i’m a taurus, 5’8, a ginger, and use she/they pronouns. i’m also bisexual and i’m obsessed with the ocean and moon. i love scary movies and get obsessions very quickly.
masterlist links
won’t write!
who i write
simp’s house (march 15-april 1, 2023)
rules:
- don’t be homophobic, racist, transphobic, or a shitty person on my page. treat people with kindness and any hate speech will not be tolerated.
- 16+ for smut
- please don’t rush me with writing! i write when i get motivation and i’m not perfect, but i try really hard to get all requests done for you guys
- DO NOT REPOST MY STUFF TO OTHER SITES WITHOUT PERMISSION!!! please ask, i’ll probably say yes.
divider by bernardsbendystraws
i appreciate and love every single one of you. thank you for any and all support, it really makes me happy.
tw: fem!reader, dumbification, dirty talk, overstimulation, prone bone, doggy, dub con if you squint?
wc: 398
an: not edited! just for fun!!! mdni <3 — berry
dean loved getting you off.
watching your lips form that pretty little ‘o’ shape and your brows furrow as you come undone underneath him — because of him. he was fucking addicted to it.
so here you were. in his bed. needy and compliant for him. riding out your fifth orgasm of the night, and sobbing into his pillow as he pounded into you from behind.
“you like feeling me all up in your guts, baby?” he groans, slamming into your bruised cunt and smacking your ass cherry red. “turns you on?”
fuck yes, you wanna say. yes, yes, yes. but your brain is teetering off the edge of a cliff, and the only thing grounding you to reality is dean’s huge cock splitting you open.
“you were fucking made to take my cock, baby,” he groans, reaching his hand under you to toy with your puffy, aching clit.
you wail, and before you even realize it you’re cumming again. hard.
“fuuuuuck yeah,” he smirks, pushing you down into prone bone. almost his entire weight is on you now, and all you can feel is dean.
his huge arms caging you in. the musky, heady smell of sex and his cologne. it overpowers you.
“you’re such a dirty girl, letting me fuck you like this. fucking impaling you on my cock,” he reaches up to run a hand through his hair, one hand splayed across your back to keep you down.
“you with me, baby?” he hums, brushing his lips between your shoulder blades.
“uh huh,” you choke out, fisting his comforter in a white-knuckled grip.
“you gonna be good and cum again for me?” he nips at your ear and you're squealing.
it’s a pretty, breathy sound that feels out of so body. you’re nodding furiously into his pillow, soaked through from pearly tears and drool.
“use your words for me,” he’s nothing if not a sweet talker. nothing if not a man who wants you to feel good.
“yes! yes, i’ll be good,” you’re pleading now, forcing your head back to look at him.
big, fat tears well up in the corner of your doe eyes, and dean swears they twinkle like little stars as they drop down your cheeks. you're beautiful like this.
he slides his palm under your ribs and pushes you up against his chest, arching your back into him.
summary: In an attempt to seduce a past hookup, you accidentally send your attending, Jack Abbot, a lewd photo.
tags/warnings: MDNI 18+, smut, oral (f receiving), piv sex, pussy eating, fingering, pussy slapping, jack abbot certified bush lover, overstimulation, implied age gap (reader is a resident), medical inaccuracies (peritoneal lavages are rarely used nowadays, but who cares), no use of y/n, trauma scene based on an episode of ER teehee.
wc: 9.5k
a/n: okay this is fully like two weeks late to the trend but it was inspired by that “you shaved your bush” tiktok trend lol. I genuinely do not know how this got so long, It was supposed to be a cute little fic but i got carried away, oopsies! I hope you enjoy <3
credits: gif credits to @ho-ii !!
It was Friday afternoon and you were desperately, achingly horny.
You’d tried your old faithful vibrator, which was doing the job fine, but you were desperate for some human connection. Your mind drifted through the mental rolodex of who you could call up for some casual fun. It was a short list, your demanding schedule not lending itself to a particularly vibrant social life. You’d only been on a handful of dates in the past year, most of which ended in disaster.
Alex was out of the running because of his unfortunate odor problem.
Sam was out due to a creepy doll collection he failed to disclose until you made your way to his apartment.
And Daniel was out because, frankly, he was terrible at sex, which is kind of a sticking point for you right now.
That left James, a guy you met on one of the apps and who was decent enough with his mouth that you’d seen him a handful of times. You didn’t hook up with him often, mostly because he was particular about your pubic hair. He preferred for it to be cleanly shaven, or at least heavily trimmed before he would consider going down on you.
So despite the fact that he wasn’t much good at fucking, you tended to go back to him when you needed a release. Yes, your standards were abysmally low, but the truth of the matter was that residency didn’t really give you any time to get out and meet new, better hook-ups. So James it was.
It had been a couple months since you’d hooked up, mostly due to this preference of his. Unfortunately, taking the time to take an ‘everything shower’ just to get your pussy eaten was a luxury that you were not often afforded due your residency schedule.
But today you’d had the time, energy, and desire to get devoured, so you hopped in the shower to take care of everything. By the time you emerged your hair was double cleansed, you’d applied a hair mask, exfoliated, shaved your legs, applied moisturizer and body oil, and–most importantly–your pussy was cleanly shaven.
You had a renewed pep in your step as you made your way over to your bed, ready to entice James. You maneuvered onto the bed and experimented with a few poses before landing on one that showed off your assets the best. You propped up your phone–timer set for 10 seconds–and you scrambled into position, perching back on your haunches and settling back on your feet, back arched a little uncomfortably.
You heard the shutter of the camera going off and quickly extricated yourself from the uncomfortable position. Looking over the image, you were very impressed.
The photo pictured your nude body from the chest down, beginning with the barest hint of the underside of your breasts showing, then the expanse of your stomach and curve of your hips. Lower, your fingers were on your pussy, parting your lips just enough to tease. It was a damn good nude, if you did say so yourself. James was lucky to receive it.
It had been so long since you texted him that instead of scrolling through endless scam messages and bill reminders, you just typed in the first few letters of his name to pull up his contact. As soon as you typed ‘ja’ it popped up, and you quickly began composing your message.
Gnawing at your thumbnail, you went back and forth on a few messages, trying to sound sexy, but playful. After five minutes of deliberation, you decided to just go with what you had. Honestly, it’s not like James was going to give it more than a second thought–if he wanted to fuck he wasn’t going to care about how sultry (or not) the message you sent him was.
You settled on:
you: shaved just for you. want something sweet to eat? ;)
You looked it over for a minute, nodding to yourself and hitting send before you could psych yourself out.
What a mistake.
Jack sat at the work station, mouth open and slackjawed, still staring at his phone screen.
Not at the photo anymore–no, that had been quickly swiped away–but the image was still burned into his retinas, the after image projecting onto the back of his eyelids when he closed them.
Why?
Because three minutes ago he received a text message from one of the day shift residents. He was concerned, initially, because there was little reason for day shift residents to contact him as opposed to Robby. Which is why Jack opened the message as soon as he saw it come in, thinking it might be an emergency, especially because it was you.
Instead, he was greeted with a sight he thought he’d never have the pleasure of seeing.
You, stretched back on your heels, breasts barely visible, pussy on full display for him. Your fingers held you open, your folds glistening in the late summer light that was streaming in, your pretty little clit in the center, just begging to be sucked. It was, quite possibly, the prettiest pussy he’d ever seen.
He couldn’t take his eyes off of the photo for a good 30 seconds, before the logical side of his brain kicked in and he remembered oh yeah, I’m at work and can’t be caught looking at my resident’s cunt.
He wasn’t unfamiliar with you, even though you’d only worked a handful of shifts together. But he saw you every morning at handoff, and you two shared warm smiles and easy jokes, your sardonic wit matching his bar for bar. He knew you were smart, able to hold your own in a trauma, and compassionate and empathetic underneath it all. And he couldn’t ignore the fact that you were gorgeous either.
And he would be lying if he said he hadn’t thought of you in this sort of light before, either. Jack Abbot was not a proud man–he could admit that on more than one occasion, he’d stood in his shower fisting his cock to the image of you on your knees for him.
It was especially bad when you did something impressive at work. Like the time you went toe-to-toe with a surgeon about whether a patient really needed surgery when you insisted that all they needed was a pericardiocentesis, and to prove your theory, you stuck the needle into the pericardium and extracted the fluid despite surgery’s objections. A ballsy move, one that would have been deeply problematic if you were wrong, but paid off. He’d had to rub one out in the bathroom that day. He apparently has a thing for competency.
“You’re gonna catch flies, Abbot,” Ellis said, walking out of an exam room, IPad tucked under her arm and smirk wide on her face. Jack shook himself out of his reverie, trying desperately not to think of your photo (but failing miserably).
He cleared his throat, “Sorry, what’ve you got for me?” he asked, still a bit dazed. Ellis looked at him skeptically–there wasn’t much that threw Dr. Jack Abbot–but proceeded to present her case anyway.
Once he approved her plan of treatment, Jack returned to his phone. He sat there for a long moment, contemplating what to do. You hadn’t said anything else, no frantic “I’m so sorry, that obviously wasn’t meant for you,” texts that explained the situation. Jack was positive it wasn’t intended for him, and he didn’t want to embarrass you more than you were sure to be.
His thumbs hovered over the keyboard, dancing nervously as he typed out his reply.
You started getting ready after sending the text, anticipating that James would want to meet up tonight. You did your hair, applied a bit of light make up, and threw on a cute little sundress.
It was about an hour later when you went to check your phone again, fully expecting to see a cheeky message from James inviting you over for some fun.
What you saw made your stomach drop instead. You felt dizzy, nausea washing over you in roiling waves. The text thread you were looking at was addressed to Jack Abbot, not James. And staring back at you was your nude body, followed by a response from Dr. Abbot.
Jack Abbot: I don’t think I’m the intended recipient for that photo.
Jack Abbot: But for what it's worth, a real man would eat it even if you didn’t shave. Would prefer it, actually.
Jack Abbot: Sorry, that was inappropriate. I’ve deleted this text thread, along with the photo. We can pretend this never happened.
There’s no fucking way. Absolutely not. There is no possible way that you accidentally sent a nude photo of yourself to your fucking attending. Not just any attending either, but the one you'd had a big fat stupid crush on for the better part of a year. The one you’d spent endless nights fantasizing about with your fingers plunged deep into your cunt, whose visage you’d pictured hovering over you, fucking you hard and deep; the name you accidentally moaned when James was eating you out the last time you hooked up.
Your mind refused to accept that this was reality, hoping against hope that this was some twisted fucking nightmare.
Shame welled up inside you, your cheeks hot from embarrassment and tears pricking at the corner of your eyes, mortification settling in earnest now. In addition to being humiliating, you also felt like a fucking creep. From his perspective, you just sent him a completely unsolicited nude photo.
Even more so, you hated that this probably killed any chance you had with him, even if that chance had been slim to none to begin with.
You paced your bedroom, thumbnail chewed raw as you tried to do damage control. What does one even say after they accidentally send a nude to their boss? After far too much deliberation, you decided to keep it simple, apologize, and crawl into your bed for the remainder of your two days off.
