"They shake their heads saying god help her when I tell them hes my man"
About Me:
she/her | softball player | christian | fangirl | hufflepuff | cabin 10 | book lover | writer | july 26th | livie | swiftie | carpenter | chronically online
Fandoms:
harry potter | outer banks | boys of tommen | the summer i turned pretty | the oc | one tree hill | gilmore girls | friends | percy jackson | sex and the city | stranger things | gossip girl | off campus
The rain poured down in heavy, unrelenting sheets, turning the gravel drive into a slick mess and drumming against the roof of the old Cameron beach house. Thunder rolled low in the distance as lightning occasionally lit up the sky. She had come here on impulse after seeing the lights on from the road—after weeks of silence from him, after trying and failing to convince herself it was better this way.
Rafe was already outside when she pulled up, standing in the downpour like he didn’t feel it. His shirt was plastered to him, hair dripping into his eyes. He looked exhausted. Raw.
“You shouldn’t have come,” he said when she stepped out, voice hoarse from the storm.
“I know.” She wrapped her arms around herself, rain already soaking through her clothes. “But I saw the house was lit up and I… I needed to know you were okay.”
He gave a short, bitter laugh that didn’t reach his eyes. “Okay? I haven’t been okay since the day you walked away. Since I pushed you to walk away.”
The argument spilled out between them like it had been waiting for the right moment. She told him she was tired of the disappearing acts, the way he shut down and vanished into his own head or worse. He told her he thought leaving her alone was the only decent thing he’d ever done for her. That she deserved better than someone who came with so much wreckage.
“You wrote me off like it was easy,” she said, voice cracking. “Like I didn’t matter enough to fight for.”
Rafe stepped closer, rain streaming down his face. “It wasn’t easy. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I thought if I stayed gone long enough, you’d move on. You’d be safe from all the shit that follows me around.” His hands flexed at his sides like he was stopping himself from reaching for her. “But it didn’t work. Nothing works without you. I can’t sleep. I can’t think straight. Every time I close my eyes it’s you.”
She shook her head, tears mixing with the rain. “You don’t get to say that now. Not after everything.”
“It wasn’t over,” he said quietly, almost to himself at first. Then louder, more certain. “It still isn’t over. It never was.”
The words hung between them for one suspended second. Then he closed the distance and kissed her.
It wasn’t careful or practiced. It was months of longing and regret and need poured into the press of his mouth against hers. She kissed him back just as desperately, hands fisting in his wet shirt, pulling him closer as the rain poured over them. His arms came around her, one hand cradling the back of her head while the other pressed against the small of her back, holding her like she might disappear if he let go.
They stumbled toward the porch, still kissing, still clinging. He backed her against the wooden beam, but there was no roughness in it—just urgency. His hands roamed over her like he was relearning every curve through the soaked fabric, thumbs stroking her sides as he deepened the kiss, tongue sliding against hers.
Inside the house it was warmer, dim, the only light coming from a single lamp in the living room. They didn’t make it far. Rafe’s mouth moved to her jaw, her neck, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses along the rain-chilled skin as his fingers worked at the buttons of her shirt with shaking hands. She pushed his wet shirt off his shoulders, letting it drop to the floor with a heavy sound.
They sank onto the couch together, a tangle of limbs and desperate touches. He laid her back gently, settling between her thighs, kissing her again and again like he couldn’t get enough. His hand slid down her stomach, beneath the waistband of her skirt and underwear, fingers finding her already slick and warm. He stroked her slowly at first—long, careful passes that made her hips lift toward his hand—then circled her clit with steady pressure until her breathing turned ragged.
When she came, it was with a soft, broken sound against his mouth. He kissed her through it, murmuring quiet words against her lips—how much he missed her, how sorry he was, how he never wanted to let her go again.
She reached for him then, undoing his jeans and wrapping her hand around his cock, stroking him until he groaned low in his throat. He kicked the rest of his clothes off and settled over her again, bracing on his forearms so he could look at her face as he pushed inside.
The stretch was deep and perfect. He moved slowly at first, savoring every inch, every shared breath. Their foreheads touched. His thrusts were steady, rolling, more about closeness than anything else. She wrapped her legs around his waist, heels pressing into his back, meeting him with small lifts of her hips.
“I love you,” he whispered against her temple, voice rough with emotion. “I should’ve said it a hundred times before now. I’m saying it now.”
She pulled him down into another kiss, holding him close as the pace gradually quickened. The couch creaked beneath them. Rain still lashed the windows. His hand found hers and laced their fingers together above her head, grounding them both as pleasure built again—slower this time, deeper, cresting together in a wave that left them both shaking.
Afterward, Rafe didn’t pull away. He stayed inside her for a long moment, breathing hard against her neck, then carefully shifted so they were on their sides facing each other on the couch. He tucked her against his chest, one arm wrapped securely around her waist, the other stroking slow lines up and down her back.
They lay there listening to the rain ease into a softer rhythm. His fingers traced idle patterns on her skin.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he said quietly. “Not this time. Whatever it takes—I’ll do it. Therapy, whatever you need. I just… I need you to know I’m in this. All the way in.”
