Hey y’all! I’m Romy, I’m 21 years old and I’ve always loved writing so I figured this could be a fun outlet for that and I’m super excited to share more of my writing soon! I’m mainly writing for OBX atm, but open to other characters. My inbox/messages are always open if you ever want to chat🫶🏼💌
Who I Write For
(will change depending on who my babygirl of the month is)
- Jake Seresin (tgm)
- Rafe Cameron (obx)
- JJ Maybank
- Joe Burrow
- Patrick Zweig
- Art Donaldson
- Tashi Duncan
- Bradley Bradshaw
- Natasha Trace
Requests are open if you have any ideas or suggestions or just anything you want to see from me !
This blog is 18+, minors please do not interact! Ageless and/or underage blogs will be blocked without warning
c/w: brat!reader, dom/sub dynamics, rough unprotected p in v, use of sex toys, breath play (tie in mouth), voyeurism (rafe takes a work call during sex), rafe denying you all day, degradation, + name calling.
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You're supposed to be downstairs by now. The car’s been idling out front for fifteen minutes, headlights washing over the glass. A masquerade ball—a work gala—and Rafe’s the CEO, leaving half the board already wondering where the hell he is.
But he’s still here, standing in the middle of the living room in that fitted black suit that looks like it was sewn directly onto his body. The tie’s still loose around his neck, top button undone—a small tease, just enough to remind you he’s the one in control.
He’s been trying to get out the door for the past half hour. You’ve been trying to stop him for just as long—because at the end of the day, you know who really runs this show.
All afternoon he’s been doing that thing that drives you insane—brushing past you, murmuring filthy nothings in your ear, promising later.
You’d leaned against the counter earlier, coffee in hand, pretending not to care while his hand slid along the small of your back, his mouth hovering just above your skin.
But every time you turned, ready for more, he pulled away with that smug little grin and some excuse about “running short on time.”
And now, you’re running short on patience.
He calls out from the doorway, voice deep and impatient. “We’re gonna be late.”
You don’t answer. You’re still in the bedroom, slow and deliberate, pretending to smooth out the wrinkles in your freshly pressed dress—the black one that barely qualifies as formal but that Rafe said fit you like a goddamn glove.
You rest your hands on the mattress, bending over a little in your heels, letting the delicate material stretch across your curves, knowing full well he’s watching.
“Seriously,” he mutters, the sound of his dress shoes shifting closer. “You’ve had all day to get ready, angel.”
You smile to yourself. He sounds composed, but that tiny strain in his voice gives him away—that low pull of irritation that always slips in when he’s about to give in to whatever you want, because it’s you.
You look up from the bed, catching a glimpse of him in the mirror, and you bite your lip to hide your smile. His broad shoulders fill the doorway, hands shoved in his pockets, tie still loose, his wolf mask tugged low over his handsome face.
His eyes drag down your body, slow and deliberate.
“You’re doing this shit on purpose,” he says, voice low.
“Doing what?” you murmur, pretending to adjust the strap of your lingerie.
He laughs under his breath—amused, turned on, annoyed nonetheless.
He takes a few steps closer until you can feel the warmth of him at your back. His cologne wraps around you, muddling your mind.
“You’ve been on me all day,” he says quietly, leaning in until his mouth grazes your neck. “Every time I touched you, you gave me that look. You think I didn’t notice?”
He exhales through his nose, a sharp little breath that hits the side of your throat as you press back into him.
“Stop,” he whispers.
“Aren’t you supposed to take care of me?”
“You’re pushin’ it, baby—”
“Me?” You ask, because you could say the same damn thing about him.
“Mhmm… you’re taking your sweet time, and the driver’s been downstairs for—” he checks his watch dramatically, “—twenty minutes now. You think this shit’s cute? You think you’re not gonna regret actin’ like this when we got shit to do?”
“Maybe I want to,” you whisper.
He lets out a soft, frustrated sound, half laugh, half growl, dragging a hand through his hair to keep from touching you.
“She wants to regret it,” he mutters, almost to himself, voice dark and low—talking like you’re not even there. But you are. And you’re about to make him feel it.
You can see his reflection—the way his jaw tightens, his blue eyes burning through the narrow holes of his mask like he’s fighting himself back.
“Put on your dress, sweetheart,” he says finally, quiet but certain.
You roll your eyes, turning to face him, your hands instinctively resting on his strong chest, and he looks down at you—tall, tailored, every line of him sharp and expensive.
That all-black suit clings to his big body. The faint gleam of his chain catches the light when he takes a tight breath.
“You know,” he says, taking a step closer, “if you keep pushing, we’re never gonna make it to that gala.”
“I love staying in with you, baby,” you whisper.
The look he gives you is pure wanting—one that says he’s already seconds from giving in.
“Desperate all damn day,” he murmurs, brushing a hand down your arm, barely touching. “When did you turn into such a whore, huh?”
“Trying to keep up with you, Cameron. Kind of a prude today though—”
“Still talkin?” He asks, sending chills straight through you. “Five more seconds and I’m not walking out that door.”
His hand finds your waist, long fingers playing with the lace of your thong. You can feel the restraint in his touch—the way he’s trying not to destroy what you’re wearing, not to rip it to shreds. He’s still pretending to be calm, still pretending he has the upper hand.
“Every time I try to get out that door you pull me back in. This ain’t some round of golf or boys’ night. This is work. This is how I make a living—pay for that shit we love. You’re fuckin’ with me like it doesn’t matter. You like seeing me like this?”
“No, baby.” You tilt your head slightly, whispering as you draw back his mask, tousling his hair, “I love it.”
He lets out a quiet laugh—the sound rumbling under your touch.
“Fuckin’ brat—”
The air between you snaps. His mouth crashes into yours—rough and hungry—giving everything you’ve been waiting for.
One hand cups your jaw, the other gripping your ass. He slides his leg between your thighs, smiling against your lips as you grind shamelessly against the muscle.
“Told you… fucking whore, baby,” he teases, letting a sleazy laugh drip from his lips that only makes you wetter.
“Mhmm…” you hum in agreement. “Says the man who’s letting me make a mess of his Dior slacks when we’re supposed to be downtown…”
“And?”
“Just to get me wetter…”
“So?” He laughs breathily.
“’Cause he loves how it feels when it slides in.”
“You have no idea what you’re doing to me,” he says, voice rasping low.
“Then show me.”
“Just wish we had the time…”
“If you loved me, you’d make time—”
“The fuck you talkin’ like that for, huh?” He scolds as he turns you fast, bending you over, making your hands grip the bed for balance, your heels firmly planted on the floor.
You arch your back, ass pressed against his cock, somehow finding yourself in Rafe’s favorite position—your hips in his hands, taking you from behind—you fucking him back. If only that were true right now, more than just a filthy thought.
“Goddamn,” he grumbles as his rough hands circle your ass.
“Did you need something? I’m in a rush, apparently.”
“The attitude on you, pretty,” he murmurs, his hand dragging up the middle of your back, the other drawing your hips closer.
“You’re a fucking tease and you know it, Cameron… I’m a little over it.”
He lets out that same chuckle, velvety and low, as his hand weaves through your hair at the nape. “A little?”
“You’re so fucking annoying,” you laugh breathily.
Rafe lets out a sigh, his fingers tangling a little tighter through your hair. “I apologize,” he lies, his tone nothing short of condescension.
“It’s okay, truly. If you wouldn’t mind taking a seat out in the living room—”
“Excuse me?” He cuts you off, releasing his grip on your hair, looking back at you through the reflection in the mirror, eyes wide.
“I’m gonna take care of myself, m’kay?” You chirp as you flick your slinky black dress off the bed, showing off the black satin bag you had resting on the mattress just in case this very same moment occurred.
