⤷ annie | she/her | 18+ ˖ ｡ ໑ৎ ׁ ׅ♡ | bunny soul ꕀ️ ☁️ •••• mainly rafe cameron & off campus! please feel free to request for either! also make sure to comment on my tag list which is linked below!
REQUESTS: OPEN - CLOSED
— newer to tumblr so i’m looking for mutuals (please send me a dm so i can follow back!) 𐔌<3
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The bar at the country club was buzzing with the usual crowd of rich Kooks—polos pressed to perfection and the clink of expensive whiskey glasses echoing under the chandelier light. You and your best friend had been slinging drinks all evening like the well-oiled machines you were. Except tonight, you weren’t really serving anyone. Your eyes were locked on him.
Rafe Cameron.
He was lounging at one of the high-top tables near the windows, broad shoulders stretching the fabric of his gray button-down, sweaty from golf and that signature cocky smirk playing on his lips as he talked to his usual friends, topper and kelce. His hair was slicked back in that hot way, and every time he lifted his glass, the veins in his forearm flexed just enough to make your stomach flip.
“Excuse me? Hello? Miss? I said a glass of bourbon.” The sharp voice finally cut through your haze. A middle aged guy in blue colored polo was waving his empty glass at you from the bar, face already filled with irritation.
“Shit—“You blinked, heat rushing to your cheeks as you fumbled for the bottle of top-shelf bourbon. “Sorry—coming right up—”
But it was too late. Your best friend, Mia, snapped her fingers right next to your ear. “Earth to lover girl. Table six is about to combust.”
The customer slammed his hand on the polished wood. “Do your damn job or I’ll have you fired. This isn’t a staring contest, sweetheart.”
You quickly poured his drink, slid it across the bar with an apologetic smile, and watched him storm off muttering about “incompetent staff.” The second he was gone, Cherry leaned her hip against the counter beside you, arms crossed and a grin spreading across her face.
“Looking at Rafe again?” she teased, bumping your shoulder. “Babe, you’re gonna get us both canned if you keep eye-fucking the kook prince every shift. Though I get it—he’s like, stupid hot. But damn, at least pretend you’re not one second away from climbing over the bar and crawling into his lap.”
You groaned, burying your face in your hands for a second before peeking through your fingers. “I wasn’t that obvious, was I?”
Cherry let out a humorless laugh. “You were practically drooling.”
“Pfft… no, I wasn’t?” You let out a laugh, but it died quickly as your smile disappeared. “I wasn’t, right?”
“Whatever.” She shrugged, shaking up a cocktail with practiced flicks of her wrist. “What do you like about him anyways? Besides being hot and allegedly having a big dick, he’s a spoiled asshole.”
“I don’t know… he’s just like—”
Cherry’s eyes suddenly widened, fixed on something over your shoulder while she poured the drink. “Oh my god—he’s coming over.”
“Wait, what… now?” Your eyes widened too. Your whole body went stiff, pulse skyrocketing as Cherry nodded frantically, trying and failing to hide her smirk.
You barely had time to turn before Rafe Cameron was already at the bar, sliding into the exact spot he’d occupied earlier. Up close like this, he was even more overwhelming—tall and super hot. His jaw was tight, like he was annoyed about something, but his eyes locked onto you with focus.
He didn’t even glance at Cherry.
“Same thing,” he said, tapping the bar with two fingers. His voice was low and impatient. You smiled, remembering his order like always. “Coming right up.
As you turned to take the whiskey bottle from the shelf, Cherry gave you a look saying ‘see? he’s a complete asshole’. You just rolled your eyes and smiled.
You went back up infront of him while his gaze dropped to your name tag for half a second before flicking back up to your face.
“You’re one of the Pogues they got working here, huh?” he said, the word Pogue rolling off his tongue with casual hate, like it was both an observation and an insult. A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Explains why you’ve been eye fucking me all night instead of doing your job. What, you think staring hard enough is gonna make me notice you or something?”
Your smile disappeared, “I um… i haven’t—“
Rafe scoffed. Rafe leaned in a little closer, voice dropping. “You see… uh, guys like me don’t usually go for girls who spend their nights wiping down bars for tips.” He gave a cruel smirk, taking the fresh drink from your hand and took a sip of the whiskey. “Might wanna keep your eyes to yourself before you embarrass yourself more, pogue.”
Rafe threw a twenty on the counter before he turned and walked back toward his table. You stood there frozen, cheeks burning hot with embarrassment as the weight of his words settled in. Pogue. The way he’d said it hit harder than you expected. Even if you’d fantasized about him noticing you a million times, you hadn’t imagined it going quite like that.
Cherry gave you a sympathetic wince from the other side of the bar. “Oof. That was rough.”
𑣲
You barely made it through the rest of your shift without replaying the moment on loop. By the time you clocked out, your stomach was in knots.
The night air felt sticky and humid as you slid into Cherry’s passenger seat, slamming the door harder than necessary. She started the car and pulled out of the country club lot, the radio playing low in the background.
you groaned, slumping down in the seat and covering your face with both hands. Your voice cracked with humiliation. “Shit—shit, that was so fucking embarrassing… fuck my life.”
Cherry glanced over while keeping her eyes mostly on the dark road. “Yeah… he was kind of a dick about it, i told you that already.”
“I don’t care,” you muttered, even though you did. You cared so much it hurt. “Fuck, i really do.”
She laughed, trying to lighten the mood. “There’s like, other guys out there who want you! Oh—literally Chase, dude.”
“Seriously?” You sat up straighter, groaning. “He’s so annoying. He gave me a fluffy unicorn book last valentine’s!”
Cherry actually cackled, slapping the steering wheel. “You said you liked unicorns!”
“When I was literally twelve,” you shot back, rolling your eyes so hard it hurt. The memory made you cringe even harder now—Chase’s awkward, persistent crush felt like a joke compared to your crush over Rafe.
The car filled with both you and Cherry’s laughter before the conversation got serious again real quick. “But seriously, maybe you should tell him how you feel.”
“And embarrass myself again? he hates me so much.” You huffed, fidgeting with your fingers. “I just want him to love me as much as i love him. Love me more than anyone in the whole fucking world.”
“Keep dreaming, babe.” Cherry pulled up in front of your house and put the car in park. “For real though… you gonna be okay? Rafe’s hot, yeah, but he’s also Rafe. Maybe it’s time to stop staring and move on before you get hurt.”
You forced a small smile, unbuckling your seatbelt. “Yeah. I’m good. Thanks for the ride.”
She rolled her windows down before you can walk away. “also, boneyard party tomorrow at five. Bring clothes, lets partay!”
The second her taillights disappeared down the road, the fake smile dropped. You stood on your porch for a minute.
𑣲
After Cherry dropped you off, you kicked off your shoes and flopped onto your stomach on the bed, laptop open in front of you. The house was quiet, just the low hum of the fan spinning overhead. You mindlessly scrolled through random shit—memes, outfit inspo, drama on the Figure Eight gossip pages—trying to distract yourself from the replay of Rafe’s words burning in your head.
You kept scrolling until a suggested post stopped your thumb cold.
Tips on how to make someone fall inlove with you.
You let out a chuckle like it was the stupidest thing you’ve ever seen but clicking on the link shown anyway, it led you to a reddit site where it showed a bunch of comments.
“Give him gifts.”
“triangle method.”
“Girl, just fuck him and you got him.” |
“lol, love how desperate all you bitches are.”
They were all pretty useless or things you’ve tried before, or a few were straight-up creepy or borderline illegal. Most were things you’d already tried in tiny, half-assed ways before chickening out at the last second.
You were about to close the tab, thoroughly annoyed, when one comment near the bottom caught your eye…
“Try the one wish willow, works like a charm. 100% accurate. Been in my family for generations. No bullshit.”
You raised an eyebrow, hovering over the comment. It looked like one of those sketchy scam ads that pop up everywhere.
You stared at it for a second before groaning and closing the laptop completely, flopping on your back and looking up at the ceiling…
I mean, cherry’s birthday was in a few days… maybe you can stop by the antique store and get her stuff from there since she does like those old, taxidermied possums.
Cherry’s birthday is in a few days… you thought, grasping for any excuse. She does like those weird old taxidermied possums and vintage stuff. I could stop by that antique store on the edge of town and find her something. Totally normal. Not because of some Reddit comment.
𑣲
The bell ringed when you pushed open the door to the antique shop, the place smelled like dust and old books. You wandered around, pretending to look for Cherry’s gift—picking up a creepy stuffed possum, some vintage jewelry, a weird porcelain doll—before your eyes landed on it.
It was a small and slim box, there was a whole box of it. You walked up to the counter and took one box. “hey, uh… do these actually work?”
The bored woman chewing her gum looked at the box. “dunno, some people say they do and some people don’t. Warnings behind the box.” She shrugged while you put one all of the gifts on the table. “twenty bucks.”
you nodded and payed the twenty bucks before you could talk yourself out of it.
That very night, you were distracted looking at Rafe from a distance, making out with another rich tourist girl while cherry talked to you. “Hey, hey—are you even listening?”
“Uh—what? yeah, yeah.” You nodded, taking a sip of the cheep bear while forcing yourself to look away.
She sighed. “Never mind. You’re hopeless.” She walked away to grab another beer.