How would sugar daddy Rafe react if he was having a formal dinner party/meeting with his investors and reader came stumbling in from a night out?🫣
𝙋𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜: sugar daddy!Rafe Cameron x bratty!reader
𝙒𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: 18+, minors dni, daddy kink, sugar daddy x baby relationship except they’re also actually in a relationship, age gap (Rafe is in early-mid 30s, reader is in early 20s), MAJORRR misogyny and sexism, objectification, babying, super condescending, SEXIST RAFE!, touching, fondling, inebriation, I think that’s it.
𝙎𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮: Rafe’s having a business meeting and you decide to interrupt...
𝘼/𝙉: another surprise little drabble! I love writing these two, let me know what you think!
“Hiiiiii baby, I missed you soooo much!”
You should know better. And maybe if you weren’t drunk, you would’ve known better. You would’ve known that the door to the formal drawing room was shut for a reason. You would’ve known he had company. Important company. You would’ve known to keep yourself scarce from adult matters.
But you didn’t.
Rafe’s jaw tenses as you stumble into the room in a cloud of sexy perfume and the clickity clack of your heels against the polished wood flooring. He tries to keep his cool, watching closely as his associates’ eyes land on you. They were both potential investors on a new development deal he was trying to close. They’re completely distracted by you now though, eyes glued as you skip drunkenly across the grand room.
“Rafeeee,” you squeal, as if you haven’t seen him in decades. You stumble into his lap, in this insane little lace dress that barely covers your body. See through fabric, low cut neckline. Rafe wonders how he ever agreed to buy you something so slutty.
His hand automatically presses against the small of your back, pushing you gently upright into a sitting position in his lap while also tugging your dress down before you expose your ass. He hears one of the men chuckle.
“Who’s this little rocket?”
“Baby, say hello to my friends.” Rafe tries to keep his voice level. Inside, he’s half furious yet half amused. You look cute and needy, touching up on him all prettily like you always did when you were drunk. But he’s also aware this perhaps isn’t the best look, his girl drunk and scantily clad in front of his two very old school guests.
Your blink at one of the men with your mascara-rimmed eyes, “I’m not a rocket, I’m his girlfriend.”
The guy chuckles, “Oh really? Well, it’s lovely to meet you, sweetheart. Rafe, that’s a pretty little thing you’ve got there.”
Rafe knows they’re looking at you with lust. Most men did. And he liked to show you off like the pretty arm candy you could be. Especially if it helped close deals as important as this one.
“Yeah, she’s great.” Rafe smirks, tapping your butt lightly, “Say thank you, baby. He just gave you a compliment.”
You look like you couldn’t care less, too busy running your freshly manicured nails up and down the lapels of his jacket while you made yourself comfortable on his lap, “Thanks,” you say dismissively, barely looking at the guy before batting your eyelashes at Rafe, “Could you put me to bed, daddy?”
Booming laughs echo across the room. Rafe wants to roll his eyes but he’s also getting hard at how innocent you sound. You were a brat through and through, and yet so cute and needy when you were drunk. That was half the reason he still allowed you to go out partying like this sometimes. Well, it was more like an ongoing game between the two of you. He’d “forbid” you from going out, you’d sneak out anyways, he’d proceed to fuck the living daylights out of you to tame you for the next couple weeks. Rinse and repeat.
Rafe snorts, “I’m busy right now. And you know you’re not allowed in here when I’m working.”
You pout, all glittery makeup and shiny cheeks. Smelling like some fruity pink cocktail that you’ve probably had one too many of. Arms wind around his neck, “But that’s unfairrrr.”
One of the men smirks, “You spoil this little princess rotten, don’t you?”
They both look like they’re about to start drooling any second. What with how you’re completely unaware of how your tits are almost spilling out of your dress, making your cleavage look incredible. Not to mention you smelled so irresistibly sweet like candy, mixed with something else. Something so fucking sexy, he almost has to adjust himself in his pants.
“Rafey, please,” you frown cutely, pressing kisses on his jaw, “can’t sleep without you.”
“Need him to read you a bedtime story, honey?” One of the men guffaws. Rafe eyes him warily, not missing how he and the other one both stare at you with an envious kind of lust. It makes him feel powerful, knowing that to men like them, women are nothing more than currency and a pretty ornament to decorate a man’s lap.
Rafe can’t entirely disagree with that.
“She gets needy when she’s drunk,” He chuckles, squeezing your ass then grabbing your chin to make you stop kissing him, “Baby, I’ll tuck you in when I’m done working.”
“No, now!”
He looks at you sternly, and despite your inebriated state you lower your gaze. Like you know you’re pushing it. Like you know exactly what he’s capable of if you take it too far and it’s no longer all fun and games. He feeds you his thumb, lets you suck on it to calm yourself down from whatever tantrum you were on the verge of throwing. His bratty little girl, always throwing tantrums, always working yourself up. But he could control you when he needed to. And his guests can see that too.
You sit quiet and pretty on his lap from that point onwards. Like a good little doll, letting him fondle and touch you every now and then while he casually talks to his associates. Squeezing your ass, your hip, playing with your fingers. Stroking your bare thigh, fingering the lacy strap of your dress which keeps slipping down your shoulder. And you let him. In fact, you snuggle up into him even more, wrapping yourself around him like a koala. Sucking on his thumb like a baby and it’s getting him so fucking hard.
