt, side note, thank you to @iheartaly for the ask which make me start this AU! if anyone has asks or stuff they wanna know/request for this AU pleaseeee send it in 'cause im slightly stumped on what do post first for them <3

[bardotfawn]

ouuuu i’m in LOVE with this

[moldavite]

breaking my silence to say i need to be felt UP

[bardotfawn]

merry christmas my babies!!! so grateful for all of u 🩷🩷

[tulipstarkey]

can yall hear me barking

[bardotfawn]

⋆˙ ⋆⭒˚.⋆ MY MAN ON WILLPOWER ★ .ᐟ

track three of the man’s best friend series.

pairing: dr. robby x nurse!reader

WARNINGS ⭑.ᐟ age gap (reader is over 25), light depictions of sex, inappropriate work place relationships, mentions of alcohol.

NOTES ⭑.ᐟ you’re responsible for the content you consume.

WORD COUNT ⭑.ᐟ under 1k.

AUTHOR’S NOTE ⭑.ᐟ likes, reblogs, and requests are encouraged and appreciated 🐆

hooking up with your attending was a bad idea.

expecting him to be good at communicating was also a bad idea.

it seemed like the perfect idea at the time— when you were drunk and curled in the warmth of his bed, his rough hands moving over your hips and down your thigh, his fingers rubbing over your clit.

that was almost six months ago.

he acted like nothing happened at the hospital. he passed you in the halls without a word, nodded when you read off your patient chart, slung his arm over your shoulders to pull you closer when introducing you to the new interns— he acted like you didn’t go through half a box of condoms with him in one night.

you called him out on it, of course you did— you were never one to hold your tongue.

“i just don’t get you,” you mumbled, your words slurring from the alcohol in your system, despite swearing you weren’t drunk. “you act like you want me and then—mm—you disappear and treat me like a regular nurse.”

you were in the passenger seat of his trunk, your brows furrowed and your lips pouty as you rambled, sleeves rolled up on his thick forearms as he hummed along, his free hand rested on your thigh.

“was i too clingy?” you sat up this time, kicking off your heels into the floorboard. “s’not— s’not like i’m that young, m’old enough to know what i want—“

he let out a quiet chuckle, pulling into the driveway of his house, cutting off the engine with a gruff hum. he unbuckled his seatbelt, making his way to your side of the truck, unbuckling your seatbelt, his hands already sliding under your thighs. “baby, i never said you were too young.”

he was a patient man. almost too patient. his patience almost made you feel like he was patronizing you, like he was disregarding your feelings. he held you up against him, carrying your purse over his shoulder, unlocking the front door while you mumbled into his ear.

“then why do you act like i am?” you huffed out, your nails curled into the thickness of his arm. “you treat me like m’just another coworker, not someone that you had in your bed—“

“alright, sweetheart,” he mumbled, setting down in his bed. “let’s watch that mouth, yeah?”

the pout on your lips made him chuckle. he sat next to you, rubbing his thumb underneath your lip absentmindedly, pressing a rough kiss to your forehead. “m’sorry i didn’t communicate better, alright? just wanted it to be easier on you, didn’t want people thinkin’ you were getting special treatment.”

your eyes gleamed in the warm lighting of his bedroom, your whole body relaxing at the confession, eyelids drooping shut with a quiet hum. “you promise?”

“promise.” he repeated, pressing another kiss to your head. “s’that good enough for you?”

you nodded again, sleep taking over you before you could even wash your face.

the issue was half resolved, and that was good enough for you.

at least for now.

© bardotfawn . copying or plagiarizing my work is not permitted.

[bardotfawn]

writing for some new characters for the man’s best friend series… tehe