You: Dr. Abbot, I am so sorry about that!! I obviously didn’t mean to send that to you.
You: I meant to send it to a James and must not have looked closely enough before I sent it.
You: Thank you for deleting the photo, and I’m so sorry once again that you were subjected to seeing that.
You threw your phone as far away from you as possible, recklessly disregarding its safety despite the fact that you most certainly could not afford to repair said phone if it was damaged, and flopped onto the bed, screaming into a pillow. Your throat was raw by the time you surfaced for air, your body limp and exhausted, mind shuffling through worst case scenarios.
In the midst of your spiral, your brain drifted to the other part of his message: a real man would eat it even if you didn’t shave. That was, admittedly, inappropriate, but no more so than sending a nude to your superior, so you figured you were even. He probably just meant it to be supportive; to try and diffuse the awkward situation.
But another part of you wondered if he meant something else. If he was signalling to you that he would eat it, bush or not. The thought was indulgent, if not utterly preposterous. He was an attending; you were a resident. There was no way he’d meant anything by it. But you couldn’t help thinking…
Did he like the photo? Was he picturing you with a bush? Did he think about tasting you, about swirling his tongue around your clit or plunging it deep into you?
A notification dinged, shaking you out of your daydream, and you contemplated whether or not you actually wanted to see what he said, if anything at all. Curiosity eventually won out, hands grappling for your phone and swiping open the notification.
Jack Abbot: No worries. 👍
It was a completely normal response, which almost made it worse. Part of you wished he would lash out, call you disgusting or a whore, at least you’d know what to do with that. Shame or disgust were easier to digest than nonchalance.
You didn’t bother to send the photo to the correct person, your lust dampened, the fire doused with cold water, remnants pulverized to ash. Groaning, you burrowed into your bed with no intention of leaving for the next two days.
You had no idea how you were going to face him Monday.
You woke up two days later and ran through your options.
Flee the country and never return to Pittsburgh ever again (unrealistic, you’d devoted too much time to becoming a doctor, you weren’t giving up because of some catastrophically stupid mistake)
Arrive to work 20 minutes late, hopefully avoiding Jack Abbot by all costs (unlikely, the man worked more overtime than anyone except Robby. He was sure to still be there, and all you’d get was attendance point for your trouble)
Be a mature adult, apologize, and forget this ever happened, like he suggested (undoubtedly the best choice, but could you really ever forget that your attending has seen your pussy? And, a far sicker thought, did you want him to forget?)
Indecision weighed on you as you got ready, ultimately deciding on lucky number option 3. Your only saving grace was the fact that you were on day shift, and Abbot rarely worked days. The only interaction would be at handoff, and maybe if you could busied yourself enough getting a jump on patients, you could avoid him for as long as possible.
That was your plan of action as you walked into chairs, head down as you scanned into the ED and approached the nurses station. You didn’t hear his voice, which was a good sign; typically, you could hear it as soon as you entered, steady barking out orders over the hum of the department. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself and thinking for the first time since you sent that photo that things might be okay.
You spot Ellis at a work station, and beeline to her to get the handover started.
“Hey Ellis, how’d the night go? Any weird and wild cases?” you ask,
“Oh, you know, the usual,” she said, “foreign body extractions, a couple MIs, an insomniac who overdosed on benadryl and swore that the hat man was after him for money,” she laughed, shaking her head.
“To be fair, the hat man could be after him for money,” you said solemnly, face straight for a second before you burst out laughing.
Handover continued smoothly, Ellis updating you on which patients needed labs or imaging and which needed to be discharged. You almost made it through unscathed, your body turning to make your way to North 5 when you heard his voice calling to Ellis.
Your shoulders tensed–body betraying you by freezing in place–and he was next to you before you could scuttle away. Resting his forearms on the counter next to you, he continued talking to Ellis–about what, you couldn’t say, static filling your ears as you remembered what you’d done.
“Morning, Doc,” he said, startling you out of your daze.
“G-good morning, Dr. Abbot,” you stuttered, eyes glancing briefly at him before settling on his chin, unable to meet his eyes for more than a second.
He looked annoyingly normal, showing no sign that anything unseemly had occurred between you. You chanced another look at his eyes, the hazel orbs showing no hint of amusement or belittlement. But there was a look of acknowledgement, a steady one that should have reassured you that everything was okay, that you weren’t a laughingstock. The same look he’d give you in a trauma when things went sideways through no fault of your own.
And In any other situation, it would be reassuring. But right now, all it did was remind you that he’d seen your most sensitive parts, that he’d commented on the state of your pubic hair (or lack thereof). Heat bloomed in your cheeks, and your breath caught in your throat, eyes unable to breakaway from his gaze.
When you did manage to look away, it was, traitorously, to look down at his lips. They looked so soft, and for a split second you imagined yourself leaning in, capturing his lips with yours and kissing him into oblivion. You snapped back to reality half a second too late, seeing the edge of Abbot’s mouth turn up in the barest hint of a smile.
Clearing your throat, you quickly excused yourself to see a patient, all but running to the exam room. You managed to slow your breathing and compose yourself before you entered the room, squaring your shoulders and getting back to work.
This was going to be a lot harder than you anticipated.
Jack was being honest when he told you he deleted the text thread with that photo in it, a fact he was coming to regret as he laid in bed post-shift, body tired but too wired to relax and fall asleep. He’d committed the photo to memory, though, losing himself in it as he dragged his hand up and down his cock, thinking about how soft you’d be, how sweet you’d taste, the sounds he’d pull from you as he fucked you with his tongue. He’d fallen into this routine an embarrassing amount of times since he received that photo, feeling like a pervy, dirty old man all the while, but doing nothing to stop himself either.
His hand glided over his shaft once more, imagining that it was your warm, wet walls wrapped around him instead, and he was coming hard, painting his stomach with streaks of warm, wet goo. He sat there, breathing heavy, as a twitch of shame rolled over him. He shouldn’t be jerking it to the remembered image of a resident’s pussy, a woman at least 15 years younger than him, if not more.
But it was harder than he’d thought it would be to put that photo behind him. It was all he could think about as soon as he saw you that first morning, the image looping in an endless projection in his mind. It was completely unprofessional, and frankly dishonest. He’d told you that you could both pretend it had never happened, but he wasn’t so sure that was possible anymore.
And it was clear you hadn’t forgotten either. You were jumpy around him, the easy quips you used swap in the morning abandoned for stuttered greetings and awkward silences. He’d also caught you looking at his lips on more than one occasion and stealing glances at him when you thought he wasn’t paying attention. He wasn’t sure if it was true attraction, or just some morbid curiosity that was sparked by the unusual situation you two found yourselves in, but Jack wasn’t about to get his hopes up for the former.
As difficult as it was to keep his head on straight after seeing that photo, the more troubling part was that he’d lost the 10 to 15 minutes he spent every morning talking to you, a small ritual he looked forward to every shift. He hadn’t realized how much those moments meant to him until they were gone. Even the worst nights were magically better when he was able to make you laugh at handoff, your smile making his chest swell with pride and head fuzzy with feelings he had no business feeling.
Jack knew he had to do something to ease the tension, to get things back to normal. Or maybe a new normal, if he had anything to do with it.
The days passed in a similar fashion to that first day. Jack would greet you politely and attempt your typical banter, and you would awkwardly stutter out an adequate reply before making your escape as quickly as possible. You weren’t sure why you weren’t able to be a fucking adult and put it behind you, but you just couldn’t. Every time you thought you had the courage to revert back to your typical routine with Abbot, you chickened out almost immediately, bumbling your wall through some moronic excuse.
To make matters worse, you couldn’t stop thinking about him. It was worse than it ever had been before; what used to be an errant thought that would arise only in the throes of pleasure were now occurring during the most mundane tasks. You thought about what his full, silver curls would look like buried between your thighs while you were doing laundry; what his mouth would feel like on your breasts, teeth pulling at the pebbled skin of your nipples while you cooked dinner; how he would fuck you–would it be soft and slow, or hard and punishing?–while you cleaned the bathroom.
Your luck ran out about a month after the incident, as you were calling it. For the most part, you were able to keep your interactions with Abbot brief, albeit awkward. But today he was scheduled on day shift, covering for Al-Hashimi while she was home sick with her son. You’d only found out when you walked in, seeing his name on the board despite the fact that he was off last night.
You felt a wave of nausea wash over you; how were you supposed to go a whole day avoiding him? You managed pretty well for the first half of your shift, presenting exclusively to Robby, which wasn’t all that different from your normal routine. You avoided the traumas Abbot was running, hiding in exam rooms under the guise of checking vitals or reviewing scans. It was working fairly well until midday, when you were unfortunately in the vicinity of the ambulance bay when paramedics burst through.
“Santos, Mohan,” Abbot paused, eyes flitting over to where you stood before calling your name as well, “with me!” he said, already moving into the trauma room and gowning up. You reluctantly followed, slipping on your own trauma gown. He was behind you before you could secure your gown, fingers brushing against the nape of your neck as he tied the strings for you. It shouldn’t have sent a thrill down your spine, but it did. You stuttered out a thank you as you moved to assess the patient.
The paramedic was halfway through the bullet when you arrived at the bedside, hands moving to transfer them from the stretcher to the bed. “– multiple lacerations, bruises to the face, chest, and abdomen. Possible tib-fib and facial fracture.” You looked down at the patient, a teenage boy who couldn’t have been older than 15.
“BP’s low, 70 palp; pulse ox is 85,” Princess called out.
You slid the chestpiece of your stethoscope over the patient's chest, listening to the lungs. Unfortunately, your brain went blank when Abbot sidled up next to you, arm pressed tight against yours in the cramped trauma room.
“What do you think, Doc?” he asked, listening with his own stethoscope now.
You blinked, brain lagging as you tried to compose yourself; to try and save this boy’s life.
“Uh-um good breath sounds?” you said, a question more than an answer, though you were certain about the breath sounds. “Airway is patent, no tracheal deviation, no blood in the canal,” you finished, regaining a bit of confidence as you averted your gaze from his.
“Good,” he said, hand grasping your elbow and moving you down to the end of the bed. “What do we need to order?”
Santos, blessedly, answered before you could embarrass yourself further, “C-spine, chest and head CT.”
“BP is down to 60!”
“Alright people! What are we dealing with?” Abbot called out, eyebrow quirked at you.
Every differential evaporated from your mind. “He’s bleeding from somewhere,” was all you could come up with, though that was obvious. Instead of dwelling on that, you turned your attention to the boy, your eyes examining his body, searching for the source of bleeding. With Samira’s help you flipped the boy over, desperate to find a stab wound or gash, but coming up empty.
“Must be the belly,” Santos said.
“Alright, lavage kit please!” Abbot said, turning to you, “you ever done one of these?”
You shook your head.
“Well, today’s your lucky day, then,” he said, handing you an 11-blade.
Despite your best efforts, your hand shook as you pressed the blade against the skin.
“I-I can’t,” you whispered, low enough that only he could hear.