“She do that a lot?” One of the men asks, transfixed at the sight.
Rafe smirks, “She does whatever I want her to.” He removes his thumb from your mouth and you whine drunkenly, “don’t you, baby?”
“Yeah.”
Fuck, he gets off on the power he has over you. His spoiled little princess, who got whatever she wanted so long as she did whatever he wanted. And he bets he could make you do anything if he wanted to. Give him a fucking lap dance in front of both these fucking men, or let him fuck you in front of them too. Casually, his hand slips up to play with your tits, brazenly cupping one through the sorry material of your dress. Just because he can. He smiles when you suck your breath in harshly, and yet you don’t dare push his hand off. You knew all too well what would happen if you did. And And
They continue talking business, Rafe sipping his whisky while he keeps you steady in his lap. He knows he’s giving these men a show, knows they’d go home tonight to their average wives who weren’t even one percent as hot as you. Rafe had you, owned you. And they were all envious of him. Goddamned rocket was right, you were a fucking firecracker and you were all his.
Fucking you tonight would be a great reward for the deal he’s about to close.
Finally, the old fucks get up to leave after accepting the deal and shaking on it.
“We should head out. Can’t keep this sweetheart waiting for too long, can we honey?” One of them asks you.
You blink sleepily, cuddling even more into Rafe because suddenly you’ve decided you were shy. It amuses him no end.
“You should bring her to the club next time. While we play golf.”
That grabs your attention, and you tug at Rafe’s collar, batting your lashes up at him cutely, “I like the cute golf outfits. Will you buy me one, dada?”
“If you’re good,” Rafe taps your cheek condescendingly, knowing full well his card details were saved on your phone and you could buy whatever you wanted without having to ask him ever. “Now say goodbye to my guests.”
You do, albeit begrudgingly. They don’t seem bothered, in fact they look downright charmed.
“Don’t have too much fun tonight, Rafe.”
He leaves you on his armchair while he sees the men out. When he returns, you’re half asleep. Looking every bit as cute and sexy as always. Fuck, he just wants to devour you for how slutty you’d acted tonight.
Your eyes flutter open, and you immediately make grabby hands at him. Gone from being bratty to needy in record time.
“Daddy, bed please.” You smile sweetly up at him, a smug satisfaction in your eyes now that the men were finally gone and you knew he could shift all his attention on to you.”
“You’re a goddamn piece of work, you know that?”
You pout, making grabby hands at him till he scoops you up into his arms. Then squeal when he throws you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, slapping your ass hard multiple times.
“Don’t worry, baby. I won’t bruise you up too bad. Gotta take you to the country club tomorrow, show you off a bit more.” He squeezes your tender ass, it’s bare because your tiny dress has ridden all the way up. “But you’re still in for it tonight.”
yeah so… I don’t even know!!! let me know what you think y’all 😭😭😭 reblogs and comments mean everything!!! 💞
The living room at Tannyhill was buzzing with the usual Friday night energy. Sarah and John B were tangled together on the far end of the massive sectional, sharing a bowl of popcorn. Wheezie was sprawled across a pile of pillows on the floor, phone in hand but occasionally glancing at the screen. Topper and Kelce had claimed the recliners, arguing loudly about the best action movies, while a couple of other friends filled in the gaps. The massive TV lit up the room with explosions and car chases from the latest blockbuster.
You were nestled perfectly against Rafe’s side, your legs draped over his lap under a thick, oversized blanket that smelled like his cologne. His arm was wrapped possessively around your shoulders, fingers idly playing with the ends of your long, glossy chestnut waves. To everyone else, it looked like typical couple cuddling—sweet, comfortable, innocent.
They had no idea how wrong they were.
Rafe’s hand had been resting innocently on your bare thigh for the first twenty minutes, but as the movie’s plot thickened, so did the tension between you two. His fingers slowly crept higher, slipping under the hem of your short skirt. When he discovered you weren’t wearing anything underneath, you felt his body tense against yours.
“No panties?” he breathed hotly against your ear, voice barely a whisper. His breath sent shivers down your spine. “You dirty fucking girl. You’ve been walking around my house all night with this fat pussy exposed, just waiting for me to touch it.”
You gave the tiniest nod, biting your lip as his fingers dragged slowly through your already slick folds. He teased your entrance before circling your swollen clit with perfect, maddening pressure. You were soaked—had been since he’d pulled you into the hallway before everyone arrived, kissing you deep and promising he’d “take care of you properly later.”
Rafe slipped two thick fingers inside you without warning, curling them deep to stroke that sensitive spot. Your pussy clenched greedily around him, and he let out a quiet, satisfied hum that only you could hear.
“Fuck, baby. So wet and tight already. This greedy little cunt is sucking my fingers right in.” His thumb found your clit again, rubbing firm, steady circles while his fingers pumped slowly in and out. The wet, obscene sounds were thankfully masked by the movie’s loud gunfire and explosions.
Sarah laughed at something on screen and glanced your way. “You okay? You look a little flushed.”
You forced a weak smile, gripping Rafe’s thigh hard under the blanket. “Yeah… just the movie. It’s intense.”
