thinking about the way dean di laurentis is known as a sex god on campus, but when you’re in his sheets, he’s like an obedient little puppy for you!
dean craves your approval, his tanned body burning hot with arousal when you tell him he’s doing good at something. dean is cocky and knows he’s good, but actually hearing it from you does something unexplainable to him.
the way he whines pathetically when you throw a “good boy” his way, his cock growing painfully hard at the slightest inkling of praise.
he likes to be told what to do! “mhm yes, baby doll. fuuuck, i’ll do anything you want me to” he says when you ask something of him, not an ounce of hesitation.
as much as dean has always liked control, there’s something about you being on top of him that makes him feral. the sloppy way you fuck yourself on his cock, his arms glued to the sheets as you take exactly what you want from him.
dean practically begs you to leave hickeys on his neck, wanting to proudly show them off to everyone like they were a trophy of some sort. he always has a big, boyish grin on his face when he catches someone staring at the red marks, getting flashbacks of your time together.
in fact, he’s the most impatient man on the planet.
he’s sprawled across your bed like he pays rent, one arm behind his head, the other tapping impatiently against his stomach while you stand in front of your mirror, trying to fix your hair for the 5th time—or was it the 8th? you’d lost count.
“you’ve been doing that for an hour,” he exaggerates, voice dragging. he looks bored, but his eyes stay on you like it’s the only thing worth doing.
“you’re so dramatic,” you say, too focused on sliding a bobby pin into your hair to look at him. “nobody’s forcing you to sit there. go do something else while you wait,” you suggest, a quick “ow” slipping from your lips as the pin pinches your finger.
he doesn’t respond, mumbling something under his breath as he keeps watching you.
you can feel it—his eyes dragging over you, slow, like he can’t help it, even if he’s annoyed at how long you’re taking (except you weren’t even taking long... rafe is a known drama queen—it’s been 14 minutes).
your hands drop, running them down your hair as you look at it in the mirror, contemplating.
rafe finally moves, but instead of walking out the door, his hand wraps around your wrist, tugging you back just enough to throw you off balance.
“rafe—”
“are you done now?” he cuts in like an impatient child, standing behind you. you feel his hand slide from your wrist to your waist, fitting there perfectly.
you catch his reflection in the mirror, “we’re not even going anywhere important,” he says, his head dipping slightly toward yours as he groans dramatically.
“i still want to look good,” you shrug, looking over your hair once more cause you couldn’t help it.
“yeah, and you do,” he says it like it’s obvious.
“you’re just saying that so we leave faster.”
he huffs out a quiet laugh, his grip tightening just slightly at your waist. “no, baby,” he murmurs, “i’m saying it cause my girlfriend always looks good.”
a tiny smile grows on your lips and you duck your head away from his gaze for a second—rolling your eyes before turning around to face him. he always knows how to make you blush in a second with just the smallest things. damn him.
“you’re so annoying,” you say, but there’s no real bite to it.
“yeah, yeah… you love it,” he smirks slightly, pulling you forward to give your lips a quick kiss. “cmon, let’s go.”
A / N⠀ ⠀hi hi hi, i have not written for rafe in i don’t even know how long, so hopefully this is decent 🤕🤕 lowkey boring but i just felt like writing a lil something, spare me pls
“fuck, baby,” aidan cooed, his hips slamming into yours rapidly. the sounds of your sticky skin colliding filled the bedroom alongside the harmony of your moans and the squeak of the bed frame. he was propped up on his forearms, cradling the sides of your head with your legs crossed on his hips, pulling him down and further into you whenever he pushed in.
your jaw was slacked, desperate babbles falling past your open lips. aidan snapped his pelvis against your own harshly, tilting his cock upwards. your lashes fluttered as the sensation of him made you arch your back.
“that feel good, baby?” he purred into your ear. he hit the same spot again at the sound of your high pitched whine. his tip bumped against the ring of your cervix, kissing it every time he pushed into you, making you see stars. you couldn’t control the sounds that left you, as the feeling of his cock made you completely dazed.
“words, ma. wanna know how good it feels,” he kissed your temple sweetly, a complete contrast from the way he was ramming into you.
“mm—s’good, so, so good, fu–ck! there, right—hah—right there!” you rambled, squealing his name in a euphoric whine. “mm, yeah? here? this what y’want, baby?” his pace became even more unruly. surely you’d be bruised and sore by the morning.
you were struggling to keep your eyes open, the warmth of him inside you was consuming your brain. but then a gleam of light caught your eye.
his chain. the new one he had gotten recently.
and suddenly you were hyper focused on it, pupils dilating as you stared at the dangling metal.
“y’like it, baby?” he groaned. you hummed in time with his quick thrusts. “i’ll getcha one, baby, don’t worry. fuck,” he moaned, dick twitching as your walls clenched around him, snugly trapping him in.
your mouth began to hang open again, spewing weak noises back at him. aidan smirked, admiring your fucked out face and messy hair that was splayed behind your head.
you bit your lip as he repeatedly hit that sweet spot inside you, making you flutter against him. he continued to piston his cock up into you, gathering spit in his mouth as he watched how you reacted to his movements.
“open.” he ordered softly, heart swelling at your immediate obedience. as soon as you let your bottom lip free from your teeth, he spit into your mouth.
he grunted at the sight of his saliva on your tongue, watching you swallow the shiny, wet glob on instinct. “shit, baby, takin’ it so—god, so good,” his gruff, and borderline whiney, voice made you whimper, feeling him twitch inside you again.
“please. please, aidan, please cum n’me,” you begged, grabbing at his biceps to pull him closer. “m’gonna cum, baby, please!”
“shh, sweetheart, m’gonna fill y’up, okay? y’can cum, mama, s’okay, i’ll just—god damn—” his breathing became ragged as your orgasm crashed over, gushing all over his slick-covered cock.
he caught you in a kiss, swallowing your moans and letting out his own against your tongue as he came, thick ropes coating your insides.
he continued to rut his dick against your squishy walls, hips faltering as the sound of your mixed arousals filled his ears. he pulled his mouth off of yours when he stopped, saliva string breaking in the air as he ducked to rest his head against your shoulder, listening to your quickened heartbeat and labored breathing as you came down from the insane orgasm he just gave you.
Getting your nipples pierced was a last minute decision.
Earlier that day, you went with Allie to get her navel pierced. She was so excited, talking about all the piercings she would love to have but isn’t sure about. Which led to her saying, “You would look absolutely fucking amazing with your nipples pierced. I bet Dean would have a field day with it, too.”
She kept babbling, saying stuff like, “Not that I’m suggesting it for him. Only for yourself, obvi. And me and Han, I know she would agree.”
You laughed it off, saying it was cool but not your thing.
Until you were inside the piercing shop.
The girl at the counter asked what the two of you needed, saying for a piercing it would be around a ten minute wait. Allie told the girl what she wanted, but before she wrote it down you butted in.
“Um, actually—I wanted to get my nipples pierced, can we do that today too?”
The worker responded politely, “of course!” before writing your information down.
Allie whipped her head around to face you as you walked away from the counter, her curls swaying. “Really? I thought you weren’t into the idea…” She squealed, excitement clearly coursing through her body.
You shook your head, hoping she didn’t see through your false confidence when you replied, “I mean, why not? It’s cute.”
When you got home later that day, Dean was already cozying up in your bed. He knew you’d be out with Allie for a while but you’d told him he could be there if he wanted to. You didn’t really think he’d take the offer.
“Oh! Hi,” you mumbled as you walked in the door, your brain hyperaware of your new piercings. You’d been so consumed by the thought of the piercings themselves that you’d forgotten that Dean was going to see them, probably very soon.
You’d also forgotten how sensitive they’d be.
“Hey, baby,” his voice was muffled from being beneath a big pile of your blankets and stuffed animals, “Have fun with Allie?”
The way you paused mindlessly before answering with a soft, “Yeah,” was Dean’s first red flag. The second was how stiff you were standing as you walked around the room, putting your purse away and taking off your shoes.
He sat up, moving the little bunny stuffy he got you for Valentine’s day.
When you finally met his eyes, your guard was up immediately. His bright blue eyes were narrowed and his lips were pressed in a pout. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Okay. Tell me what happened.”
Laughing, you sat on the empty side of the bed. “What the hell are you talking about?”
Dean rolled onto his stomach, taking up the empty space and revealing his shirtless torso. “You’re acting weird. I want my girlfriend back, please.”
You rolled your eyes, running your hand over his hair soothingly.
“Okay,” you cleared your throat, trying to push down your racing thoughts. What if he hates it? What if he has to pretend to like it? What if—“I have something to tell you.”
His playful smile dropped, worry taking over his features. “Yeah?”
Dragging a hand over your face, you let out a heavy breath. “I got my nipples pierced,” you mumbled against your palm.
There was a beat of silence before Dean said, “What was that?”
“Dean.”
“I really couldn’t hear you, baby,” He laughed, his hands coming up to wrap around your wrists and pull your hands away from your face. “Can you repeat it? Please?”
Groaning, you repeated louder, “I got my nipples pierced.”
There was another silent beat, but Dean’s eyes had an unmistakable fire in them. The corner of his lips quirked up, his eyes dropping to your chest and back up.
“What?”
“I am not repeating myself again, Di Laurentis.”
“No, no. I just—Wow,” he blew out a breath, his chest rising and falling more dramatically than before. “Can I see?”
That’s how you ended up here, with Dean’s hands resting on your hips and his legs open wide for you to stand between. Your shirt was in a pile on the floor, the cool air making your nipples hard and even more of a view for Dean.
“Wow. You look…” he trailed off, his gaze never straying from your tits. His hand reached up, aiming for your new piercings, until you stopped his hand.
“Can’t touch. Y’gotta be careful with ‘em.”
Your boyfriend dragged out a low groan, dropping his head to your stomach—making sure to avoid hitting your sensitive piercings. “You’re already killing me, and now I can’t even touch you? What am I being punished for?”
You scoffed, “You’re not being punished, you big baby. And if you’re expecting me to wait until my piercings are fully healed for you to touch me at all, I’m offended.”
His head snapped up at that, his eyes telling you everything you need to know. That and the very clear boner he’s sporting through his sweats. “I just gotta avoid the tits for a little? That’s all? No surprise piercing down there that I need to know about?”
You shook your head, recognizing the undeniable heat in his voice, “Everything else is still on the table.”
The entire night felt like it was just Dean complimenting you. He said something at every point.
Took your pants off? “Gorgeous.” Came on his fingers? “So fucking hot.” Finished on his face? “Delicious.”
He would not stop.
Even when he was buried to the hilt inside you, while you were squirming from the pleasure and milking his cock dry, he felt like he had to keep praising you. “You’re so pretty, baby. I fucking love—Holy shit—I love your nipples. I love your nipple piercings. So fucking sexy, baby.”
The man literally begged you to go on top. He said he “wanted to have your pretty tits up close and bouncing in his face if he couldn’t even touch them.”
You agreed, expecting to have to take control. Not expecting to have him fucking up into you, hitting you at a new angle that made your back arch and your entire body shake. Your eyes were teary and clamped shut, moans spilling out of your mouth faster than you could feel them coming.
“That feel good, sweetheart?” The cocky bastard asked you with a devilish grin on his face. “Looks like it from down here.”
Your hand cupped over his mouth, your way of telling him to shut up without having to speak. He kissed your palm and grabbed your hand, lacing his fingers through yours.
The new angle you took to reach his mouth made your clit rub against his solid body, adding extra pleasure that made you squeeze around him. “Oh my god. Dean.”
Dean groaned at the sound of your shaky voice gasping his name, the feeling of your tight pussy around him and your nails digging into his biceps bringing him closer to his release.
“I’m close,” his deep voice rasped in your ear, his hands gripping your hips as he continued plowing into you. You threw your head back with your body, Dean’s fingers promptly coming to toy with your clit, working you over the edge.