When Rafe finally left the girl and headed toward the beach parking lot alone, you followed before you could talk yourself out of it. “Rafe, wait—”
He turned, looking mildly annoyed. “Got something to say?”
You took a shaky breath and let it all spill out. “I… I really like you. A lot. I know I’m just a pogue and you’re… you. But I can’t stop thinking about you. I’ve felt this way for so long. I thought maybe if I told you, there could be something—”
Rafe stared at you for a beat, then let out a harsh, mocking laugh that echoed in the quiet night air. “You’re joking, right?” His voice was cold, dripping with cruelty. “You actually think I’d want you? A broke little Pogue who serves drinks to people like me?”
“That’s fucking hilarious, man.” He laughed mockingly, adjusting his hat.
He stepped closer, towering over you, his face twisted with disgust. “You’ve been creeping on me for weeks like some sad, obsessed stalker and now you’re confessing? Pathetic. Go cry to your pogue friends about it. Maybe one of them will feel bad enough to fuck you. But me? I wouldn’t touch you if you were the last girl on this island.”
Tears flooded your eyes instantly. You tried to hold them back, but they spilled over anyway, hot and humiliating. Rafe just rolled his eyes.
“Great. Now you’re crying. Even worse. Do everyone a favor and stay the fuck away from me.”He turned and walked off toward his truck without a second glance, leaving you standing there shaking.
𑣲
You barely made it to your car before breaking down completely. The drive home was a blur of tears. Once inside your room, you locked the door and sat on the edge of your bed, face buried in your hands.
Cherry’s texts were spamming you, asking where you were and how she’s going home with another guy.
You reached for the One Wish Willow you’d bought earlier—the carved wooden piece still sitting on your nightstand. Your fingers trembled as you picked it up.
Staring at it through blurry eyes, you gripped it tight. “I wish Rafe Cameron love me more than anyone in the whole entire fucking world.”
You snapped the wooden piece in half with a loud
CRACK.
UGH I LOVED WRITING THIS.
anyways, heres the chapter 1 of obsessed. I hope you guys don’t hate the cliffhanger THAT much 🫣 but i promise it will come in a few hours HAHAHAHAH like actually 🥹🫶
Please reblog and leave a like, it really helps. Thank you for reading!
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 ♡
⊹ ࣪ ˖ THEY DON’T KNOW ABOUT US ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ໒꒱ john logan x !reader — blurb . you and john logan have been in a secret relationship for a few months, and your friends have been trying to get you both with other people…
⋮ ⌗ ┆ warnings: fem!reader, established relationship, secret relationship, kinda angsty, language
“Dude, you haven’t talked about a girl in so long,” said Dean. His voice was almost exasperated, as if he was the one who hadn’t hooked up with anyone and not Logan. It rightfully pissed you off and Logan could tell.
Without sparing you a glance—trying to keep the secret relationship a secret—Logan said, "I just haven't been feeling it."
Stupid excuse.
"You haven't hooked up with anyone either," said Allie, looking directly at you. Shit.
In the corner of your eye, you saw Logan's jaw clench before he forced himself to relax. You felt a wave of relief wash over you. At least you weren't the only one getting annoyed.
"I just don't want to," you said, feigning confidence.
Allie chuckled, but it came out close to a snort. "Liar! A girl has needs. I can vouch."
"No, I just—"
"Dean and I should set you guys up with people," suggested Allie. Her eyes sparkled like she cured cancer.
Dean's expression immediately matched hers as he sat up and grabbed Logan's arm. "I'm gonna get you the second hottest girl on campus."
"Second," asked Logan.
"Well, yeah. I'm dating the first."
"I really don't wanna be set up with anyone," you said, sitting up straighter. "I'm focusing on school. I don't need a boyfriend."
————————————————————————
About a week had passed since then and Allie and Dean have been relentless with their efforts to set you and Logan up with people. God, how could they be so oblivious?
You were all at a party hosted by one of the puck bunnies, and it was loud and outrageous and you just wanted Logan.
Left all alone in the kitchen, surrounded by people you either didn't know or hated, your eyes immediately scanned the room for Logan, trying to find his silhouette.
What if they actually set him up with someone? What if he liked her? Shut up!
Grabbing yourself another can of beer, you felt the presence of someone sliding up beside you.
You turned to look at him and it was one of Beau's football teammates. You had spoken to him before in passing, but never full conversations.
Dean and Allie forced him here.
"Hey," he said, clearly making his voice deeper.
"Hi," you said awkwardly, holding the can with both your hands, stiff as a stick. "Um, you're Dylan, right?"
He smiled at you and nodded. "Yeah, and you're really pretty."
Another wave of awkwardness flooded your system, causing you to nervously laugh. It sounded close to a flirty laugh. "Oh, thank you."
"What's a pretty girl like you doing alone at a party?"
"I'm not alone," you said quickly. "I came with Allie."
He looked over at Allie and Dean, who were currently in the middle of the dance floor. "Seems like she came with Dean."
“She actually came with me.”
Your heart dropped as you heard his voice as his arm slid around your waist, his hand resting on your hip.
What was Logan doing?
“Oh, you two are—“
“Together,” he cut Dylan off.
“Sorry, man. Didn’t know.” Dylan tilted his head towards Dean. “He told me she was single.”
Logan gave him a single nod. “Well, she’s not.”
Dylan opened his mouth to defend himself before closing it again, realizing Logan was stubborn. With a sigh, he walked away, leaving you and Logan alone in the loud yet agonizingly quiet kitchen.
"Why'd you do that," you asked, clearly irritated.
Logan scoffed. "What? Did you like him or something?"
"What? No! I just—"
"Don't fucking lie to me," he snapped.
"You won't even give me the chance to speak," you snapped back.
He let go of you, running his hand through his hair frustratedly. "What was I supposed to do? Let him smooth talk you into doing whatever he had planned?"
"I wasn't gonna do anything with him!"
"Really?" His voice was low and full of doubt. "Across the room, it seemed like you were pretty into it."
You scoffed. "Do you really think that little of me," you mumbled.
His eyes widened in panic as dread and panic sank into his bones. "No, no, no, baby, I didn't—"
Before he could finish, you walked past him, bumping his shoulder as you left.
His arm tried and failed to pull you back. For a few seconds, you wondered if he was gonna follow you. Eventually, you gave up all home and left the party, needing a break and some fresh air.
Stepping into the cold air, you listened to the leaves in the breeze and the muffled voices coming from people all over.
"Please," whispered a voice from behind you. "Baby, don't leave it like that."
Logan's arms wrapped around your waist from behind. "I'm sorry," he whispered into your ear. "I just... I don't like seeing other guys around you. Not when I know they want you half as badly as I do."
You turned around in his arms, wrapping your arms around his neck. "Why don't you just trust me? I don't want anyone else," you mumbled, looking up at him.
His eyes softened even more. "I do trust you. I promise I do." He turned his head and looked over to the party. "It's them I don't trust."
You looked down, but he immediately caught your chin with two fingers.
"Look at me, baby," he said softly. "I love you, okay? You're it for me."
At his words, you pulled him closer. "Swear?"
"To the hockey gods," he promised, hoping to get a smile from you.
And it worked.
Before you knew it, the edges of your mouth were curling up.
"There she is," he said softly, gently moving his thumb across your cheek. "There's my girl."
ʚ🐰ɞ hii everyone!! copying mai by doing this but please send in requests because i truly have no idea what to write about right now >:( i currently have requests open for off campus and rafe cameron!!! dada is desperate lol
» "START OVER" ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ໒꒱ john logan x !reader — blurb . angst but happy ending , yearning john logan ۶ৎ
⋮ ⌗ ┆warnings! : fem!reader , language , smut
“I love you. You’re it for me.”
The words echoed in the back of your head as rain angrily poured down the windows of Logan’s Boston apartment.
It was the only sound besides Logan’s heavy breathing and your anxious pacing. God, it was a long night.
“I don’t get why you’re doing this,” said Logan.
He stood there—incredibly still—staring at you with endless desperation. He looked like you kicked him and left him to fend for himself.
You sighed, tilting your head down. It was too difficult to face him.
“You deserve so much more than I can give you.”
Your voice cracked, sounding like the wooden floors that creaked with every panicked step you took.
Logan’s eyes softened as he took a step closer, still careful not to crowd you. He was always careful. It killed you that he was still careful now.
“You’re all I want,” he whispered. “Baby, you’re everything.”
You shook your head as tears threatened your eyes.
“Every time you come visit me in Briar, you’re losing days of training,” you say despite knowing it’s a bullshit excuse. “The Bruins don’t need a distracted player, it needs you.”
Logan let out a broken sound. A sob, a choke, a whimper? Whatever it was, it came from the soul.
“I’m nothing without you. Don’t you get that?”
He stepped forward again, trying to take your hands.
You pulled away on instinct, causing him to flinch away. His arms hung awkward and useless at his side.
“Please,” he whispered, “I don’t wanna start over. Not if it isn’t with you.”
He took another slow step towards you. “Can’t you see I’d do anything for us?”
The sound of your heart beating mixed with the silence of the apartment seemed louder than the storm raging outside. You were convinced he could hear your heart beating too.
“I’m not…” you trailed off. “I don’t wanna hold you back,” you admitted quietly.