Rafe’s smirk was hidden against your hair as he added a third finger, stretching you open deliciously. He curled them perfectly, hitting that spot over and over while his thumb never stopped its relentless rhythm on your clit. Your huge tits heaved under your thin tank top, nipples hard and visible through the fabric. Rafe noticed immediately—his free hand slid up under the blanket to palm one breast, rolling your nipple between his fingers and pinching just hard enough to make you squirm.
“Eyes on the movie, baby,” he murmured, nipping at your earlobe. “Can’t have them knowing what a slut you are for me right now. Dripping all over my hand in front of my sister and everyone else.”
Your hips rocked subtly against his hand, chasing the pleasure. Rafe’s cock was rock hard against your hip, straining painfully through his sweatpants. He pressed it firmer against you, grinding slowly so you could feel exactly what you were doing to him.
Every curl of his fingers made your breath hitch. You buried your face in his neck, pretending to cuddle closer, but really trying to muffle the tiny whimpers escaping you. Rafe’s fingers moved faster now, pumping deep and steady, his thumb flicking your clit with precision.
“You’re getting so close,” he whispered darkly. “I can feel this fat pussy fluttering around my fingers. Come for me right now, baby. Let me feel you cream all over my hand while they’re all sitting right here.”
The combination of his filthy words, the risky thrill, and the relentless thrust of his fingers sent you spiraling. You bit down hard on his shoulder through his shirt as your orgasm crashed over you—hard, intense, and silent. Your walls clenched rhythmically around his fingers, soaking his hand as waves of pleasure rolled through your body. Rafe kept working you through every pulse, drawing it out until you were trembling and oversensitive under the blanket.
He finally eased his fingers out, bringing them to his mouth under the blanket and sucking them clean with a low, hungry groan only you heard. “Taste so fucking good. My favorite snack.”
The movie dragged on for another twenty minutes of teasing. Rafe didn’t stop—he kept his hand between your thighs, lazily stroking your oversensitive pussy, occasionally dipping a finger back inside just to feel you clench. By the time the credits rolled, you were a needy, dripping mess, thighs sticky and aching for more.
Goodbyes were exchanged in a hazy blur. Everyone thanked Rafe for hosting, completely oblivious. The second the front door clicked shut behind the last person, Rafe pounced.
He flipped you onto your back on the massive sectional, yanking your skirt up to your waist and shoving your tank top up to expose your huge tits. In one smooth motion he freed his thick, throbbing cock and buried himself balls-deep inside your still-spasming pussy with a single powerful thrust.
“Fuck—yes,” he groaned, forehead pressed to yours, eyes locked on you. “Been dying to feel this tight cunt wrapped around my cock all night. You’ve been teasing me for hours, baby.”
He fucked you hard and deep right away, hips snapping forward with possessive force. The wet slap of skin on skin filled the now-empty living room. One hand pinned your wrist above your head while the other groped and squeezed your bouncing tits, pinching and tugging your nipples as he drove into you over and over.
“Say it,” he growled between brutal thrusts. “Tell me whose pussy this is.”
“Yours,” you moaned loudly, legs wrapping tight around his waist, heels digging into his back. “It’s all yours, Rafe. Only yours.”
“Louder. Want the whole damn house to hear who owns this fat pussy.”
He shifted angles, hitting that perfect spot with every thrust until you were crying out his name. Rafe leaned down, sucking one of your nipples into his mouth, teeth grazing as your back arched off the couch. Your long glossy chestnut waves spilled across the cushions like a halo as he pounded into you.
Your second orgasm hit even harder than the first. Your pussy clenched and fluttered wildly around his cock, milking him as pleasure ripped through you. Rafe followed right after, burying himself to the hilt with a deep, guttural groan, filling you up with hot, thick pulses of his cum.
He stayed buried deep inside you for a long moment, both of you panting, foreheads pressed together. Then he pulled out slowly, watching with dark satisfaction as his cum dripped from your pussy onto the couch.
But he wasn’t done.
Rafe scooped you up effortlessly in his arms, carrying you upstairs to his bedroom. He laid you down gently on the bed, stripping the rest of your clothes off before shedding his own. In the soft glow of the bedside lamp, he cleaned you up with a warm cloth, pressing tender kisses to your thighs, your stomach, your breasts, and finally your lips.
“Such a good girl for me tonight,” he murmured, voice soft now. He climbed into bed and pulled you on top of him, guiding his still-hard cock back inside your slick, cum-filled pussy. This time it was slower, deeper—your hips rocking against his as he held your waist, guiding you.
“Ride me, baby. Want to watch you take every inch.”
You moved on him, tits bouncing with every roll of your hips. Rafe’s hands were everywhere—squeezing your ass, playing with your nipples, pulling you down for messy kisses. He sat up eventually, wrapping his arms around you as you rode him, mouth on your neck, whispering praise and filthy promises.
“You’re mine. This pussy is mine. Gonna fill you up again before we sleep.”
You came a third time like that—clenching around him, moaning his name—before Rafe flipped you onto your back and fucked you through his own second release, deep and possessive.
Afterwards, he pulled you into his arms, your head on his chest, fingers gently playing with your long glossy chestnut waves. The room was quiet except for your breathing and the distant sound of the ocean.
“Love teasing you like that,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “But I love fucking you even more. You’re everything, baby. Always mine.”