“Dean—”
“I know, baby. Ride it out f’me,” he cooed, continuing his thrusts until you pushed on his chest to stop him.
You slowly pulled off, careful not to overstimulate your very sensitive cunt. Flopping over on your back, Dean was quick to roll on his side to look at you. He didn’t say anything more, just stared until you turned away in embarrassment.
﹙ ¹⁸⁺ ﹚ ₊ ❜୧ A QUICKIE WITH YOUR HUSBAND SIMON.
you're sorting through what feels like the millionth tiny sock when simon comes up behind you, large hands settling on your hips. "kids are occupied," he murmurs against your neck, and you can hear the suggestion in his voice.
"si, i have to get this done," you protest weakly, but you're already leaning back into him. wash day waits for no one with three kids, and you're drowning in tiny clothes. "and they won't stay distracted for long."
"exactly why we should be quick about it." his hands slide around to your stomach, pulling you flush against him. you can feel he's already hard, and your resolve wavers. "been thinking about you all morning, luv. watching you bend over sortin’ laundry..."
"you're terrible," you breathe, but you're already turning in his arms. seven years of marriage and three kids later, and he still looks at you like he wants to devour you. "we have maybe ten minutes before someone needs something."
"can work with that." he's already lifting you onto the washing machine, hands pushing up his sweatshirt that you wore around the house. "fuck, no panties? you trying t’kill me?"
"it's wash day, baby," you remind him, wrapping your legs around his waist. "everything's in the dirty hamper." but your explanation dissolves into a moan as his fingers find you already wet.
"fuckin' convenient," he growls, working you open with practiced efficiency. there's no time for slow and sweet; not with three kids in the house. "always ready for me, aren't you, swee'eart?"
you bite your lip to keep quiet as he replaces his fingers with his cock, pushing in with one smooth thrust. "simon," you gasp, nails digging into his shoulders through his shirt. "fuck—w-we have to be quiet."
"then you'd better keep that pretty mouth o’yours shut," he says, setting a punishing pace immediately. the washing machine rocks with the force of it, and you have to brace yourself against the wall. "can't have the little ones hearing what daddy does to mummy."
the filthy words in his rough accent make you clench around him. he notices, of course he does, and smirks against your neck. "like that, do you? knowing i'm fuckin’ you while our babies play down the hall?"
before you can respond, there's a loud bang on the door. "mommy! mommy, open!" your five-year-old's voice cuts through your haze of pleasure. "need you!"
simon doesn't stop, if anything going harder. "mummy's busy, swee'eart," he calls out, voice impressively steady for someone currently railing you against major appliances. "go play with yer sister."
"but mommy!" another bang. "daisy took my doll!"
you try to answer but simon chooses that moment to hit that perfect spongy spot inside you, and all that comes out is a strangled sound. he covers your mouth with his hand, eyes dark with amusement and lust.
"mummy's folding clothes," he lies smoothly. "she'll be out in a minute, go tell daisy t'share."
"don't want to!" your daughter whines, and you can hear her stomping her little feet. "want mommy now!"
"ella." simon's voice drops into what you call his lieutenant voice — gentle but brooking no argument. "go play. we'll be out soon."
there's a moment of silence, then you hear her stomp away muttering about simon being unfair. the second she's gone, simon removes his hand from your mouth.
"such a good girl," he praises, but you're not sure if he means you or ella. "keeping quiet while i fuck you senseless. though i bet y’wanted to scream, didn't you?"
"simon, fuck, please," you gasp, feeling your orgasm building embarrassingly fast. the combination of his cock and the thrill of almost getting caught has you on edge. "i'm gonna-"
"i know, luv. she's fuckin’ squeezin’ me." his thumb finds your clit, rubbing tight circles. "c'mon then. cum all over my cock before another one starts bangin’ on the door."
as if on cue, you hear your two-year-old calling from somewhere in the house. "mama?"
the use of your married name plus the perfect pressure on your clit sends you over. you bite his shoulder to muffle your cry as you cum all over his cock, whole body shaking with the force of it. he follows right after, groaning low in your ear as he fills you.
"mama!" your toddler's voice is getting closer.
"shit," simon pants, pulling out and quickly fixing his clothes. he helps you down, steadying you when your legs wobble. "y’good?"
"just peachy," you breathe, smoothing down his sweatshirt. you can feel his cum starting to leak and clench your thighs together.
"though i'm going to need to shower before i finish this laundry."
blood coated the blue latex gloves you wore on your hands, medical supplies from a first aid kit littered the coffee table and couch around you. you placed the last few stitches into matt’s skin, cleaning off the area of his wounded abdomen again before placing a gauze pad over it.
“thank you, nurse,” he glanced up in your general direction, eyes shifting behind his glasses to find the mark in the air where your chest rose and fell with your breathing. “how will i ever repay you?”
you chuckled at that, removing your gloves and placing all the leftover supplies back in the box. “depends, what’re you willing to give me?”
“oh, well, i can give you a lot, actually. just name your price.” he smiled while you rolled your eyes, understanding the nod of an innuendo he was pitching.
“you barely survived last night, matt. and you’re lucky you have a sweet enough girlfriend in your bed to patch you up,” you shut the first aid kit and stood up after collecting all of the trash, discarding it in the trashcan in the kitchen.
“sooo, that’s a... no? to the innocent thanks i wanted to give you?”
“yeah, what you wanted was totally innocent,” you snorted. “c’mere,” you whispered as you made your way back over to the couch, bending down to place your lips on his.
two quick smacks of kisses is what you gave him before standing back up and pulling away, giving him a light slap on his shoulder. “oh– come onnn!” matt groaned at the loss of you, trying to grab your arm to pull you down, but you were quicker.
“get up, we’re already late,” you grinned. “let’s try to actually make it to the office before you bleed through your shirt and i have to repack your gauze.” you tossed his blazer towards him, watching him catch it with ease before walking to your shared bedroom to grab your heels.
all matt did was sigh, listening to you click clack around the apartment as he reluctantly stood up and buttoned his shirt, wishing you could’ve spared him at least another minute for some more ‘innocent’ kissing.
𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: age gap (reader is mentioned as 23, rafe as 39), established relationship, older boyfriend!rafe, reader insert (no y/n), secret relationship, lying to parents, class differences, kissing, making out, groping, grinding, dirty talk, praise, alcohol (wine), domestic intimacy.
𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦: your first sleepover at older boyfriend!rafe’s house is full of tiny discoveries: a junk drawer, a half-finished cup of coffee, your favorite creamer in his fridge, and all the little ways he was already making room for you long before you ever walked through the front door.
𝑎/𝑛: genuinely by the time i finished writing and did my final proofread of this, i couldn’t help but giggle and kick my feet. i really don’t love the idea of writing fan fictions about real people, but some parts of this feels more like what i’d imagine drew to be like and less like canon rafe if he was older. he’s pretty soft here, but i love him this way. i hope you guys do too ♡
𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 8.4k
your phone buzzes on your desk at 4:56 PM.
you're halfway through folding laundry when the vibration makes you freeze, a t-shirt dangling from your hands. you pick it up expecting a text from a friend, but your stomach drops the second you see rafe's name.
Pack a bag.
you stare at it. read it twice. three times. your thumbs hover over the keyboard, but you don't ask what for. you don't ask where or why or how long. you just know.
are you serious
three dots appear. disappear. appear again.
Very.
oh god. your heart is actually racing now.
you press your phone to your chest and let out a breathless laugh that's half excitement, half panic. you want this so badly your hands are shaking. but the thought of lying to your parents makes something twist in your stomach. you glance at the time. 4:59 PM. if you're going to do this, you have got to move fast. there's a really big chance that you can't pull this off. an even bigger chance that your mom shuts it down. but you're willing to try.
it takes you twenty minutes to come up with something believable. a trip to the mainland last minute with stella from your old sociology class. her friend bailed. you'd be back tomorrow evening. that's believable, right? you practice it four times in the mirror, watching your own face for tells. you look nervous and giddy. way too fucking giddy. you try again, aiming for casual, but casual isn't happening.
you pull your duffel bag out from under your bed and start packing, grabbing a change of clothes and the cute pajamas, the ones that don't look like you're trying too hard, your toothbrush and deodorant and phone charger. your hands hesitate over your underwear drawer, but you grab a matching set, just in case, and shove it to the bottom of the bag where your mom wouldn't see it if she happened to glance inside. god, that would be embarrassing.
downstairs, you can hear the tv on in the living room, your dad's low voice asking your mom something about dinner. you zip the bag shut and stand there for a second, staring at it. this is actually happening.
your mom is easier to convince than you expected. she's loading the dishwasher when you come downstairs, duffel bag slung over your shoulder. "hey, so stella from one of my old classes just texted. her friend bailed on this trip to the mainland and she asked if i wanted to go. i know it's last minute, but—"
your mom glances up, wiping her hands on a towel. "tonight?"
"yeah. she could come pick me up now. i'd be back tomorrow afternoon or so..."
she looks at you for a long moment, and your heart hammers against your ribs. please don't ask more questions. please don't look closer.
"stella... from college?"
"yeah."
"and you'll text me when you get there?"
"of course." immediately.
she smiles. "okay... have fun, sweetie. be safe. and text me when you get there, okay?"
the ease of it almost makes you feel worse. "i will. thanks, mom." you kiss her cheek and head for the door before she can ask any more questions, before the lie can show on your face and ruin everything.
by 5:30 PM, you're standing on the corner a block away from your house, duffel bag at your feet, phone clutched in your hand. the sun is starting to dip lower, casting long shadows across the pavement. the neighborhood is quiet. a dog barks somewhere in the distance. you shift your weight from foot to foot, your leg bouncing slightly. you check your phone. 5:31. then 5:32. what if he doesn't show up? or what if he changed his mind? what if—
then you see it—his black truck, pulling up beneath the shade of the oaks, windows tinted dark. relief crashes through you so hard it almost knocks the air out of you. you'd recognize it anywhere. you grab your bag and hurry down the sidewalk, glancing over your shoulder once, twice, before yanking open the passenger door and climbing inside.
the cool air hits you immediately. the ac is cranked high, carrying the faint scent of his cologne mixed with his black ice scented car freshener. the leather seat is cool beneath your thighs. the door closes with a solid thunk.
rafe is leaning back in the driver's seat, one hand resting on the wheel, the other draped casually over the center console. he's wearing a linen button-down, sleeves rolled to his forearms, and there's a faint shadow of stubble along his jaw. he looks casual. so unfairly casual.
he doesn't pull away from the curb yet. instead he just looks at you. his eyes move down your face to your hands gripping the bag, then back up. his mouth curves into a smirk.
"look at you," he murmurs, his voice low. "sneakin' away like a little criminal."
heat floods your cheeks instantly. you drop your bag to the floorboards and fumble with your seatbelt, trying not to meet his eyes. your fingers feel clumsy, uncoordinated. he's watching you. "i'm not—"
"no?"
you freeze. he's still watching you, that smirk fully formed now.
"checkin' over your shoulder like that?" he says, tilting his head slightly. his eyes drop to your hands where they're fumbling with the seatbelt, then back to your face. "trembling."
"i am not trembling."
"yeah, you are."
you bite your lip, fighting a smile. he's impossible. "c'mere," he says, and his voice drops, and you don't hesitate. you lean across the console and kiss him, hard and desperate. the leather of the seat creaks slightly beneath you. you can taste the faint hint of coffee on his mouth. your fingers find his shoulders and for a second you forget why you were even nervous.
you lean in again, throwing your arms around his neck, peppering soft, quick kisses along his jaw. he smiles against your skin. you kiss the corner of his mouth, then his cheek, then back to his lips, and he's making a low sound in his throat, his hands coming up to cup your face.
"hi," he says against your mouth, teasing.
you pull back just far enough to look at him, your face flushed. "hi yourself," you murmur, and he grins before kissing you properly again, deeper this time.
when you finally pull back, you're both breathing harder. his hand smooths down your back, his thumb tracing small circles against your spine.