He’s fucking predictable.
“Jesus, baby,” he groans, a mix of annoyance and lust.
Turning around, you slink your hand up his thigh, landing on his cock, a rough enough touch for him to suck in a little air. He looks down, eyeing your hand on him. He tilts his head slightly, a devilish smile rolling across his lips.
“Get out, baby. Don’t worry. I’ll be fast,” you whisper, lips brushing over his.
Looping your fingers around the lace, you tug your panties over your hips, watching them fall to your feet, landing on Rafe’s as well—bubble-gum pink lace against his black leather dress shoes.
He reaches for you again as you crawl on the bed, his strong hand instantly tracing up your inner thigh, thumb dragging slowly over your lace-covered slit as you move out of reach.
Rafe clears his throat, trying to regain the upper hand. “Five minutes, baby. Then we're heading out,” he smirks, continuing to fuck with you. He was already going to cave, the second he stepped into the room. You know exactly what he's waiting for—he wants you to beg.
“Sounds good,” you smile as you look over your shoulder again, reaching around your back to unclasp your bra, tossing it aside.
Your breasts bounce as you adjust on your shared bed, finding the perfect position with your sex toy in hand. Rafe smiles widely, casting his gaze away, shaking his head dizzily as you relax into the pillows, drawing your legs up.
“You wouldn't.” His eyes drift to you as you trace the vibrator up your inner thigh.
“I would,” you breathe, flicking it on, pressing the soft tip through your entrance.
Your breath catches as you're met with rotations and vibrations; the toy working its magic on you, enough that you let your lashes fall.
Your hand drifts up your body gradually; fingers, reaching the swell of your breast, tracing your nipple slowly.
Your fingers drift to the other side, playing with yourself shamelessly, pinching your nipple, rolling it softly, a breathy moan falls from your lips.
You can hear his feet, nearing your side of the bed. His presence. His breathing. The heat of his body, so close to yours. “Fuck, Rafe…” You whimper.
“Do you say my name whenever you use your toys, baby?” He drawls.
“Just like that,” you whisper, dismissing the question.
“Answer me,” he breathes.
You turn it up a little higher and the buzzing noise creeps higher too. You work the vibrator in and out as your thighs start to tremble.
He can hear how wet you are; you, no longer frustrated, getting off on the idea of him watching. “Shit,” you sigh as you flick your eyes down, watching the blue shimmery silicone glimmering with your wetness.
He's frustrated, you can see it in his eyes. A battle of stubbornness—wanting you to beg—wanting to cave himself.
Rafe lets out a growl of annoyance, his hand brushes yours. Your eyes flick open watching as he mounts the bed, body hovering over yours. Rafe presses his lips against yours, taking the vibrator off your hands.
You smile against his lips, giggling delightedly. He draws it out quickly, making the air punch out of your chest.
“Rafe! What the fuck?” You cry, breathlessly. He lets out a sinful chuckle against your lips, turning it off. “You’re such a fucking dick.”
You push him off you but he forces you back down on the bed, pressing you into the pillows. “And, you’re stubborn, pretty girl. And now, you're gonna beg.”
You roll your eyes, bringing your free hand up to your lips, running them along your tongue.
“The fuck I will…” You breathe, moving your hand down to your pussy, resuming when you left off, circling your clit with your fingers instead.
Rafe steps off the bed, vibrator in hand, walking toward the door. “Three minutes, baby. Then we're headin’ out.”
“Sounds good,” you sing as he reaches down to snag his mask off the floor. You open the drawer of your nightstand roughly, allowing the knick knacks inside to clatter, making Rafe stop in his tracks.
“Hmm, mhmm,” you hum, drawing out a new red rabbit vibrator, turning it on.
BUZZ. BUZZ. BUZZ.
“You gotta be shittin’ me?” He chuckles tiredly as he turns around slowly, his eyes shifting to yours as you press the toy inside with a sharp gasp.
Rafe walks toward you, watching you carefully as your pleasure begins to build again. Rafe's rough finger meets your arm, tracing softly to your hand.
“Rafe,” you gasp as he takes a rough grip on your wrist, taking you by surprise.
“Drop. It.”
“No.”
“You’re unbelievable,” he mutters, making you chuckle.
“A-And…” you stutter as your pleasure builds.
“Why are you like this?” He groans, eyes falling down your body, watching your breasts bounce with each thrust of the toy.
“Why are you surprised?”
He exhales hard, shoulders rising as he drags a hand through his hair, the sound half-growl, half-defeat.
“You drive me insane,” he mutters.
“Good,” you breathe, still moving slow, steady, in control.
“Enough,” he mutters, already taking control, pulling it out, the rabbit hitting the floor with a thud.
His mouth is on yours again, hot and heavy, restraint completely gone. You smile against him, utterly satisfied. “Guess we’re gonna be late,” you whisper. And he sucks off your bottom lip, biting rough enough to punish, leaving you whimpering into his mouth.
Rafe huffs a laugh as he pulls back, pawing his tie the rest of the way loose, hanging long on his neck as you pop open the buttons of his shirt. He grumbles under his breath as he struggles with his belt, shoving his designer slacks down just enough to release his stiff cock.
“Shut the fuck up,” he chuckles darkly, trying to act annoyed but it’s useless.
“Don’t be like that—” Your eyes widen, mouth stuffed full of Rafe’s silk tie before you can get out anything else.
“Just cum, alright? Think you can do that?”
He grabs your thigh, bullying you to the edge of the mattress before shoving his cock deep inside your pussy with a single stroke.
You cry out around the fabric, eyes rolling back in your head as Rafe starts to stroke.
His eyes fall down your body, watching the place where the two of you connect, the slick sounds of your wet cunt mixing with your muffled moans.
Rafe’s eyes pull away from your body reluctantly, falling to the phone on the mattress. The screen glows bright, with an incoming call, making him suck his teeth in frustration.
“Goddamnit, baby,” he grumbles as he answers mid-stroke, pressing the device between his shoulder and ear. “Yeah.” He answers breathlessly and clipped, pressing his thumb against your clit, making you gasp at the extra sensation as he starts to circle at the perfect pace.
You whimper around the tie, so he slaps your clit, making you cry out, the man quickly shushing you like he actually expects you to be quiet.
“Yeah. She split some wine on her dress,” he mumbles as he strokes. “We’re comin’,” he breathes. “Aren’t we?” He mouths as he smirks, feeling you tightening around him, your fists gripping the sheets.
Rafe clicks off the phone and tosses it aside, one big hand wrapping around your throat, the other gripping your hip.
He pounds into you at a punishing pace, knocking your body higher on the mattress with each stroke.
“Cum for me, sweetheart. Such a fucking mess for this dick. Why don't you make a mess all over it, hmm?”
He grabs the tie and tugs it out of your mouth as you scream his name, pussy flutters around his thick cock as he fucks you through it, waves of pleasure coursing through you.
You relax around him and he pulls out, looking down at you with his lip tucked between his teeth and his eyes glazed over with pleasure, stroking once—twice. ‘Til he’s spurting cum on your entrance, pressing it deep inside, milking out the last bits of his release with his head thrown back, a lazy smile painted on his pretty lips.
His chest rises and falls rapidly, his gold chain with your initial glittering and stuck to his tanned skin. He takes a deep breath and blows it out slow before looking down at you, trying his best not to smile.
𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬: a scene/quotes from wolf of wall street, use of y/n
the late afternoon sun bled across the neatly manicured garden of the cameron estate, painting every surface with a warm, expensive glow. trimmed hedges framed the sprawling lawn. the stone patio beneath rafe’s feet was warm, the ice in his glass melting slower than time.
he sat back in the custom-built teakwood chair, perfectly angled toward the view — aka, a direct line of sight into the open-concept living room through the wide patio doors.
topper and kelce lounged across from him, both already on their second bourbon, laughing loud over some story that didn’t matter anymore. it had been a year since the three of them sat together without a time limit. rafe had peeled away from nights out and golf trips, instead he buried himself in expansion projects and investor dinners but more than anything, focusing on his family.
topper leaned forward, swirling the ice in his glass. “how’s your wife, y/n? how’s she doing?”
rafe smirked, tipping his chin toward the open sliding doors behind him. “that’s her in the house there,” he said, like it was obvious. “you could say hi, but she probably won’t wave back.”
kelce raised a brow, following the direction of rafe’s gaze. inside, you stood near the kitchen island, one hand holding your phone to your ear, the other delicately fixing the clasp on a diamond-studded earring. your pink shirt clung to your hips, the white shirt fitted perfectly. your outfit screamed expensive. your hair was clipped back in a half-up bun that screamed effortlessness. your legs were bare, skin glossed, toes painted that sheer, ladylike pink.
topper gave a low whistle, already grinning. “damn,” he muttered under his breath, before raising his glass with a lazy grin. “y/n, sweetheart!”
you glanced over, your gaze looking bored and then — without even pausing your sentence into the phone, you lifted your hand, extended your middle finger, and turned back around to grab your clutch off the counter.
kelce practically choked on his drink. “jesus christ.”
rafe just laughed, low and proud, “told you,” he said with a shrug. “she’s not in the business of being polite.”
topper looked stunned. “she’s exactly the same.”
“what, you thought motherhood was gonna make her soft?” rafe asked, amused. “if anything, she’s worse. more dangerous. more expensive. more addicted to chanel.”
“so, i heard she’s running some aesthetics thing now?” kelce said, leaning back.
“yeah, her own studio,” rafe said, a flicker of something proud flashing in his eye. “botox, filler, laser, all that. booked out for months. women come from everywhere just to get their lips done by her.”
topper shook his head. “she’s a menace.”
“she’s my menace.” rafe replied, without hesitation.
inside, you hung up the phone and crossed the room slowly, your heels clicking faintly on the marble tile. aurora’s tiny pink barbie shoes were scattered by the sofa, a discarded juice box lying sideways on the floor. you ignored it all, stepping over the chaos like you were floating.
teddy came sprinting through the hallway a second later, barefoot and yelling something about pirates. before he stood infront of you, holding his arms out. you bent down before picking him up and holding him on your hip.
you walked over to the couch, setting teddy down, “do you want your headphones?” you asked, in which he nodded eagerly.
you grabbed his headphones from the kitchen counter, putting them on his ears as he grabbed his ipad, you gave him a kiss on the head.
you leaned against the doorframe, and gave the garden another look — your eyes flicking between kelce, topper, and rafe like you were weighing which of them mattered enough to speak to. spoiler, none of them did.
“that’s my beautiful wife right there,” rafe muttered, bringing his drink up to his lips.
topper smirked, glancing back at you. “still not sure how you pulled her.”
“i knocked her up at seventeen,” rafe replied, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “and never let her leave.”
they laughed, but it was true. you’d had teddy at seventeen. scared shitless, defiant as hell, and already wearing luxury perfume your friends couldn’t pronounce. you were fire and ice and fake lashes. somehow, through the coke and the fighting and the storm of growing up too fast, rafe stayed. stayed and built a kingdom around you.
and now — seven years later — here you were. in the house you both designed, sipping your matcha, with a business in your name and two kids who called you mama and a husband who never stopped spoiling you.
you finally stepped out onto the patio, sunglasses in place, your lips glossed. “topper. kelce,” you greeted, voice silk-wrapped poison. “didn’t know they was letting the strays through the gates now.”
“we told security we were here to see the ceo,” kelce grinned.
you raised a brow. “must’ve been a slow day.”
rafe stood as you walked past, placing a hand on the small of your back like muscle memory. you leaned up, kissed his cheek, and whispered something in his ear — too low for the others to hear. whatever it was made rafe smirk.
“i’m taking the g-wagon,” you said aloud. “meeting a client for a consultation. if aurora wakes up, don’t let her eat gummy bears before dinner. she’ll lie about how many she had.”
“noted,” rafe said, brushing a lock of hair behind your ear.
you turned to the boys, eyes cool behind your designer shades. “you boys have fun talking about the glory days. don’t forget your wives have access to your bank accounts now.”
with that, you walked off, heels clacking against the stone, legs out for miles. topper stared, “she scares me.”
“yeah,” rafe followed his gaze, “me too.” but he loved it.
that’s when your night gets interrupted from a very drunk rafe making you groan and reach out blindly for your phone before finally grabbing it "this better be important." you mutter irritably into the phone, clearly not in the mood for whatever is going on.
“hey… sweet baby— he laughs mid talking— could you uhm…like pick us up?” you frown at his slurred speech, sitting up straighter as annoyance tightens your jaw.
“Us?” you echo, already knowing you won’t like the answer.
“Me ‘n Top… and Kelce. I think. Might be more. Dunno. We’re at—wait, wait—Top where are we, bro?” You hear muffled arguing, laughter, something crashing in the background.
You pinch the bridge of your nose, teeth gritted. “You’re kidding.”
“Nooo,” Rafe drawls. “I’m serious, baby. You’re the only one I trust not to leave me for dead or steal my wallet. And I miss you,” he adds like it’ll soften the blow, like that’ll make you forget it’s twelve-fucking-forty-five and you have work in the morning.
You sigh, already sliding off the bed and grabbing your keys and pulling up to the country club.
You don’t bother honking. You just sit there, door unlocked, headlights cutting through the night like you’re daring someone to test your patience.
It doesn’t take long.
The front door swings open violently, and Rafe stumbles out like he’s been tossed—laughing, loud, messy. Topper follows, shirt half-buttoned and yelling something incoherent. Then comes Kelce, clutching a red Solo cup like it’s a lifeline.
“That’s my woman!” he shouts, arms out, and for a moment you fear he’s going to trip on his face.
“them too?” you dead pan already losing it. how the fuck do you end up with three grown ass men in their thirties at one am?
You lean over and push the passenger door open with an annoyed flick of your hand. “Get in, Rafe.” you exclaim exasperated.
He slides into the passenger seat, the smell of liquor and smoke clinging to him like a second skin.
“You mad?” he slurs, head tipping against the window with a thud. “You look mad. But you’re always so fucking hot when you’re mad baby …”
“Rafe,” you snap, shifting the car into drive, “shut up.”
older!raf fingering florist!reader with daddy kink?
florist!reader x older!rafe
warnings: fingering, daddy kink (if you don't like it, don't read it)
word count: 1.2k + a/n: the daddy kink felt like the perfect move for florist and rafe, I hope you like it anon <3
You’d been pestering him all day, but it wasn’t your fault. The shop was closed for the day as you were waiting for more flowers and so Rafe said he would work from home to keep you company. It wasn’t your fault that you were feeling needy, and as your boyfriend, Rafe was supposed to give you attention and tend to you. Your head, fuzzy from the overwhelming ache in your core, wasn’t able to comprehend that he was busy and unable to give you attention.
In a desperate act, you had gotten into your shared bed to take matter into your own hands. But no matter how much you rubbed your throbbing clit, you couldn’t bring yourself to the edge. It just didn’t feel as good as when Rafe touched you, even when you tried to mimic his actions from memory. You worked yourself to tears, still unable to cum and your clit just sore from your relentless rubbing.
You got out of bed, clad only in a pair of cotton panties and one of his shirts that fell to the middle of your thighs. His door creaked open, and you stood in the doorway, face flushed and tears running down your cheeks.