Logan looked at you like you told him the world was ending. To him, it was.
He took frantic steps forward until he could reach you. He took your hands in his, warming your cold ones up. His eyes stared into yours, trying to see if you were bluffing in any way, and when he saw that you weren’t, his heart dropped further.
“No— no, no, baby, you could never,” he said desperately, almost begging. “You’re the reason I’m here.”
Logan placed one of your hands to his chest, forcing you to feel how fast his heart was racing for you.
Before a tear fell without you realizing it, Logan wiped it away with his free hand.
“I love you.”
Before you could break down, you leaned up and kissed him, still feeling his heartbeat under your palm.
Without any hesitation, he kissed you back. He kissed like he was drowning and you were his first breath of air. He was hungry, and he was gonna take what he deserved.
His arms instinctively wrapped around your waist, pulling your closer, as your arms wrapped around his neck.
“I love you so fucking much,” he whispered in between kisses.
You broke away to look at him through blurry, tear-filled eyes.
“I love you too,” you whispered.
He looked at you like you hung the stars specifically for him, like he couldn’t survive without you. He leaned down again and kissed you, but this time, with more confidence and less fear:
Without breaking the kiss, Logan walked backwards until the back of his knees hit the couch, and then he sat down, pulling you to sit on his lap.
You sat down willingly, your hand finding its way to his hair while the other rested on his shoulder. He let out a soft groan at that.
He hummed against your lips, one of his hands moving under your skirt.
Your breath caught in your throat as you kissed him harder, urging him to keep going.
Logan obeyed immediately and found his way to your underwear, teasingly tugging on it.
Letting out a desperate moan, you pull away from the kiss to lay down on the couch, pulling him on top of you. He followed instantly, using his forearm to hold himself up, careful not to crush you.
He leaned down to kiss your neck, biting down to leave marks then soothing it with his tongue.
Your back arched as you unwillingly let out soft moans, your grip tightening in his hair. Your legs moved to cling to his hips, pulling him down onto you.
He groaned before lifting up your shirt, exposing your body to his eyes.
“Fuck, baby,” he moaned out. “Can I?”
You nodded quickly. God, you were eager.
His mouth immediately found one of your nipples, sucking on it. He shifted, finding your other nipple, causing you to moan and gasp in surprise.
“Logan,” you whimper.
“Yeah, baby,” he murmured. “Tell me what you want.”
He pulled back to look at you.
“You,” you whispered.
“You have me,” he said before kissing you again.
Logan’s free hand started unzipping his jeans, letting his cock spring free. He wrapped his palm around it and teased your clothed pussy, earning a moan from you.
“Johnny,” you breathed out.
It felt so good to hear you call him that. God, he got harder.
Your eyes shut as he moved your panties to the side, sliding in his cock.
“Fuck, baby, you’re so tight and wet for me,” he groaned.
With a moan, your hand tightened in his hair again while your legs eagerly clung to his hips.
Slowly, so slowly, he thrusted in and out of you. It was agonizingly slow.
Eventually, he picked up his speed as you were dripping wet, letting him slide in and out. He thrusted deeper every time, earning a louder moan from you.
“I’ve got you,” he hummed as his skin met yours with a slap. “You’re so perfect.”
God, you were embarrassingly close, and he could tell.
“Come for me,” he whispered against your skin, his head tilted forward to the crook of your neck.
The orgasm hit fast, your pussy clenching around him as you tightened your grip on his body.
Your moan matched with his.
“You’re so good for me.”
He continued chasing his orgasm, letting you ride it out.
Your arms wrapped around his neck as he continued thrusting in and out.
Within a few seconds, he came inside you.
“Fuck,” he moaned out, collapsing onto you.
His thrusts slowed to a stop as he shifted to pull out and lay beside you.
Without another word, he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close to his chest.
“I love you,” he whispered. “Always.”
You looked up at him through half lidded eyes, nodding. “I know,” you mumbled. “I love you too.”
He smiled his stupid, charming ‘John Logan Smile’ and tightened his hold around you while keeping it gentle.
“God, don’t ever scare me like that again,” he said while letting out a breathless laugh.
» "START OVER" ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ໒꒱ john logan x !reader — blurb . angst but happy ending , yearning john logan ۶ৎ
⋮ ⌗ ┆warnings! : fem!reader , language , smut
“I love you. You’re it for me.”
The words echoed in the back of your head as rain angrily poured down the windows of Logan’s Boston apartment.
It was the only sound besides Logan’s heavy breathing and your anxious pacing. God, it was a long night.
“I don’t get why you’re doing this,” said Logan.
He stood there—incredibly still—staring at you with endless desperation. He looked like you kicked him and left him to fend for himself.
You sighed, tilting your head down. It was too difficult to face him.
“You deserve so much more than I can give you.”
Your voice cracked, sounding like the wooden floors that creaked with every panicked step you took.
Logan’s eyes softened as he took a step closer, still careful not to crowd you. He was always careful. It killed you that he was still careful now.
“You’re all I want,” he whispered. “Baby, you’re everything.”
You shook your head as tears threatened your eyes.
“Every time you come visit me in Briar, you’re losing days of training,” you say despite knowing it’s a bullshit excuse. “The Bruins don’t need a distracted player, it needs you.”
Logan let out a broken sound. A sob, a choke, a whimper? Whatever it was, it came from the soul.
“I’m nothing without you. Don’t you get that?”
He stepped forward again, trying to take your hands.
You pulled away on instinct, causing him to flinch away. His arms hung awkward and useless at his side.
“Please,” he whispered, “I don’t wanna start over. Not if it isn’t with you.”
He took another slow step towards you. “Can’t you see I’d do anything for us?”
The sound of your heart beating mixed with the silence of the apartment seemed louder than the storm raging outside. You were convinced he could hear your heart beating too.
“I’m not…” you trailed off. “I don’t wanna hold you back,” you admitted quietly.
Logan looked at you like you told him the world was ending. To him, it was.
He took frantic steps forward until he could reach you. He took your hands in his, warming your cold ones up. His eyes stared into yours, trying to see if you were bluffing in any way, and when he saw that you weren’t, his heart dropped further.
“No— no, no, baby, you could never,” he said desperately, almost begging. “You’re the reason I’m here.”
Logan placed one of your hands to his chest, forcing you to feel how fast his heart was racing for you.
Before a tear fell without you realizing it, Logan wiped it away with his free hand.
“I love you.”
Before you could break down, you leaned up and kissed him, still feeling his heartbeat under your palm.
Without any hesitation, he kissed you back. He kissed like he was drowning and you were his first breath of air. He was hungry, and he was gonna take what he deserved.
His arms instinctively wrapped around your waist, pulling your closer, as your arms wrapped around his neck.
“I love you so fucking much,” he whispered in between kisses.
You broke away to look at him through blurry, tear-filled eyes.
“I love you too,” you whispered.
He looked at you like you hung the stars specifically for him, like he couldn’t survive without you. He leaned down again and kissed you, but this time, with more confidence and less fear:
Without breaking the kiss, Logan walked backwards until the back of his knees hit the couch, and then he sat down, pulling you to sit on his lap.
You sat down willingly, your hand finding its way to his hair while the other rested on his shoulder. He let out a soft groan at that.
He hummed against your lips, one of his hands moving under your skirt.
Your breath caught in your throat as you kissed him harder, urging him to keep going.
Logan obeyed immediately and found his way to your underwear, teasingly tugging on it.
Letting out a desperate moan, you pull away from the kiss to lay down on the couch, pulling him on top of you. He followed instantly, using his forearm to hold himself up, careful not to crush you.
He leaned down to kiss your neck, biting down to leave marks then soothing it with his tongue.
Your back arched as you unwillingly let out soft moans, your grip tightening in his hair. Your legs moved to cling to his hips, pulling him down onto you.
He groaned before lifting up your shirt, exposing your body to his eyes.
“Fuck, baby,” he moaned out. “Can I?”
You nodded quickly. God, you were eager.
His mouth immediately found one of your nipples, sucking on it. He shifted, finding your other nipple, causing you to moan and gasp in surprise.
“Logan,” you whimper.
“Yeah, baby,” he murmured. “Tell me what you want.”
He pulled back to look at you.
“You,” you whispered.
“You have me,” he said before kissing you again.
Logan’s free hand started unzipping his jeans, letting his cock spring free. He wrapped his palm around it and teased your clothed pussy, earning a moan from you.
“Johnny,” you breathed out.
It felt so good to hear you call him that. God, he got harder.
Your eyes shut as he moved your panties to the side, sliding in his cock.
“Fuck, baby, you’re so tight and wet for me,” he groaned.
With a moan, your hand tightened in his hair again while your legs eagerly clung to his hips.
Slowly, so slowly, he thrusted in and out of you. It was agonizingly slow.
Eventually, he picked up his speed as you were dripping wet, letting him slide in and out. He thrusted deeper every time, earning a louder moan from you.
“I’ve got you,” he hummed as his skin met yours with a slap. “You’re so perfect.”
God, you were embarrassingly close, and he could tell.
“Come for me,” he whispered against your skin, his head tilted forward to the crook of your neck.
The orgasm hit fast, your pussy clenching around him as you tightened your grip on his body.
Your moan matched with his.
“You’re so good for me.”