"been waitin' all day for that," he murmurs against your lips.
you pull back just enough to look at him, your face flushed. "yeah?"
"yeah." his eyes are dark. "you?"
"maybe," you say, trying to play it cool, but he sees right through you. he always does.
he starts to protest, but then his eyes are catching on your hair falling across your shoulder and his hand moves, tucking it back behind your ear. his fingers linger there for a second, warm against your skin.
"what?" you ask, breathless.
"mm, nothin'." he's still looking at you like he lost his train of thought, but then he blinks. "you smell good."
"rafe—"
"you do." he's laughing now—quiet, rough.
you bury your face in the crook of his neck, embarrassed, and he wraps his arms around you properly, his hand smoothing up your back. you feel him smile against your hair.
"alright," he says after a moment, and his hand slides down to your waist, squeezes once. "sit back before your neighbors see something they shouldn't."
you obey reluctantly, buckling yourself in, and he's still watching you with that amused expression. he shifts the car into drive, one hand returning to the wheel while the other finds your thigh, his palm warm against your skin.
the neighborhood disappears behind you, and for the first time all day, you let yourself breathe.
the drive starts familiar, your neighborhood with its modest coastal cottages and beach box houses. rafe's hand stays on your thigh, his thumb tracing absent patterns. god, his hands are huge. after a few minutes, he glances over at you.
"you're quiet," he says.
you bite your lip, staying silent for a moment. "i lied to my mom."
"figured. what'd you tell her?"
"just... a really elaborate lie. about going to the mainland with stella. she believed me immediately and i guess now i feel—" you exhale shakily. "kinda guilty?"
his hand squeezes your thigh gently. "want me to turn around?"
"no," you say quickly, maybe too quickly. the thought of turning around makes your chest clench. and he smiles, like he already knew that would be your answer.
"then stop worryin' about it."
"easy for you to say."
"sweetheart." his voice is patient. "you're twenty-three."
"yeah," you mutter. "but you're thirty nine."
he doesn't argue with that. he just keeps driving, his hand warm on your leg. you watch the scenery change outside the window, the neighborhoods becoming progressively nicer. after a moment you reach down and lace your fingers through his. he glances at you again, something soft crossing his face, and brings your joined hands up to brush a kiss against your knuckles.
"you nervous?"
"a little," you admit. your stomach's been in knots since you got in the truck.
"yeah?" he says, his mouth curving slightly. "good. means you're gonna hold onto me the whole drive."
you roll your eyes but you're smiling now, heat creeping up your neck. you look out the window and watch as the landscape begins to shift. the houses get bigger, set farther back from the street. gated communities with brick columns and wrought iron. the kind of places where you definitely don't belong.
"wait," you say, sitting up straighter. "this is where you live? like, this area?"
"further north," he says.
"of course you do," you murmur, and he laughs—low and genuine. that's where almost all of the wealthy people live. the absolute northernmost area of the island.
"what's that supposed to mean?"
"nothing. just..." you gesture vaguely at the massive houses passing by. "very you. very well off person who has everything figured out."
"very me," he repeats, smirking. "that an insult?"
"no. i just mean—" you're fumbling now. heat is creeping up your neck. "you probably have like a… a fountain, or something don't you?"
he doesn't answer, which is answer enough. you groan and cover your face with your free hand.
"oh my god. you do."
"came with the house," he says, and there's that edge again, like he was waiting for you to notice.
"rafe. nobody's house just comes with a fountain."
"mine did."
you're laughing now, and his hand tightens on yours. the streetlights get fewer and farther between. the trees grow taller, older, spanish moss dripping from the branches. you watch it all pass through the tinted window, hyperaware of the way his thumb is tracing circles against your palm.
"how much further?" you ask after a while.
"ten minutes."
your stomach flips. ten minutes until you're actually at his house. ten minutes until this stops being theoretical. you nod and look back out the window, biting the inside of your cheek. the road narrows. suddenly there are no more houses at all—just dense forest on either side.
"rafe?"
"yeah?"
"is it... big? your house?"
he glances at you, something unreadable in his expression. "figured you'd see for yourself."
"that's not an answer."
"you'll see in a minute."
"that's not reassuring," you mutter, and he laughs again, his hand leaving yours only to slide higher up your thigh. your breath catches slightly.
"you think too much," he says.
"no i don't."
"yeah, you do." he glances at you. "can hear it from here."
you huff, but you're smiling. "well, excuse me for being a little nervous about seeing where you live for the first time. seems like it deserves a reasonable amount of overthinking."
"why?"
"because—" you falter, searching for the words. your heart is actually pounding now. "because i've never been to your house before. because i don't know what to expect. because—"
"hey." his voice is lower now, and his hand squeezes your thigh. "s'just a house."
"yeah... with a fountain."
"i told you, it came with—"
"i know what you said," you interrupt, grinning despite yourself. "i'm just saying... it doesn't sound like just a house. it sounds like a place where people like me don't really... fit."
he's quiet for a moment. then the trees break, and you see it: the ocean, dark and endless, the last of the sunset turning the water to gold.
"oh," you breathe.
rafe's hand tightens on your thigh. "almost there."
you can't look away from the water. you've always known he had money. you'd have to be blind not to notice the car, the watch, the way he never looks at a price tag. but knowing it and seeing it are two different things.
he turns onto a private drive, oyster shells crunching under the tires. the forest opens up into something softer. sea grass and palmetto palms and flowering bushes you don't know the names of. it feels impossible to believe that there's a spot in a place like this for a girl like you.
"you alright over there?" he asks quietly, his eyes still on the road but his hand finding your thigh again.
you nod, not trusting your voice. your throat feels tight.
and then you see it. his house rising up ahead, low and modern with clean lines and huge windows that catch the last of the light. white siding, dark wood, a wraparound porch. there's a fountain in the circular drive.
you sit there, staring. this is his house. he actually lives here.
"told you," he says. "came with the house."
you let out a breathless laugh, but you're already unbuckling your seatbelt, already climbing out. the air smells like salt and jasmine and moss. the ocean is louder here.
rafe's already beside you, taking your duffel bag from your hand. "c'mon, baby."
he unlocks the front door and you follow him inside, and your breath catches. the space opens up in front of you: vaulted ceilings, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the ocean, furniture that looks expensive but lived-in. warm wood floors beneath your feet. the kitchen is all marble and stainless steel, and the entire back wall is glass.
but that's not what makes you stop in your tracks.
it's the sneakers by the door. one tipped over on its side. the heel scuffed. the coffee mug on the side table—there's still liquid inside it. cold by now, probably. the book left open on the arm of the couch, pages down. the spine is creased, well-loved. a hoodie draped over the back of a kitchen chair, slate grey. mail stacked on the console table. a ceramic bowl filled with keys. coins scattered among them. a receipt folded in half.
"oh wow," you whisper.
rafe's leaning against the doorframe, watching you. "what?"
"i don't know... you actually live here."
"well, yeah."
"no, i mean—" you gesture at the mug, the book, the shoes. "like you woke up here this morning. you drank coffee. you left a book on the couch. you're just... you exist here."
"yeah, baby." he's grinning now. "i live here."
you turn in a slow circle, taking it in. the throw blanket on the couch, worn smooth in places. the record player in the corner with a stack of vinyl beside it. you can see the edges of the album covers, the colors faded from sunlight. the way the light hits the kitchen island. there's a pen on the counter, uncapped. a grocery list stuck to the fridge with a magnet. the handwriting is unmistakably his—sharp, efficient, organized. there's a small framed photo on the mantle.
it's a much younger him and an older woman. she has his eyes.
"your mom?" you ask, not turning around.
"yeah," he says from behind you. "that's her."
you nod. you're standing in a photo of his life, looking at a photo of his mother, and something about it makes your chest feel tight. you don't know why exactly.
you wander into the kitchen, running your fingers along the cool granite. you open a cabinet without thinking and find glasses that are neatly stacked. you close it quickly, then you open another one. plates. another. bowls. you find a drawer filled with what looks like chaos: takeout menus, rubber bands, batteries, a phone charger with a frayed cord, business cards held together with a rubber band.
"this is a disaster," you say, gesturing at the chaos.
"yeah, well." he leans against the counter, crossing his arms. "that's where the random shit lives."
he has a junk drawer. like a normal person. and somehow that makes him feel more real.
you keep exploring, walking over to the refrigerator. there are photos held up with magnets. you pull open the fridge. it's surprisingly well-stocked. fresh vegetables, eggs, butter, a few bottles of expensive wine. there's a bottle of your favorite creamer on the second shelf.
"...is this mine?" you ask quietly, reaching for it.
he glances over from where he's started pulling things from the pantry. "hm?"
"the creamer."
"yeah."
your hand goes still. he bought this. he went to the store and bought the specific creamer you like and put it in his fridge knowing—knowing—that you'd eventually open this door and see it.
you don't say anything else. just put it back and close the fridge. your hands feel a little shaky. he just keeps moving, setting things on the counter. olive oil. garlic. a package of fresh pasta. basil in a small pot on the windowsill. he planned this. he really planned this.
"you're gonna cook?" you ask, wandering back over to the island, trying to sound casual.
"thought i'd make dinner." he's already pulling out a cutting board. "that alright with you?"
"yeah, i just—" you climb onto one of the barstools. "i didn't know you cooked."
"i don't really," he says, starting to chop garlic. "at least not all the time."
"so what, do you doordash?" you ask.
he stops chopping and looks at you, one eyebrow raised. "doordash?"
"i don't know." you shrug, smiling sheepishly. "i just thought you maybe had people bring you food or something."
"what am i, ninety?" he says flatly, going back to the garlic.
"you're almost forty."
he stops. looks at you again, his expression something between offended and amused. "that's rude."
you smile, and can't help but giggle. "i've been waiting to use that."
he shakes his head and goes back to chopping, but there's a small smile on his face. "old man," you mutter, and he flicks a piece of garlic at you without even looking.
you laugh again, ducking, and he pours you a glass of wine without asking. he slides it across the counter and you take a sip. it's cold and crisp. you watch him work, the knife against the board, the way he moves through the space like he's done this a thousand times. his forearms tanned and flexing. you take another sip of wine. stop staring.
the smell of garlic hits you suddenly, sharp and pungent, and your mouth waters. he's stirring something, and the pan hisses when he adds more ingredients. the smell becoming richer.
"so you cook couple times a week then?" you ask, genuinely curious now.
"yeah," he says, not looking up from what he's doing. "relaxes me."
you put that away for later. you take another sip of wine and notice him glance at you, then back at the stove.
"how long have you lived here?" you ask.
"couple years."
"do you like it?"
"yeah." he doesn't elaborate.
you wander away from the counter, drawn to the bookshelf in the living room. you run your fingers along the spines. cookbooks, mostly, but also novels you recognize, a few nonfiction titles about business, some memoirs. there's a small ceramic bowl on the shelf, filled with shells and smooth stones. you pick up one of the shells, turning it over in your hands. it's worn soft at the edges.
"you collect shells?" you call out.
"hm?" he appears in the kitchen doorway, wooden spoon in hand. "nah. just stuff i find."
you put it back and keep browsing. you find a photo album wedged between two books and pull it out, but you don't open it because that feels too invasive. there's a record player in the corner with a stack of vinyl beside it. you read the titles, trying to piece together who he is. old soul records sitting next to indie rock sitting next to classical. it doesn't match what you expected.
"you comin' back over here or you gonna take inventory of my whole house?" he calls out.
"just getting to know the place," you call back. you head back to the kitchen anyway, perching on the barstool again.
he's stirred the sauce, added something else. the kitchen smells incredible. your stomach rumbles, and he glances at you, his mouth curving slightly.