“Oh baby,” he looked up, brows furrowed in concern. He pushed his chair back from the desk to make room for you in his lap, “What’s goin’ on?” You couldn’t help the sob that came out of you as you climbed into his lap, straddling him and hiding your face in his neck. “Oh sweetheart, what happened?” He cooed, one of his hands coming up to cup the back of your head, his other falling to your waist.
“I can’t do it,” you whined, the skin of his neck becoming damp with your tears.
He pressed a kiss to your temple, “Can’t do what, honey?”
A frustrated sob ripped out of your throat as you spoke, “Can’t get myself off. Kept trying an’ trying but just can’t do it.”
He hummed, rubbing your back soothingly. He rocked you back and forth in his lap, well versed in how to calm you down from your tears. “ ‘m gonna finish up and then I’ll help you out, okay?”
“Want you to help now,” you countered, your breath still catching as you calmed from your sobs.
But he only shook his head, much to your dismay. “I need to finish this, and then I’ll help you.” The words were firm now, and it had tears rising to your eyes again.
Your bottom lip trembled, “Please, daddy?”
Rafe’s heart stopped dead in his chest at the name. He pulled back to look at you properly, his blue eyes gazing into your wide, tear lined eyes. He reached up to smooth your furrowed brows with his thumb and sighed as he properly took in the desperation in your eyes, “Get in bed and I’ll be there in a minute, okay?”
Eagerly, you nodded and pressed a kiss to his cheek before climbing out of his lap, all but running to the bedroom. He took a moment to calm himself, running a hand over his head as he replayed what you’d said in his head. He delayed his meetings for the day until tomorrow and got out of the ones that he wasn’t urgently needed in before he followed you to the bedroom.
He found you sat on the edge of the bed, eyes wide and hopeful as you looked up at him. He sat down in the middle of the bed, his back against the headboard and his legs spread. “C’mere,” he beckoned, gesturing to his lap.
He didn’t have to tell you twice as you moved to sit on his lap, but he tutted and positioned you the way he wanted you sat, your back to his chest and your legs spread and resting against his. “Let’s get these off, yeah?” He murmured softly, kissing your cheek as pulled your ruined underwear down your legs and threw it to the side.
His fingers slowly trailed up the inside of your thigh, one hand resting on your thigh as his other came into contact with your swollen clit. You jolted at the contact, “Oh, baby. Y’so sensitive.” He commented as he started to trace slow circles on your clit. You could only whine, the feeling of his hands finally on you was more overwhelming than you’d thought it would be. “Got yourself really worked up, didn’t you?”
You only nodded, your body fully melting into his as your mind clouded over now that he was taking care of you. “Please,” you breathed.
“Please, what?” He tried, wanting to hear you say it again. You frowned, not quite grasping what he wanted from you. “Please, what?” He repeated.
You chewed on your bottom lip, feeling embarrassed that you’d even called him that in the first place. “I don’t know,” you whispered unconvincingly.
“Yes, you do.” He nodded, encouraging you gently. “Please, what?” He asked again as he put more pressure on your clit.
Your breath hitched, “Please, daddy?”
A groan of satisfaction ripped from his throat, and he dipped two of his fingers into your opening. He kissed your cheek again, “So smart, baby.” The praise warmed your chest, your blood singing. “You gonna be good f’daddy now?”
You nodded, “Yes.”
He paused his movements, “Yes, what?”
“Yes, daddy,” you moaned as he began to rub your clit again.
“Good girl,” he hummed, slipping two of his fingers inside you, your neglected cunt clenching around him desperately. Your hips bucked up slightly, back arching as he curled his fingers. He wrapped his free arm around your waist, keeping you pinned against him as he worked you towards the orgasm you so desperately needed at an alarming pace.
You began to squirm in his hold, your hands wrapping around his wrist as he picked up the speed of his fingers. A cry left your lips, head thrown back onto his shoulder as you tried to get out of his hold, your oncoming orgasm leaving you overwhelmed. Rafe kept his hold on you, focused on the task at hand. “ ‘s okay baby, nearly there and you’re gonna feel better.”
You could only nod, your toes curling as strings of moans fell from your parted lips. “Daddy, please, I’m –“ you were cut off as you moaned again, his thumb rubbing circles on your clit as his fingers curled inside of you.
“I know baby, ‘s okay.” He said, eyes trained on the sight of you clenching around his fingers. “Gonna cum f’me, yeah?” You nodded, your nails digging into the skin of his wrist. “That’s my girl. C’mon, cum for daddy.”
You cried out, the words alone throwing you over the edge, your legs shaking as your orgasm hit you at full force, filling your body with white hot pleasure. He worked you through it, his fingers moving at a slow pace as you came down from the high. “Too much,” you panted, pushing his hand away.
He stilled, slowly withdrawing his hand from you, his fingers wet with your release. Rafe brought his fingers to his mouth, cleaning off your juices before speaking, “Feel better now?”
“Thank you,” you whispered, breathing still heavy and eyes half-lidded. He only nodded, his hands running up and down your legs to help calm you. “You didn’t um, you didn’t think that it was weird? What I called you?”
He shook his head, “ ‘Course not, sweetheart. I liked it.” He assured, shifting his hips to get comfortable, his bulge brushing against your back to show just how much he liked it.
warnings: drug references, toxic behavior, heavy suggestiveness, sexual themes, foul language, possessiveness, mentions of past sexual encounters, emotional manipulation
“you’re fucking high.”
you say it, low and accusing, like he didn’t just walk into your place with glassy eyes and a mouth that won’t stop twitching.
rafe scoffs, like you’re the one being unreasonable.
“nah, baby,” he says, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. “i told you. i don’t do that shit. i just sell it.”
“your pupils are fucking dinner plates.”
“you checking me out now?” he grins, like that’s cute, like this is a game. like you aren’t dead serious and tired of the same excuses.
you cross your arms, jaw locked, voice steel. “if you’re using again—”
“i’m not,” he bites, fast and sharp and a little too loud. “jesus. you don’t trust me? then maybe you should go. if you don’t like what i do, baby, there’s the fucking door.”
his words are mean. cruel. but his eyes are on you like he owns you.
you bristle, heart crawling up your throat. “maybe i will go.”
he doesn’t reply.
just exhales through his nose and turns his back, shoulders stiff.
and you hate that you still look at him. that he still looks good. tank top sticking to his chest. arms veiny and tan. his stupid chain glinting under the kitchen light.
“go on then,” he mutters.
you turn, slow, one hand gripping your bag—
“hey.” his voice changes. like lightning striking the calm.
soft. boyish. so fake it makes you sick.
“baby.” you don’t stop. “c’mon. hey, don’t be like that.”
he grabs your wrist, not rough. pulls you back into him.
“you’re really gonna leave after the shit we’ve been through?”
you don’t look at him.
he laughs, a little breathless. like he can’t believe you’re doing this again.
“what about the time you let me fuck you on the balcony?”
he murmurs it against your cheek.
“huh? when you were moaning my name so loud the neighbors had to shut their windows?”
you try not to react.
he notices anyway.
“you remember,” he smiles. “don’t lie.”
you hate how warm he is. how good he smells. leather and sweat and that sweet, cologne-covered danger that’s always clung to him.
“rafe,” you say, tired. “i don’t want to do this anymore.”
he kisses your jaw, nose brushing your skin.
“but baby…” another kiss. just below your ear. “you need me.”
your stomach flips. you do. and you hate that it’s true.
“please don’t go,” he whispers, suddenly small. “i’ll stop, okay? i’ll stop everything. for you.”
you stay quiet.
he wraps his arms around your waist, holding you so close you can’t think.