He continued chasing his orgasm, letting you ride it out.
Your arms wrapped around his neck as he continued thrusting in and out.
Within a few seconds, he came inside you.
“Fuck,” he moaned out, collapsing onto you.
His thrusts slowed to a stop as he shifted to pull out and lay beside you.
Without another word, he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close to his chest.
“I love you,” he whispered. “Always.”
You looked up at him through half lidded eyes, nodding. “I know,” you mumbled. “I love you too.”
He smiled his stupid, charming ‘John Logan Smile’ and tightened his hold around you while keeping it gentle.
“God, don’t ever scare me like that again,” he said while letting out a breathless laugh.
PAIRINGS: toxic!frat boy!rafe cameron x smart/nerd!reader
there were exactly three things everyone at kildare university knew about rafe cameron. he was rich. he was president of delta mu and if you ended up crying because of him, people would probably ask what you did first.
it was almost impressive. he had this unbelievable ability to make every terrible thing he did sound like someone else's misunderstanding. he flirted his way out of parking tickets, smiled through academic warnings, laughed during disciplinary meetings and somehow walked away with people apologizing to him.
you hated him for that. not because he was arrogant. there were plenty of arrogant people on campus. not because he was rich. money had never bothered you: you hated him because nothing ever seemed to happen to him.
there were never consequences.
while you was balancing eighteen credit hours, two jobs, research assistant work, and the constant fear of losing your scholarship over one bad semester— rafe cameron stumbled into lectures twenty minutes late wearing yesterday's clothes, borrowed someone's pen, and still somehow left with an a-minus.
it was offensive. genuinely offensive because you'd spent almost three years convincing yourself hat people like him only existed in movies. you had worked from the ground up to get to where you were, and yet rafe just seemed to ... float through everything, like nothing touched him.
then you'd met him. movie villains usually had the decency to know they were villains. rafe genuinely thought he was charming. and somehow — which was actually probably the most infuriating part — most people agreed.
except you.
you'd hated him from the moment he'd smiled at you over a puddle of spilled coffee and offered you three hundred dollars like it was an apology.
it wasn't. it was a receipt. you had refused to become something he could buy. you had no idea that, three years later — you'd be forced to spend two hours a week sitting across a table from him. alone. trying not to kill him while tutoring the one student on campus you was almost certain wanted absolutely nothing to do with learning.
a/n: i’m sorry if this is short! requested by anons
masterlist , taglist
Today was a rough day in the villa without a doubt.
As you were originally coupled up with Corbin, you had now been voted to be with Caleb. Which in ways, was what you wanted. Corbin was around asking girls to kiss him like it was his day job and you hated that.
Caleb on the other hand was a gentleman who knew exactly what he wanted.
You were happy, but Corbin obviously wasn't.
Once everyone branched off from the firepit Corbin pulled you four a chat, on the daybed where people could see. "So, how are you feeling?" he asks. You didn't fully know how you were feeling, you knew in your heart you were happy with Caleb. He was just overall a better fit for you. But you couldn't help but wonder about your connection with Corbin.
He was great at first, you guys had great conversations, you laughed a lot and the kisses were great. But that was quickly interrupted by Kayda and Melanie letting you know he had asked them both for a kiss.
It just threw you off, sure this was a place to explore connections but right after kissing you he asked Kayda and Melanie? It just didn't see morally right.
"Um, I'm feeling okay. I wish it didn't happen so soon. I feel terrible." You answer. "No, don't feel bad, maybe America is seeing something we aren't."
That was true, maybe they saw a way he talked to a girl or just thought that you and Caleb were more fitting. And he was right, you shouldn't feel bad this was out of your control, you did what you were supposed to.
"So, was there like something with Caleb you didn't tell me about?" He asks. "What, no, I have no reason not to tell you stuff. I told you everything about our conversation." you answer.
"It's just fishy, you'd think if you only had that one conversation with him wouldn't we still be stronger?" He questions.
Why was he accusing you of lying, if anything, America coupled the two of you up because Corbin took his sweet time to tell you about the kisses he had. You felt the whole vibe change right away, what he said was so off-putting.
"How is it fishy? I told you literally everything that happened start to finish."
"I'm just saying it seems fishy, does it not seem that way to you at all?" He asks, his tone now sharp and piercing you right in the chest. "What seems fishy is you not only asking to kiss but kissing other girls and then waiting until I come to you to tell me. That's fucking fishy." You snap.
His eyebrows furrow at your words, seemingly shocked you even said that to him. "We weren't even coupled up for 24 hours." He argues. Which was complete bullshit, if he's coupled up with a girl he should respect them enough to tell them he kissed other girls. "It's basic respect Corbin, you're accusing me of lying and you're the one who was lying the whole fucking time." you bark. Both of your voices begin to raise.
People begin looking your way, but the two of you were too busy bickering to even notice.
"I was just asking, you getting defensive makes it seem like you were lying." he says.
You stand up in front of him, Caleb sees it and begins to walk over to make sure you're okay. "Why would I lie to you?" You ask.
"I don't know maybe you wanted to play two at once, I wouldn't be surprised." he states. Caleb then steps in front of you, hand on your waist. "That's not how you talk to a woman. Stay the fuck away from her." Caleb says, walking you away.
Luckily, the conversation ended just in time for everyone to begin getting ready for bed, while getting ready Caleb brought you a bit of your favorite villa snack to have before bed, he pressed a kiss on your cheek then left you to finish getting ready.
You walk into the bedroom, ready to crawl into bed with him. Unfortunately, you two were placed right next to Corbin.
The lights eventually fade, conversations die and the only sound is the sound of Gabe and Beatriz mouth fucking next to you.
You laid against Calebs warm skin, he brings himself to whisper in your ear "How can I make you feel good?" He asks, his breath warm against your ear. He begins placing soft wet kisses down your neck, "Hmm" You hum.
Your heart begins to pick up at the contact, fluttery feeling running through your veins. "Tell me, you deserve to be pleased the right way." His words turn you on right away, your legs press flush together.
His hand rubs across your waist as he continues kissing all over your neck, "Touch me please" you say faintly, as if you're already losing your breath.
He didn't waste a second after hearing what you said, his hand makes it's way down your laced undies and between your slick folds. He teases at your clit for a minute, making sure you're fully ready for him. "I'm so lucky this is all for me. I'm gonna make you feel good, just like you deserve." he says against your skin.
He then slowly inserts one finger, making sure you're adjusting okay without making too much noise. Once he's sure you're good he pushes another finger in and lightly begins pumping in and out of you.
Your walls flutter against his fingers, he catches your lips for a kiss, keeping you quiet. The kiss is sloppy as you're unable to full compose yourself. "You're doing so good." He praises against your lips.
You felt like you were about to crumble as his pace picks up, he hovers just overtop of you, one hand in his soft blonde hair lightly pulling at it, the other hand on his bicep, leaving crescent shaped marks from your nails.
"Caleb - I'm gonna cum." You say in a whisper. "Atta girl, let me feel it." He replies.
His pace picks up as his fingers curve inside of you, hitting a certain spot each time. Your body tenses up fully, as your release falls on his fingers.
He falls beside you, adjusting you onto his chest and stoking your hair.
You both stayed pretty quiet, but the noises you were making should show Corbin how to treat a woman.
that one clip of antonio asking india fowler “if she wants to come to vancouver and be his grace” gets me so hot and bothered like damn can i be your grace too?
the fact that elon musk could literally help end world poverty and hunger, donate to enviromental causes, help stop climate change and so many injustices in the world, but no guys, he just became the world's first trillionaire and he wants to put ai data centers into space.
if you worked for 20 dollars/pounds per hour, keep in mind you would have to work for 24 million years to get to where elon musk is now. even if you earned 1 million every hour of every day, it would still take over 100 years to accumulate a trillion.
also before i get all those comments, defending billion/trillionaires won't make them like you or make you become one btw. you are also suffering from this too because all his interests push his higher while he pushes you, the average citizen, down.
STUPID SONG ୧ ˚. GARRETT GRAHAM X HOPELESS ROMANTIC!READER
When Garrett is glancing around his room and realizing just how much his girlfriend has taken over his life.. but he wouldn’t have it any other way <3
꒰ ♡︵ “i want you more than any stupid song could ever say..”
𓂃˚₊⊹ PAIRING: hopelessromantic!reader x garrett graham
𓂃˚₊⊹ BLURB: Garrett's apartment used to be exactly what you'd expect from a college hockey player: practical, organized, and entirely his. Somewhere along the way, it became crowded with romance novels, floral blankets, colorful sweaters, and countless other traces of his girlfriend. Standing in the middle of the life they'd built together, he realizes he doesn't miss how things were before. Not even a little. In fact, he can't imagine the place without her in it. And maybe that's the stupidest thing about being in love: one day, someone else's presence starts to feel like home.
𓂃˚₊⊹ CONTAINS: pure fluff, sooooo not proofread, slightly inspired by the right move by liz tomforde
AUTHOR NOTE: everyone welcome hopeless romantic reader!! yayy!! also this is slightly oc garrett graham but i tried my best ://
join my tag list!
Garrett had never considered himself sentimental. He liked things organized.
Simple.
His life was eat, sleep, hockey, repeat. Exactly how he liked it.
His room in his shared house had reflected that long before she'd come into his life.