"almost ready," he says. "grab some plates from that cabinet." he nods toward one on the far side of the kitchen.
you hop down and pull out two plates, setting them on the counter beside him. he plates the pasta with ease, and without thinking, you lean up and press a quick kiss to his cheek. "thank you, rafe." you murmur.
he looks momentarily stunned, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly before he catches your chin with his free hand and tilts your face toward his. he kisses you properly, soft and warm before handing over the plate.
steam rises from it. you take a bite before you even sit back down, and make a small sound of approval without meaning to.
"not bad for a guy who survives on doordash, huh." he says, settling onto the stool next to you.
you laugh, nudging him with your elbow. "i didn't say you survive on doordash. i just—"
"you absolutely implied it."
"okay, fine. i thought you did. clearly i was wrong." you take another bite. "this is actually really good."
he takes a bite of his pasta, watching you. "you taste wine with this?" he asks, nodding at your glass.
"not yet," you take another sip of the wine. the flavors pair perfectly. "oh. wow."
"hm," he says, like that was the obvious choice all along, and goes back to eating.
you eat in comfortable silence for a while. it's easy, and you find yourself leaning slightly into his space, your knee brushing his under the counter. he doesn't move away. if anything, he shifts closer. his hand finds your lower back at one point, stays there for a moment while he reaches for his wine glass with the other, then moves away. he feeds you a bite of his pasta with his fork, watching you carefully as you taste it. your face flushes.
"this is really good," you say after a few minutes, your voice slightly smaller than before.
"you already said that."
"i know. but it is. like, genuinely."
he glances at you, then back at his plate. you watch him for a second, then go back to your own food. there's something intimate about eating together like this, sitting close in his kitchen, the ocean visible through the massive windows behind you.
when you're finished eating, you start to stand, reaching for his plate, but he catches your wrist gently.
"leave it," he says.
"rafe, i can—"
"sweetheart, just leave it."
you hesitate, then sit back down. he stands, rounding the island to rinse his hands in the sink. he leaves the plates where they are, just washes his hands and turns back to you.
"you wanna go for a walk?" he asks.
you look surprised. "now?"
"why not?"
you glance at the plates, then back at him. "the sun's almost gone."
"i know." he's already moving toward the glass doors that lead to the deck. "come on."
you follow him, and he doesn't wait for you to grab shoes. you slip off the barstool and just follow him outside. the air hits you immediately, cooler than this afternoon. salt-laced and clean. the sky is still holding onto the last traces of daylight, deep blue fading to violet at the horizon. the ocean sounds different. louder.
"oh my god," you breathe, stopping to look around. "this is—rafe, this is insane."
"you think so?" he says, and there's that slight curve to his mouth. he's watching you, not the view.
"you just— walk out here whenever you want?"
"pretty much."
you shake your head, laughing. the privilege of it is almost absurd. "you're so lucky. the beach back home is always packed with tourists."
"you can come here whenever you want," he says, and when you glance at him, he's already looking at you like he's imagining you here, coming back, making this a habit. "you know that, right?"
"really?" you ask, your voice softer now.
"yeah, baby. any time."
you walk a little further, the water getting closer. the sand is soft and still warm from the day, giving slightly under your weight. it's quiet out here. just you and him and the sound of the ocean.
"wait," you say suddenly, stopping. "do you swim out here?"
he huffs a laugh. "mm, sometimes."
"at night?"
"yeah."
"that's terrifying."
"nah." he tugs you closer, his arm sliding around your waist. "it's peaceful. we should sometime."
"it's dark," you counter, but you're grinning now, leaning into him. "what if there's like a shark or something?"
"wouldn't stand a chance against me."
you burst out laughing, shoving at his chest. "you're ridiculous."
"i'm serious." he's grinning too now, catching your hand before you can pull away completely. "what— you think i'm lettin' a shark get you?"
"oh my god, stop—"
but he's already pulling you in, kissing you mid-laugh. his hand cups the back of your neck, and you melt into it immediately. his other hand finds the small of your back, pulling you flush against him. he tastes like salt and wine. when he pulls back you're both smiling, both a little breathless.
he kisses you again, softer this time. "hi," he murmurs, teasing.
you pull back just enough to look at him, feeling heat creep up your neck. "hi," you say sheepishly, and he grins before leaning in to kiss you again—quick pecks along your jaw, your temple, the corner of your mouth.
you're still catching your breath when he pulls back to look at you. his thumb brushes across your bottom lip, slow enough to make your stomach flip.
"jesus..." he murmurs, almost to himself. "look at you." the way he says it makes your cheeks heat up.
"c'mere."
"i'm already here."
"not close enough."
heat floods your face and you kiss him again, because what else are you supposed to do when he looks at you like that? he smiles into it immediately, both hands gripping your waist as you melt against him. when you finally pull back, he's still looking at you with that same expression.
"what am i gonna do with you, huh?" he murmurs.
you pull back and look out at the water. the last of the sunlight is turning everything gold. the wind picks up, and you shiver slightly. your bare feet are cold against the sand.
rafe doesn't say anything. he just pulls off his zip up and drapes it over your shoulders before you can protest. it's warm from his body, and it swallows you—the sleeves falling past your wrists, the hem hitting mid-thigh. you wrap it around yourself and breathe in.
"alright," he says, taking your hand. "let's go back in before you freeze."
you follow him back up the beach, your fingers laced with his. when you reach the deck you notice your shoes still sitting there by the door. right next to his, like they belong there.
the warmth of the house wraps around you when you step back inside. the dishes are still on the counter. he's already moving past that, gesturing toward the couch. "c'mere, baby."
he picks up the remote and scrolls through something on the tv. a movie flickers to life on the screen, but you're not really watching. you're watching him. the way he moves. the way he tosses the remote onto the coffee table like he's done it a thousand times. he settles beside you on the couch, and you don't hesitate. you shift closer immediately, tucking yourself against his side. his arm comes around you properly, his hand settling at your waist, his fingers splaying wide against your ribs. the cotton of his shirt is soft beneath your palm. you can feel his heartbeat under your fingertips. it's faster than you expect.
"better?" he asks.
"much," you say.
he presses a kiss to the top of your head, then to your temple, then to the corner of your mouth. you turn slightly and catch his lips properly, and he makes a soft sound before pulling back. his hand comes up to cup the back of your neck, his thumb brushing the soft skin there, and he's kissing you again before you can take a full breath.
this kiss is different. slower. he takes his time, pressing his lips to yours once, twice, then deeper—his tongue tracing the seam of your mouth until you open for him. when he licks into your mouth, your stomach clenches and heat pools low between your thighs. you make a small sound against his mouth and he groans, pulling you closer.
his hand tightens on your neck—not rough, but firm. his other hand finds your waist and he's pulling you toward him, and you're moving without thinking, your knee sliding up onto the couch cushion.
suddenly you're half in his lap, your hands gripping his shoulders. he pulls you the rest of the way, adjusting you so you're straddling him properly. the kiss turns messy. his tongue slides against yours and he tastes like the wine from dinner, like salt air, like want. you press yourself against him and feel the hard line of his cock between your thighs where you need him most
his hands grip your hips and he pulls you tighter against him, harder. his fingers dig into the soft flesh there, and you whimper into his mouth, clenching around absolutely nothing.
"yeah?" he asks, and his voice is rough. "you like that?"
you nod, but it's not enough. you pull back just slightly, still straddling him, still breathing hard. your eyes meet his and for a second neither of you moves. you can feel the slight dampness between your legs, the way your panties are starting clinging to you. god, you're already wet for him and he hasn't even hardly touched you.
"please," you whisper, and your voice comes out small and broken and completely helpless. "i need you."
he watches you for a moment, and you can see him fighting it. fighting himself. and you're trembling slightly, still twitching against him, your hips moving in these tiny involuntary circles because you can't help it. you need friction. you need him.
"fuck, baby—" he pulls you back down, kissing you harder now, messier. like he's trying to devour you.
"need more," you whine against his mouth, the words coming out breathless and desperate. he groans into your neck, kissing along the line of your throat, his hands shaking slightly.
his free hand slides down your back, past your waist, and grips your ass, pulling you harder against him. you can feel exactly how much he wants you. the strain of his jeans, the hard heat of him pressing right where you need it most.
"please—" you say it against his mouth, just that one word, and he groans like you've actually hurt him.
for a moment it feels like it could go either way. like he could just keep going, like he could bend you over the back of this couch and—
but then he stops.
it's sudden enough that it takes your breath away. his hands still. his kiss gentles, though he keeps his mouth on yours for just a second longer. then he pulls back, and you can see the tension in his jaw, the way his breathing is ragged.
"hey—" he says quietly. "look at me."
you're already looking at him, but he reaches up anyway and cups your face with both hands, his thumbs settling on your cheeks. he tilts your chin up slightly, forcing your eyes to stay locked on his. up close like this, you can see exactly how much restraint this is costing him. his pupils are blown, his breathing heavy, a flush creeping up his neck.
"gotta be good for me, alright?" he says, and his voice is rough. rough in a way that makes your stomach clench. "can you do that? be patient for me?"
be patient? wait? you're not sure you can sit here and not combust. you nod, but your eyes are already tracking down to his mouth. to the way his lips are swollen from kissing you, the slight shine on his mouth. you want to lean in and taste him again so badly your whole body aches with it. your hips shift slightly, just an inch, testing—
"look at me," he repeats, not unkindly, and you snap your gaze back to his immediately, but it takes actual effort. like your body doesn't want to listen to anything but the pull toward him.
"good girl," he murmurs, and the praise hits you somewhere deep. his thumbs trace your cheekbones, gentle now, tender. "we're gonna do this right. but not tonight, yeah? tonight you're just gonna sit with me."
you nod again because you can't speak. because you're trembling slightly, something hot buzzing just beneath your skin. and he's holding your face like you're something precious and the contradiction of it—the softness and the absolute control—is making you dizzy. some part of you is thinking how long you can actually wait before you lose your mind.
he kisses your forehead, then releases your face. his hand finds your waist instead and settle there.
"c'mon," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple. then your temple. then the corner of your mouth. his breathing is still heavy. "sit with me."
but when you shift to move beside him on the couch, he pulls you back into his lap instead. his arms wrap around you from behind, anchoring you against his chest. you can feel him beneath you, still hard, but he's resting his chin on your shoulder like this is enough. like just holding you like this is enough for right now.
the movie plays on. you're not watching it. you're not even pretending to watch it. you're hyperaware of every point of contact between your bodies. his arms around your waist, his chin on your shoulder, his hands occasionally drifting lower before he catches himself. his breathing is steady now, but you can feel his heartbeat. fast, still affected by what just happened between you.
after a while, he presses a kiss to the side of your neck. "you okay?" he murmurs.
"yeah,"
"good." another kiss, this time to the sensitive spot behind your ear. you feel it shoot straight down your spine. his hand tightens on your waist. he doesn’t make it easy.
you sit like that for a while, existing in this space between wanting and waiting. his breathing eventually steadies, but his hands don't stop moving, tracing patterns on your ribs, your waist, your back.
eventually, you shift position slightly, turning so you can rest your head in his lap. his hand immediately finds your hair, fingers threading through it gently, stroking from your crown down to the ends. you have no idea what's happening on screen anymore.
"mm, you're gettin' sleepy," he says after a while, his fingers still moving through your hair.
"'m not," you murmur, but your eyes are already closing.
"no? cuz it looks like it."
"but i'm awake," you protest, but your words are soft, slurring slightly.
his fingers keep moving through your hair, up and down, up and down, a small, knowing smiling playing on his lips.
"c'mon, baby," he says softly. "let's get you to bed."
you want to argue, but you're too tired. so you just nod, and he helps you sit up, his hand steadying you. your legs are a little unsteady. the darkness wraps around you. your bare feet are cold against the hardwood floor. but his hand is warm against the small of your back.
the bedroom is at the end of the hall. when he pushes the door open, you stop in the doorway for a second. clean lines, dark wood furniture, a massive bed with crisp white sheets. there's a watch box on the dresser, a book on the nightstand, a pair of his shoes by the closet door. it smells like him.