“You can,” he said, stepping behind you to steady your hand, guiding as you made the incision. He handed you the tubing next. “Make sure you’re into the peritoneum,” he whispered, lips right next to your ear. His hand was still on top of yours as you slid the tubing in, “I’m in, hook up the saline and extension tubing,” you said, breathing a sigh of relief.
Your relief was short-lived. The results of the lavage came back–negative. “Shit, nothing. It’s not the belly,” you said, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.
“What the fuck? Where the hell is this kid bleeding from?” Abbot cursed, pacing around the bed to see if anything was forgotten. “You check his back?” he asked.
“Yes, nothing there. Maybe it’s a faulty blood pressure cuff?” you said, grasping at straws, but moving to flip the boy over and recheck his back again anyway.
Abbot was next to you, eyes raking over systematically to find the source when suddenly Mohan pointed out a tiny mark on the boy’s lower right side, “What is that?” she asked.
“That is a very small puncture wound. Probably an ice pick, if I had to guess,” Abbot answered.
Fuck. You should have caught that. You were standing right there, staring at the lower quadrant of the boy's back. You’d even seen the small mark, but dismissed it as a mole. You felt sick to your stomach, fear and shame welling up in you. You had never had a reaction like this in a trauma, not even on your first day as a med student.
Garcia burst through the door just as Abbot was getting the patient ready to head up to the O.R. “Puncture wound, probably hit the kidney or renal artery,” he said, passing off the patient. She nodded, taking over from there.
“Good pickup,” you congratulated Mohan weakly as you walked out of the trauma bay, hoping you could make it to the bathroom and wallow in self-pity for a few moments.
You heard him call your name shortly after you exited the trauma bay. Heart sinking, you turned to face him. “Yes, Dr. Abbot?” you asked, fidgeting with the hem of your scrub top. You weren’t sure you could handle being yelled at by him today. You’d never been one for tears at being reprimanded, but you could already feel the tell-tale prickling behind your eyes, and you were almost positive that the dam would burst at a harsh word from Abbot.
“A word, please?” he asked, gesturing you to the stairwell, the only place with a semblance of privacy in the ED. You sullenly followed after him, bracing yourself for impact.
You leaned back against the wall, fully expecting him to start yelling as soon as you were situated under the staircase, hidden well enough from passersby, but all you felt was a warm, heavy weight on your shoulder.
“You have to settle down, okay?” he said, one hand planted firmly on your shoulder and the other grasping your chin between his fingers to direct your gaze to his. “Look, I know what you sent me was embarrassing, and we probably should’ve talked about it, but you can’t get this worked up over it when I’m on shift as your attending. It can’t affect your work, you're too good of a doctor to let something like this throw you,” he said earnestly, eyes sincere when you looked into them.
You stood there, mouth opening and closing like a goldfish. Your mind still hadn’t fully caught up. “I… you didn’t bring me out here to yell at me?” you asked, voice coming out weaker than you intended it to.
He shook his head, confused, “What? No, of course not. I barely noticed that puncture wound myself,” he said, alleviating your anxiety somewhat.
“What I’m concerned about is how wound tight you are around me. I’m not saying you have to like me or anything, but you have to be comfortable working with me. You didn’t make an error in this trauma, but you could have. And I know it would eat you up if something like that happened,” he said, thumb gently sweeping over your chin.
“I can’t let you jeopardize your education because you’re embarrassed about mistakenly sending me a revealing photo. It would kill me if you didn’t reach your full potential because of something like that, if I had any part of it,” he shook his head, a pained look on his face.
Oh. You couldn’t breathe, your cheeks surely inflamed at this point. You were suddenly very aware of how close he’d gotten–and of his hand on your face. His fingers were warm against your face, skin rough, providing delicious friction as his hand repositioned, thumb stroking along your jaw as he subtly tilted your head back. He smelled like clean laundry and coffee, with a slight tang of antiseptic.
Your lips parted, ragged breaths falling from your lips.
“Dr. Abbot–”
“Jack. Call me Jack,” he murmured, so close that you could feel the heat radiating from his body. If you tipped your head up just a fraction, it would close the distance between you; would bring your lips flush together. Your eyes fluttered shut at the thought.
“Jack, I don’t know why I can’t stop thinking about that picture,” you admitted quietly.
“Can I tell you a secret?” he asked, tongue darting out to wet his lips, “I can’t stop thinking about it, either.”
“Really?” you looked up at him from under your eyelashes.
He nodded, moving impossibly closer, lips ghosting against yours. He hesitated briefly, a look of doubt flashing across his face before his gaze steadied–a decision made; a line ready to be crossed. His grip tightened against your jaw, “I can’t stop thinking about you spreading that pretty little pussy open, or about the prick who wanted you to shave before he’d think about going down on you,” he said, shaking his head in disgust.
“You know how many times I fucked my fist to the memory of that photo? How much I’ve thought about how you taste, what sounds you’d make when you cum?” he asked.
A strangled moan escaped your lips at his words. You’d never seen this side of Jack Abbot before, and it was intoxicating. “I-i think about you when I touch myself too,” you whimpered, your admission seeming tame compared to his vulgar words, but you wanted him to know you were also going crazy over him; that this wasn’t one-sided.
“Yeah, pretty girl? You think about me when you stuff that little cunt with your fingers? Wish it was my cock instead?” he asked, his other hand snaking down to your hip, fingers inching their way under your scrub top to caress the skin there.
You nodded, the proximity and dirty talk stealing your breath and leaving you unable to form an intelligible sentence.
“Did he eat your pussy, sugar? You got all dolled up for him, did he at least treat you right?” he asked, breath fanning over your lips, stubble just barely grazing your sensitive skin.
You shook your head, dazed. “I didn’t send it to him,” you said, a little bashful, “was too embarrassed after I sent it to you.”
He groaned, forehead falling against yours, “poor baby, put in all that effort and didn’t even get to cum, did you?” he asked, just the slightest bit condescending.
You let out a pathetic whine, shaking your head ‘no’ at his question. Heat pooled deep in your belly and you felt your panties quickly dampening.
He tsked, “we’ll have to rectify that,” he said, “You shave again? Or you let her grow back natural?” he asked.
You bit your lip, still a bit shy despite all the filthy words that he’d spoken in the last 5 minutes. “I’m au naturelle,” you whispered, a slight smirk tugging at your lips.
“Good fucking girl,” he growled before his mouth was on yours. His lips moved against yours with a ferocity you’d never experienced before. There was nothing uncertain about the kiss, his lips firm as he devoured you, tongue licking into your mouth and sliding against yours deliciously. One of your hands slid up the side of his neck to play with the curls at his nape while the other fisted in the fabric of his scrub top.
His spit tasted like the stale breakroom coffee and the spearmint of his gum, and you couldn’t get enough. You suckled at his tongue, trying to keep up with his relentless pace, but eventually let him take the reins and kiss you silly.
You were both panting when you pulled away, a string of spit drawn taut between your lips before snapping. Jack held your head between his hands, thumbs brushing softly over the apples of your cheeks.
“Talk with me. Tonight. Come have dinner or a drink with me, and we can talk about it all,” he said, a borderline pleading look on his face.
You nodded, still a little dumb from the kiss. “Yeah, yeah, sure. Okay,” you said, slowly extricating your hand from his scrub top.
He let you go with a final squeeze to your jaw, moving to re-enter the ED before you.
You stood there a moment longer, wiping your lips to get rid of your combined saliva and to lessen the kiss bitten look you were sure you were sporting before getting back to work.
The rest of the shift was painfully slow, the hours passing by like molasses. You couldn’t stop thinking about the kiss, the way his lips molded against yours like it was their rightful place. You did make a concentrated effort not to let it impact your work, though. Jack was right about that; nothing could come between you and finishing your residency.
It was just after 7:30 when you exited the hospital, and you immediately spotted Jack leaning against his truck waiting for you. You smiled as you approached him, nervous butterflies erupting in your stomach. Despite that breathtaking kiss, you still didn’t know where you stood. Was he just satisfying a sexual curiosity? Or was it possible that he also had feelings for you?
He cleared his throat, “So I was thinking we could order something to my place and talk there. Unless you want to go somewhere else, to a restaurant or your place,” he rambled, nerves undercutting his typically confident energy.
“Your place sounds good,” you nod, still a bit shy.
His hand was warm on the small of your back as he guided you to the passenger side, opening the door for you and helping you step up into the cab. The ride to his house was quiet, but not uncomfortably so. Some 90s alternative rock playlist hummed quietly in the background while you ordered pizza for the two of you–on his phone, with his card, he insisted. His hand rested lightly on your knee, the heat of his palm burning through the fabric of your scrubs.
You arrived at a beautifully manicured house in a suburb far enough from the city to be peacefully quiet. It’s different from what you pictured, you realize as you walk in. You assumed that a man who worked as much as he did wouldn’t have the time or energy to put into making a house a home; you pictured a sterile kitchen and minimalist fixtures, white walls with abstract art.
But it was homey. The walls were painted, photos scattered across them. The couch looked comfy, something picked out with intention, not the first option plucked from a furniture catalog. There were plants, beautiful, well taken care of ferns and pothos littered about. Warm light filtered through the kitchen, the island topped with butcher block and bracketed by two upholstered stools.
“Do you want anything to drink? Water, wine, beer?” he asked, opening the fridge and grabbing a beer for himself.
You focused your attention back on him, abandoning your pseudo-psychoanalysis of his house and drifting over to perch on a stool. “Wine would be nice,” you said, grateful for something to occupy your hands. He nods, pours you a modest glass of red–something French that probably costs ten times the amount of your shitty grocery store wine.
The pizza arrives soon thereafter, and you sit down at the island to eat. Conversation is easy, and you feel more at ease with him now than you ever had before, a drastic 180 from this morning. You talk about your day, life, post-residency plans; he lets loose a few embarrassing stories from his own residency days, one featuring a very unfortunate Robby being pantsed by a 6 year old in the middle of the ED. Eventually, though, plates are cleared and glasses are downed, a natural lull falling over the conversation.
“So,” he starts, head resting against his palm, arm propped up on the counter, “that photo…” He’s got that sly smirk on his face now, comfortable now to tease you about it.
You groan, burying your head in your arms. He laughed, “you don’t have to explain yourself, but I am curious what series of events led to me receiving that photo,” he said… “a series of events for which I am very thankful for, by the way.”
You turned, resting your head sideways on your arms, and started explaining all about James and his preferences, how he was your only real option for some skin-to-skin contact. Jack, for his part, listened quietly, offering little commentary until you finished your great tale.
“So you’re telling me that this kid can’t even fuck you right, yet he demands you shave before he’ll go down on you?” he asks, a horrified look on his face.
“Welcome to the joys of modern dating,” you joke, shooting him a halfhearted smile.
He shook his head, “unacceptable,” he said before hooking his leg around your stool and pulling you closer. You gasp, steadying yourself with a hand on his thigh as you fight not to topple onto him completely. He was close now, one hand coming up to rest on the hollow of your neck while the other slid up your top, thumb strumming over your ribs.
Jack didn’t hesitate this time. This kiss was different–no less searing, but a little more leisurely–like he wasn’t worried about scarcity anymore, confident that he had the time to take you apart and put you back together again before the night was over. His mouth was molten against yours, tongue delving deep in your mouth and swallowing up the steady stream of desperate whines escaping you.
The hand on your neck coasted upward, tangling in your hair and angling your head back to deepen the kiss. Your hands slid under his shirt, groaning as they came to rest on his tummy. He was warm, the muscle firm under your hands as you lightly scraped your nails over his flesh. His chest rumbled under your touch, the hand in your hair tightening, the twinge of pain a welcome contrast to the overwhelming pleasure of his lips against yours.
He barely broke the kiss to whisper into your mouth, “let me show you what its like to have a real man fuck you. Please, sugar,” he pulled away finally, resting his forehead against yours.
“Please fuck me, Jack,” you said, eyes hooded with lust. A moment later you were being scooped up from the stool and carried toward his bedroom. While Jack focused on not running into anything, you trailed open-mouthed kisses along the length of his neck, sucking the skin between your teeth before soothing it over with your tongue. You nipped gently at his adam’s apple, smiling when he yelped at the contact.
“You’re trouble, you know that?” he chuckled before dropping you down onto his bed, your body bouncing slightly before settling. He stood between your legs, face cradled between his meaty hands. “I want you to listen to me, okay?” he asked, waiting for you to nod before continuing, “I want to do so many filthy, obscene things to you tonight; want to fuck you into oblivion as many times as you’ll let me, but I want you to know that if you want to stop, at any point, you just say the word and we’re done. No questions asked. Understand?”
You nodded once more, but that was insufficient for Jack. “need you to use your big girl words, okay, pretty? Tell me you understand,” he said.
“I understand, Jack. If I want to stop, I’ll tell you,” you replied seriously, even though you knew there was no chance you’d want to stop.
“Good. Now, I want you to take off your scrubs, scoot up to the headboard, and get comfortable while I take care of my leg, okay?”
You did as he bade you, left only in a pair of pink cotton panties and bra. You hadn’t planned on being in this situation, but you were glad they were a matching set at the very least. Settling against his pillows, you watched as he shucked his pants off, the sleek metal of his prosthesis glinting in the low lamplight.
He sat down at the edge of the bed, fingers undoing the mechanism with practiced motions, twisting the appendage off and setting it to the side. The skin looked a little chapped, but not raw, which was a good sign.
“Is there anything I could do to make things more comfortable for you?” you asked. You wanted to make sure he knew you weren’t put off by his leg, wanted to make sure he didn’t feel like he had to overcompensate because of it.
“No, thank you, sugar. You’re doin’ plenty already,” he assured, turning around to face you. His eyes darkened as he took you in, his gaze hungrily raking over your newly exposed skin. He moved to hover over you, forearms braced next to your head as kisses you again, this time a sweet press of his lips against yours before he began trailing his mouth along your jaw and down your neck, laving hot kisses all across your neck and collarbone.
A gasp punches out of you when he sucks harshly at the spot just below the ear, the spot that turns your insides to putty. He grins against you, focusing his attention there until you’re a writhing, moaning mess under him. A hand reaches behind you to make quick work of your bra clasp, the flimsy material soon thrown across the room, forgotten immediately. His hands are on you in a flash, thumbs teasing along the underside of your tits.
Whining, you claw at his shirt, desperately wanting to feel his bare chest against your nipples, and he obliges, one-handedly throwing the thing off. The fine silver hair on his chest scrapes against you, your nails digging into his back as you pull him flush to you. Jack groans, hips involuntarily rutting against you, his hard cock a delicious pressure against your aching cunt. Your hips cant up, chasing the friction and grinding yourself against him.
“Careful, you keep doin’ that and this’ll be over before it even starts,” Jack warns, nipping at your bottom lip before continuing his maddening descent, mouth exploring your breasts–conveniently ignoring your painfully hard nipples. “Jaaaack,” you whine, thrusting your chest upward. He takes the hint, lips suctioning against a nipple and using his tongue to flick the pebbled flesh. Your hand fists in his curls, holding him there as his hand moves to tug at your other nipple. When he decides he’s given enough attention to one nipple, he switches sides, giving the other the same treatment. By the time he moves on, your tits are sure to be sore and red tomorrow, but you could not care less about that right now.
He kissed down your stomach, lips lingering at your navel before pulling back, eyes travelling down between your legs. “Fuck sweetheart, is all this just from me playin’ with your pretty tits?” he asked, eyes fixated on the wet spot on your panties. You whimper in response, mind too fuzzy to form words. His fingers skate over your waistband, your tummy contracting in anticipation. Ever so slowly, he drags your panties down your legs, discarding them over his shoulder as he settles between your legs.
His pupils were blown wide, utterly entranced by your pussy. The attention made you want to shrink in on yourself, your legs subconsciously moving to close, but his wide shoulders and firm grip on your thighs stopped you. “Fuck, sugar, this is what she looks like with some curls on ‘er? And you let some boy convince you she needed to be bald?” He shook his head, a genuinely pained look on his face.
He moved to spread you open for him, thumbs stroking up and down your lips as he took you in. Without warning, he surged forward, pressing a chase kiss against your clit before sitting back and continuing to admire your pussy. You squealed, hips twitching forward in search of more friction, the brief contact making you dizzy with need. It was slightly embarrassing, being watched like this, but you were growing impossibly wetter anyway.
Jack’s hands moved back to your thighs as you squirmed, grip tightening, fingers sinking into your soft flesh just enough to ache, and spread you further open. “Don’t hide from me, pretty girl,” he said, pressing hot kisses from your knee to your inner thigh, stopping right at the crease between your pussy and thigh, breath fanning over your puffy folds. Your clit was throbbing, your hips subtly shifting against nothing.
“‘m gonna show you just how pretty this pussy is, not gonna stop until you feel it,” he said, looking directly into your eyes, “you okay with that?”
No sooner had you nodded than he was on you. He didn’t waste any time, swiping the flat of his tongue through your folds from entrance to clit in one long stroke. His tongue was hot against your cunt, the muscle firm as it lapped hungrily at your folds, exploring every inch of you. He groaned, nuzzling his face deeper into your pussy. “Fuck, you taste better than I could have ever imagined,” he moaned, tongue dipping into your hole to collect the slick gathering there.
He didn’t surface for air, mouth working against you relentlessly; like he’d been deprived of something vital that had been restored to him, and he wasn’t about to let it go again. It was primal, almost animalistic the way he licked, sucked, and nipped at your cunt. Your back arched almost painfully off the bed, hands fisted in the sheets and moans slipping from your lips unbidden.
He alternated between circling your clit in tight little circles with the tip of his tongue, and suckling on it, lips wrapped snug around the bundle of nerves. Your body was hot, your legs trembling as the coil in your core wound tighter. One hand moved to grip his curls, the hair soft between your fingers as you tugged at it. He moaned into your pussy, the vibrations bringing you right to the edge.
“Fuck, right there, Jack,” you gasped, “I’m so close, so–”
“Cum for me, sugar, let me taste you,” he said quickly, head bowing back down to suck your clit harshly, teeth grazing it just the littlest bit.
And you did, white hot pleasure coursing through you, body contorting, legs squeezing his head between your thighs as you rode out your orgasm. You felt like a live wire, your nerves firing on all cylinders while Jack kept gentle pressure on your clit, drawing out your release as long as possible. Jack lapped up all your spend, not letting a drop go to waste. Boneless, you weakly pushed his head away, the overstimulation too much.
He sat back a fraction, face dripping with your juices and his saliva. There was a gleam in his eye as his thumb replaced his mouth, rubbing soft circles against your clit. A high-pitched whine escaped you, your sensitive nub begging for reprieve.
“You can give me another one, can’t you pretty girl?” he asked, voice brooking no argument.
“I d-don’t–fuck–I don’t know,” you blabbered, the painful overstimulation quickly giving way to pleasure, your hips canting forward against his thumb.
“I think you can,” he murmured, swiping a thick finger through your folds before sinking it in and curling lazily against that sweet spot on your front wall. “Fuck, Jack, feels so good,” you moaned, moving you hips in time with his finger. Before you knew it he was adding another finger, a slight sting accompanying the stretch. All you could do was whimper, his fingers switching between slow and deep, and fast and hard strokes.
Your second orgasm hit you without warning, pleasure reverberating through your body from the top of your head to the soles of your feet, your toes curling as you came harder than you ever had in your life. Jack’s fingers kept moving, wringing every last after shock from your body. You were panting now, trying to catch your breath but failing miserably.
And yet, Jack’s fingers were still moving, scissoring you open now. It was too much, the sensations bordered more on pain than pleasure. “I can’t–can’t do a-another one like this,” you stuttered out.
Jack looked at you, a wicked grin spreading across his face. “Tell me you have the prettiest pussy,” he said, fingers slowing a fraction as he waited for you to answer, gaze leveled directly at you.
You whined, face heating at the order, “J-Jack, please, just wanna cum on your cock,” you said, hoping it would break his resolve.
“I’ll fuck you as soon as you say it, sugar. Say you have the prettiest pussy.”
You squirmed, cheeks hot as you whimpered, “I can’t–I’m not–” was all you managed to get out before a sharp slap landed on your pussy. You gasped, the pain shocking but not unwelcome.
“If you want to cum on my cock, you have to be a good girl,” he said, face severe as he continued curling his fingers against your sweet spot. “and good girls do what they’re told. So, I want you to say, ‘Jack, I have the prettiest, sweetest pussy’ okay? Can you do that for me, pretty girl?” he asked, thumb circling your clit.
You huffed, trying to catch your breath. “Ja-aack, fuck, I-I have, hng, I have the p-prettiest, sweet–ah–sweetest pussy,” you stammered out.
“Knew you could do it for me,” he praised, fingers leaving your cunt to pull off his boxers. His cock sprang out, curving slightly and resting against his abdomen. It stole the breath from your lungs–It was obnoxiously thick and decently lengthy, tip flushed red and leaking precum steadily. Your hand reached out to feel him, maybe jerk him off a little before he fucked you, but Jack stopped you, pinning your wrist down on the bed. You whined, lip jutting out in a not-so-faux pout.
“I’m trying not to cum in 5 seconds like a teenager, sugar, and if you put your soft hands on me right now I’m not gonna be able to last,” he said, reaching over to his bedside table to grab a condom. He stroked his cock a few times before rolling the condom on and lining himself up with your entrance, neither one of you interested in teasing anymore.
He eased the tip in, your walls fluttering around him to accommodate his girth. Your legs spread open wider for him as he settled between your hips, pushing the rest of his length in slowly until he was flush against your hips, his pelvic bone rubbing your clit just right. The stretch was intense, your walls fluttering and clenching harshly at the intrusion. Your hips wiggled slightly, trying to get used to the twinge of pain from the sheer size of him.
Jack hovered over you, one arm resting next to your head while the other gripped your hip tight. His face was twisted, almost painful looking. “You gotta relax for me, sugar, you’re gripping me like a fuckin’ vise,” he grit out, head falling into the crook of your neck, placing chaste kisses there, trying to loosen you up. You tried, willing your muscles to relax around him.
A few moments passed before Jack was able to move, pulling out to the tip before thrusting back in harshly, setting a brutal pace. You moaned, Jack’s hips snapping hard against you, cock dragging through your walls exquisitely. You tried to keep up with his pace, your hips meeting each thrust, cunt greedily sucking him back in each time.
Your back was arched, hair splayed out across the pillow as you took what Jack gave you.
“So pretty for me, sweetheart,” he said, sitting back on his haunches, “my perfect little pussy.” He grabbed at your thighs, pushing them up toward your chest, knees nearly at your ears. The new angle forced him deeper than before, his thrusts fucking you into the mattress. You were entranced by the view of him fucking you, curls dripping and chest glistening with sweat as he pounded into your pussy.
The room sounded obscene between the slapping skin, your combined moans, and your squelching cunt. Moans were falling from your lips at a near constant rate, and Jack was louder than you’d expected, throaty groans and grunts reverberating like music to your ears.
You’re honestly not sure you’ve ever come more than twice in a night, but it didn’t take as long as you thought for your third orgasm to build, the waves cresting fast. The only thing you could think about was Jack’s cock hammering into your pussy.
“I think I’m gonna, gonna cum again,” you breathed, “don’t stop, Jack, pleasepleasepleasepleeeeeeease,” you keened.
Jack’s hand found your jaw, tilting your face up to kiss him sloppily, “cum for me, baby, let me feel you milk my cock,” he said, thrusts growing more uncoordinated as he neared his orgasm.
It only took a few more deep, punishing trusts before you were coming undone around his cock. You held eye contact with Jack as your orgasm washed over you, your mouth parted wide, tears gathering at the corners of your eyes at the overwhelming sensations. You felt so full, your walls pulsing mercilessly around him.
Jack gripped your hips in both hands, his trusts faster and harder than before as he chased his release. “wanna feel you cum in me Jack,” you croaked, throat raw, hands reaching out to paw at any skin you could.
Jack groaned, hips stuttering a few more times before thrusting deep into you once last time and cumming. He ground his hips into yours, milking every last drop from his cock. You felt the warmth of his cum through the condom, your cunt clenching again at the feeling, your mind already flashing forward to imagine him fucking you raw–you let about another garbled moan at the thought.
Spent, Jack collapsed into you, cock softening inside your still pulsing cunt. His weight on top of you was comforting, grounding you back to earth. You were content to lay there, coming down and catching your breath.
Eventually Jack rolled off of you, disposing of the condom and grabbing a few wet wipes from his nightstand to clean you both up.
He pulled you against his side, big hand petting your hair, “You okay, sugar? Was that too much?” he asked, voice hoarse.
“no, was so good, Jackie,” you mumbled, feeling floaty and sated.
“Good,” he whispered, pressing soft kisses onto your hairline.
You sat in comfortable silence for a while, head resting on his bare chest, his heartbeat a comforting thrum in your ear. One large hand ran up and down the smooth expanse of your back while the other held your hand against his chest, fingers intertwined together.
“I hope you know this isn’t just a one time thing,” he said suddenly, his arm tightening its hold around you.
“No?” you asked, trying to keep the hopeful edge out of your voice.
“Uh-uh, you’re mine,” he says possessively, hand snaking down to cup your sensitive mound, “this is my pussy now.”
You want to be offended, want to point out that you’re more than your cunt. But you know Jack knows that, and more than anything your head grows warm and fuzzy at the thought of being someone’s. Of being Jack’s.
“Yeah, ‘s all yours, Jackie,” you mumble, falling asleep against the gentle rise and fall of his chest, happier than you’ve been in a long time.
a/n: whew that was a lot!! thank you if you made it all the way through!!
content warnings. ⸝⸝ fem reader, southern!reader, suga!mama!reader, suga!baby!rafe, suggestive start, praising, no proof read, riding, teasing, reader gently slaps rafe
rafe’s lips trail slow and warm along the curve of your neck, his breath hot against your skin as the sheets tangle around your bodies in the dim morning light. he’s pressed close, one arm draped heavy over your waist, holding you like he never plans to let go.
every kiss is lazy, deliberate, sending little sparks down your spine while his fingers trace lazy circles on your hip.
you feel him smile against your throat, teeth grazing just enough to make your breath hitch. “baby,” he murmurs, voice low and rough with sleep and something else. “can i get something from you?”
he pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, that cocky little smirk playing on his lips, but his gaze is softer, almost pleading in the way only you ever see. “just a little help with that thing i told you about last night… i swear i’ll make it worth your while.” his mouth returns to your neck, kissing deeper this time, like he’s already trying to sweeten the ask.
you lift a brow, tilting your head just enough to catch his eye. “what do you want? a new truck?” you ask, voice still husky from the way he’s been kissing you.
rafe chuckles softly against your skin, the sound vibrating through you as he nips at your collarbone. “nah, not a truck this time,” he says, pulling back with that signature smirk, eyes gleaming. “though i wouldn’t say no if you offered. i was thinking more like…” he starts, before pausing.
“that watch i showed you last week. the one with the black face. figured it’d look good when i’m out with you, you know? keep me looking sharp for you.” he leans in again, pressing a slower, open mouthed kiss right below your ear. “c’mon, i’ll earn it. whatever you want tonight.” he reassured you.
later that afternoon the two of you step into the quiet luxury of the upscale watch boutique downtown. you’re wearing a sleek black designer dress that hugs your curves perfectly, the expensive silk falling just above your knees with a subtle slit up the side.
layered over it are your usual statement pieces: a thick diamond necklace dripping with flawless stones that catch every bit of light, matching drop earrings, stacked bracelets on both wrists, and a few bold rings that scream old money. your heels click against the marble floor as you walk arm in arm with rafe.
the sales associate, a polished older man in a tailored suit, brings out the watch rafe had been eyeing. he places it carefully on the velvet tray under the soft lighting. “this is the limited edition model,” he says smoothly. “exquisite craftsmanship. the price comes to one hundred and twenty five thousand dollars.” he explains to you both.
rafe glances at you, trying to play it cool but you catch the slight tension in his jaw. you don’t even blink. “we’ll take it,” you say casually, already reaching for your black card. “wrap it up nicely for him.” you request.
the associate nods without missing a beat, but rafe’s hand tightens on your waist, his thumb brushing the silk of your dress. “damn” he murmurs close to your ear once the man steps away, voice low and grateful. “you didn’t even hesitate.”
you turn your head slightly, lips curving into a small smirk as you meet his gaze. “have it be motivation for you to make up this tiny gap in my bank account,” you reply, voice smooth and teasing, your fingers lightly tracing the lapel of his shirt.
rafe lets out a low laugh as he pulls you a little closer. “yes ma’am. i’ll start tonight,” he promises, voice dropping even lower.
that night the bedroom is dim, lit only by the city glow filtering through the floor to ceiling windows. your thighs are straddling rafe’s hips as you ride him slow and deep, controlling every roll of your hips. the new watch sits heavy on his wrist, the only thing he’s still wearing while you keep him pinned beneath you.
his hands grip your waist tight, fingers digging in like he’s fighting to keep some control, but his body is already trembling under you.
“fuck… baby,” rafe gasps out, head tipping back against the pillows, eyes half lidded and desperate. his hips buck up trying to meet your pace but he keeps falling short, struggling to match the rhythm you set.
you smile down at him, one hand pressed to his chest to hold him down as you grind harder, taking him deeper. “look at you,” you tease, voice low and sweet, rolling your hips in a torturously slow circle. “can’t even keep up with me after all that big talk earlier. is this the best my pretty boy can do?” you taunt.
rafe whines softly, cheeks flushed as he tries to thrust up again, chasing the heat of you. “shit— i’m trying… you feel too good,” he pants, voice breaking on the words. his fingers slide up your sides, gripping harder. “please… let me— fuck, just a little faster.” he pleads.
you lean down closer, lips brushing his ear while you deliberately slow your movements even more. “aw, poor thing. you spent all that energy begging for your watch and now you can’t even fuck me right?” you purr, clenching around him on purpose. “maybe i should stop until you learn how to earn it properly.”
rafe shakes his head quickly, a needy sound slipping out as his hips jerk up helplessly. “no, no, no! don’t stop, please. i’ll be good… i’ll make up every dollar, just keep riding me like that.” his voice is wrecked, eyes glassy as he stares up at you, completely at your mercy.
you sit back up, bracing your hands on his chest as you start riding him harder, hips snapping down with purpose. your fingers trace the shiny new watch on his wrist, tapping the expensive face lightly.
“this pretty watch looks so good on you,” you taunt, voice dripping with mock sweetness while you squeeze around him. “one hundred and twenty five thousand dollars just so you can lay here and struggle to keep up. does it make you feel expensive, baby? or does it just remind you how much you owe me?”
rafe moans loud, head pressing back into the pillow as his whole body tenses under you. “fuck. yes, it does,” he chokes out, breath ragged. “it reminds me… shit, i’m yours. i’ll work for every cent, i swear. just don’t slow down—please, i need you.” his hips twitch up desperately, trying and failing to match your pace, the watch glinting on his wrist with every helpless movement.
you keep bouncing on him, riding him deep and steady, the slick sound of skin on skin filling the room. you reach down and slap his cheek gently, just enough to make his eyes snap open wider, a soft sting blooming on his flushed skin.
“tell me, baby,” you coo, voice husky as you grind down hard on him. “do you love how i spend my money on you?” you ask him. “does it turn you on knowing i buy you expensive shit like this watch just because i can? it turns me on so much seeing you this happy…” you add, moaning softly as you kept eye contact with him. “and fuck, i love how sexy you look with all my money spent on you.”
rafe’s breath hitches sharply at the light slap, a broken moan spilling from his lips as his cock throbs inside you. his hips stutter, trying so hard to thrust up into you. “yes, yes! fuck yes, i love it,” he gasps out, voice wrecked and needy.
“i love when you spend on me.” he admits. “turns me on so bad, baby, seeing you not even blink at the price…shit, it makes me so hard for you.” he swallows hard, eyes glassy and desperate as he stares up at you. “i feel so fucking sexy wearing it… all because of you. please keep using me like this. please, please, please baby. i’ll take everything you give me.”
you ride him faster now, hips rolling with purpose as you lean over him again, one hand cupping his jaw. “who do you love, rafe?” you ask, voice low and commanding, still bouncing on his cock. “you,” he breathes out instantly, no hesitation, eyes locked on yours with pure desperation. “i love you. fuck, i love you so much.” he rambled.
you smile, slowing your hips just enough to tease him one last time. “such a good boy. come give mama some suga yeah?” you taunt. you lean down and kiss him deep, tongues sliding together as you grind down hard. rafe moans into your mouth, kissing you back hungrily, hands gripping your ass like you’re his lifeline.
his body tenses hard beneath you, hips jerking up one final time as he cums deep inside you, thick and hot, shaking through it with a broken whimper against your lips. he keeps kissing you through it, needy and grateful, the new watch cool against your skin as his arms wrap around you tighter.
notes. i am literally so sorry that this request took so long, i had no clue on how to make him submissive but then it came to me . . . suga mama x rafe. anywhoooo i hope you enjoyed this anonymous ! ! ♡
pov. rafe is coming back from the military… it’s been years since you’ve seen him. so. idk. um. u guys fuck because sex is fun. ok. bye.
notes. do u guys think rafe would go into the military?? i think no… im ngl.. dont kill me im on s1
content warnings. ⸝⸝ fem reader, military rafe, penetration, dirty talk, reader riding rafe, explicit language, no proof read, sleepy sex,
thick. big. swollen. wide. all those words barely did rafe justice now. you couldn’t even recognize his body, he was scrawny last time you seen him. he had barely any muscle, now he’s 6’2 and just his biceps hid half of your face.
it was unfair just how hot he is. his body now was nothin’ like it was when you last seen him, but you aren’t complaining. since he left, you’ve been torturing your pussy with no contact, so when he got home… it was on.
he came into the house, feet dragging against the wood floor. he was so tired due to coming back on a plane from his base that was somewhere else out of country. he gave you a open mouthed kiss on your neck, hooking his arm around your neck while walking toward the bedroom for the bed.
the bed groaned and sunk under his weight, you ran to the other side of the bed, helping him take off his shirt. he grumbled from his sore muscles being used, hiding his discomfort only slightly.
your eyes scan his new body, you couldn’t get over the last time you’d seen him, there’d been sharp edges to him, a lankiness he hadn’t quite grown into. now his shoulders filled doorways, and lean muscle stretched beneath sun tanned skin. your fingers traced his abs while he laid back, his muscles flexing while he moved. that was new.
you couldn’t stop staring, couldn’t stop touching. your fingers kept dragging over the hard ridges of his abs, feeling them twitch and flex under your palms like they had a mind of their own. he let out a low, tired groan, eyes half lidded as he sank deeper into the mattress.
“baby… i’m fuckin’ wiped,” he mumbled, voice rough and slow, but his big hand still slid down to grip your thigh, squeezing like he didn’t want you going anywhere. “missed you so bad though.” he whispers with a soft smile.
you smiled back, leaning down to kiss his chest, then his collarbone, then that sharp jaw that now looked carved from stone. “i know you’re tired. just lay back, rafe. let me take care of you.” you tell him in his ear.
he tried to protest, mumbling something about wanting to fuck you proper, but it came out slurred as his eyes fluttered. you could tell the long flight and the weight of his new body were dragging him under. you took each other’s clothes off and yadda yadda yadda.
when you straddled his hips, his cock twitched hard against your thigh—already thick and heavy, swelling up even more as you ground down slowly. “fuck… yeah, like that,” he breathed, hands lazily sliding up your sides. his grip was still strong, but slower, sleepier. he was fighting to keep his eyes open, trying to focus on you while his body begged for rest.
you reached between you, wrapping your fingers around his cock. god, he was so wide now, your hand couldn’t even close all the way around the thick base. you stroked him a few times, watching the way his abs clenched and his mouth fell open in a quiet moan. he was already leaking, swollen head shiny and flushed.
“you’re so big, rafe,” you whispered, lining him up with your soaked entrance. “can’t believe how much you’ve changed.” you say, he let out a sleepy, wrecked chuckle. “all for you, baby. c’mere.” he groans.
you sank down on him slowly, gasping at the stretch. even half-asleep, he was huge, filling you so deep and wide your thighs trembled. rafe’s head tipped back, a low groan rumbling out of his chest as you bottomed out. his hands settled heavy on your hips, fingers digging in just enough to help guide you, but he wasn’t thrusting up like usual. he was letting you set the pace, eyes barely open, watching you, his lips parted.
“shit… so tight,” he slurred, trying to keep up, trying to roll his hips to meet you. every time you lifted and dropped back down, taking his thick cock to the hilt, he’d let out these soft, exhausted sounds, half moan, half sigh. his biceps flexed as he held onto you, veins standing out against the new muscle, but his movements were lazy, heavy with sleep.
you rode him harder, grinding your clit against his pelvis each time you sank down, chasing that full feeling only he could give you. the wet sounds of your bodies meeting filled the room, mixed with his quiet, broken curses.
“rafe… look at me,” you whispered, leaning forward so your tits brushed his chest. his eyes cracked open, blue and hazy with exhaustion and lust. “i’m tryin’, baby… feels so fuckin’ good. don’t stop.” his voice was deep, slow, like he was speaking through a dream. one of his hands slid up to cup your breast, thumb lazily circling your nipple while you bounced on his cock.
you could feel him throbbing inside you, so swollen and hot. every roll of your hips made his jaw clench, his sleepy face twisting in pleasure. he was barely keeping up now, hips jerking up weakly, chasing your heat, but the way he looked at you, all fucked out and half gone, made you clench around him tighter.
“gonna cum just like this,” you told him, riding him faster, grinding deeper. “want you to fill me up while you’re all sleepy and big like this.” you moan out. rafe groaned long and low, his head falling back against the pillow. “yeah… fuck, take it. it’s yours, baby. all yours.” he rambled.
you came hard, pulsing around his thick length, and he followed right after with a deep, tired moan, cock twitching as he spilled inside you, warm and endless. his hands stayed on your hips even as his breathing evened out, eyes finally slipping shut completely.
you stayed there for a moment, gently rocking through the aftershocks, brushing damp hair off his forehead while he dozed beneath you. even passed out, his body stayed hard and warm and massive under yours.
summary: rafe desperately needs you to stay on the line while you're at the club (aka phone sex)
content warning: explicit sexual content, phone sex, public sex (kinda?), masturbation, dom!rafe, possessive!rafe 18+ MDNI
w/c: 2K
a/n: can be read as a standalone, but it does follow the events after ride it right
It’d been another Saturday night out of the apartment for you, one where a heavy pulse vibrated up from the soles of your heels and settled deep in your ribcage, leaving a frantic heartbeat that wasn’t your own. One where strobe lights split through the darkness and painted you and your friends’ laughing faces in flickers of electric blue and neon pink. One where you were trying to lose yourself in it, to let the cheap vodka crans and thumping music drown out whatever you’d endured during the week. The air tasted like vaporized sweat and cheap synthetic fruit, a heavy, humid blanket that made it hard to draw a full breath.
It’d been months since Valentine’s Day, when you’d rode Rafe in the cowgirl position during movie night as he tried to prove to you how enjoyable it was. Nothing had changed between you two, not at the surface at least. The next day, it’d been like nothing happened, and you both went back to being roommates who bickered over stealing each other’s food or if someone had messed with the thermostat. Except, you saw him in a different light, and it was like you’d zeroed in on every little thing he did with a microscope.
You saw the way his throat worked when he swallowed a beer, the flex of his bicep when he carried groceries, or the dark, knowing look in his eyes when he caught you staring. And you hated yourself for it. You hated the way your body responded, the low, persistent ache of longing that was becoming impossible to ignore. Even a whiff of a familiar cologne led your mind to short-circuit right back to Rafe, as if you could still feel the phantom friction of him, the memory of his heavy hands anchoring your hips down onto his lap. You were supposed to pretend it never happened, a one-time thing born of cheap wine and bad movies, but your lust for him had only festered, growing into a secret, gnawing hunger.
As your friend reenacted his embarrassing encounter with his manager, your phone kept buzzing in your purse, a persistent vibration against your thigh. At first, you’d ignored it, directing your attention towards your friend; however, as time went on, your phone was on a constant buzz that had you second-guessing the severity of the call. As you fished it out, the screen shone bright in the club’s dimming, the caller ID’s photo blinding your vision as you checked.
Rafe
Dread filled you as your stomach did a flip-flop, your mind conjuring all the things that could have constituted a call at this hour instead of talking at the apartment. You excused yourself from your friends, weaving through the herd of grinding bodies and cloud of cheap perfume in the air toward the relative quiet of the hallway.
“Hey? Is everything okay?” you answered, trying to sound casual and unaffected.
"Where are you?" His voice was a low rumble, the same one that haunted your dreams, outdoing its effect on your body compared to the muffled thud of the club's bass. Back at the apartment, Rafe sat on the edge of his unmade mattress, his jaw clenched as he stared blankly at the dark bedroom wall. He’d spent the last two hours pacing the living room, irritated by the quiet, driving himself crazy imagining you illuminated under the flashing lights with some random guy's hands on your waist. He needed to know he still had a hand over you, that he wasn’t the only one going crazy since that night.
"Just out with some friends at the club," you reassured vaguely, leaning against the cool wall while the scuffed floor beneath your heels suddenly became the most interesting thing to take in. “I told you at breakfast, remember?”
"Are you havin’ fun?" he asked, and you could hear the faint sound of a zipper being pulled down. The question came out casual, but he immediately regretted asking it, because if you said yes, he'd spend the rest of the night wondering who was making you smile. But if you said no, he'd somehow feel responsible for that too.
"It's fine," you said, a frown creasing your brow. "Why? What's up?"
There was a pause, a beat of heavy silence that made your skin prickle. "Was jus’ wonderin’ if you were free."
"I'm... kind of in the middle of something, Rafe."
"Stay on the line," he commanded, his voice dropping an octave, leaving no room for argument. It wasn't a question, yet you knew you wouldn’t have challenged him. The rigour in his voice was enough to make the same knot of fear in your stomach more painful as it changed from apprehension to curiosity and desire for him. The desire to hear him say your name in the same tone, the same low cadence as he pushed himself into you as he held your arms above your head.
Your breath hitched when you’d caught on. You could hear it then, the soft, slick sound of skin on skin, a quiet sigh that was purely lust. The unmistakable, rhythmic slap of skin on skin, slow and deliberate—he was already stroking his cock, and you had to listen to it. Your face instantly flooded with heat, a dizzying mix of embarrassment as you took in your surroundings, and a sharp, unwelcome spike of arousal. You were trapped, pinned to the spot by his voice and the filthy, intimate noises coming through the phone.
"I've been thinking about this tight little cunt all day," he rasped, his voice thick with lust. "Been walking around with a fucking hard-on since I saw you leave in that skirt. Thinking about that tight little pussy wrapped around my cock. Remember how good you felt taking me? Remember how you came for me?"
Your breath hitched, a fresh wave of heat washing over you. You squeezed your eyes shut, your free hand clenching into a fist at your side. You could feel yourself getting wet, your body betraying you completely. You were supposed to be scolding yourself, not picturing him lying on his bed, his hand wrapped around his thick cock, stroking himself to the thought of you. "Rafe, stop. I can’t"
"No," he growled, the sound of his strokes getting faster, wetter. "You're going to listen. You're going to stand there and listen to me fuck my fist, pretending it's your sweet, soaking wet pussy. Are you wet for me right now, baby? Is your underwear ruined just from hearing my voice?"
You squeezed your thighs together, a pathetic attempt to quell the ache that was blooming into a desperate throb. He was right. The thin lace of your panties was already slick, your body betraying you with a speed that was frankly insulting. He let out a low groan, and the sound went straight to your core.
You were throbbing, a frantic, needy pulse between your legs. You glanced down the hallway, terrified someone would see you, see the flush on your cheeks and know exactly what you were listening to. A group of girls giggled as they walked past toward the restrooms, and you instinctively turned your face away, your heart hammering against your ribs in sheer terror of being caught.