Dark furniture, neutral walls, hockey equipment tucked neatly into its designated corner. Textbooks stacked on shelves. A place that looked exactly like what it was.
Garrett stood in the kitchen, waiting for the coffee maker to finish brewing, and glanced toward the living room.
A warm pink blanket was draped over the arm of the couch.
It had been abandoned there sometime during the week.
He smiled despite himself because he'd asked her at least three times to take it home.
And because he knew if he picked it up and put it away, she'd somehow leave it in the exact same spot again, but it would feel empty without it there.
The coffee machine beeped.
He poured himself a cup and wandered toward the bookshelf in his room.
That was probably the biggest difference.
Once upon a time, every shelf had been filled with hockey biographies, sports psychology books, and textbooks from classes he'd barely passed.
Now?
A bright illustrated romance novel sat wedged between two hockey books. A shirtless man on the front of the cover.
Why the fuck was there shirtless men on his bookshelf? He knew the boys would give him shit for it if they knew.
Another was lying sideways on top of an entire row.
A third was face down on the coffee table despite her constant lectures about damaging book spines.
Garrett picked it up, making sure to put one of his own bookmarks on the page she was on.
Usually, she used whatever she could get her hands on as a bookmark. A random receipt, a pen, it didn't matter as long as it worked.
Garrett analyzed the book.
The cover featured a cartoon couple staring at each other.
The title was something ridiculous.
Something involving summer and kissing and a boyfriend's dad.
Naturally, she'd loved it. She loved all of them.
He didn't quite understand it, but he supported his little bookworm girlfriend and bought her any books she asked for. Sometimes, he would even sneak onto her wishlist and secretly buy the books on there for her, despite how embarrassed e was to buy books with shirtless men on the covers.
Every book with grand declarations and happy endings and people falling hopelessly in love. She loved every trope and every story.
The house felt quiet.
She'd left earlier that morning for class, yet somehow she was everywhere.
Her laptop sat on his desk.
Not beside his desk.
On it.
Covered in a pale pink case decorated with tiny white polka dots.
Beside it sat her water bottle.
Pastel yellow and covered in stickers.
One of them was peeling off near the bottom.
Garrett made a mental note to fix it before she came back home.
His gaze drifted toward the closet. The door stood partially open and half the space belonged to her now.
His side was exactly what anyone would expect.
Black, gray, navy.
Repeated endlessly. The only three colors he ever wore. It was simple and he never had to worry about different clothes matching.
Her side looked like a paint store.
Soft blues, cream-colored sweaters, floral dresses, a bright pink cardigan she'd bought three months ago and worn approximately every other day since.
Garrett had once asked why she needed so many clothes.
She'd responded by asking why he owned six identical gray shirts.
A fair point.
He set down his coffee and wandered farther into the room, closer to the bed which was still unmade.
The floral blanket she'd brought over months ago was tangled around the foot of the mattress.
Another thing she'd supposedly needed because, according to her, Garrett stole all the blankets in his sleep.
An accusation she repeated frequently. An accusation that was objectively false.
Mostly because Garrett woke up freezing at least three mornings a week while she remained wrapped securely in every available blanket like a burrito.
Yet somehow he never argued.
The blanket stayed.
Just like the decorative pillows he'd pretended to hate.
Just like the plants she scattered around the house.
Just like the framed photos she'd quietly added to shelves.
One of them sat on his nightstand.
Garrett reached for it automatically.
A picture from a few months ago.
Her smile was huge.
His arm was around her shoulders.
They were both looking at the camera, happy.
The kind of happy people never realized they were until much later.
Something settled in his chest.
It was warm.
Because his room didn't look like his anymore.
There were traces of her everywhere.
On every shelf and every surface.
Evidence of a life that had slowly become shared.
And the thing was, he loved it.
Every single piece.
Garrett glanced around the room one more time.
The romance novels mixed between his hockey books, the colorful life she'd introduced into a space that had once felt temporary.
A year ago, he probably would've found it overwhelming.
Now, the thought of the apartment without her things in it felt wrong.
The front door opened. A second later he heard her voice.
"Garrett?"
His mouth immediately curved into a smile as he walked towards the hallway.
"Hi baby, how was class?"
Her eyes sparkled. God, it was so fucking impossible to not fall deeply in love with this woman.
"Educational."
Her footsteps approached.
Light and familiar. Like home.
She appeared in the doorway carrying three shopping bags.
His eyes narrowed.
Once he reached her, he grabbed her by the waist and placed a kiss on her cheek.
"What did you buy?"
Her expression turned suspiciously innocent.
"Nothing much."
"That's such a big lie," his smile only got deeper.
"Okay, hear me out.. it was on sale," she mumbles as she holds up a brand new book and a sparkly lipgloss.
Garrett laughed.
"Doesn't matter. as long as I get to see you wearing that," he gestures at the baby pink bralette hanging out of one of the bags.
She grinned.
And just like that, the apartment felt complete again.
His gaze dropped briefly to the shopping bags, already wondering where she was going to put whatever she'd bought.
Probably somewhere that would make the room look even less like his.
The thought should've bothered him.
Instead, all Garrett could think was:
Good. Let her take over the rest of it too. Whatever was his, was hers too.
STUPID SONG ୧ ˚. GARRETT GRAHAM X HOPELESS ROMANTIC!READER
When Garrett is glancing around his room and realizing just how much his girlfriend has taken over his life.. but he wouldn’t have it any other way <3
꒰ ♡︵ “i want you more than any stupid song could ever say..”
𓂃˚₊⊹ PAIRING: hopelessromantic!reader x garrett graham
𓂃˚₊⊹ BLURB: Garrett's apartment used to be exactly what you'd expect from a college hockey player: practical, organized, and entirely his. Somewhere along the way, it became crowded with romance novels, floral blankets, colorful sweaters, and countless other traces of his girlfriend. Standing in the middle of the life they'd built together, he realizes he doesn't miss how things were before. Not even a little. In fact, he can't imagine the place without her in it. And maybe that's the stupidest thing about being in love: one day, someone else's presence starts to feel like home.
𓂃˚₊⊹ CONTAINS: pure fluff, sooooo not proofread, slightly inspired by the right move by liz tomforde
AUTHOR NOTE: everyone welcome hopeless romantic reader!! yayy!! also this is slightly oc garrett graham but i tried my best ://
join my tag list!
Garrett had never considered himself sentimental. He liked things organized.
Simple.
His life was eat, sleep, hockey, repeat. Exactly how he liked it.
His room in his shared house had reflected that long before she'd come into his life.
Dark furniture, neutral walls, hockey equipment tucked neatly into its designated corner. Textbooks stacked on shelves. A place that looked exactly like what it was.
Garrett stood in the kitchen, waiting for the coffee maker to finish brewing, and glanced toward the living room.
A warm pink blanket was draped over the arm of the couch.
It had been abandoned there sometime during the week.
He smiled despite himself because he'd asked her at least three times to take it home.
And because he knew if he picked it up and put it away, she'd somehow leave it in the exact same spot again, but it would feel empty without it there.
The coffee machine beeped.
He poured himself a cup and wandered toward the bookshelf in his room.
That was probably the biggest difference.
Once upon a time, every shelf had been filled with hockey biographies, sports psychology books, and textbooks from classes he'd barely passed.
Now?
A bright illustrated romance novel sat wedged between two hockey books. A shirtless man on the front of the cover.
Why the fuck was there shirtless men on his bookshelf? He knew the boys would give him shit for it if they knew.
Another was lying sideways on top of an entire row.
A third was face down on the coffee table despite her constant lectures about damaging book spines.
Garrett picked it up, making sure to put one of his own bookmarks on the page she was on.
Usually, she used whatever she could get her hands on as a bookmark. A random receipt, a pen, it didn't matter as long as it worked.
Garrett analyzed the book.
The cover featured a cartoon couple staring at each other.
The title was something ridiculous.
Something involving summer and kissing and a boyfriend's dad.
Naturally, she'd loved it. She loved all of them.
He didn't quite understand it, but he supported his little bookworm girlfriend and bought her any books she asked for. Sometimes, he would even sneak onto her wishlist and secretly buy the books on there for her, despite how embarrassed e was to buy books with shirtless men on the covers.
Every book with grand declarations and happy endings and people falling hopelessly in love. She loved every trope and every story.
The house felt quiet.
She'd left earlier that morning for class, yet somehow she was everywhere.
Her laptop sat on his desk.
Not beside his desk.
On it.
Covered in a pale pink case decorated with tiny white polka dots.
Beside it sat her water bottle.
Pastel yellow and covered in stickers.
One of them was peeling off near the bottom.
Garrett made a mental note to fix it before she came back home.
His gaze drifted toward the closet. The door stood partially open and half the space belonged to her now.
His side was exactly what anyone would expect.
Black, gray, navy.
Repeated endlessly. The only three colors he ever wore. It was simple and he never had to worry about different clothes matching.
Her side looked like a paint store.
Soft blues, cream-colored sweaters, floral dresses, a bright pink cardigan she'd bought three months ago and worn approximately every other day since.
Garrett had once asked why she needed so many clothes.
She'd responded by asking why he owned six identical gray shirts.
A fair point.
He set down his coffee and wandered farther into the room, closer to the bed which was still unmade.