"bathroom's through there," he says, nodding toward a door on the far wall. his hand is still on your back.
you nod and cross the room. the bathroom door is slightly ajar, and when you push it open, the light flickers on automatically. it's beautiful. all white marble and clean glass. you step inside, your bare feet cold against the tile, and that's when you see it.
a toothbrush. sitting on the counter beside the sink. in your favorite color.
you freeze. your hand hovers over the counter. it's just a toothbrush. just plastic. but he bought this. he put it here. your eyes move to the folded fabric beside it. silk pajamas, soft and expensive. your size. you reach out and touch them, the material slipping through your fingers like water.
there are bottles lined up near the shower. you pick one up, turning it over in your hands. light and floral. the scent hits you immediately—something that reminds you of the perfume you wear on special occasions.
your hands are shaking slightly when you set it back down.
you hear him before you see him. his presence fills the doorway. when you turn, he's leaning against the frame with his arms crossed, watching you.
your throat tightens.
he pushes off the doorframe and crosses to you slowly. his arms slide around your waist from behind, pulling you back against his chest. you can feel the warmth of him. his chin rests on the top of your head.
"the toothbrush," you say. your voice sounds small. "the pajamas. the shampoo."
"yeah," he says simply.
"how long ago did you buy those?"
he's quiet for a second. "while," he says finally. "been thinkin' about you stayin' over for a bit."
you turn around in his arms to face him. his eyes are soft, patient.
"so you've been planning this," you say.
"yeah." he doesn't sound apologetic.
you've never had anyone be this thoughtful. this intentional. your ex-boyfriends never remembered how you took your coffee. never planned for you. never looked at you like you were something precious. something they wanted to keep.
"you okay with that?"
"yeah," you whisper. "yeah, i'm okay with that."
he kisses your hair once, soft and tender before letting you go. "go get ready," he murmurs. "i'll be in bed."
you nod and he leaves, and you're alone again with the toothbrush and the pajamas and the shampoo that smells like you.
you change into the silk pajamas (they fit perfectly, of course they do), and brush your teeth with the toothbrush he bought. when you catch your reflection in the mirror, your cheeks are flushed and your eyes are bright.
when you step back into the bedroom, he's already under the covers, propped up on one elbow. the lamp on his nightstand casts everything in warm gold. he's shirtless, the sheets pooled around his waist. for a second you just stand there.
his eyes follow you as you cross the room like he's taking his time appreciating the sight of you in pajamas he bought for you. in his room. in his house
"c'mere," he says, and you slip under the sheets beside him.
for a moment, you're not sure where to put yourself. your hands hover awkwardly.
then he huffs out a quiet laugh and his arm reaches across the space between you. he pulls you against his chest without hesitation, his hand splaying wide across your back. your bare skin meets his warmth, and you suck in a breath.
"there," he murmurs, and then he's kissing you—soft and slow and deep. once, twice. his hand slides up into your hair, tilting your face toward his. you make a small sound against his mouth, and he pulls you closer, his chest pressing against yours. deeper. like he's trying to commit the feeling of you to memory.
when he finally breaks the kiss, he's breathing harder.
"goodnight, sweetheart." he whispers, and his voice is rough.
"goodnight, rafe." you murmur back, settling against him, your cheek pressed to his chest. your bare hand rests over his heart. you can feel it racing. his arm wraps around you properly now. you can feel his chin rest against the top of your head. his hand moves slowly up and down your back. he's still awake. still aware.
you're hyperaware of how little you're wearing. how close you are.
eventually, your breathing evens out, and you drift off like that—wrapped around him, his hand on your back, the sound of the ocean through the window.
you wake up slowly and for a second, you forget where you are. the ceiling isn’t quite right. the angle of the sun is wrong. then you remember. you're in his bed.
you turn your head, and he's right there. still asleep. his face is turned toward you on the pillow, one arm stretched out between you. his breathing is slow and even. his mouth is slightly parted, his jaw relaxed. his hair is messy, falling across his forehead. without his usual intensity, he looks younger. softer.
you've never seen him like this. the morning light catches on the stubble along his jaw, which is thicker this morning than it was last night. you want to reach out and touch him, but you're afraid to wake him.
slowly, carefully, you reach out anyway.
your fingers hover over his face for a second before you let them settle against his jaw. the stubble is rough under your fingertips, coarser than you expected. you trace the line of it, feather-light. his skin is warm. you move higher, brushing your thumb along his cheekbone.
your fingers move to his temple, then his hairline, smoothing back the strands that have fallen across his forehead. you let your hand rest there for a moment, your palm against the side of his face.
and then it hits you all at once.
you're in love with him.
your heart kicks into overdrive, your hand still on his face, and you can't breathe. you're completely, irrevocably in love with him. this man who bought you a toothbrush and silk pajamas weeks ago. who remembered how you take your coffee. who kissed you like you were the only thing that mattered. who's been planning to have you here all along.
he stirs.
it's small at first—just a shift in his breathing. then his eyes flutter open, still heavy with sleep, and he's looking right at you.
his mouth curves immediately.
"caught you," he says, his arm sliding around your waist. he pulls you closer.
heat floods your face. "no," you say anyway, but you're smiling despite yourself.
"no?" he repeats, his eyes sharper now. then he leans down and kisses you before you can deny it again.
"mornin'," he murmurs, pressing his forehead against yours.
"good morning," you say back.
he pulls back just enough to look at you, his hand still on your back, his eyes dark. "what's goin' on in that head of yours?"
you shake your head. "nothing."
his eyes narrow slightly. his thumb traces slow circles on your skin—bare skin.
"mm."
he studies you for another moment, then leans down and kisses you again—deeper this time. slower. his other hand comes up to cup your jaw, tilting your face toward his. you kiss him back, your fingers curling into his shoulder, and he makes a low sound. when you look at him, there's that slight curve to his mouth. but his eyes are darker than before.
"c'mere," he murmurs, and he's pulling you up to straddle his lap without breaking eye contact. his hands steady you at the hips, and then they move—sliding up your sides, tracing the curve of your waist beneath the thin silk. his thumbs brush the underside of your breasts and you suck in a breath.
"you're okay?" he asks.
"more than okay,".
he kisses you again, and you let yourself sink into it. your hands find his bare chest, his skin warm and solid beneath your palms. you can feel his heartbeat racing. his hand slides up your back, and suddenly the only thing between you is silk and the awareness of what's happening. the way your body fits against his. the way his hands know exactly where to touch you.
when you finally pull back, you're both breathing harder. "i want—" you start, and then you're not sure how to finish that sentence.
"i know," he says quietly. "but not yet. wanna do it right with you." you reply with a nod, even though what you want right now has nothing to do with right.
he brushes a strand of hair from your face. "c'mon," he murmurs. "let me take care of you. coffee?"
“yes please.”
he moves to get out of bed, and you follow the shift, adjusting slightly as he sits up, your legs still tangled with his. he disappears for a moment, and then you hear the soft pad of his footsteps in the hallway, the quiet clink of ceramic against wood.
when he appears in the doorway again, he's holding a mug in one hand—the same blue one from yesterday—and a small plate balanced in the other. still shirtless. still rumpled. his hair still falling across his forehead.
he sets the mug carefully on the nightstand. the plate follows, and then he just stands there for a second, looking at you. his gaze feels intimate, like he's looking at something that belongs to him.
"you look good in my bed,"
your face heats, and you're smiling sheepishly. "rafe—"
he sits on the edge of the mattress, and you shift closer without thinking. his hand finds your hair automatically, smoothing it back from your face. he stops, his hand stilling in your hair. his eyes move over your face.
you glance over and watch as steam curls lazily from the rim of the mug. you can smell it from here—rich and warm and sweet, exactly how you like it.
"still can’t believe you remembered the creamer," you murmur.
"’course i did." it's not a question. his hand slides down to cup your jaw. "c'mon. sit up."
you push yourself up, the sheets pooling around your waist, and reach for the mug. it's warm in your hands. you take a sip, and it's perfect.
he doesn't ask if it's okay. he just watches you, his hand resting on your thigh beneath the sheets, his thumb moving in that slow rhythm. but his eyes don't leave your face.
you take another sip, and his mouth curves slightly.
"what?" you ask.
"nothin'." but he's still watching you.
you set the mug back on the nightstand and reach for the toast, breaking off a corner. you take a bite, and you wrinkle your nose slightly.
"oh, so that's how we're doing this," he says, and there's amusement in his voice. "you're gonna judge my old man breakfast?"
"i'm not judging," you say, but you're grinning. "i'm just observing. burnt toast and coffee. very... vintage of you."
he leans back slightly, his hand still on your thigh, and gives you a mock offended look. "vintage?"
"sorry, i meant to say geriatric."
"geriatric," he repeats, shaking his head. "you're callin' me geriatric while you're sitting in my bed eating the breakfast i made you?"
you bite your lip, trying not to smile. "when you put it like that—"
"so what does that make you?" he asks, leaning closer. his hand drifts higher on your thigh. "you're the one who likes old men, so what's that say about your taste?"
heat floods your cheeks. "my taste is clearly terrible."
"terrible, huh?" he's grinning now, that cocky smirk on his face. "you seemed to think my taste was pretty good last night on the couch."
"rafe—"
"what?" he says innocently. "i'm just sayin'."
you throw a pillow at him, and he catches it easily, laughing. but then he tosses it aside and leans over, kissing you softly. when he pulls back, he's still smiling.
"finish your breakfast, baby. before it gets cold," he says, his hand giving your thigh one last squeeze before he stands up and heads to the bathroom.
you watch him go, your heart still racing, and take another bite of the burnt toast.
he comes back a little while later, showered and almost dressed, and the morning light catches on the water droplets still clinging to his hair. you're still in bed, cradling the empty coffee mug, watching him move around the room.
"you alright?" he asks, pulling on a black tshirt.
"yeah," you say, and you mean it.
he bends down and kisses the top of your head, his hand lingering on your hair for a moment. "you have to be back soon?"
“i told my mom this afternoon.” the reminder of reality crashes down like cold water. you don't want to leave.
"mmm.” he says quietly, like he can read your mind, "you could text her. tell her you're stayin' another night."
your heart jumps for a moment, then another wave of reality hits you. "not sure that i’d be so lucky."
"worth a shot, yeah?" he sits on the edge of the bed and takes your hand, lacing his fingers through yours. "i want you here."
your throat tightens.
"i know," you whisper.
for a second, you let yourself imagine it. another morning. another cup of coffee. another night falling asleep with the windows open and the ocean just outside. he studies your face for a second before leaning in to kiss you again, slow this time. his thumb brushes your cheek when he pulls away.
"alright," he murmurs. "we'll worry about that later."
you nod. later can wait a little longer.
𝑎/𝑛: EEEEKKKKKK i love them so fucking much i can’t. i love love. i want to be love.
i’m willing to bet at least a few of you were wondering where a lil special something was… and trust me, i get it LOL. but i really wanted to focus on the emotional aspect of their relationship and make sure their weekend together paid off emotionally, rather than risk having that swallowed up by smut. before i even started writing, i knew i wanted the heart of this chapter to be reader realizing she’s completely in love with him.
that being said… i am planning to write a yummy smutty bonus that’s basically an alternate ending to stay a while. 🤭 so stay tuned!!!
please let me know what you guys think via comments and reblogs! pls pls pls feel free to send asks and requests as well! i promise i don’t bite ♡
he’s such a nickname abuser. ‘pretty girl’ and ‘sweetheart’ are his go-to, but sometimes he switches to more cheesier terms of endearment to call you in front of other people just to embarrass you—pookie, munchkin, shnookums? yes! and hes loud about it too! this is my official statement that in another universe dean would pair extremely well with a shy, quiet reader. he’d love pulling her out of her comfort zone with his silly antics.
as his girlfriend, you’re entitled to receive random pecks and kisses all the time. i’m talking all the time. if you’re watching a movie together and he’s feeling a little neglected, he’ll grab your arm and kiss the entire length of it, not missing an inch, until you cuddle him. if you’re standing in line for something, he’ll be reading instructions while leaving kisses on your temple and in your hair. if you’re hanging out with friends and you’re on the couch while he’s sitting between your legs, he’ll be kissing your thighs the whole time until you gently kick him to stop.
he finds a random mic and sings you cheesy love songs when you’re having bad days, and him being so bad at it makes you laugh. dean makes it his mission not to stop until you’re laughing your ribs off and feeling better. sometimes it ends with him pulling you in to dance, or just holding you in his arms. those cuddles are your favorite because there’s so much love and safety in them. he’s genuinely the only person who can lighten your mood immediately with his stupid jokes, stupid kisses, and stupid big arms.
he’s a sniffer, and he would die and come back for the scent of your body. he perks up immediately, gorgeous green eyes finding yours the second he smells that coconut and vanilla scent in a packed room. he has a dramatic habit of randomly sniffing all over you and pretending like he’s high off it. it doesn’t matter if you’re alone or with other people. if you’re laying down together or hugging, his nose is immediately buried in your hair.
he cherishes your routines together. morning routines where he lets you shower first while he stays in bed for a couple extra minutes, then he goes after, and you brush your teeth together while he gets dressed and fixes his hair, and you do the same in front of the counter you’ve definitely used for more than just getting ready. eating breakfast together. post-dinner walks where he tangles your hands together. cooking dinner on friday nights—well, you do most of the cooking while he cleans and does basic prep, because if he’s in charge, you’re definitely eating burnt food. and the nightly gossip sessions, both of you with face masks on, leaning on your elbows facing each other. he makes you smile so much with all the locker room gossip your cheeks hurt, and you tell him campus rumors while he lets out theatric gasps.
besides physical touch and quality time, his love language is definitely gift giving. mention one thing one time, and boom—you have it next day or for a special occasion. he never runs out of gift ideas. it ranges from material things to more meaningful ones, like love letters he gets embarrassed about giving you.
to conclude, dean would be an amazing boyfriend. he’d be loyal and fully devoted to you. in his eyes, you would be the girl for him.
✶ notary nsfw content. hello world.... i am back with a small drabble that i wrote in 10 minutes before i upload my long ahh fic
sam winchester is the most respectful, polite and soft spoken man you've ever met. the one you would be proud to introduce to your parents. but behind closed doors? he can be a fucking menace.
your high-pitched whimpers are filling the impala. hands clawing at his arms, his hair, abs, almost everywhere, as sam's on top of you pounding himself into you so deep, you can feel him in your stomach.
your parents think you're on a movie date. i mean, he showed up on your doorstep with flowers and puppy eyes, who would not believe him? who would think that he would have you begging for mercy for an hour straight?
the windows are getting fogged up, your body is probably on it's 10th orgasm, but sam is nowhere close to stopping.
"sam-" you choke on a moan, because sam is choking you himself. his hand is tight around your throat, just enough for your world and senses to narrow to only him and nothing else. and it's working. your eyes are rolling to the back of your head, you're seeing white, you almost can't breathe but it all just feels so good.
he leans down to capture your lips into another messy kiss, filled with tongue, spit and desire. you struggle to kiss him back, because you just can't seem to stop moaning.
"look at me" he says between his own groans and whimpers.
you try. you really try to. but it's all just too much. too much pleasure. your body's almost gone numb.
"fuckin' look at me or i'll stop" he urges now, just with a hint of desperation.
that's when you got desperate. "no- please" you whimpered, fluttering your eyes open.
and god, he has never looked better. sweaty, rosy cheeks, eyes filled with lust and desire. but then a small smirk appeared on his face and before you could register anything, his second hand wraps around your throat too and he starts rocking his hips impossibly fast inside you.
dean had gone inside the gas station, surely scoping out the whole place in desperate search of the pie section in the mini bakery. which left you and sam to pass the time amongst yourselves.
it hadn’t even been a full two minutes until sam cramped himself in the backseat of the impala, practically pouncing on you against the leather seats, which quickly began to grow sticky from the shared sweat. the windows fogged, and baby’s metal frame rocked above the parking lot’s pavement. sam was balls deep inside you, rocking and grinding his hips to sheath his fat cock through your meaty walls.
“g.. god—mm, fuck, sam—” your fingers threaded through the brunette strands on his head, clutching in time with the strong clench your pussy gave him, pulling him into you in both ways. sam moaned against your lips before sealing them with his own, a low grumble vibrating from his adam’s apple as you continued to pull him down by his hair.
the mutual gush between your bodies rang in your ears and coated the seats of dean’s precious car. sam ducked his head until it was snugly tucked into the crook between your neck and shoulder, placing hot, slobbery kisses and sucking bruises on the skin of your collarbones.
sam shuddered as he came inside you, feeling his release begin to travel back to your opening and leak over the leather beneath the two of you. your lips clashed together once more as you rode out your highs, breaking with the quick sound of your mixed saliva, right as the bell to the gas station doors rang again, signaling dean’s return.
𓂅 synopsis . . . years after meeting in medical school, falling in love, and building careers together as doctors, you and matt are forced to learn how to exist as nothing more than professional co-workers who are following a quiet, but also mutual breakup. however, when you get a new boyfriend a while later, matt tells himself he’s happy for you, while concealing his struggle to bury his memory of loving you.
𓂅 contains . . . unresolved angst, heavy grief over a past relationship, implied depression/loneliness, right person wrong time trope, co-workers to lovers trope, light arguing, crying, yearning, emotional burnout, a slight plot twist at the end? some flashbacks, pet name use, but literally no happy ending lol
𓂅 written by @delilahsturniolo. do not copy, steal, or modify my works. if you are taking any inspiration from this, please ask me first before posting and credit me in your description. happy reading! :)
this is sorta proofread but not really cause i got a bit lazy so im sorry if theres some spelling or grammar mistakes :<
❝WHY CAN’T YOU COME STITCH ME UP?❞ 🫀
the fluorescent lights in the emergency room never seemed to dim. even at 8:30 in the night, the hospital was still alive and buzzing as monitors beeped steadily behind closed curtains. stretchers rolled down the polished hallways, overhead announcements echoed through the speakers every few minutes, pulling doctors and nurses in every direction at once. it was chaos, but it was the kind both you and matt had grown used to years ago.
“get another x-ray in thirty,” you said, flipping through a patient’s chart before handing it back to a nurse with a grateful smile. “thank you.” she kindly answered.
you barely had time to take two steps before another staff member caught your attention. “excuse me, doctor?” you turned around at the voice.
“room eighteen’s ct came back.” they informed you.
“i’m on my way.” you replied kindly. the busy environment around youbwas complete havoc. but it was also normal, completely normal for a workplace like this.
you rounded the corner toward radiology when another familiar figure stepped out of a patient’s room, pulling a stethoscope from around his neck.
matt. a face you recognized all too well. he looked just as exhausted as you felt, his brunette hair was slightly disheveled, sleeves rolled to his forearms, hospital badge clipped very crookedly onto his scrub top.
he glanced up from the chart in his hands. “…hey.”
“hey.” the corner of your mouth turned up slightly at the sound of his voice. you still found it comforting, it brought you a sense of warmth and relief no one else could bring you.
the exchange was automatic, comfortable, and professional like it usually had been for a while now. “how’s room twelve?” you asked him casually.
he sighed. “better than they were three hours ago.”
“that’s something.” you replied.
“yeah.” he scratched the back of his head. the conversation could’ve ended there, like most of them did these days. but, you stopped yourself before fully walking away.
“actually…” you turned back around to face him again. “are you doing anything friday night?”
he looked back up, there was the smallest pause that followed. “well, that depends.”
you smiled. “it’s my birthday.”
his expression softened almost immediately. obviously, he knew that. he could never ever even imagine himself forgetting it. “happy early birthday.” matt spoke softly.
“thanks.” you shifted the charts against your hip. “a few people from the hospital are getting dinner after the evening shift, like a little celebration…you should come, it’ll be fun.”
for a second he simply just looked at you, not searching for hidden meaning, just…surprised you’d even asked him, or wanted him to be there. “yeah.” he nodded once. “i’d like that.”
“perfect, the reservation is at 7:30, don’t be late!” you chirped out.
one corner of his mouth lifted. “i’m never late.”
you gave him a look. “…you once showed up forty minutes late to class.”
“that was years ago, and only one time!” he laughed, it slipped out of his mouth so effortlessly, it felt like a breath of fresh air.
“you literally forgot we had an exam, matt.” you raised your eyebrows at him tauntingly.
matt began to speak, “in my defense—”
“don’t.” you laughed, the sound seemed to catch both of you off guard, because for the briefest moment…it felt familiar, natural.
then another overhead alert shattered the moment. “dr. sturniolo to icu.” matt glanced toward the elevators. “welp, that’s me.”
“see you friday.” you cleared your throat awkwardly, the tension was so thick you could slice it with a knife.
“see you.” matt took one last glance at you before walking off. you watched him disappear down the hallway before turning back toward your own patient. however, neither of you noticed the nurse at the station smiling to herself. she’d worked there long enough to remember when the two of you practically lived in these hallways together.
A FEW YEARS AGO . . .
the ER had looked exactly the same, except you were both younger, residents fresh out of med school, running almost entirely on caffeine.
“you absolutely did not, matt!” your voice beamed
“I DID!!” he laughed, nudging your shoulders.
you were laughing so hard you nearly dropped the stack of patient charts in your arms. matt was beside you, carrying two coffees. “the head doctor literally asked who forgot to order the chest x-ray.” he exclaimed, tone cheery.
“because it was you who forgot!” you laughed again as he dramatically pretended to look offended by what you said, the sound of your laughter mixing with his echoed through the hallway.
a nurse passing by smiled. “you two are entirely too cheerful for people who’ve been working for over twenty hours now.”
“it’s sleep deprivation,” matt answered immediately.
“we’ve lost all sense of reality.” your response immediately followed after his. “he tried prescribing tylenol to himself before he’d even had coffee this morning,” you added.
matt gasped dramatically. “that information was confidential!”
you bumped your shoulder into his. “confidentiality doesn’t apply to your embarrassing moments.”
“i’m reporting you for bullying.” he joked, you rolled your eyes.
he handed you one of the coffees. as you took it, your fingers brushed his. it was warm, familiar. without thinking, you smiled, and he smiled right back, effortless, like it was the easiest thing in the world. because during that time, it was.
PRESENT TIME.
your pager buzzed sharply against your hip, the memory disappeared as quickly as it had come. you blinked, and just like that you were back in the hallway, back to years later, where the only thing you and matt shared anymore were patient updates, consults, and polite conversations between shifts.
A FEW DAYS LATER . . .
friday, or—your birthday, came faster than either of you expected. the restaurant is loud in the comfortable kind of way, silverware clinks against plates. someone at another table laughs too hard at a joke. candles flicker inside little glass holders, reflecting against the windows that overlook the city. it’s one of the few nights most of your friends from work have somehow managed to get the same evening off after a shift, and gather together.
you smooth down your sparkly, and elgegant dress as you stand near the front with your boyfriend, waiting for everyone else to arrive. “you nervous?” he asks, lacing his fingers through yours.
“a little.” you smile awkwardly.
“what? because i’m meeting everyone?”
“yep.”
he laughs. “i’ll survive.” before you can answer, the restaurant door opens.
matt walks in, he still carries himself exactly the same. his hands are tucked into the pockets of his coat. his eyes slightly tired from another twelve-hour shift, and his hair a little messy from the wind. he spots the group first, and then he spots you. he smiles politely, “happy birthday.”