"I wish you were here," he panted, his strokes growing faster, more erratic. "I'd bend you over and fuck you so hard you'd forget your own name. Would you like that, baby? Would you like me to fuck you 'til you can't think straight?"
You bit your lip, hard, the coppery tang of blood a brief distraction. You had to stop him. You had to end this. But the words wouldn't come. All you could do was listen, your own breath coming in ragged little pants that mirrored his.
"I'm stroking it so slow," he continued, his voice a hypnotic, filthy murmur. "Imagining your mouth on me first. Bet you’d take it so deep while I‘m fucking your throat until you cry. God, you’d look so pretty with your lips stretched around my cock." A small, strangled noise escaped your throat. You could picture it perfectly, the taste of him, the way his hips would jerk as he lost control.
"Bet’cha clenching that empty hole right now, wishing I was there to fill it up," he taunted. "Wishing I was pinning you against a wall and shoving my dick so deep inside you it hurts. I'd make you beg for it, baby, make y’plead for me to let you cum."
The sound of his breathing grew heavier, punctuated by the slick, obscene rhythm of his hand. "Fuck, I'm thinking about that perfect little ass. How good it’d feel against my hand when I slap the shit out of it. I'd tie you to my bed and spank you ‘til you're a crying mess, then I'd fuck you raw. Would you like that? Would y’ let me use you like my own personal little whore?"
"Rafe, please," you whimpered, not even sure what you were begging for. For him to stop, or for him to be there, doing every single delicious, depraved thing he was describing.
"You're so fucking dirty," he praised, his voice strained. "Listening to me jerk off in a public place like a little slut. Touch yourself for me. Right now. Slide your hand down your panties and tell me how wet you are."
“I can’t, Rafe, there’s nowhere for me to go.”
“Go to your car.” He prodded, the slick sounds in the background becoming louder and wetter. You hesitated, “I can’t just leave my friends.”
“Go, baby. I need you to do as I ask.”
And with that, soon you’d find yourself in the middle of a storage closet, cold and soulless, that was about to be defiled because you couldn’t contain yourself.
“Touch y’self, baby. Touch yourself with me.” Rafe sighed your name, letting out a soft fuck. Your hand moved on its own, slipping beneath the hem of your skirt and past the damp lace of your panties. Your fingers slid through your slick folds, and you had to bite your lip to keep from moaning.
"I’m soaked," you breathed, the confession a shameful, thrilling whisper.
"Good girl," he groaned, the praise hitting you like a physical blow. "Rub your clit for me. Nice and slow, m’kay? Circle it with your fingertips an’ pretend it's my tongue." You did, your hips rocking involuntarily against your own hand. The pleasure was almost immediate, an intoxicating rush that had you leaning against the wall for support as your mouth formed an O.
"I'm gonna cum so fucking hard," he panted, his voice breaking, while his breath came in short, ragged gasps as he reached his absolute limit. "I'm gonna paint my fucking stomach with it and wish it was all over your face. Cum with me, baby. Let me hear you, cum for your roommate like the good girl you are."
His command was your undoing. You stroked your clit faster, matching the frantic rhythm of his strokes, you could hear through the phone. The coil in your belly snapped, and you came with a silent, shuddering moan, your body convulsing as waves of pleasure washed over you. On the other end of the line, you heard him let out a guttural curse, his breath hitching in a final, shuddering groan as he found his own release.
You stood there for a long moment, your chest heaving, your hand still tucked between your thighs. The sound of his breathing was the only thing you could hear, a ragged, intimate soundtrack to your own shameful pleasure. For a moment, there was only the sound of his ragged breathing on the line. Then, his voice, low and smug, as he breathed out, "I’ll see you at home, roommate.”
You ended the call without another word, your heart pounding a frantic rhythm against your ribs. You leaned your head against the wall, your body trembling with a mixture of residual arousal and self-loathing that it’d happened again. Rafe had once again had a chokehold over you.
And when your friends asked if everything was okay, you nonchalantly shrugged,
“Yeah, my roommate just needed some help at home.”
⌗ warnings — smut with no plot, oral (fem receiving), dirty talk, dean being a man starved for your pussyyyyy. no seriously i mean this man cannot get enough of you. use of the word ‘cunt’ (my writing, not dean saying it or anything). not proofread! (0.8k words)
⌗ authors note — i hope you guys like this! please let me know your thoughts, reblogs and comments are so helpful and motivating! requests are open for dean as of now <3
the air was thick with smell of sweat and your arousal. dean’s large hands were holding your hips down harshly as his tongue lapped relentlessly at your aching cunt. he had been at this for thirty minutes and there was no sign of him stopping anytime soon. you’d already came twice, but dean didn’t care, he wanted more. the man couldn’t get enough of you. the way you tasted, the way you smelt… fuck, it drove him mad.
“dean…” you whimpered, your fingers sliding into the mop of blonde hair. his nose nudged your pelvis as he sucked your clit into his mouth, a groan escaping his lips and vibrating your core. “that’s it, baby. just let me take care of my girl.” dean mumbled against your clit, tongue messily and lazily licking at your hole. the sounds that filled the room were absolute filth. dean forced your hips deeper into the mattress, holding you in place so he could properly devour you without you trying squirm around too much.
“‘s too much…” you whined, your hand fisting in his hair, your back arching off the mattress. you were sticky with sweat, breath still shaky from previous orgasms. dean’s blue eyes met yours from where he was between your thighs, his mouth still latched onto you. his brows furrowed. “too much? sweetheart, i’m just getting started.” just getting started? was he crazy? what part of this was just — but your thought process was cut short when dean’s tongue plunged inside you. your eyes rolled back, your jaw falling slack.
“there it is.” dean grinned, sucking sweetly at your clit while his tongue thrust in and out of you, your pussy quivering around him. “just let me eat, ‘m hungry.” he murmured, closing his eyes. his cheeks, chin, and lips were drenched with you, your arousal dripping down his chin. “dean, stop.” you gasped, but you didn’t really mean it. the pleasure was just too much for you to handle. “didn’t anyone ever teach you it’s rude to disrupt someone’s meal?” dean groaned between your thighs. his massive, muscular arms wrapping around your thighs, practically gluing you to him.
he’d make you cum several more times before deciding he was finally done and let you relax. but don’t get too comfortable because just a few hours later, he’s wanting more. “please, baby.” his bottom lip stuck out in a pout, giving you his best puppy dog eyes. you hated when he did that, you literally couldn’t tell him no. and god, he looked so hot like that too. he’d smile triumphantly, grabbing your thighs as he laid down on his back, this time bringing you to him so that you’re straddling his face.
his large hands gripping your hips would gently guide you to lower your hips, bringing your already soaked pussy directly to his mouth. dean looked up at you, knowing that seeing him like this between your thighs drove you crazy. your eyes fluttered shut, breath hitching as deans warm mouth covers your cunt. your stomach tensed from the immediate pleasure, hands finding his hair to hold on.
“you taste so good, princess. like heaven.” dean moaned between your legs. fuck, he was too good at this. your hips started rocking against his mouth, your entire body warm and fuzzy with pleasure. “fuck yeah, ride my face, baby.” dean groaned against your pussy, his tongue circling your clit as his fingers spread your lips open further. his hands slid up to your tummy, just wanting to feel your skin beneath his palms. his hands eventually moved up to your breasts, his fingers finding your nipples, pinching and rolling the hard peaks, the pleasure making you buck your hips against his face. “couldn’t believe you made me wait this long to eat again.” dean practically pouted between your legs. made him… wait?! it had only been a few hours since the last time he ate you out, this man was fucking insatiable.
“i know, you poor baby.” you moaned, your head falling back as his tongue flicked against your clit over and over again. his hand landed a sharp smack to your ass, causing you to yelp. the sting of the slap melted into pleasure, your hips twitching against his face. “don’t talk back to me; don’t act like you don’t love this. you love knowing how obsessed i am with you and the way you taste.” and it was true. you loved knowing how obsessed dean was with you and eating your pussy.
within minutes, your vision was blurring, your toes curling as you desperately fucked dean’s face, chasing your orgasm over the edge. a loud cry of pleasure ripped from your throat as you came hard, dean greedily swallowing every last drop of you. you rolled off his face, dropping down onto the bed completely spent and breathing heavily as you attempted to recover. “you did so good for me, baby.” dean praised softly, wiping his mouth off with the back of his hand and leaning in to press a gentle kiss to your shoulder. “i’m already thinking about my breakfast in the morning.” he smirked. fuck me.
warnings ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა : oral ( f rec. ) , bluecollar!rafe ( dada mannn )
you loved to watch bluecollar!rafe eat . . .
yes, i know that sounds weird, because why would you like watching your husband eat? but here's the thing about him, he always ate like the food was gonna run away from him.
you noticed—well, it was hard not to—on your first date. he was quite literally scarfing down the plate within milliseconds of the food being served.
and no, you were not taking your food home because once you placed your fork down, you practically read his mind. "you want the rest?" you didn't mind, simply because you found his big appetite endearing.
to be honest, you found it hot too . . .
like just imagine rafe being exhausted after being out in the summer heat from sunrise to sunset. his skin was slightly flushed from sunburn, probably in an airy white tee and shorts.
but then he begins eating like he's been starved, despite the plethora of food you packed in his huge lunchbox before he left.
large, rugged hands gripping the spoon handle like a vice, completely dwarfing the utensil. both elbows are planted on the table as he hunches over his plate. he doesn't let any exaggerated sounds escape as he inhales his meal like a vacuum cleaner.
so just having this beefy man at your dinner table had you wondering one thing: if he eats like that, imagine how he eats cat. & boy did he eat it well . . .
everything was wet. your pussy, inner thighs, rafe’s face, and even the sheets below you. yet that only spurred your husband on because he could and would make you wetter.
“rafey, m’sensitve now,” you’d mewl, digging your head deeper into your pillow.
when rafe was between your thighs, he was a man of few words, only grunting or letting out raspy moans to your taste. continuing to slurp down your pussy juices like his day starved him from being saturated in your slick.
he’d suckle on your clit in a way that had your thighs tensing around his head and your toes pointing into the air. sometimes he’d even have his teeth lightly graze your nub when you’d get too rowdy. “let me eat,” he murmured, circling your dripping entrance before dipping his tongue into your heat to receive more of that sugary sap you flooded his mouth with.
and when he felt your velvety insides get warmer, he immediately tilted his head and flattened his tongue against your pussy, ready for your cunt to splatter that sticky cream of yours onto his taste buds.
& cream you did. once you felt that muffled “cum for me,” vibrate against your throbbing pussy, your thighs trembled around his head. your cunny pulsing rhythmically around his tongue, because of course, he wasn’t moving until he licked up every drop you gave him.
when rafe finally let up, you’d watch him wipe his mouth on the back of his arm, mirroring his actions from dinner . . .
so yeah, having a husband with a big appetite meant he had an even bigger appetite when it came to you :3
rafe is the type of guy to spit on your pussy while fucking you in missionary.
your thighs pressed up to your chest, his rough fingers pressing under your knees to keep you spread for him. his cock practically splitting you in half—your moans and the wet squelching of your cunt make him press in deeper.
“squeezin’ me tight, baby,” he rasps out, hips slowing to a teasing grind to let you feel every drag of his cock against your soaking walls. his eyes greedily take in every inch of you, just like you’re greedily taking every inch of him. “hold yourself open for me.”
your hands replace his in seconds, nails digging into the skin, leaving little crescents. he lets one hand slide across your inner thigh, calloused thumb brushing against your neglected clit teasingly just to watch your hips jerk up. a smirk tugs at his lips as he watches as your puffy folds suck him, brushing over your clit again.
“prettiest pussy i’ve ever seen.” he’s teasing you now, enjoying the fact that you’re desperate for his cock. he stills completely, your hips bucking up, trying to urge him to move again, but he doesn’t. “eager girl,” he coos down at you, thumbs dancing around where your cunt is wrapped around him.
instead of moving again, he leans forward, gathering a nice big glob of spit on his tongue. rafe lets the warm spit drop onto your sensitive nub, your walls constricting tighter like a vise. “my little freak liked that, hm?” he snickers, thumb rubbing the saliva into your clit in tight circles. “aight, i guess i’ll be nice and fuck you properly.”
MILITARY!RAFE who keeps a polaroid picture of you tucked inside his wallet behind his military ID, the edges are worn from how often he looks at it. the kind of man who rereads your letters late at night when everyone else is asleep, smiling to himself at the little hearts you draw beside your name.
MILITARY!RAFE who calls you whenever he can just to hear your voice, even if you spend the entire phone call rambling about drama and gossip or even what you baked that morning. he will quietly listen while laying in his bunk with tired sleepy eyes, thinking about coming home to you the entire time.
MILITARY!RAFE who comes home softer with you than anyone else expects. he pulls you into his lap the second he sees you again, burying his face in your neck like he needs to remind himself that you’re real. the kind of man who sleeps better with your bodies tangled together.
MILITARY!RAFE who buys you little things whenever he’s away because everything reminds him of you. tiny trinkets from different countries, pretty jewelry you’d like, postcards, anything he thinks would make you smile. always bringing you back something no matter where he goes.
MILITARY!RAFE who acts all tough until you kiss him goodbye before deployment. you realize he’s suddenly holding onto your waist a little tighter, kissing you slower, quieter, teary eyes. he’s the type of man who carries thoughts of you through every lonely night away from home.
NERD!RAFE CAMERON ⟡ who apologizes for things that aren’t his fault—bumping into someone, talking too long, even existing in someone’s space.
NERD!RAFE CAMERON ⟡ who gets quiet when he’s overwhelmed, not cold—just processing, thinking, trying to say the right thing instead of the easiest one.
NERD!RAFE CAMERON ⟡ who keeps a perfectly organized laptop—folders, color-coded notes, everything labeled—because chaos stresses him out more than he’ll admit.
NERD!RAFE CAMERON ⟡ who doesn’t realize when someone’s flirting with him, but immediately notices when someone’s upset and doesn’t know how to fix it.
NERD!RAFE CAMERON ⟡ who is a virgin when he meets his girl.
NERD!RAFE CAMERON ⟡ who listens—really listens—like what you’re saying matters, like he’s filing it away for later, like he doesn’t want to miss a single detail about you.
NERD!RAFE CAMERON ⟡ who speaks softly, even when he’s right, like he’s trying not to make anyone feel stupid—even when he easily could.
NERD!RAFE CAMERON ⟡ who gets attached slowly but deeply, the kind that doesn’t leave once it’s there.
NERD!RAFE CAMERON ⟡ who freezes for a second when given direct instructions, not because he doesn’t understand—but because he wants to do it exactly right.
NERD!RAFE CAMERON ⟡ who thrives on praise in a way he doesn’t fully recognize—his focus sharpening instantly when he hears a soft “good” or “that’s right.”
NERD!RAFE CAMERON ⟡ who gets hard when his girl wears his glasses or knows about one of his interests.
NERD!RAFE CAMERON ⟡ who doesn’t push back, even when he probably should—more comfortable following than leading, especially with someone he trusts.
NERD!RAFE CAMERON ⟡ who gets nervous with eye contact, but once he holds it, he doesn’t look away first.
NERD!RAFE CAMERON ⟡ who watches porn not for his pleasure, but to learn how to please his girl.
18+ MDNI — protected piv , vanilla , soft!rafe , bigdick!rafe , swearing, nicknames eg ‘ma’ and ‘baby’. FT. RAFE CAMERON X AFAB!READER
“c’mon ma, it’s okay.” he murmurs gently, grabbing your hips and pulling you to hover over him. he’s looking up at you like you’ve hung the moon and the stars, and it sends a shiver up your spine. glancing down between the two of you, you catch sight of his cock standing to attention, the tip red and swollen and desperate for any kind of attention.
tugging your bottom lip between your teeth, you breathe out a shaky sigh and plant your hands on his chest to try and steady yourself, ignoring the way your chest tightens in anticipation. “i dunno if i can, rafe.” you admit after a beat of silence, glancing up at him to try and gauge his reaction. a part of you expects him to roll his eyes, to tell you that you’re being ridiculous. instead, he brings his hands up to rub along your arms, the touch grounding you somewhat.
“we don’t have to do this if you don’t want to, baby.” you shake your head, running your fingers through your hair and shifting atop him. “i want to, i just…” you trail off, trying to find the right way to put your thoughts into words without sounding like a complete and utter mess. “i dunno, it’s just a bit overwhelming, i guess.” his eyes soften further at that, if possible, and he smiles up at you in understanding.
shifting to lean up on his elbows, he takes a moment to memorise your gestures, to figure out the best way to to put your mind at ease. “we’ll go really slow, ‘kay?” when you nod, he adjusts himself beneath you and swallows thickly. “just tell me when you’re ready.”
it takes you a moment, but eventually you nod again and wrap your hand around the base of his cock. even the slight touch has his mind reeling, and he has to hold himself back from thrusting up into your hand and ruining the moment completely. your hand doesn’t even fully wrap around the girth of it, and you blow out another shaky breath of nervous excitement. “okay,” you murmur to no one but yourself, manoeuvring to press the tip against your entrance. guiding your hips downward, your eyes flutter shut as you breathe through the burn of the initial stretch.
“that’s it. take your time, baby.” he whispers soothingly, his fingers flexing against your skin where the red on your waist, watching with hooded eyes as he disappears into you. a whimper from your parted lips draws his attention back to your face, his gaze flickering over your expression to make sure that you’re okay. he grabs one of your hands in his and squeezes reassuringly, his jaw flexing as he resists the urge to bottom out inside of you.
it takes another minute or so for him to finally reach the hilt, but when he does, you both moan in tandem. “h-holy shit.” you whine, cheeks flushed a pretty pink and hairline dotted with sweat. you can feel ever veining and ridge along his cock against your walls, and it’s the most euphoric thing you’ve ever experienced. whilst the burn is still there, it is only slight, and the pleasure overshadows any pain leftover. “move— please.” he laughs breathily at your plead but obeys without hesitation, starting slow until you begin to grind your hips against his.
his thumb finds your clit as he speeds up, the added sensation making your vision white. “yes, yes, yeah..!” you babble without pause for air, feeling stuffed full of his cock. “god, yes—” your whines fill the air, already able to feel your orgasm approaching at full speed. rafe spreads his legs to get a better angle as he stares at your face in awe, watching your expression shift and change with every thrust of his hips. “i’m close, baby.” he warns you through uneven breaths, his jaw slackening and his legs beginning to shake.
“fuck, me too.” you whine, eyes rolling back as you bounce your hips faster, the sound of his balls clapping against the skin of your ass echoing around the bedroom. “cum f’me, come on.” he mumbles, his other hand reaching up to pull at one of your pebbled nipples. that does it for you. your hips stutter and your legs tremble as your climax smacks into you, coaxing a drawn-out groan from your throat. feeling your walls spasm around his cock has rafe spilling into the condom without being able to warn you first, his hips thrusting into you one last time.
“shiiit.” he moans when you collapse onto his chest, the both of you panting like you’ve just run a marathon. it almost feels as though you have. “you okay, ma?” he asks, brushing some of the hair back from off of your forehead. you nod and hum in contentment, eliciting a satisfied smile from rafe. “good. m’glad you enjoyed yourself.”
warnings ໒꒰ྀི . . ꒱ა : sugar relationship , age gap ( 23 & 39 ) , mild nsfw ( p in v , cowgirl )
having a businessman for a sugar daddy was great, especially when he was rafe cameron.
an unwed man pushing forty, who lived in company-sponsored hotels more than his own home, with a lump sum of money waiting to be spent, screamed sugar daddy. so why not let a pretty thing like you occupy his time?
before every business trip, he’d hand you his black card, and by dinnertime, your bedroom was filled with shopping bags. & by the end of the day, rafe would have new pics of you in miniskirts n’ dresses to the tiniest lingerie sets, captioned: thx 4 the $$. see u soon handsome <3
& when you did see rafe, you mainly visited the country club, sipping on yummy margaritas while he caught up with his golf buddies. you learned to tune out their convos; i mean, all old businessmen were the same . . . stocks, golf, family life, & retirement plans.
other times, he’d accompany you to the mall as your designated bag carrier and bank. you'd force him to wait outside your dressing room, insisting he wait for you to give him a fashion show at home.
though your shows never lasted long because one minute you were posing in your new babydoll set, and the next you were being split open on rafe’s cock . . .
“c’mon sweetheart, gimme some sugar,” he’d tell you before greedily claiming your lips. you whimper at the immediate twang of cigars and whiskey hits your tongue. your needy bounces now turned into sensual grinds, allowing you to feel that raw girth of his jus’ scraping against your walls . . .
& honestly? that was the best part of your arrangement ❤︎
warnings ૮․ ․ ྀིა : language , mild nsfw ( face slapping , p in v )
rafe cameron liked eye contact.
like the two of you only began dating after you confronted rafe for staring you down at a party. in your defense, his gaze was burning into you like he was staking a claim.
stomping over and confronting him with a sharp "what do you want?" eyebrows furrowing when he only chuckles and smirks.
"can't look at a pretty girl anymore," you grimace at his corny attempt at a compliment.
if you're arguing, rafe's gently grabbing your forearm and pulling you towards him.
"m'talkin to you, don't walk away from me."
"well i don't wanna hear it," you spit angrily, looking anywhere else but him.
a big hand takes your jaw, tilting it to look him in the eye. "you look at me when i talk to you, alright," and you'd fold every time.
and during sex, eye contact was a given.
you close your a few moments? turn your head away? not happening.
'cause rafe's lightly slapping your cheek, instantly grabbing your attention.
"w—what was that for?" you sputter, gasping at the small sting.
"look at me when i fuck you,"he grits out, hips slamming harder into yours, forcing thick cock deeper into your pulsing heat.
and when you do, you don't take your eyes off him for the rest of the night because eye contact was key to your relationship.