The floral blanket she'd brought over months ago was tangled around the foot of the mattress.
Another thing she'd supposedly needed because, according to her, Garrett stole all the blankets in his sleep.
An accusation she repeated frequently. An accusation that was objectively false.
Mostly because Garrett woke up freezing at least three mornings a week while she remained wrapped securely in every available blanket like a burrito.
Yet somehow he never argued.
The blanket stayed.
Just like the decorative pillows he'd pretended to hate.
Just like the plants she scattered around the house.
Just like the framed photos she'd quietly added to shelves.
One of them sat on his nightstand.
Garrett reached for it automatically.
A picture from a few months ago.
Her smile was huge.
His arm was around her shoulders.
They were both looking at the camera, happy.
The kind of happy people never realized they were until much later.
Something settled in his chest.
It was warm.
Because his room didn't look like his anymore.
There were traces of her everywhere.
On every shelf and every surface.
Evidence of a life that had slowly become shared.
And the thing was, he loved it.
Every single piece.
Garrett glanced around the room one more time.
The romance novels mixed between his hockey books, the colorful life she'd introduced into a space that had once felt temporary.
A year ago, he probably would've found it overwhelming.
Now, the thought of the apartment without her things in it felt wrong.
The front door opened. A second later he heard her voice.
"Garrett?"
His mouth immediately curved into a smile as he walked towards the hallway.
"Hi baby, how was class?"
Her eyes sparkled. God, it was so fucking impossible to not fall deeply in love with this woman.
"Educational."
Her footsteps approached.
Light and familiar. Like home.
She appeared in the doorway carrying three shopping bags.
His eyes narrowed.
Once he reached her, he grabbed her by the waist and placed a kiss on her cheek.
"What did you buy?"
Her expression turned suspiciously innocent.
"Nothing much."
"That's such a big lie," his smile only got deeper.
"Okay, hear me out.. it was on sale," she mumbles as she holds up a brand new book and a sparkly lipgloss.
Garrett laughed.
"Doesn't matter. as long as I get to see you wearing that," he gestures at the baby pink bralette hanging out of one of the bags.
She grinned.
And just like that, the apartment felt complete again.
His gaze dropped briefly to the shopping bags, already wondering where she was going to put whatever she'd bought.
Probably somewhere that would make the room look even less like his.
The thought should've bothered him.
Instead, all Garrett could think was:
Good. Let her take over the rest of it too. Whatever was his, was hers too.
looking back at hannah and allies dynamic i get sad because i genuinely do not have a bff 😭😭 i don’t have a person that’s gonna choose me or someone to tell all my secrets to😭😭
oh my shayla! you will gain a bff! i truly felt the same way many moons ago (2021) but i was blessed a year later with two best friends who also write which are @misswarmsoul & @kotarosangel !
i feel deeply in my heart everyone will gain a best friend because friendship love is the most special and beautiful love in my opinion, so don’t give up hope honey!!
Don’t know if you’re interested, but can we get a beau x reader x dean work?
The wood experiment ²
Pairing: Dean Di Laurentis x fem!reader x Beau Maxwell
⟡ Main Index | ⟡ Archive for Earth-66
Summary: After years of disappointing experiences with toys that never quite satisfied you, you take a bold risk with two friendly strangers during a camping trip to finally test whether the problem was you or simply the wrong dildos.
Classification: Smut +18 | Threesome (MFM), first-time vaginal penetration, dry humping, fingering, double genital stimulation, creampie, cum play, spanking, edging, orgasm control, dirty talk, praise kink, mild dominance, no-strings-attached sex, light impact play, crude humor and mention of sex toys.
Word count: 4,8k
Divider by me ;)
You didn’t know where you stood on the spectrum of sexuality and sensuality. You had never felt the touch of a man, yet you were no saint. You owned toys, you read erotica and watched porn when the mood struck. Most of all, you liked the part of yourself that refused to wait for a man to drop out of the sky before you could feel pleasure.
Your friends had plenty of experience with men and you were happy for them but you simply preferred to stay in control of your own.
For a long time that had been more than enough. You could take care of your own needs in under five minutes with the cheapest vibrator on the market or with your fingers in ten if you were worked up enough. Dildos had never done it for you, no matter the material, the shape, the length or the width, they left you feeling little and never brought you to orgasm. That fact had left you uneasy about the idea of sex with a man. You hoped that when it finally happened, penetration would feel good, you'd make sure of it, but a quiet fear lingered. Were you numb?
Still, you felt no rush to enter a relationship just to test the theory. You had watched enough friends tumble into messy entanglements and then ignore every piece of advice you gave them.
Why would they listen to you, right? But after all, coaches never played…until tonight.
You sat around the crackling fire, thoughts drifting. You had come camping for a few nights to get some distance from your usual life and step down from your unpaid role as couple’s therapist to your friends. The first evening, Dean and Beau had set up camp near yours. They were university students like you, barely a year older, friendly and easy to talk to.
You had fallen into hiking and kayaking together with surprising comfort and now the three of you sat around their fire, the night air cool against your skin while the flames threw warm light across your faces. Since this whole trip was an experiment and a chance to push your own limits…why stop at flirting?
“Are you two…?” Your question trailed off as you gestured between them. You sat in the middle, each of you in your own camp chair.
Dean chuckled and shook his head. “Best friends…Not that he isn’t a good-looking guy.” He motioned toward Beau. “Look at him.”
Your gaze slid to Beau. He smiled, a little shy and sweet, clearly less bold than Dean. Still, the firelight traced the strong line of his jaw and the breadth of his shoulders.
“He’s right,” you said quietly.
Beau nodded, cheeks warming. “Uh, thank you.” He took a sip from his soda can. “Only one of us is Six Flags, though.” He grinned and Dean laughed.
You looked between them, lips curving despite yourself. “Six Flags? What does that mean?”
“He’s a ladies’ man,” Beau explained. “They come for the ride and then leave.”
“And I’m okay with that,” Dean added, raising a finger as if to make the statement sound more sincere.
You nodded slowly, eyes returning to Beau. You lifted your half-empty soda can in his direction. “And what kind of ride do you offer, handsome?”
Both of them turned their full attention to you, lips parting.
“Offer?” Beau repeated, voice low.
You hummed in confirmation, letting the moment stretch. The fire popped softly as crickets filled the silence between your words. “Just seeing if I could get two-for-one access tonight.”
Dean’s eyebrows rose as a slow, interested smirk tugged at his mouth. Beau’s gaze darkened as he set his can down on the ground beside his chair. The easy conversation from earlier fell away, replaced by something heavier and charged.
Dean leaned forward, elbows on his knees, firelight dancing in his eyes. “That’s a bold ask, sweetheart.”
You held his stare, pulse quickening. “Think of it as an experiment…I figured the woods were a good place for it.”
Beau glanced at Dean and immediately caught the eager look on his face. Dean looked about two seconds away from saying yes on the spot. Before he could, Beau cleared his throat.
“Hey, man. Can we… talk for a minute?” He asked, the last part tilting up as he motioned away with his head.
Dean blinked, then shrugged as he stood. “Sure.” Before he took a step, he turned and flashed you a quick smile.
Beau stood next and walked a short distance away from the fire as Dean followed, far enough for a private conversation but still in your line of sight. You kept your eyes on them, heart beating faster. You did not know what you were thinking, but you wanted this to happen. You wanted the overwhelming feeling of several hands on your body at once. The idea of sex without commitments felt like the perfect answer to your questions tonight. You wanted to try the real thing and the mere thought of being greedy enough to take both of them was making you awfully wet.
Beau crossed his arms. “Did I understand her right? She actually wants both of us? Like…at the same time?”
Dean grinned, nodding eagerly with his hands on his hips. “Sounded pretty clear to me.”
“What if she asks us to kiss?” Beau pressed, voice low but urgent.
Dean turned his head and looked straight at you. Your eyes were locked on them, curious and steady. Beau followed his gaze, then dropped his eyes lower. Dean was already visibly hard, the outline clear against his pants. Spending the past few days with you had been fun, and you were undeniably pretty.
Beau smacked him right on the cock with the back of his hand.
Dean doubled over with a groan, hands flying to cover himself. “Fuck, dude! The fuck was that for?”
“Can you focus for a second?” Beau hissed, eyes returning to Dean’s folded-over posture.
Dean straightened up slowly, still wincing but laughing under his breath. “One of us clearly is. Come on, isn’t this what we came here for? You wanted spontaneity. This is as spontaneous as it gets out in the woods.”
Beau rubbed the back of his neck, glancing back toward you. “We take this to the grave, right? No matter what happens. And if it gets too weird, we can always take turns instead of… everything at once. It’ll be her choice. I’m big on communication.”
“So am I,” Dean said easily. “But I’m not worried about ‘weird’. I have no issue seeing your dick, man. I’m a hockey player. I shower in rooms full of them and I can tell you that eventually your eyes start to wander.” He reached over and gave Beau a firm pat on the shoulder. “It’s not ‘if,’ it’s ‘when’… and that time comes pretty soon.” He nodded, eyes tracing Beau’s worried face.
Beau looked down at himself. He was getting hard too, though it was not nearly as obvious as Dean’s situation. Still, a flicker of doubt crossed his face as he wondered if size would be an issue once things got started.