“thanks for coming.” your eyes lock with him. he steps closer, except his eyes drift naturally to your hand that’s intertwined with someone else’s. just for a second, it’s almost impossible to notice, but his smile never drops.
you suddenly realize. “right—” your stomach twists. “um, matt…this is ethan, my boyfriend.”
your boyfriend smiles immediately. “i’ve heard a lot about you.”
matt looks at him, then back at you, and then offers his hand.“nice to meet you.”
ethan shakes it. “same here.”
if anyone were watching from another table, they’d never guess you and matt had once shared a tiny apartment during med school, or survived thirty-hour rotations together, or fallen asleep over textbooks on the same couch, or how many times he’s carried you from your desk to your bed when you fell asleep studying, cuddling you shortly after, or how you planned a future together. they would never know the history between you two that was now tucked away completely, as if there had never been anything there in the first place.
“come on,” someone calls from the table.
“birthday girl’s here!”
everyone starts stitting down, you end up across from matt with ethan right beside you. someone orders appetizers, someone starts telling an embarrassing story, everyone laughs, and matt laughs too.
matt asks ethan questions, like where he works, and how long you two have been together. he’s polite, he nods at every answer, he even smiles at ethan before speaking again, “take care of her.” it’s said lightly, almost jokingly.
ethan just grins. “that’s the plan.”
matt nods once. “good.” you catch his eyes for just a second. there’s warmth inside of it, laced with kindness, nothing bitter, not at all, because that’s not the kind of person matt is.
the cake arrives eventually, its your favorite kind. everyone sings, of course, you’re embarrassed and shy, blushing the entire time as ethan kisses your temple while everyone cheers dramatically.
someone whistles, someone pretends to gag, you laugh so hard you nearly knock over your water. across the table—matt smiles, a real one. you’re happy, you’re laughing, and despite everything…he still likes seeing that, it means everything to him even all these years later.
later, everyone starts splitting the bill, and hugging goodbye, and also making plans that everyone knows will probably get canceled because hospital schedules are impossible.
you go up and hug matt, it’s brief and friendly. “thanks again for coming.”
“wouldn’t ever miss your birthday.” he replies politely.
the conversation ends just as quickly as it had started with a simple, “drive safe,” and “you too,” in response. you smile, ethan wraps an arm around your shoulders as the two of you walk toward his car, you don’t look back.
matt watches you leave, and for a second, he remembers another night. with a different parking lot, a different version of you, when you two were dating.
FLASHBACK . . .
you were both so exhausted, still wearing your scrubs after a sixteen-hour day. you had been complaining about how your feet hurt while he carried your coffee for you, insisting that you were incapable of walking and drinking at the same time.
“you’re so dramatic,” he teased.
you rolled your eyes. “i just spent twelve hours saving lives, matt.”
“you also almost walked into a door because you were staring at your notes.” matt tilted his head at you playfully.
“that is unrelated!” he laughed at your response, and you smiled despite yourself, he gently leaned in to kiss you, you both closed your eyes, feeling the tension of your work day release as you just melted into each other. after matt pulled away, you both stood there under the parking lot lights, too happy to care about anything else but the two of you.
back then, the future felt so easy to tthink about, you talked about residency programs, apartments, maybe getting a dog someday. maybe a house. maybe even a family. everything was a “when,” and never an “if,” scenario.
matt remembers looking at you that night and thinking that somehow, after everything you had survived together, the hardest part was over. he didn’t know then that the hardest part would be learning how to live without you by his side.
PRESENT TIME . . .
matt snapped back into reality immediately as he waits, he always waits until everyone else leaves, it’s just a habit of his. he unlocks his car and slides into the driver’s seat before shutting the car door, the silence of the night suddenly feeling louder than ever.
for a while, he just sits there. the dashboard glows softly, the light reflecting on his face, extenuating his features. his phone buzzes suddenly, interrupting the silence, its just another one of his co-workers in the emergency department asking about tomorrow’s rounds. he ignores it.
instead…his eyes drift toward the empty passenger seat that you used to sit in, he remembers your birthday years ago, in med school, when you two were inseparable.
you’d insisted instant ramen counted as a birthday dinner because neither of you could afford anything else, you wore one of his hoodies because your apartment’s heating system was broken. he’d stolen a cupcake from the student lounge, you’d jokingly called him a criminal. he’d told you, “for you? absolutely.” you’d laughed so hard that day you’d cried.
he remembers thinking—one day, i’m going to marry her.
his chest tightens at the memory. slowly…he reaches toward the center console and opens the small compartment, inside there’s an old velvet box. he already knows it’s there, because it’s always been there. his fingers hesitate before picking it up, the box is worn now, the corners softened with time and heartbreak.
he flips it open, and a beautiful diamond ring catches the dim light from the parking lot, it was simple yet so elegant. it was exactly what you’d once pointed out in a jewelry store window years ago. ethan would never know that, he wouldn’t know as much about you as matt does.
“ehhhh….nothing huge,” you’d said that day. “i’d rather it looked like something i’d actually wear every day, simple but still pretty, y’know?”
he’d remembered, every single detail. he’d bought it three months before everything fell apart, three months before the conversations became shorter, before work consumed both of you, before exhaustion took over, before neither of you knew how to ask for what you needed anymore, before the breakup that hadn’t involved screaming, or cheating, or any sort of betrayal.
just two people who loved each other, and somehow still couldn’t make it work no matter how much you wanted it to. matt suddenly remembers the night it all ended between you guys, the worst part of it wasn’t even the words said itself, it was that it didn’t even involve screaming or yelling…it was just so full of bottled up hurt that had erupted that very night.
matt remembers that you were sitting on the kitchen floor of your guys’s apartment, still wearing your hospital badge because neither of you had even bothered changing after your shifts, there were two untouched cups of coffee on the counter, you had been waiting for him to come home.
“i don’t know how to keep doing this,” you had whispered.
matt just looked at you, exhausted. it was all he had the energy to do at that point. “doing what?”
“feeling like i’m alone while i’m with you.” the words had left your mouth before you could even think about them.
but he knew you meant them, and you knew he didn’t mean to make you feel that way. “baby, i’m trying,” he’d said quietly.
“i know you are, and i appreciate that more than ever.” you’d looked down. “but that’s the problem. i know you’re trying. i’m trying too. and somehow we’re still managing to hurt each other. i barely even see you anymore, matt. and when i do…we just argue.”
he sat beside you, but neither of you reached for the other, and for the first time in years, being close didn’t feel like enough. “do you still love me?” he asked, his voice shaking.
you’d cried before you answered, because the answer was obvious. “yes, i never stopped. i couldn’t ever stop loving you.”
his eyes closed. “i love you too, so damn much it hurts.” his voice wavered as he spoke. that specifically was what made things so difficult, the fact that neither of you stopped loving each other, you just stopped knowing how to be happy together.
you never even knew he was going to propose, that there had been a reservation at your favorite restaurant, that he’d even asked your parents for permission, that he’d spent weeks carrying this ring around because he couldn’t wait for the right moment. but there just…hadn’t been one. before he could even get on one knee, and devote his life long love to you, everything just fell apart. it never happened, the future you had planned out. he bought the ring when an anticipated forever with the woman he loved most still felt like something you both had time to reach. what he hadn’t expected, was that time would run out before he even knew it.
matt’s thumb brushes over the diamond. outside, he sees you through the windshield, ethan opens the passenger door for you, and you smile at him, you laugh about something, and then the car pulls away, its taillights disappear into traffic. matt watches until he can’t anymore. only then does the first tear fall from his eyes. he laughs once, quietly, not filled with any sort of amusement, however.
“good,” he whispers imperceptibly. “i’m glad you’re happy.” his voice breaks on the last word, he closes the ring box carefully and places it back into the compartment. not completely because he’s waiting, or that he thinks someday you’ll come back to him like he wishes you would, but because after all these years he still hasn’t figured out how to let go of the future he’d once carried in a little box. maybe he won’t ever be the cure to making you happy. and if he can’t be, at least someone else can be that person for you.
⊹ 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐓𝐎𝐘. ── ⦂ minors are not allowed to interact.
ִ ⟡ 𝐂𝐀𝐒𝐓 ˖ dean winchester ⅋ f!reader. ❜ ࿐ ⊹ ׂ
🖊️ ❛ 𓂃 it turns out that his gun has more than just one use. content ♥︎ warnings. gunplay, rough motel sex, impact play, creampie, light bondage, strong language.
dean winchester is a horndog.
it’s no secret. it’s not something he hides. it’s a fundamental, baked-in part of his being, like his love for his car or his questionable taste in music. and you love it. you love the way his eyes darken with a specific kind of hunger that’s reserved just and only for you, the way his hands always seem to find their way to your body, no matter where you are. he loves the idea of doing just about anything with you, and you’re always, always willing to play.
right now, you can’t see the look on his face, but you can feel it. your face is pressed into the cheap motel mattress, the scent of stale fabric and him filling your senses. your hands are pulled tight behind you, his worn leather belt cinching your wrists together, the buckle digging slightly into your skin. he has you on your knees, ass in the air, completely at his mercy.
and you wouldn’t have it any other way.
your ass is on fire, a deep, pleasant throb radiating from the globes of your cheeks. they’re swollen from where he’d been smacking you, his big, rough calloused palm leaving stinging prints that were already turning into bruises. he’d fucked you just as hard, a frantic, desperate rhythm that left you breathless and seeing stars.
he hasn’t pulled out yet, but the motion has stopped. he’s just sitting back on his heels, his weight a comforting pressure on your calves, his cock still buried deep inside you. you can feel yourself clenching around him, your slick walls trying to coax another thrust out of him. your hole is sopping, utterly ruined and dripping his cum down your inner thighs in thick, milky trails.
a low chuckle rumbles through his chest. “look ‘atcha,” he growls, his voice thick with satisfaction. “so sweet and tight. took about every lil’ drop, baby.”
he finally slides out of you, and the sound is obscene, a wet, sloppy noise that makes you whine at the sudden emptiness. you feel a cool draft hit your wet skin. he stays kneeled behind you, and you know he’s just admiring his handiwork. you can picture it perfectly: his cock, slick with your wetness, a perfect white ring of his own cream still clinging to the base of the head. he’s probably got that smug, shit-eating grin on his face.
you feel his fingers tracing the edges of your hole, dipping into the slickness and teasing the swollen, sensitive flesh. he swirls a finger around, making you squirm, your hips twitching.
“still want more, huh?” he murmurs, his voice a low promise. “she’s always been so greedy.”
his fingers disappear, only to be replaced by the sharp, open-palmed smack of his hand right against your dripping cunt. the sound is wet and loud in the quiet room, a sting that has your whole body jolting.
you just groan in response, pushing your ass back towards his hand, a silent plea.
you hear a soft metallic scrape, the sound of him reaching for something on the nightstand. you assume he’s just grabbing the lube for another round, but when he comes back, what presses against you isn’t his fingers or his cock.
it’s the cool, heavy press of metal.
it’s his gun. the norinco 1911A1. the one he babies same as the impala. the one that’s always on him wherever he goes, a permanent fixture tucked into the back of his worn jeans. dean presses the tip of the barrel right against your dripping slit, the cold a stark, shocking contrast to the heat of your body.
a soft, surprised choked mewl escapes your lips. your hips jerk.
“shhh,” he whispers, his voice right by your ear. “hold still.”
he uses the barrel to nudge your folds apart, the metal sliding through your slickness. then, slowly, deliberately, he slides it in.
you let out a loud, shuddering moan. the feeling is insane. the cold steel slipping inside your hot, tight core, the weight of it, the smooth, unyielding texture. it’s wrong and dangerous and so, so, so right. he pushes it in slowly, the barrel gliding deep inside you until the front sight is pressing against your g-spot.
he didn’t put the safety on. you know he didn’t. he likes the risk, the sharp, thrilling edge of danger that makes everything feel more real, much more intense. when you started dating dean, you learned that risk wasn’t just a part of his job; it was a part of him, and it bled into everything, especially the bedroom. you didn’t just accept it; you craved it just as much as he did.