“just… stay,” he breathes. “i’ll be good. promise.”
note — not entirely happy with this but if i keep looking at it i’m gonna scrap it. so pls be nice :)
tags — @willowsnook @starsinthesky5 @joeyburrrow @joeyfranchise @hannahjessica113 @hotburreaux @iosivb9 @softburrow @irishmanwhore @kazsbrckkers @sportyphile @ebsmind @joecoolburrow @wickedfun9 (comment/send an ask to be added!)
“WHAT?” HE WAS FURIOUS. His hands gripped the invitation, but he stared at her empty hands. His eyes were blown with disbelief, his heart pumping wildly in his chest; she didn’t get invited. His girlfriend, a gold medalist in the Olympics, didn’t get invited.
“Joe, it’s not the end of the world,” she tried to assure him, “it’s high fashion. It’s not really my thing,”
“Babe, I wanted you there with me. I don’t want to walk that carpet by myself,” he answered her, raking his free hand through his curls. The Met Gala, a prestigious gathering of the rich to show off different themes each year. People ate it up, and she always looked forward to seeing what her favorite celebrities wore.
But Joe was invited this time. The same Joe who didn’t do social gatherings.
“I saw Justin was going to be there,” she tried again, “and Jalen. You know them, especially JJ,”
“They’re not you, Y/N. I wanted you there,” he argued. Every social event he brought her. She grounded him and kept him sane. When the flashes of the cameras blinded him, when the shouts of reporters deafened him, all he wanted was her. He wanted her soft touch and her graceful reminders. He didn’t know if he could do it alone.
“I know, baby,” she sighed, cupping his face in her hands. She had her own little secret, one she cradled in her chest. She’d been invited, and she was definitely going, but she wanted to surprise Joe. This was the Met, his first ever, and she wanted it to be extra memorable.
“You’ll be watching, right?”
“Of course,” she chuckled, flicking her eyes over his face. His blue eyes were deep with his affection, his expression tranquil under the softness of her touch. She soothed his nerves, the anxiety of the attention he’d receive.
In that moment, she wanted to spill her guts. To let him in on the little secret she had. She could see the lines of his face, feel the indents of his anxiety on his skin. He was nervous, but at the same time, she knew he was excited.
“Good,” he sighed, “if my best girl can’t be there, I want her watching,”
“Why? You gonna blow me away?” she teased, earning a smirk from Joe.
“I think you’ll blow me away,” he winked, and she smacked his arm. He laughed, the sweetness of his laughter filling the room around them. He always found a way to insert a flirty innuendo into their conversations.
“Pervert,” she smirked, turning to walk from him. He stepped after her, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her back to him. He pressed his chest to her back, laughing as she giggled. His arms were strong, holding her in place as he rocked them.
“Only for you,” he hummed into her neck. Joe placed soft, gentle kisses to her skin, the softness of his touch making her shiver. She hummed, letting his hands roam up her chest, fondling with her breasts.
“Clearly,” she chuckled. His hand gently squeezed her breast, walking her back towards their bedroom. His curls tickled her skin, soft chuckles leaving her lips as he kept his hold on her.
“I don’t wanna leave you,” Joe murmured into her neck. His hand rested on her breast, his kisses persisting on her neck. Being invited to the Met was an honor, one that Joe was excited to be given. But being without his girl? It scared him even more.
He relied on her. She kept him grounded through the small things, like tracing his knuckles with her thumb or holding onto his bicep. The small, subtle gestures that helped him remain planted. The football field was one thing, the red carpet was another.
“I’ll be right there,” she hummed as she leaned her head back against his shoulder. He leaned his bodyweight against her, sighing deeply into her skin. She rested her arms on his, softly closing her eyes.
She would be right there. He just didn’t know it yet.
— The Met —
Cameras. Shouting. Flashes of light. It was overstimulating. Joe’s been in front of fans before, he’s done interviews, but this seemed like a whole different level. He held his confidence, even if he felt empty handed.
She wasn’t by his side.
“Joe! Take the glasses off!”
“Joe! Adjust your collar!”
“Joe! Over here!”
He felt his heart racing in his chest. He flexed his hand at his side, imagining her hand in his. He really needed her there.
Joe moved through the carpet, adjusting the sleeves of his suit coat. He felt every eye on him, the weight of their expectations and their assumptions. Joe swallowed, his eyes flicking across the row of reporters as he chose which ones to talk to.
He silently hoped one of them was her. But it never was.
“Joe Burrow,” Joe turned to see Justin, and for a moment his world brightened. Joe dapped him up, going in for a warm and comforting embrace with his friend.
“No Y/N?”
“Nah, she didn’t get invited,” Joe answered, trying to keep the bitterness out of his tone.
“What?” JJ was shocked, “a gold medalist, world record holder, and the girlfriend of Joe Burrow didn’t get invited,”
“I dunno, man,” Joe shrugged, raking a hand through his hair, “these kinda things are picky,”
“Yeah, but still,” JJ huffed, leading them both further down the carpet, “she’s a badass. I’d hope to see her here,”
“What, so you can ogle at her?” Joe teased, even if there was a flare of possessiveness.
“No, so I can watch you go all doe-eyed on her,” JJ teased back. The two friends laughed, and Joe’s anxiety for a moment subsided. He still wished she was there, holding his shaking hand, but she was watching. He knew that.
Just as he breached the stairs, the buzz of the reporters kicked up again. He didn’t turn until he heard her name. He whipped his head around, his eyes falling on the woman who stepped onto the carpet. His jaw slacked, his heart skipping a beat in his chest. He felt his cheeks warm, warmth pooling into his belly.
She was here and she looked stunning.
“Well well well,” Justin chuckled, clapping Joe on the shoulder, “looks like someone did get invited,”
Joe was speechless. He let his eyes take her in, the tailoring of her dress hugged her body perfectly, the unique design of her outfit accentuated her flare and her strength. She commanded the room, her presence shutting out those who ever doubted her.
She was a world record setter. An Olympian. She was to be respected.
She tried not to adjust her dress for the upteenth time. She hoped that her breasts wouldn’t pop out of the dress or her ankles would give out in her heels. The last thing she needed was to embarrass herself in front of millions.
She answered questions, polite smiles and attitudes thrown towards any reporters that ate it up. She had one goal; to see Joe.
She carefully stepped her way up the carpet, trying not to trip over the train of her dress. She wasn’t used to wearing such extravagance, but it was the Met Gala. It was expected.
Her eyes flicked up to meet Joe’s. His slack jaw and his fidgety hands made her heart swell. He looked good too, though she had some criticism. She wanted to see some more muscle out of that suit.
“Careful, Burrow,” she hummed as she walked up to him, “gonna catch flies if you keep your mouth open like that,”
He was absolutely mesmerized. She didn’t wear dresses like this. Seeing her there, the scent of her perfume wafting over his senses, it turned him into putty. He swallowed, offering her his arm.
“You’re gorgeous,” Joe hummed as she slipped her arm through his. Her hand curled to rest on his bicep, giving him that reassuring squeeze that he’d wanted from her, that he’d needed.
“Thank you,” she smiled, “you don’t look too bad yourself,”
“The suit could be fitted better,” he hummed, tugging at the edge with his free hand, “but I like the color. It’s comfortable too,”
“It is,” she agreed. They walked into the gala, the hum of people swarming them. She stuck to Joe as people came and spoke to them, as they met new people and saw old friends. Joe couldn’t stop staring at her. She had to have on body glitter on with how she sparkled under the dim lighting. Her presence was all-consuming, bringing him to his knees.
Fuck.
He swallowed, controlling his thoughts as they rambled around in his mind. His hand flexed, his heart racing. Her on the bathroom counter. Moans filling his ears. Nails scratching down his back.