Dean caught the look instantly. “Comparison is the thief of joy, my friend.”
Beau let out a short laugh despite himself, the tension easing a little. Dean’s grin returned, cocky and sure.
“I can show you a nude right now so there’s no surprises,” Dean added, his grin spreading wider.
Beau groaned. “Size isn’t all there is. It’s how you use it.”
Dean chuckled, nodding. “That’s my boy.”
During the conversation they had not noticed you stand and walk closer. When their eyes finally left each other and found you, you were only a couple of steps away.
“Don’t worry, guys. I don’t think we’ll hit max capacity of my tent tonight.” You smiled as you walked toward your tent without looking back. Both of their gazes followed your steps, matching smiles spreading across their faces.
“I think I just came in my pants,” Dean sighed.
“I’ll go first then,” Beau said, patting Dean’s chest. “You should start getting used to coming second…or even third.” He started walking after you. A second later, Dean followed.
The air inside the tent was thick with the scent of nylon and the musk of three bodies humming with anticipation. You sat there, trembling slightly, heart hammering against your ribs.
You hadn't told Beau or Dean that this was your first time, that the dildos you’d tried in private had left you feeling cold and empty, leaving you with a nagging, terrifying fear that you were somehow broken. You didn't know if you could actually feel pleasure but as you looked at them, the desperation to find out outweighed the fear.
The clothes had been discarded in a frantic heap, leaving you all in just your underwear. The space was cramped, which only added to the intensity, forcing your skin to brush against theirs at every turn.
Beau, always the sweeter of the two, had laid back first. He looked up at you with soft, wanting eyes as you climbed over him. You straddled his hips, settling your weight down so your core pressed firmly against the hard line of his cock, separated only by the thin fabric of his boxers and your own underwear. When you started grinding against him, you gasped, eyes widening slightly. He was warm and pulsing beneath you, the thick ridge of his erection rubbing right against your clit with every roll of your hips.
You began to rock yourself on him, moving in a slow, experimental rhythm. The friction of his clothed cock sliding against you sent sparks through your nerves, a sensation so vivid it almost made you cry out.
Dean was right behind you, kneeling and straddling Beau’s thighs to get closer. He was a wall of heat against your back, his confidence radiating off him in waves. His large hands reached around, sliding up to capture your clothed breasts. He squeezed and massaged them firmly, his fingers kneading your flesh while he leaned in to bury his face in the crook of your neck. He nipped at your skin, teeth grazing your pulse point, sending shivers racing down your spine.
Your hands rested on Beau’s chest, feeling the rapid thud of his heart beneath your palms as you moved while his hands locked onto your hips, fingers digging in to help guide them, pushing you down harder onto him with every roll.
Whenever Dean got close enough, pressing his front to your back eagerly, you could feel the hard, thick length of his cock pressing firmly against your ass, a promise of what was coming.
The feeling of being sandwiched between two men, the weight of them and the heat of their breath created an overwhelming sensation. You weren't close to coming yet but the tension was already building, in a new coil of heat tightening in your lower belly that you had never experienced before.
Dean’s hands moved, fingers hooking into the strap of your bra. With a swift, confident motion, he flicked the clasp and peeled the fabric away, exposing your breasts to the dim light of the tent.
Beau let out a low groan at the sight of your breasts spilling free, hips bucking upward instinctively. He looked up at your chest, eyes glazed with lust and breath coming in ragged gasps.
"Fuck," Beau choked out, his voice strained. "You're so beautiful...It’s gonna make me cum."
He tightened his grip on your hips, pulling you closer as you ground down against him. He held back, fighting the urge to come in his underwear while the two of you moved in a desperate, sweaty rhythm.
Dean stayed pressed behind you, mouth hot on your neck and shoulder, kissing and biting softly as his hand slipped around your waist and slid slowly beneath the waistband of your panties.
His fingers found your slick folds and immediately began drawing slow but firm circles over your clit, the sudden direct touch making you moan loudly into the space.
Meanwhile, his other hand stayed cupped around your breast, thumb brushing across your nipple in time with the movement of his fingers, forcing pleasure to surge through you from both angles.
Your hips lifted on instinct. Breathing hard, you reached down between your bodies, slipped your hand into the waistband of his boxers and wrapped your fingers around his thick, heated length. You pulled him free, stroking him once from base to tip as his breath hitched sharply.
You then hooked a finger into the side of your soaked panties and tugged them roughly aside, exposing your dripping pussy completely to him.
Dean chuckled low against your neck. "Taking initiative, I love that…Beau here likes spontaneity."
Holding Beau’s cock steady, you lined him up at your entrance and slowly sank down onto him.
The stretch was immediate and intense. A broken moan and gasp escaped your lips as his warm, bare cock pushed inside you, filling you inch by inch. It truly was nothing like your toys, he felt alive, hot and so much fuller than you had imagined. You kept sinking until you were fully seated in his lap, walls fluttering and clenching around him then releasing in ways no toy had ever made them do. "Holy fuck," you breathed.
"Nothing holy about this," Beau answered, voice rough. "Get to riding."
You laughed shakily as Dean’s laugh vibrated against your skin. "And here she thought you were the sweeter one."
"Please," Beau added, smiling up at you and the word made your lips part around another curse.
Dean’s hand left your breast and slid up to the back of your neck, pressing you forward firmly until your chest was flush against Beau’s, nipples brushing his warm skin with every breath. The new angle pushed you deeper onto Beau’s cock, drawing a shared moan from both of you.
Behind you, Dean rolled his hips, grinding the hard, clothed length of his cock between your ass cheeks. The thick ridge of his erection, still trapped in his boxers, dragged slowly, applying steady pressure against your most sensitive area. He matched every roll and lift of your hips as you rode Beau, thrusting in perfect sync so that every time you sank down onto Beau’s cock, Dean’s pressed firmly against your ass.
His fingers never stopped their steady circles over your swollen clit, slick and fast now, pushing you higher with every stroke. The sensation of being filled by Beau while Dean ground against you from behind left you trembling between them, caught in a rhythm that grew steadily more desperate.
"Tell her again," Dean said, grinning. "I’m pretty sure her pussy will thank you for your manners."
Beau’s hands settled on your waist, guiding your drags up and down his length. "Ride me, sweetheart. Nice and slow so you can feel every inch."
You kept moving and each time you rose, Dean’s dry thrusts pushed you forward again, the fabric of his boxers catching and dragging against sensitive, wet skin. The tent felt smaller with every breath and shift of bodies while your knees slid over your sleeping bag as you found a rhythm, Beau’s cock stretching you as Dean’s fingers kept your clit puffy and throbbing.
Beau’s grip tightened as he grabbed handfuls of ass. "Fuck, you feel so good…so tight around me."
"She’s dripping down your cock already. Keep talking to her, Beau…she likes it." Dean grinned.
Beau’s voice stayed soft even as his hips failed to lift to meet you halfway. "You’re doing so well…taking me so deep. That’s it, let Dean play with that pretty clit while you fuck yourself on me."
Dean’s fingers pressed firmer, faster and your moans broke into something higher. The combined sensation from Beau filling you and Dean’s cock grinding against your ass while his fingers worked your clit, made your thighs shake. You rocked harder, chasing the feeling you’d never found with silicone.
"That’s right," Dean murmured. "Use us. Show us how you want it."
Beau’s hands slid up your sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts. "You can go faster if you need to, it’s all yours to take."
You did. The wet sounds of your pussy taking him fully grew louder inside the small tent. Dean’s dry thrusts grew more insistent, the head of his cock catching on the thin fabric of your panties with every roll of his hips as your clit pulsed under his fingers, every circle sending sparks up your spine.
Beau’s breathing turned ragged, eyes fluttering shut. "You’re squeezing me so tight…Fuck, don’t stop."
Dean’s hand pressed firmly on the delicious curve of your spine…Fuck, he wanted to lick along it. "She won’t…not until she comes all over your cock. Right, beautiful?"
The words hit you harder than you expected. Your hips stuttered for a moment, then resumed their frantic rhythm, chasing the edge that had always stayed just out of reach with your toys.
Beau’s hands gripped your waist, steadying you as you rode him and Dean’s fingers never faltered on your clit, circling with relentless pressure. The three of you moved together in the cramped tent, bodies sliding against each other, hot breaths mingling in the thick air while the quiet night outside faded completely.
Beau pulled you into a deep, searing kiss, his tongue sliding against yours as he met every desperate roll of your hips, which you were greedy for. You rode him harder, walls clamping down tightly around his thick shaft with every downward plunge. The wet, filthy sound of your bodies meeting filled the small space as the tension coiled tighter and tighter in your core, centered beneath Dean’s skilled fingers.
Your orgasm crashed over you without warning, violent and overwhelming. Your back arched sharply, pressing your chest harder against Beau’s as your hardened nipples dragged across his heated skin. The kiss broke with a wet gasp as a loud, broken moan tore from your throat.
Your pussy spasmed hard around Beau’s cock, milking him in powerful, rhythmic pulses while pleasure tore through every nerve in your body.
You were so drenched that your juices coated his length and dripped down onto his balls, the slickness becoming too much. With one final, shaking shudder, Beau’s cock slipped out of you with a loud and obscene wet pop. You slumped forward against his chest, gasping for air, your empty pussy visibly twitching and pulsing in the open air between your spread cheeks.
Dean, who had been watching the entire spectacle with dark, predatory hunger, let out a low hiss. Seeing your walls contract and flutter had pushed him past the point of restraint. He snatched his hand away from your clit, the sudden loss making you whimper in protest and in one fluid motion, he shoved the front of his boxers down, freeing his thick, rigid cock.
He leaned forward, lined the swollen head against your soaked entrance and began pushing in.
You let out a loud, shocked moan against Beau’s lips, your eyes widening at the sudden heavy intrusion. Beau had been long and smooth, gliding easily along your walls, Dean was thicker and the wait had made him even harder. He was ridged and pressed firmly against every sensitive spot as he moved. He stretched you to your absolute limit, forcing your walls to open around his girth as he sank deeper.
Beau reached down with both hands and gripped your ass cheeks. He spread them wide, fully exposing your dripping pussy to Dean’s relentless push, the new position leaving you completely open between them.
Dean gave a few slow, careful thrusts at first, testing how your body responded while it was still vibrating from your orgasm. The waves hadn’t faded, instead, they continued pulsing around his cock with every shallow stroke, drawing a deep groan from his chest.
You whined, a high and needy sound escaping your throat. Dean rested his forehead against the back of your neck for a moment, breathing hard, before he straightened up again on his knees.
“Fucking glorious, right? So warm,” Beau murmured, his voice thick with lust.
Dean chuckled, the sound vibrating through your spine. “She’s still cumming from your cock, dude.” He paused, his voice softening even as it stayed dominant. “I’m not hurting you, am I, sweetheart?”
You shook your head gently, breath coming in short, jagged gasps. A powerful wave of relief washed over you. You weren’t broken or numb, you could feel everything, every ridge, vein and throb of their cocks inside you. The sheer intensity proved you were more than capable of this kind of pleasure.
Dean’s arm wrapped around your waist and hauled you upright, pulling you off Beau’s chest and holding you tight against him in a firm bear hug, your back flush to his front. Your skin burned where it pressed against his.
“Do me a favor and wrap that pretty hand around Beau’s cock,” he whispered hotly against your ear.
He began to thrust in earnest, each powerful stroke driving deep and pushing fresh wetness out around his thick shaft. You melted back into him, head falling against his shoulder as a full-body shudder ran through you.
“Come on, be a good girl,” Dean murmured, voice rough with passion.
He looked down at Beau’s cock lying hard and twitching against his stomach, shiny and dripping with your juices. The swollen head glistened under the low light while a thin string of your slick stretched from your pussy to Beau’s skin every time Dean pulled back and slammed in again.
Your hand reached down on instinct, fingers wrapping around Beau’s slick, hot length, feeling it pulse strongly in your palm. You stroked him slowly at first, spreading the wetness up and down his shaft while Dean fucked you steadily from behind, the three of you locked together in the cramped tent.
You guided the broad head of Beau’s cock firmly against your swollen clit and the drenched opening of your pussy. Every time Dean slammed his hips forward, driving his cock deep into you, the force pressed your pelvis down onto Beau’s shaft. The friction was electric, a constant, slippery grind that sent sparks of pleasure shooting through your nerves. You whimpered, head tossing back against Dean’s shoulder anew as pre-cum and your own slick lubricated the filthy contact.
Beau’s chest tensed beneath you, his muscles rippling as he fought for control. “Ugh, fuck,” he moaned, the sound vibrating through your thighs. You let out a breathless chuckle between your moans, fingers digging into his skin to keep his cock pressed tight against your throbbing clit.
“You guys…do this often?” you gasped, voice trembling as Dean’s thrusts grew more urgent, hitting your cervix with blunt, satisfying thuds.
“We can, if you call us,” Beau answered instantly.
Dean let out a low, rumbling laugh that vibrated against your back. “Took the words right out of my mouth,” he said, teeth grazing the shell of your ear before he gripped your waist tighter and pulled you back harder onto his cock.
The pace changed, becoming a relentless, kinky assault on your senses. Dean began to rotate his hips, grinding his cock deep inside you while you continued sliding against Beau’s tip. The wet, slapping sound of skin meeting skin filled the tent, mixed with the heavy, intoxicating scent of sex and musk. You were drowning in it as pleasure built into a towering wave that stripped away your ability to speak. You could no longer form words, all that left your lips were high, needy moans and broken whimpers.
As you lost the ability to talk, the men took over. Their voices became low and praising as they talked about you like a prize, describing exactly how your tight walls squeezed Dean and how your clit pulsed against Beau.
“Look at her,” Dean groaned, his breath hot on your neck. “So fucking wet for us. I can feel her twitching around me, trying to suck me dry.”
“She’s perfect,” Beau rasped, his eyes locked on your blissed-out face.
Suddenly, Beau sat up, his movement fluid and hungry. He lunged forward and wrapped his mouth around one of your stiff nipples, sucking hard while his tongue swirled around the sensitive peak. At the same time, his hand reached up to massage your other breast, kneading the soft flesh with a firm grip. The combination of Dean’s deep pounding from behind, the constant friction on your clit and Beau’s hungry mouth on your breasts pushed you right to the edge.
Your back arched sharply, toes curling. “Fuck…I’m gonna cum,” you wailed, your internal muscles clamping down violently around Dean.
“Hold it,” they both commanded in unison.
The sudden order snapped you out of your haze for a split second. They didn’t stop moving, if anything, Dean slowed to a torturous, shallow grind, teasing the entrance of your womb, while Beau kept his cock pressed firmly against your clit. They went right back to their seductive murmurs against your skin, praising how your body trembled and how desperately you were leaking for them. They kept you hovering right on the precipice, denying your release and stretching the tension until your entire body hummed like a live wire, trapped in agonizing, wet ecstasy.
The friction continued, a relentless, slippery torture. The sheer amount of lubrication, a hot cocktail of your soaking wetness and their pre-cum, made every movement smooth and loud.
As you ground desperately against Beau, the slickness became so intense that his cock suddenly slid from your clit and glided effortlessly toward your entrance.
You gasped, eyes widening in shock as you felt the broad, blunt head of his cock press firmly against your opening, right beside where Dean’s thick shaft was sliding in and out. He didn’t push inside but the overwhelming pressure of two cocks fighting for the same tight space was too much and the dam broke.
You screamed, body convulsing in a violent, crashing orgasm. Your walls clamped down hard on Dean in rhythmic, desperate pulses, milking him with every spasm. You whined and moaned, voice breaking as wave after wave of pleasure ripped through you, leaving you shaking and breathless.
The intensity of your climax triggered both men. Beau, feeling the frantic pulsing of your pussy against his sensitive head, let out a raspy moan into your nipple. His body stiffened as he erupted, thick ropes of hot cum shooting across your drenched pussy and mixing with the mess already coating your inner thighs.
At the same moment, the crushing grip of your orgasm pulled Dean over the edge. He let out a low, animalistic growl and buried himself as deep as possible, filling your womb with heavy, pulsing loads of cum. He kept thrusting slowly and heavily, pumping every last drop deep inside you while your body continued to shake between them.
Eventually, Dean slowed and pulled out with a wet, suctioning sound. The sudden emptiness left you feeling sensitive and open.
You collapsed forward onto Beau’s chest as he lay back down, breathing hard against the crook of his neck.
Your skin was warm and glistening with sweat and seed…And just as you started to relax, Beau reached down and delivered a sharp, loud smack to your ass.
You whined, the sting sending a fresh spark through your exhausted nerves while Dean groaned, voice thick with lingering lust as he stared at the sight of you.
“How’s it looking?” Beau asked, glancing at Dean, who seemed completely mesmerized by your lower body.
Dean leaned in, eyes tracking the way their mixed cum and your wetness dripped from your swollen and still pulsing folds. “Like an overfilled twinkie,” he muttered.
The absurd comment shattered the tension and all three of you dissolved into tired, breathless laughter. You propped yourself up slightly, lifting just enough to capture Beau’s lips in a deep, lingering kiss. Your fingers threaded through his hair, pulling him closer as you tasted the salt and heat of everything you had just done.
“You might not be Six Flags,” you whispered against his lips, a playful glint in your eyes, “but they should make you employee of the month.”
Beau grinned triumphantly and surged up to reclaim your mouth, his hand sliding down to squeeze your ass firmly, kneading the flesh.
“Hey…how come I got no kiss?” Dean’s voice drifted from behind you, mock-offended.
You didn’t bother to look back, too focused on Beau’s tongue sliding against yours but you had to pull back. “You came inside me,” you murmured breathlessly. “Don’t be greedy.”
You sank back into the kiss, feeling Beau’s chest rumble with a chuckle.
“Few more minutes and I’ll come on it too,” Dean whispered, voice low and promising as you felt Beau grin against your lips.
You had never seen men as the answer to much of anything, least of all your pleasure. So maybe the next thing you would acquire wouldn’t be a boyfriend, but a nice, realistic, warming and throbbing dildo to add to your collection… and perhaps a couple of phone numbers to call on those nights when your toys needed charging.
a/n: Comments, likes and reblogs really do mean the world and help more than you know! More stories will be added to the archive soon, so stay tuned for new content. Thank you so much for reading! 🤍