“feel good, don’t it?” he asks, his voice a low rasp.
you can only nod, your face still mashed into the pillow, your body trembling.
he takes that as his cue. he grips the handle of the gun and starts fucking you with it, his movements slow at first, pushing the barrel in and out of your tight, wet cunt. the cool metal slides against your hot inner walls, a friction that’s completely alien and unbelievably good. you start to bounce back on it, meeting his thrusts, your own hips moving in a desperate rhythm.
the sight of it turning him on.
a strangled groan rips from his throat. you hear the frantic, slick sound of his hand wrapping around his own cock. he’s watching you. watching his gun disappear inside of you, watching you ride it, watching his cum drip from your overused hole. he starts jerking off, his pace rough and frantic, his breaths coming in harsh, ragged pants.
he’s fucking you with his gun and fucking himself with his hand, and the sheer, filthy depravity of it all sends you hurtling over the edge. your orgasm hits you like a lightning strike, a violent, all-consuming wave that makes your whole body seize, your inner walls clenching hard around the cold steel buried inside you.
your scream is muffled by the mattress, but dean hears it, and it’s all he needs to tip him over to the edge. his body locks up, a sharp curse bitten off as he cums hard, his hot seed spilling over his stomach and onto the sheets, just as your limbs give up, a trembling, satisfied mess.
you sat on the couch with your boyfriend and his dogs, eating late night snacks while watching a movie as neither of you could sleep, and the one you had seen in theaters was finally out on digital. so you made the executive decision to watch it.
it was nearing the end when you had finished your snack of choice, and jaime was on the last few bites of his yogurt. you always found it odd how he ate it with a plastic fork; and his utensil of choice is probably why you caught a glimpse of some leftover yogurt on his bottom lip, failing to have been caught by his tongue.
you smiled to yourself at the quick thought that had popped up into your mind, before slowly surging towards his side of the couch.
you had your legs over his lap at first, now crossing them and pushing yourself over the space that separated you to meet up with his face. then you poked your tongue out, licking up the stray yogurt from his lip, watching it softly recoil from how quick you had done it.
you settled back into your spot as your boyfriend turned with a confused look of flared nostrils and the start of a laugh forming on his mouth. “wha- what was that for?”
and all you responded with was: “yogurt.” with a quick point to your own mouth before focusing back on the tv screen. which left jaime with a pink tint to his cheeks as he smiled at you, and your cute little way of cleaning him up.
... baths ... healthy snacks ... getting told 'you're too little for that' ... braided hair ... maintenance spanks ... chore chart ... bedtime routines ... cumming on his fingers ... limited caffeine ... pussy inspections ... rewards for being sweet ... cycle syncing ...
... ☆ ... DOCTOR SAM who has your to-do list synched in his phone and texts you how proud he is with each item you check off. He always puts some easier tasks on there for you in case you need a little momentum to keep you going. With each check you get a metaphorical gold star, and he isn't shy about how proud he is of his little girl for being all productive even when he's gone.
... ☆ ... DOCTOR SAM who acts like your shadow. He never wants to smother you, but he does want you to always know he's there. If you're out with your friends he's sitting a few seats away, completely content to sit there with his work and keep you and your girls same. The only way you even know he's there is when you scurry up to him to ask if you can drive someone home (to which the answer is always yes) and because every hour or so he orders plain club soda for your whole table.
... ☆ ... DOCTOR SAM who always has healthy meals and snacks prepped for you in the fridge. Little containers of cut fruits and veggies, high-protein wraps, and pre portioned cups of nuts if you're craving something salty. When he is home he always serves you lunch on a tray, each thing he's picked out for you arranged all cute and made exactly how you like it.
... ☆ ... read all doctor!sam ... ☆ ... doctor!sam m. list ... ☆ ...
It was just supposed to be a quick tour of your campus and your dormitory, a little drive around the area so your mom feels more familiar with the environment her own daughter have adapted to.
"Pretty close to the campus, right?" You smiled from the passenger seat as she drove out of the driveway of your rented dorm once she was satisfied enough with checking it out, "I can even wake up just a tad late and still be early."
A tender laugh escaped your mom, hands on the wheel and driving down the road you've gone through since the start of the semester, "Not so expensive too, huh?" She nodded in approval.
Only then did her eyes land on a certain event going on on the side of the street. "Oh look! A car wash!" She exclaimed cheerfully, the wheels of your car immediately redirecting to that certain part of the street, "Your old man will be so happy to know his car's washed up after that awful rain last night." She snorted, patting your hand.
The moment your eyes followed her gaze, your smile vanished from existence. "Mom, no!"
Because, sure, a clean car would be perfection in your dad's eyes. But a clean car due to the hands of frat boys and witnessing it happen from within the car sounds like a torture in hell for you.
Especially when your mom parked the car right by Rafe Cameron and his closest frat bros. A frat boy with a cocky smirk, cap always on backwards, with an arrogant and snobby kook attitude as the cherry on top that makes him somewhat unbearable in your eyes.
How you wished you could evaporate into thin air when your mom rolled down her window with that wide smile on her face.
Topper Thornton first approached the car, grinning a toothy grin, "Ma'am." He winked at your mom, shirtless torso leaning against the side of her car door, his eyes just briefly glancing your way with an amused chuckle.
Before your mom could speak, you raised a hand to interrupt her quick, "Are the sorority girls doing the car wash too?"
At this point, even having to witness the tiniest skanky bra one of those girls would wear is better than having shirtless exasperating frat boys wash your car.
"Just us, sweetheart."
Of course he had to show up. What better time for Rafe Cameron to actually put work into his car washing other than when your parents' dirty car pulled over? Was it perfect timing or was he just being annoying?
"Cameron." You sighed, nodding tiredly as you slowly sank down the passenger seat, praying to god for a miracle of becoming invisible.
Noticing your familiarity with Rafe, your mom beamed with excitement, "Oh, who is this, darling?" She asked, watching as Rafe squeeze out the drenched, soapy sponge, his skin perfectly sunkissed; shirtless with that stupid backward hat still on.
"No one important."
"Rafe Cameron, ma'am."
He was smiling, all performative and charming wannabe! It sickens you seeing him trying to act all sweet and perfect in front of your mom, you might as well jump out the driver's window to strangle him in 3... 2...
Your mom turned her head towards you, almost giggling as she grabbed your hand, whispering enthusiastically to you, "He's cute!"
Looking back at Rafe, all you saw was his wide toothy grin, gaze completely locked onto the pissed off look you had on your face. He was enjoying it all too much, his face alone was practically mocking you. And even with every second you look at him, even with squinted eyes, you still couldn't find this "cute" factor your mom have found in him.
A scoff escaped your lips, rolling your eyes at him. "Just go wash the car. Squeaky clean." You waved him off, or rather tried to.
"Tell me more about yourself, Rafe."
"Mom!"
Rafe chuckled, the stupid grin on his stupid face only widening as he stepped closer to your mom's window, his lean torso practically put on a showcase for the both of you.
"Well, I guess I can say that I'm majoring in business, I play golf, and…" He shot you one glance. A glance that just tells you he's looking for mischief, "…I asked your daughter out on a date once."
A gasp escaped your mom, looking back at you, "I've never heard of this!" The look on her face was an odd combination between disappointment towards you and excitement towards the news, "How come I've never heard of this?!"
"Because it never actually happened, mom." You groaned, "He—"
"—Needed your permission." Rafe completed with more lies, "I told her I'd need your full consent to proceed with the date."
His never-ending lies only made your mom believe more and more that he's such a distinguished gentleman.
"Such a lie!-"
"How thoughtful and respectful." Your mom said in awe, close to actually tearing up from the "angel" in front of her, "Well, you've definitely won my permission now!" She laughed.
It took you a good amount of six seconds to realize she was genuinely giving Rafe Cameron the permission to take you out on a date. It felt like one of those wattpad stories of being sold by your mom to one direction. Except instead of the gorgeous Zayn Malik, you got the irritating Rafe Cameron.
Your mom smiled wide and happy, "Oh please, sweetheart, just go on a date with this cute boy." She subtly pleaded, "Don't you wanna make your mom happy?"
Well... you don't get that bright of a smile on her face every day. It's kinda sad.
It's his smile that suffocates you.
On one hand, you wanted to give your mom what she wanted, especially since you think she's trying hard to give you puppy dog eyes. On the other, you just wanted her to drive away from Rafe Cameron. Even better if she drives over him. Just to get away from his self-absorbed, cocky, shit-eating—
"Whatever." You sighed, already sinking in the passenger seat and regretting even letting her drive the car by the time she finally ended the convo with him with a cheerful shriek.
Delighted by your response, with a cocky and arrogant smirk on those lips, Rafe Cameron proudly washed your car, the wet, soapy sponge in his hand dripping while he lingered by your side of the car, stalling washing the roof of the car just to give you more time to appreciate his bare torso showcased in your window.
He surely must've thought you'd spread your legs open just at the sight of his glistening torso. But a difficult girl like you just makes this ten times more enjoyable for Rafe.
And just to make sure you know you're stuck with him, he leaned his face down by the window, grinning and winking at you before aiming the hose right at where your annoyed face was behind the window.
"You're dead." You mouthed through the window, looking like the equivalent to an angry rat clenching its fist.
"You're mine." He mouthed back, shooting you a wink before squeezing soap onto the window, blurring away your sight of him.
One way or another, he was already planning the date.
liked by sam_winchester, official.deanwinchester, and others
(name) happy 4th!! new ep out now!!!! 🍒🩵🌟
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sam_winchester that jetski was the best thing to ever happen to this show · ❤️ by author
(name) oh so not me??? :((
sam_winchester now who said all that? · ❤️ by author
(name)fan85 first public interaction since the announcement of her joining and THIS is what yall do?????
user.fan what is HAPPENING on that set
fanboy.14 and how do i get there 🙏
official.deanwinchester i look great here. happy 4th 🇺🇲. · ❤️ by author
(name) dean 😭😭
deans(name) omg new interaction for the comp!!!!!!
normal.fan girl ur rooting for the wrong team...
(name)updates oh the first 3 slides are so tea · ❤️ by author
(name) i changed like 20 times today ❤️🩹
sam_winchester and they were all amazing :) · ❤️ by author
sammys(name) okay what is going ONNNNN 🤨🤨🤨
mika.abdalla i almost missed this · ❤️ by author
(name) good thing u didn’t :p
another_fan omg (name) in off campus s2 PLEASEEEE
nyxcosmetics hope you packed us in your bag! 💋 · ❤️ by author
random wait is this ab the brother show where the brothers play brothers
fan23 yes 😭
(name)lover crazy way to describe it but accurate
fangirl27 yea shes a guest this season
sam_winchester
♫ sex on fire · kings of leon
liked by (name), official.deanwinchester, castiel, and others
sam_winchester happy 4th. new episode. (name) took majority of these ❤️🇺🇲
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(name) ur welcome for letting u raid my camera roll · ❤️ by author
sam_winchester i said thank you, multiple times actually
(name) okay well the fireworks were loud asf soooo.... · ❤️ by author
sam_winchester you just wanna hear me say it again, don’t you?
(name) mmmmmmmaybe :) · ❤️ by author
user1234 you guys are fucking crazy. 😭😭
(name)updates thank u queen for finally showing him how to use the music feature 🫶 · ❤️ by author
(name) anything for the fans <3 · ❤️ by author
official.deanwinchester you did amazing on this one, sammy. can’t wait for people to see it. also why did you post that picture of me? hotdog🌭 · ❤️ by author
(name) omg ur showing ur age dean pls stop · ❤️ by author
sam_winchester (name) said it was a good picture to use
dean.fan HOTDOG 🌭
just.a.fan “you’re showing your age” IM FRIED
castiel greatly appreciate having been involved in this episode. · ❤️ by author
sam_winchester happy to have you in it, cas :)
erickripke1 he wrote and directed this episode too, so you should really go see it. · ❤️ by author
user65 casual spoilers first slide??
thewalking.larp larp.
sam(name)fan841 that was from an episode that came out like last month...
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