“I’m starving,” her words broke his concentration. He looked down at her, watching as she flicked her eyes over the gala for food. She found one of the few snack tables, pulling Joe along.
“I think it’s just rich people food,” Joe hummed as he walked with her. She shot him a look, her eyes glistening in the dim light. Those damn eyes.
“Baby,” she chuckled, “we’re part of those rich people ya know,”
“True,” he chuckled, “doesn’t mean I like it though,”
She laughed, clicking her tongue as she looked over the foods. She found a piece of baklava, something that her family used to make, and she plucked it from the plate.
“Ever had this before?” she asked, biting into the sweet, flaky treat. She extended the other half of the treat to Joe.
“No, what is it?” he asked, taking the treat from her hands. He watched as her eyes sparkled, as she raised her thumb to her lips to suck off the sugar coating.
Fucking hell.
“Baklava. I think this is made with walnuts, though. My personal fav,” she shrugged. She wasn’t oblivious to how Joe looked at her, how his eyes widened and his pupils dilated. He was turned on, and she fought the urge to look and see just how turned on he was.
Joe took a bite, the sweet and sugary treat melting in his mouth. It was overly sweet, nearly making his eyes water. He’s never had it before, and he wasn’t sure he’d have it again.
“It’s not that bad,” she joked, giggling at him.
“It’s straight sugar, babe,” he coughed rather dramatically, “I can taste each individual particle of sugar,”
She just shook her head, rolling her eyes at him. She was glad she came; she watched him relax under her gaze and her touch was refreshing. She could tell he needed it, that he needed her.
“Whatever,” she rolled her eyes. She let her eyes drag down his body, taking him in. His hair was in perfect, thick curls, his eyes sparkled in the dim light, matching the color of his suit. The necklace that he wore, the gold against the tan of his skin, it made her heart skip a beat.
“Now this,” she purred, looping a finger around his necklace, “this is a nice little accessory,”
Joe’s breath hitched. Her finger brushed against the triangle of exposed skin on his chest, twirling around the gold piece around his neck. He felt heat swell in his belly, his thighs aching with tension.
“Yeah?” he asked, his eyes fluttering, “you like it?”
She looked up at him, her eyes dark with clouds of desire. Her lips tugged into a smirk, her expression seductive.
“Oh do I,” she purred, running her hand down his chest.
“Babe,” He warned, his voice low and raspy with his growing desire. His pants grew tighter, the erection in his boxers straining against his outfit.
“Yeah?”
“Keep doing that and we’re gonna have to find a bathroom,” Joe leaned closer, his chest rising and falling with each breath. The ache down in his cock was nearly unbearable, especially as the images continued to flood his brain.
Her taste on his tongue. Her pussy wrapped around his cock. Her sweet, sweet moans.
He didn’t give her a chance to decide. His hand grabbed hers and he led her through the crowd. His heart pumped, his blood running hot as he walked with her. His mind was hazy, filled with only one thing.
Her touch. Her taste. Her smell. Her.
He pushed opened the bathroom door, the elegance of the room taking them in. Granite countertops illuminated by warm lights, gold inlaid doors and handles. It was beautiful.
He locked the door, his hands flipping to grip her hips. He pushed her against the counter, his lips hungrily slotting against hers.
“You’re a fuckin’ tease,” he growled against her lips. Hunger intertwined them, passion glued them together. It was an ancient language, one that needed to be translated and understood. One they were fluent in.
“I wanted this,” she panted as Joe interrupted her with kisses to her lips. Her fingers dug through his hair, scratching at his scalp. He moaned, feeling his cock twitch in his boxers.
“You wanted this?” he repeated, his lips trailing down to her neck, “you wanted me all riled up?”
Joe’s hands hoisted her up onto the counter, her legs parting for him to stand between. His hands ran up her thighs, pushing under her dress. She could feel the beginnings of arousal slick her panties, the ache pulsing deep within her.
“Did you like your surprise?” she asked him, feeling his fingers hook under the fabric of her panties. His fingers were calloused over, years of football built into his skin. He tugged her panties off of her hips, letting them fall to the floor.
“Oh baby,” he murmured against her skin, “I’m gonna show you just how much I liked it,”
His desperation drove him, it strung together his limbs and held his head on straight. She was his drug, the constant high he needed. His fingers parted her folds, the skin slick with her arousal. Her pussy was hot, slippery with her musk. His fingers moved in and through them, his eyes darkening with lust. A gasp fell from her lips, her hands gripping the granite countertops.
“Fuck,”
“So wet for me,” he breathed against her neck. He didn’t take his time. He pressed into her clit, the sensitive bud throbbing under his touch. He pulsed his fingers, her body responding to the electricity with a shiver. She whimpered, her jaw slack with the sheer intensity of his touch.
“Joe,”
Joe pulled his fingers away, lifting them to his lips. He licked his fingers clean, the bitter musk of her arousal making him shiver. He wasn’t going to take his time. This bathroom counter would be the place where he’d make her scream.
The entire Met Gala would know whose she was.
He guided her off of the counter, his hands guiding her hips so she turned around. He looked at her through the mirror, his hands gliding up her thighs again. His anticipation grew, his desperate need to have her climbing.
“I’m gonna fuck you so good, princess,” he mumbled in her ear, kissing her neck. Her eyes met his in the mirror, his blue eyes dark with lust. His hands hiked the skirt of her dress around her waist, revealing her bare ass to him.
His hands roamed her skin, squeezing the muscle of her ass. He moved his hands down, parting her legs for him. He looked at her in the mirror, her cleavage in perfect view. If he had the time, he’d make sure to taste every single crevice of her body.
But he didn’t have the time.
Joe undid his slacks, yanking them down along with his boxers. His veiny, thick cock sprung free, red and sensitive with his arousal. His body ached, his heart slammed wildly against his chest. He was so driven by his animalistic need that he didn’t care they were in a public bathroom. He didn’t care if they were caught.
With one hand, Joe held her chin up, making her look at him. With the other, he guided his cock against her velvety folds. His eyes fluttered, her slick coating the hardness of his cock, his lips hovering above her ear. His soft grunts filled her head, the burn of his cock filtering through her folds making her body jerk.
“You’re so beautiful like this,” Joe growled in her ear, “so desperate, so mine,”
Without warning, he pushed himself into her. She gasped, arching her back against his chest. Her velvety walls molded around him, taking him in full. The burn was sweet, it electrified every nerve that wired her body together. His hand slid from her chin, cupping around her throat. His hand was warm, firm with his grasp. He didn’t restrict her breathing, but the way he held her made her eyes roll.
Joe’s hips slammed against hers, the sound of skin slapping skin filling the bathroom. His brow was creased with his pleasure, with how her walls clenched around his cock. He held himself up as he thrusted himself in and out of her, the sweetness of the friction making him whimper.
“Needed you all day,” he murmured in her ear, his hand still around her throat. Joe slammed into her, the burn from his thrusts making her moan. Her body jerked with each thrust, her eyes watering from the intensity. She could feel the heat of his cock kiss her cervix, every thrust making her whimper.
“Joe,” she whimpered, her hands holding his hips. It felt so good, so painfully good, she thought she was seeing stars.
“That’s right baby,” he kissed below her ear, “say my name,”
“God,” she moaned, his hips snapping against hers relentlessly, “Joe, fuck,”
She consumed him. Her sounds, how her pussy wrapped so beautifully around his cock, the way her eyes looked in the mirror. His eyes were dark, nearly black with lust as he watched her in the mirror. Her head thrown back, her breasts threatening to tear free from her dress with every thrust. The muscles in her arms bulged, her shoulders tensed as she held onto him.