You smiled, tracing lazy patterns on his chest as sleep started to pull you both under, safe and thoroughly satisfied in Rafe’s arms.
Here is me posting my fanfic edit i dont even know if people post fanfic edit on here but but anyway. This is Enchanted it will probably be on my Wattpad soon
i immediately was thinking of this when i watched the mv + someone also suggested it. actress!reader is playing margaret’s role, enjoy <3 warning for some steamy content (as per the nature of the mv lol)
The decision to be in Sabrina’s music video was an absolute no-brainer. And once she found out Madelyn was involved, she was (somehow) even more in.
The concept for the House Tour music video was fairly simple: the girls— Sabrina, Madelyn, and y/n— got set loose in a giant mansion and were given free reign to do whatever they wanted. Any chaotic or fun ideas they could conjure up in any room of the house, Sabrina would find a way to capture it all with her usual charismatic and sexy style.
In the free, fun nature of the song and music video, the girls also got to pick out their own costumes. A few weeks before shooting, Madelyn and y/n were invited to pick from Sabrina’s glamorously concocted wardrobe of glitter and lace. Madelyn had already sent y/n a barrage of photos from her fitting, which only made y/n’s excitement grow. Eager to join in on the fun (and perhaps to get a glimpse of y/n in some scantily clad outfits), Drew decided he’d tag along.
The fitting room was filled with rows and rows of sequined dresses, lacy bras, and glimmering jewelry, all perfectly tailored to fit each of them like gloves.
“Oh my god… Sab, this is too much…” Y/n cooed as she examined a fluffy, faux-fur coat. Behind her, Drew already felt himself begin to sweat.
“Oh please,” Sabrina laughed as she picked out a light purple babydoll dress and handed it to y/n, “it’s the least I could do, babe. It’s seriously an honor to have you here.”
Y/n felt her cheeks warm, letting out a bit of a giggle as she held the dress up to herself before turning to Drew, who looked her up and down with wide eyes. His mouth felt dry, already finding himself fumbling over his words.
“And you’re welcome, Drew.” Sabrina teased, Drew’s cheeks immediately flushing bright pink. Y/n caught onto him, laughing at his flustered face outright.
“Yeah, thanks.” Drew chuckled. “I am… glad to be of assistance.”
Sabrina and y/n giggled.
“Well… I’ll leave you to it. Have fun.” Sabrina said, giving y/n a wink before making her way towards the door. Just before she left the two of them, Sabrina stopped in the doorway. She braced a hand on the doorway before turning around with a toss of her hair.
“Also, y/n,” Sabrina said, “feel free to take anything for your own collection.”
Drew thought he was gonna drop dead.
The wardrobe fitting flew by in a mirage of glitter and lace. Y/n had strutted around the room with the confidence and beauty of a goddess, Drew having to force himself to stay calm and not immediately rip the delicately designed pieces off her and get down and dirty right there in the costume closet. Once the whole thing was said and done (and tied up in a beautiful, silk bow), y/n had picked out her costume for the music video as well as a couple of pieces to take home.
Sabrina had been entirely supportive of y/n’s choices— both costume wise and idea wise. The two of them, along with Madelyn, had been bouncing ideas for shots off of each other for the weeks leading up to the actual filming.
However, they believed they’d think up their best ideas over an alcohol-heavy brunch at y/n’s house. Y/n was proud of the spread they’d made, with perfectly fluffy scrambled eggs and crispy bacon (made by Drew before he took Charleston out on a walk to give the girls some alone time) making an appearance beside the mimosa bar y/n had prepared.
“Okay, and for the last scene,” Sabrina said between sips of her mimosa, “we’ve got to end with a dude… y’know.”
“Dying?” Madelyn giggled.
“I mean, yeah.” Sabrina laughed. “It’s a tradition, I don’t want the fans to be disappointed… plus it’s fun.”
The girls all burst out into loud laughter.
“Well, they’re driving away, so I think it’d make the most sense to just, y’know—” y/n gestured dramatically with her champagne glass— “run over the guy.”
“See, I love the way you think, babe.” Sabrina teased, tacking down a quick note on the already lengthy list of ideas for scenes and shots.
“Did you already have someone picked out for the role of ‘guy getting killed at the end of a Sabrina Carpenter music video’?” Madelyn asked with a quirk of her brow.
“No,” Sabrina sighed, “we’ve been looking, but I haven't found anyone that fits yet. I’m open to ideas.”
Suddenly the front door to y/n’s house swung open to reveal Drew, a tray of coffees in his hand and the leash of an excitedly barking Charleston in the other. He had left wearing a t-shirt and shorts, but likely because of the blistering Carolina heat, he had discorded the t-shirt, tucking it into his waistband. His skin was flushed, sunkissed with a spattering of freckles over his torso. He turned towards the girls, all of whom were staring at him.
“Drew, would you want to be in the video?” Madelyn asked, saying what all of them had been thinking. While y/n may have been a bit biased to see Drew on set, Sabrina and Madelyn also agreed he’d certainly fit into the video seamlessly.
“What? Me?” Drew chuckled, setting the coffees atop the kitchen counter before coming up behind y/n and pressing a sweaty kiss to her cheek. She wriggled away, with a giggle, only causing Drew to chase after her to press another one to her cheek with a smirk.
“Yeah, you want us to hit you with a car?” Y/n teased, elbowing Drew playfully. He chuckled lowly at what he presumed to be a joke before turning to look at Madelyn and Sabrina, who stared at him, waiting entirely seriously for a response
“Oh, you're serious?” Drew asked. “You want me to be in the video?”
“It’d only be for a brief scene or two,” Sabrain explained, “but yeah, if you want.”
Drew turned to y/n, who grinned up at him with an excited and very enticing smile.
“Okay,” Drew said, “yeah. I’ll do it.”
The girls let out excited hollers, y/n jumping to her feet to hug Drew before the girls all turned to clink their champagne glasses together. Y/n laughed, turning back to Drew as he smiled down at her. She leaned up to press a kiss to his jaw before lowering back down onto her feet.
“While I am very thankful for the coffees and your agreement to be in the music video,” y/n said slyly, “you definitely need to take a shower.”
Drew let out an exaggerated scoff, giving y/n another quick hug.
“Alright, alright,” Drew chuckled. “Have fun planning ways to brutally kill me, I’m gonna take a shower.”
It was finally time to shoot the video.
The mansion they were shooting at was gorgeous, luxuriously spacious and perfectly furnished. Lighting rigs were set up throughout to bathe the set in a soft pink glow, speakers scattered throughout to play the music they'd be dancing along to for the video— or rather, for the House Tour.
The girls had done a quick runthrough of shots before moving into their hair and makeup. Drew had (gladly) decided to tag along to, as he put it, “get a feel for the scenery”, but y/n knew he didn’t want to miss the opportunity to see his beautiful wife all dolled up and dancing around in a scandalous outfit.
“Oh my GOD!” Madelyn gasped as y/n stepped out in her costume, Drew following behind her with a satisfied smirk. It was a black slip dress with pink lace around the edges that brushed high atop her thighs. She wore a matching bra and underwear set which poked out just slightly (and intentionally) at the edges and a pink sequined scarf wrapped around her neck. Like Madelyn and Sabrina, who were already in their own costumes, she also wore a pair of high heels.
“I’m sweating!” Sabrina laughed, fanning herself with a nearby feather-covered fan. Y/n felt her cheeks warm as she bashfully looked down.
“C’mon, give it a spin.” Drew murmured, offering his hand out. Y/n took it, allowing him to spin her around as he let out a low whistle. Madelyn and Sabrina squealed excitedly, hugging each other in their own glamorous outfits.
“Okay, okay, enough!” Y/n said with a laugh and a dramatic waving of her hands. “Let’s shoot this damn thing.”
Take your shoes off!
The house was filled with the echoing synth and melodic vocals of “House Tour” as the girls excitedly rushed through the house. They quickly shucked off their shoes before they rummaged through cabinets and rooms, twirling and dancing freely as they played with the various props scattered around the house.
Do you want the house tour?
Y/n and Sabrina squaring off with samurai swords, the camera zooming around atop them as they hit the metal together with satisfying, perfectly on-beat clanks before separating. The two girls spun widely before hitting the swords again.
I can take you to the first, second, third floor
Each of the girls had a moment to shine as solo shots of their faces and outfits flashed across the screen. Y/n winked at the camera, biting at her lip. In the next shot, the camera focused on the girls’ high heel feet as their “panties dropped” from the apparent excitement of this “House Tour”.
The couch is really comfy, comfy…
In another shot, the girls all lined up on the end of the oversized couch. They leaned over, strutting sensually, as the camera panned from behind. It made sure to catch the length of each of their legs beautifully.
I’m just so proud of my design! (To dim the lights)
With a clap, the lights in the closet illuminated to reveal the packed and extravagantly decorated closet. Expensive pieces of jewelry were strewn about lacy lingerie sets (which the girls quickly changed into) and fluffy fur coats. The girls grasped each other's hands tightly, giving dramatic surprised expressions before falling to the ground.
The next moments were filled with chaos as the girls rummaged through the closet, putting on bejeweled necklaces and bright feather boas. The camera zoomed as y/n lowered a string of pearls into Madelyn’s mouth, the two girls giggling.
I just want you to come inside (but never enter in the back door)
The girls stood atop the center island of the closet, twisting around and dancing to the music before hopping down to stand in front of the floor to ceiling mirrors of the closet. Their high heeled feet kicked up as they flipped their hair.
Yeah I spent a little fortune on my waxed floor…
Perhaps the most difficult shot consisted of y/n doing a handstand to the side of the pool table, her legs spread just wide enough to allow for Madelyn to lean through with her pool cue. After many tries (filled with lots and lots of giggles), the girls had finally managed to get it, Madelyn perfectly hitting her pool shot and y/n managing to stay stable enough for her to do it.
My house is on pretty girl avenue,
The last few shots included the girls escaping the mansion just as the cops arrived, with arms full of stolen clothes, bags, and any other goodies they could grab. Y/n skipped up behind the clueless cops as they peered around the living room, snatching a pair of their handcuffs before darting upstairs.
My house could be your house too!
Madelyn made it to the garage, climbing into a vintage white sportscar filled with her finds while Sabrina and y/n exited out of the front of the house into their pink “Pretty Girl Clean-Up Crew” van. Y/n danced as she climbed into the van, her body wrapped in layers of expensive silks and lace.
So, um… are you coming in or what?
Sabrina sang the final lyrics before placing a cigar in her mouth. She turned towards the wheel, flooring it as the van quickly whipped out of the mansion’s driveway. Towed behind it were cans and white ribbons, “Just Robbed a House” written on a sign in black swirling letters. The outro of the song played, the y/n letting out a holler as the two of them sped away.
Just as they had evaded the cops, however, the camera zoomed in on a dark figure looking down the road before turning towards the camera and stepping out into the light of the nearby streetlamp. Drew, clad in a simple white tank top and jeans, ran a hand over his buzzcut with a long sigh before walking into the street.
He made it only a few steps before he (or rather his stunt double) was hit by the girls in their pink van, causing the music to promptly stop as the cameras cut back to the girls in the car with wide eyes. They sat in silence for a short moment before y/n shrugged, the outro cutting back in as the final credits rolled.
Growing up in the big white house on Figure Eight, the holidays had always been more about appearances than anything real—perfectly wrapped gifts no one actually wanted, a massive tree decorated by some hired stylist, and his dad making toasts about “family legacy” while everyone pretended the tension in the room wasn’t thicker than the eggnog. Christmas felt like another performance he had to nail.
But this year was different.
This year, he had you.
You’d moved into Tannyhill with him a few months back, and the second December hit, you lit up like one of those ridiculous inflatable snowmen on people’s lawns. Rafe had come home from the gym one afternoon to find you surrounded by boxes of decorations, humming along to Mariah Carey, eyes sparkling in a way that made his chest feel too tight.
“You really want to do all this?” he’d asked, leaning against the doorway with that half-smirk he wore when he was trying not to look soft.
You’d turned around holding a tangled string of lights like a trophy. “I want to make it ours, Rafe. The whole house. No fake stuff. Just… us.”
He’d stared at you for a long second, then shrugged like it was no big deal. “Yeah. Alright, baby. Let’s do it.” And he meant it.
The next three days were pure chaos and warmth. You dragged him up a ladder to hang lights along the massive staircase. Rafe complained the whole time—“This is stupidly tall, babe, I’m gonna break my neck for tinsel”—but every time you passed him another strand, he’d lean down and steal a slow kiss, tasting like the peppermint hot chocolate you kept refilling for him. When you finally turned the lights on at night, the entire foyer glowed soft gold. Rafe stood behind you, arms wrapped around your waist, chin on your shoulder, and whispered, “Okay… that looks kinda perfect. You were right.”
Tree day was even better.
You picked out the tallest, fullest tree the lot had and made Rafe help you haul it inside. He pretended to hate every second—grumbling about pine needles in his shoes and “why the hell does it need to be this big?”—but you caught him smiling when he thought you weren’t looking. The two of you spent hours decorating it together: you handing him ornaments, him lifting you up so you could place the star on top. Halfway through, he pulled a ridiculous reindeer headband onto his own head just to make you laugh, then pretended to be annoyed when you took pictures. When you stepped back to admire the finished tree, Rafe came up behind you again, sliding his hands into the front pocket of your hoodie.
“Looks good,” he said quietly, voice low and warm against your ear. “Really good. Never thought I’d actually enjoy this shit.”
You turned in his arms and kissed him slow, tasting the hot chocolate you’d made earlier on his lips. “You’re really good at this, you know. At letting yourself be happy.”
He just huffed and hid his face in your neck, ears turning pink like they always did when you called him out for being soft.
The night before Christmas Eve you decided to bake cookies together in the huge kitchen. Rafe was hopeless with measuring cups, but he followed your instructions anyway, flour dusting his shirt and a smudge of cookie dough on his cheek. You kept stealing little bits of dough and he’d pretend to scold you before popping a piece into your mouth himself. At one point he pulled you against the counter and kissed you deep, the smell of sugar and vanilla all around you.
“You’re turning me into a sap,” he murmured between kisses, smiling against your lips. “Never baked cookies in my life before you.”
“Good,” you whispered back. “I like you sappy.”
On Christmas Eve you gave him the final piece: the ugly Christmas sweater you’d ordered special. It was bright red with a cartoon Santa riding a wave, and the words “Outer Banks Santa” across the chest. Rafe held it up, deadpan.
“You’ve gotta be kidding me.”
“Please?” You batted your lashes. “For me?”
He groaned dramatically, but ten minutes later he was wearing it, looking equal parts embarrassed and stupidly in love. You snapped a picture before he could stop you. He tackled you onto the couch after that, tickling you until you were both breathless and laughing, the fireplace crackling and the tree lights twinkling behind you.
Later that night, after hot cocoa and too many cookies and a terrible Christmas movie neither of you paid attention to, Rafe pulled you outside onto the back patio. The air was cool but not freezing, the ocean murmuring softly in the distance. He’d hung mistletoe from the pergola earlier when you weren’t looking.
You noticed it immediately and grinned. “Smooth, Cameron.”
He didn’t even try to deny it. Just tugged you under the sprig, one hand cupping your cheek, the other resting low on your back. The fairy lights you’d strung out here reflected in his blue eyes, making them look softer than you’d ever seen.
Rafe leaned in until his forehead touched yours.
“This is the first Christmas that doesn’t feel fake,” he whispered, voice rough around the edges. “Never had this before. Never had… you. Thank you for making it real. For making me want all this.”
Your heart squeezed. You reached up and brushed your thumb along his jaw.
“Merry Christmas, Rafe.”
He kissed you then—slow, deep, and full of everything he didn’t know how to say out loud. The kind of kiss that tasted like pine, hot chocolate, and forever. When you finally pulled back, he kept you close, nose brushing yours, arms wrapped around you like he never wanted to let go.
“Next year we’re doing this bigger,” he murmured. “And the year after that. Every year. I want all our Christmases to feel like this.”
You smiled against his lips. “Deal.”
Inside, the tree glowed warm and the cookies waited on a plate. Outside, the waves kept their steady rhythm. And for the first time in his life, Rafe Cameron felt like Christmas wasn’t something he had to perform.
You’d only been dating Rafe for six months, but it already felt like the two of you had built your own little world inside the chaos of Tannyhill. He was still the same Rafe to everyone else—sharp jaw, sharper tongue, the guy who walked into a room like he owned it (because he basically did). But with you? He was gentle. Quiet laughs against your neck, fingers tracing lazy circles on your hip when you watched movies, and the softest “good morning, baby” you’d ever heard.
So when you showed up one afternoon with a golden retriever puppy tucked under your arm, you expected him to be… fine with it.
He was not fine with it.
“His name is Sunny,” you said, holding the fluffy little traitor up like a peace offering. Sunny’s tail wagged so hard his whole body shook. “Look at him, Rafe. He’s literally sunshine-colored. How was I supposed to say no?”
Rafe stood in the doorway of the living room in his gym shorts and a backwards hat, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised. “Cute. Real cute, babe.” His voice was dry. “You gonna tell me why our house now smells like puppy shampoo and poor life choices?”
You grinned and set Sunny down. The puppy immediately zoomed across the marble floor, sliding into Rafe’s bare feet like he’d found his new favorite person.
Rafe looked down at the dog, then back at you. “He’s trying to steal my girl already. I see you, little shit.”
That was the beginning of the Jealousy Era.
For the next two weeks Rafe turned into a walking, talking competition. You’d be on the floor playing tug-of-war with Sunny and Rafe would appear out of nowhere, scoop you up, and drop you in his lap on the couch. “My turn.” You’d scratch Sunny behind the ears and Rafe would mutter, “I can do that better,” before pulling you in for a slow kiss that made your toes curl. One night you caught him glaring at the puppy while you were making dinner. “Traitor,” he whispered. “She was mine first.”
You laughed so hard you almost dropped the spoon.
But the real turning point came on a rainy Tuesday afternoon.
The sky had opened up over the Outer Banks, the kind of tropical downpour that made everything feel small and cozy. You’d fallen asleep on the big sectional in the living room, curled under one of Rafe’s hoodies, the sound of rain on the windows lulling you out. When you woke up, the room was dim and warm, fairy lights you’d strung up last month glowing softly.
And there, on the rug in front of the couch, was Rafe.
Shirtless. On his back. One arm tucked behind his head, the other resting gently on Sunny’s back. The puppy was fast asleep on Rafe’s chest, little golden head rising and falling with every breath Rafe took. Rafe’s thumb moved in the slowest, softest strokes over Sunny’s fur, and there was this tiny, almost shy smile on his face—the same one he gave you when he thought you weren’t looking.
Your heart did something stupid in your chest.
You quietly grabbed your phone and snapped a picture before he noticed.
Rafe’s eyes flicked over to you. His ears went pink instantly.
“Don’t say anything,” he grumbled, voice low so he wouldn’t wake the puppy. “Little dude passed out on me after you fell asleep. Couldn’t move him. He’s heavier than he looks.”
You slid off the couch and onto the rug, crawling over until you could rest your chin on Rafe’s shoulder. Sunny let out a tiny sleepy sigh and snuggled deeper into Rafe’s chest.
“You love him,” you whispered, smiling.
Rafe huffed, but his hand never stopped petting the puppy. “He’s alright. For a homewrecker.” His eyes met yours, soft blue and a little embarrassed. “He makes you happy. So… I guess he’s not so bad.”
You leaned in and kissed the corner of his mouth. “You’re such a softie, Cameron.”
“Shut up,” he muttered, but he was smiling now. He turned his head and caught your lips in a slow, sweet kiss that tasted like the rain outside and everything safe in the world. When you pulled back, Rafe rested his forehead against yours.
“Still kinda jealous he gets more kisses than me though,” he admitted quietly.
You laughed under your breath. “We can fix that.”
Sunny stayed exactly where he was—curled between the two of you like he belonged there—while Rafe pulled you closer and kissed you again, deeper this time, the kind of kiss that made the storm outside feel a million miles away.
From that day on, Rafe stopped pretending.
He bought Sunny the most ridiculous, expensive dog bed on the planet… then let the puppy sleep on your bed anyway because “he cries when he’s not with us.” He started calling him “our son” completely unironically. And late at night, when Rafe thought you were asleep, you’d hear him whispering to the little golden ball of fluff curled at the foot of the bed: “You’re lucky she loves you, dude. Makes two of us.”
You never told him you heard it every single time.