She was a greek goddess worthy of his worship.
“Look at yourself,” Joe growled. He watched as her eyes peeled open, her lips parted with her whimpers and moans.
“So beautiful,” he growled, feeling the rubber band coil in his gut. She clenched around him, her whimpers becoming erotic as she neared the edge herself. She felt her muscles give, her face contorting with the orgasm that stung the edges of her nerves.
“Joe-”
“I know, baby,” he murmured, his hips snapping against hers. His lips hovered over her neck, his hands both holding her hips as he pounded into her. She tensed, her orgasm rolling over her in a wave. She felt her orgasm slide down her legs, hot and sticky. She moaned, her muscles shaking as she came, the heat and sweetness of her release making her head spin.
“Fuck,” Joe whimpered as he came inside of her, keeping his body pressed against hers. Hot spurts of cum shot from his cock, coating her walls. His hands held on to her hips, digging into her muscular and soft skin. He panted, sweat clinging to his skin as he slowly pulled himself out of her.
The mirror was fogged, their silhouettes the only things noticeable in the mirror. Joe’s hands caressed her sides, his lips pressing soft kisses against her neck. He could feel her heartbeat in every kiss, could hear the unevenness of her breaths.
“That felt amazing,” she breathed. Her body was warm, the edges of her nerves thoroughly frayed. Joe’s hands guided her back around to face him, resting his forehead against hers. His thighs shook, his heart slamming against his chest.
“You’re gorgeous, you know that?” he hummed. His mind was consumed with her, his craving for her satisfied. Joe recognized the risk they both took, but it was worth it. Seeing her blissed out was worth it.
“Thank you,” she hummed, looping her shuddering arms around his neck. They let the silence sit, the calm after the passion. The bathroom was hot, humid with their sex and their love.
Joe cupped her face, slotting his lips warmly against hers. She hummed into the kiss, her body slowly recovering from the burn of her pleasure. His lips slowly smoothed over her nerves, letting her come down from the blinding lights of her orgasm.
“I love you,” he whispered as he pulled away. She smiled at him, her eyes finding his. His cheeks were flushed, his curls askew, and his pupils were blown with affection. She was the object of his desire, his idol, the one he worshiped.
“I love you, too,” she hummed. She took a deep breath, letting her hands fall to his hips. She didn’t know how they’d go back out to that party after that. She kissed him again, quicker and softer, a smile painting her lips.
“Think we can look like nothing happened?” she asked, pulling away from him. She didn’t know if his curls would be able to recover, or if her legs would cooperate.
“I think so,” he exhaled, tugging on his trousers again, “we can always blame it on nerves or something,”
“That’s not gonna work for my wobbly legs, babe,” she admitted, sliding her panties back onto her hips.
“I can make ‘em a lot more wobbly for you,” he winked. He intended to make do on that promise, but not in the gala. He’d risked enough by having her in the bathroom.
“Later, cowboy,” she smirked, readjusting her breasts in her dress, “we do have to make our appearances, ya know. Plus there’s an after party to get through,”
“Don’t remind me,” he groaned, opening the door for you, “it means I gotta wait longer to have you,”
“I think that time can hold you over,” she kissed his cheek. They walked back in, hand in hand. They entered back into the gala, pretending like they didn’t just ravish each other. She forgot about the mess she made on the bathroom floor; hopefully someone would blame it on a broken water faucet.
the jellyfish because every summer growing up my best friend and i would catch moon jellies at the beach. the watermelon because it’s my favorite fruit and it reminds me of summer and warm weather. the champagne flutes because i love love love champagne and prosecco. the heart letter because i text this to people i love all the time and i just think it’s so cutie. and the disco ball because that’s just my favorite emoji….
dilf!maybank who's always outside, shirtless, covered in grease and sweat as he fixes up his truck in the driveway. his little girl sitting just a couple feet away and yet, he can't help staring at you from your yard beside his. taking small, shameless peeks at you whenever you have to bend over, likely from watering the small plants in your yard.
dilf!maybank who loves to call you pet names. his favorite's being "baby doll," "pretty girl," and "sweetheart." any chance he can, and it's obvious he's flirting. you'd likely be outside in one of those tight bikinis, "washing your car" and yet the only thing getting wet is your cunt and the rest of your body as you soaked yourself in suds since you knew he'd look. he'd be working under the hood of his truck before looking over and giving a low whistle. "look at you pretty girl, puttin' on a show..."
dilf!maybank whose daughter is likely named something typical, like piper or willow. he's such a great fuckin' dad; always playing in the yard with her, helping her swim in the small inflatable pool he bought for her, looking for her toy cars when she loses them. even though sometimes, he calls you over to watch her, when really he's looking to spend more time with you when his wife isn't home. no need to feel bad though, their marriage has been dead for years now, and now he has a reason to leave it.
dilf!maybank who come's over after giving his daughter to her grandma or letting her hang out with "uncle jb" for the night. bringing alcohol, yet barely drinking it after he got his hands on you. you both knew exactly what you wanted, leaving no room for small talk; just him fucking you senseless, on multiple surfaces, multiple rounds throughout the night. he couldn't wait to eat you out, groaning about how sweet you taste, his face coated in your juices shamelessly, and he felt even more grateful after you let him stick his cock inside you, all warm and tight around him. cock so big, it felt like he might tear you in half, especially since he doesn't do slow, soft sex (unless you really want it of course). putting you in doggy, each thrust rougher than the last, smacking your ass so hard it stings, wanting you to call him daddy, and stuffing you full of his cum.
dilf!maybank sticking around even after the sex. taking showers with you, helping you cook if you're both hungry, being more domestic than he should have been. though he still has piper, he's mentally planning to leave his wife to be with you full time since thats where his heart is at. he didn't think he had a shot with the age difference between the two of you, and now he refuses to fuck it up. any time he sets his eyes on you, the two of you comfortable, he never fails to give a low sigh, looking right into your eyes. "you know you're stuck with me now, right?"
DILF!RAFE X BITCHY!KOOK!READER first met each other over drinks at the country club bar, both of them seemingly washing away their problems with premium alcohol. she hadn’t noticed him at all until the bartender brought her a drink that she didn’t pay for. “courtesy of mr. cameron.” she looked up to see that the only man seated not too far away from her was already staring at her over his own glass. attractive, slightly intimidating and cold looking, and the cherry on top— obviously loaded with money, it didn’t take long for bitchy!kook!reader to come to the conclusion that this ‘mr. cameron’ was exactly her type. swallowing her pride, she made her way over, her hand brushing his thigh as she settled in to the seat next to him. “i could understand why i’ve decided to spend my friday night here all by myself, but you? it’s not making sense to me.”
DILF!RAFE X BITCHY!KOOK!READER who end up staying at the country club past closing time, both of them talking nonstop as they drunkenly laid out their dirty laundry to each other, neither of them sparing a single detail from their conversation. dilf!rafe finds out bitchy!kook!reader’s parents make him look like he’s dad of the year despite him having a really hard time balancing his work and home life. rafe tells her that he’s been divorced for almost a year now, his kids having decided to leave tanneyhill with their mother when things got really messy. “what guts me is that my kids wanted to stay with me first. they gave me a chance and they watched their mom leave for the mainland in tears, and i still couldn’t be there for them the way they needed. i basically live at work, and once they picked up on that, there was no going back.”
DILF!RAFE X BITCHY!KOOK!READER who come to the realization that they fit each other like puzzle pieces. bitchy!kook!reader— having never been part of a family, craving the attention of an authoritive figure, and rafe— seeing that she’s so much younger than him and wanting to redeem himself for not being the dad that he wishes he could be. the two of them end up back at rafe’s place that very night where it doesn’t take dilf!rafe a lot of time to figure bitchy!kook!reader out. seeing that she has never had anyone tell her no, let alone discipline her, he finds himself correcting her attitude and bratty tendencies by fucking it right out of her. he’s not letting up on her until he see’s tears rolling down her cheeks and the only thing she could say is a pathetic ‘sorry!’ every time he thrusts into her.
DILF!RAFE X BITCHY!KOOK!READER who develop an interesting relationship dynamic, both of them filling each other’s voids in the most perverted ways. making her cum until she was nothing but a blabbering mess, dilf!rafe never failed to pound her in until she was set straight. “you wanna stomp in your little heels and roll your eyes at me like i’m one of your girlfriends? i don’t think so. you don’t get to do whatever the fuck you want when you’re inside my house. you follow my rules when you’re under my roof, do you understand that?” of course, bitchy!kook!reader nodded without hesitation, her defiant demeanor melting away into nothing as rafe worked her body like no one else knew how to. dilf!rafe always comforted her after he was done ‘punishing’ her, her trembling form being enveloped by his big arms as her heart fluttered in her chest at the closeness and intimacy of it all.
DILF!RAFE X BITCHY!KOOK!READER who often find themselves arguing about bitchy!kook!reader’s irresponsible decisions to party on the weekends until she’s calling rafe for help, her heels clicking against the pavement as she struggles to stay upright on her feet. while rafe tries his best to keep in mind that she’s still young and living her life, he can’t help but to lecture her all the way back to his place. “i can’t stop you from having your fun, but at least be responsible about it. the thought of you standing out there all disoriented just doesn’t sit well with me.” he grumbles, his knuckles turning white from his tight grip on the steering wheel. while bitchy!kook!reader knows she should be receptive towards rafe’s words, she’s instead smiling at him as she rests her feet on his lap. “thank you for caring about me.”
you rolled your eyes when he pulled the camcorder of the thrift store bin like it was the holy grail, and now he never puts it down.
“wave to the camera, baby.” his voice is syrupy behind the lens, lazy and low. you’re in the kitchen, hair a mess, silk robe barely tied, flipping pancakes with your manicured nails. “c’mon, smile.” you look over your shoulder, sleepy and amused, flipping him off with the spatula. he laughs, and zooms in on the curve of your bare thigh peeking through silk.
“look at you,” he murmurs, zooming again. “my filthy little housewife you like playin’ the part?”
you shrug, biting your lip. “only if you eat every bite of what i make.”
“oh, i’ll eat something,” he says, and the camera dips for a second as he adjusts his grip, adjusting himself.
he catches you brushing your teeth next, wearing nothing but your sheer robe and a pair of fuzzy socks. leaning in close, camera tilted, he gets the foam at the corners of your mouth, the sleepy pout you give him when you realize he’s still filming. he doesn’t stop...ever. “tell it who you belong to,” he says suddenly, stepping into frame, hand curling around your throat gentle but firm. “that’s right...say my name.”
you giggle, toothpaste dribbling a little down your chin. “you’re fucking ridiculous.”
he tightens his grip just enough. “say it.”
you stare into the lens, pupils blown. “i belong to you.”
“say my name.”
you whisper it, tongue thick with mint. he growls, smacks your ass through the robe, camera catching the jiggle. “good fucking girl.”
later, he records you reading in bed. warm lamplight, legs tucked, oversized tee swallowing your frame. you don’t even notice him at first, you were too into the paperback. until the lens catches the hem of your shirt riding up your thighs, and his hand slips under the blanket. you shift, sigh, open your legs instinctively.
“still filming?” you whisper.
“uh-huh.”
you grin, toss the book aside. “you’re a pervert, rafe.”
“im your pervert,” the camera focuses on your face as his fingers start playing with you open under the blanket. making your lips part, hips roll, and thighs twitch.
“look at me,” he murmurs. “don’t look away...i want this on tape. want to remember exactly how you look when you cum.”
your voice breaks. “ugh rafe—don’t stop.”
“you gonna cum for the camera, baby?”
“yes, yes—fuck, just please—” the footage cuts to black just as his fingers pull out, licking it off his hands. just as you reach for the camera yourself.
the kind of boy your daddy preaches about, the kind your mother prays you’ll stay away from
the hymn is still echoing in your ears when you slip out the side door of the church, heels in hand, dress clinging to the sweat on your thighs. it’s ninety-five degrees, and you’re dressed for salvation. or so everyone thinks.
you light a cigarette with shaking fingers behind the barn, the same place your daddy kisses hands and babies after Sunday service. the lace of your dress is damp against your skin, sticking to your chest, and your panties—white, of course, like the whore of Babylon you are—are soaked, but not from the heat.
you don’t even flinch when you hear the boots behind you. you already know who it is.
“didn’t think good girls smoked menthols,” rafe drawls, stepping out from the shadows like the fucking devil himself.
you exhale slowly. “didn’t think you’d be stupid enough to sneak out here during a sermon.”
he tugs at your ribbon—pink, perfect, virginal—and lets it fall to the dirt. “sermon ain’t worth much if the preacher’s daughter ain’t listenin’.”
he’s close now—cowboy hat tipped back, sweat shining on his throat, white button-up halfway undone like he’s too good for the Lord’s house and knows it.
“you wearin’ those panties I like?” he asks voice low and taunting. his eyes drag over you, slow and lazy, pausing at the way your dress clings to your chest, nipples pressing hard through the thin lace.
you open your mouth to throw another insult, —but rafe catches your chin in two fingers, tilting your face up to him, and the words die on your tongue. “you got a smart mouth on you, don’t ya?” he growled, the brim of his cowboy hat shadowing his eyes as he pressed you against the barn wall.
"ain’t nothing smart about letting you drag me out here," you snapped back, voice breathless, back arching as his hand slid up your thigh.
“nah,” he smirked, fingers grazing your panties. “what’s dumb is wearin’ this little fuckin’ dress and thinkin’ I wouldn’t do somethin’ about it. like I’d let you walk around here with those slutty little tits pokin’ through your dress like that.”
“God,” you whisper, eyelids fluttering.
he kisses your jaw. “ain’t listenin’ right now.”his fingers brush the hem of your dress, slide under as he groans low when he feels the slick wetness sliding his fingers through your slit slow.
"you’re so fuckin' wet," rafe praises, sliding the pads of his fingers up to circle your clit in lazy, devastating strokes.
you’re gasping, clutching at his shirt, “don’t you dare make me cum before you fuck me,” you mumble, “my dress is already ruined.”
rafe laughs against your neck before his free hand comes up, fists tight in the ribbon of your hair, dragging your head back so you’re looking up at him.
"hold your skirt up," rafe orders. his belt clinks as he fumbles it open, as frantic as you are now, your hands already working between you, tugging at the denim stretched tight over his thighs. you gasp when you finally get him free—thick, heavy, flushed dark with need—lining himself up against your dripping entrance, his tip teasingly nudging. “hurry up,” you snap, hips pushing back greedily. "need you to shut the fuck up and—" you don’t even get the words out before he’s sinking into you with a rough, punishing thrust. you choke on your own moan, forehead thudding against the barn wall. rafe groans low, dragging his hips back and slamming in again.
you can’t help the desperate noises that escape your lips as he fills you, thrusting harder and faster against you, his grip tightening around your waist. he fucks you hard against the barn wall, cowboy hat tipping down over his forehead, sweat dripping down his chest. every brutal slap of his hips drives the breath from your lungs,
"that’s it," rafe grunts, hand tight on your hips, fucking you through it. "milk my cock, baby. come on." he follows you a few seconds later, his warmth spilling into you and when he pulls out, cum dripping down your thighs, he leans in close to whisper:
