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 corners 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.
Getting your nipples pierced was a last minute decision.
Earlier that day, you went with Allie to get her navel pierced. She was so excited, talking about all the piercings she would love to have but isn’t sure about. Which led to her saying, “You would look absolutely fucking amazing with your nipples pierced. I bet Dean would have a field day with it, too.”
She kept babbling, saying stuff like, “Not that I’m suggesting it for him. Only for yourself, obvi. And me and Han, I know she would agree.”
You laughed it off, saying it was cool but not your thing.
Until you were inside the piercing shop.
The girl at the counter asked what the two of you needed, saying for a piercing it would be around a ten minute wait. Allie told the girl what she wanted, but before she wrote it down you butted in.
“Um, actually—I wanted to get my nipples pierced, can we do that today too?”
The worker responded politely, “of course!” before writing your information down.
Allie whipped her head around to face you as you walked away from the counter, her curls swaying. “Really? I thought you weren’t into the idea…” She squealed, excitement clearly coursing through her body.
You shook your head, hoping she didn’t see through your false confidence when you replied, “I mean, why not? It’s cute.”
When you got home later that day, Dean was already cozying up in your bed. He knew you’d be out with Allie for a while but you’d told him he could be there if he wanted to. You didn’t really think he’d take the offer.
“Oh! Hi,” you mumbled as you walked in the door, your brain hyperaware of your new piercings. You’d been so consumed by the thought of the piercings themselves that you’d forgotten that Dean was going to see them, probably very soon.
You’d also forgotten how sensitive they’d be.
“Hey, baby,” his voice was muffled from being beneath a big pile of your blankets and stuffed animals, “Have fun with Allie?”
The way you paused mindlessly before answering with a soft, “Yeah,” was Dean’s first red flag. The second was how stiff you were standing as you walked around the room, putting your purse away and taking off your shoes.
He sat up, moving the little bunny stuffy he got you for Valentine’s day.
When you finally met his eyes, your guard was up immediately. His bright blue eyes were narrowed and his lips were pressed in a pout. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Okay. Tell me what happened.”
Laughing, you sat on the empty side of the bed. “What the hell are you talking about?”
Dean rolled onto his stomach, taking up the empty space and revealing his shirtless torso. “You’re acting weird. I want my girlfriend back, please.”
You rolled your eyes, running your hand over his hair soothingly.
“Okay,” you cleared your throat, trying to push down your racing thoughts. What if he hates it? What if he has to pretend to like it? What if—“I have something to tell you.”
His playful smile dropped, worry taking over his features. “Yeah?”
Dragging a hand over your face, you let out a heavy breath. “I got my nipples pierced,” you mumbled against your palm.
There was a beat of silence before Dean said, “What was that?”
“Dean.”
“I really couldn’t hear you, baby,” He laughed, his hands coming up to wrap around your wrists and pull your hands away from your face. “Can you repeat it? Please?”
Groaning, you repeated louder, “I got my nipples pierced.”
There was another silent beat, but Dean’s eyes had an unmistakable fire in them. The corner of his lips quirked up, his eyes dropping to your chest and back up.
“What?”
“I am not repeating myself again, Di Laurentis.”
“No, no. I just—Wow,” he blew out a breath, his chest rising and falling more dramatically than before. “Can I see?”
That’s how you ended up here, with Dean’s hands resting on your hips and his legs open wide for you to stand between. Your shirt was in a pile on the floor, the cool air making your nipples hard and even more of a view for Dean.
“Wow. You look…” he trailed off, his gaze never straying from your tits. His hand reached up, aiming for your new piercings, until you stopped his hand.
“Can’t touch. Y’gotta be careful with ‘em.”
Your boyfriend dragged out a low groan, dropping his head to your stomach—making sure to avoid hitting your sensitive piercings. “You’re already killing me, and now I can’t even touch you? What am I being punished for?”
You scoffed, “You’re not being punished, you big baby. And if you’re expecting me to wait until my piercings are fully healed for you to touch me at all, I’m offended.”
His head snapped up at that, his eyes telling you everything you need to know. That and the very clear boner he’s sporting through his sweats. “I just gotta avoid the tits for a little? That’s all? No surprise piercing down there that I need to know about?”
You shook your head, recognizing the undeniable heat in his voice, “Everything else is still on the table.”
The entire night felt like it was just Dean complimenting you. He said something at every point.
Took your pants off? “Gorgeous.” Came on his fingers? “So fucking hot.” Finished on his face? “Delicious.”
He would not stop.
Even when he was buried to the hilt inside you, while you were squirming from the pleasure and milking his cock dry, he felt like he had to keep praising you. “You’re so pretty, baby. I fucking love—Holy shit—I love your nipples. I love your nipple piercings. So fucking sexy, baby.”
The man literally begged you to go on top. He said he “wanted to have your pretty tits up close and bouncing in his face if he couldn’t even touch them.”
You agreed, expecting to have to take control. Not expecting to have him fucking up into you, hitting you at a new angle that made your back arch and your entire body shake. Your eyes were teary and clamped shut, moans spilling out of your mouth faster than you could feel them coming.
“That feel good, sweetheart?” The cocky bastard asked you with a devilish grin on his face. “Looks like it from down here.”
Your hand cupped over his mouth, your way of telling him to shut up without having to speak. He kissed your palm and grabbed your hand, lacing his fingers through yours.
The new angle you took to reach his mouth made your clit rub against his solid body, adding extra pleasure that made you squeeze around him. “Oh my god. Dean.”
Dean groaned at the sound of your shaky voice gasping his name, the feeling of your tight pussy around him and your nails digging into his biceps bringing him closer to his release.
“I’m close,” his deep voice rasped in your ear, his hands gripping your hips as he continued plowing into you. You threw your head back with your body, Dean’s fingers promptly coming to toy with your clit, working you over the edge.
“Dean—”
“I know, baby. Ride it out f’me,” he cooed, continuing his thrusts until you pushed on his chest to stop him.
You slowly pulled off, careful not to overstimulate your very sensitive cunt. Flopping over on your back, Dean was quick to roll on his side to look at you. He didn’t say anything more, just stared until you turned away in embarrassment.
c/w ᝰ.ᐟ fluff!!, online trends, former hookups mentioned, language, pet names (sweetheart), no y/n, garrett graham vs. baked goods, chronically online!logan, tucker saves the house from a small fire + garrett cutie patootie allegations
Ding Dong!
“Comin’,” Garrett calls out.
He pushes himself off the couch and heads toward the front door. Practice had ended an hour ago, and he still hasn’t done much besides shower and answer texts, already thinking about getting back to the conversation waiting on the couch when he reaches for the handle and pulls the door open.
The smile on the other side catches him slightly off guard.
Chelsea stands on the porch holding a loaf pan wrapped carefully in aluminum foil, both hands tucked underneath it like she’s presenting something important.
Her expression brightens the second she sees him, shifting her weight forward expectantly while Garrett stares back at her for a beat too long.
They haven’t really talked in weeks, not since the last time they’d hooked up, and seeing her standing on his porch on a random Tuesday afternoon is confusing enough that he has to glance around briefly to make sure he didn’t forget about some event.
“Hey, Chels.”
“Hi.”
Garrett’s eyes drift immediately toward whatever she’s carrying before returning to her face again. The foil is folded neatly around the edges and tied with a ribbon. He studies it for another second before lifting an eyebrow.
“Uh… What are you doin’ here?”
A nervous laugh escapes her. “I brought you something.”
He looks down at the pan again, then back at her.
“What is it?”
“Banana bread.”
For a moment he genuinely thinks there has to be another part of the explanation coming. Instead she just keeps smiling at him from the porch while he stands there holding the door open.
The silence stretches long enough that Garrett finally reaches forward and accepts it out of pure awkwardness, adjusting it in his hands while trying to fix his expression because he knows his face is already asking the question for him, why did you randomly show up and give me bread?
“Thanks.”
She nods ever so slightly, glancing over his shoulder, begging a silent question of her own. May I come inside?
“Was there something else?” He asks, stepping in her line of sight. Her expression falls just enough for him to notice.
“I just thought maybe we could hang out.”
Garrett blinks a few times, staring at the loaf pan in his hands before meeting her eyes again.
“I’ve,” he mumbles, clearing his throat uneasily. “I got a study session in a few hours.”
“—That’s not for awhile,” she jumps in eagerly, and his jaw tightens.
“Yeah,” Garrett says slowly. “I should probably get ready for it.”
“For a study session?” She chuckles, but it’s paper thin. Garrett can practically see the comparison happening in real time. All those nights she’d shown up at one in the morning and he’d answered the door with untamed curls, post-bar pizza stained shirts, and liquor lingering on his lips, not helping his case.
Garrett finally catches the look on Chelsea’s face and immediately realizes he’s probably being shorter than he means to be.
His free hand comes up to scratch at the back of his neck while he searches for something nicer to say. The problem is that he really isn’t busy, and the problem underneath that is that he doesn’t particularly want to hang out with her even if he wasn’t.
“Hey,” he says more gently. “Thank you. Seriously. I’ve just got a lot goin’ on tonight.”
Her smile wavers, but she nods. “Another time?”
He gives her a polite nod. A few moments later she’s heading back down the front steps while he closes the door behind her, the latch clicking softly.
His phone buzzes again before he can think about it any longer. Garrett unlocks the screen immediately, his attention shifting right back where it had been before the doorbell interrupted him. A grin tugs at the corner of his mouth as he reads through the newest message, already typing out a response while he walks toward the kitchen.
The loaf pan lands on the counter with a heavy thud. He crosses the rest of the kitchen and drops back against the opposite counter, one ankle crossing over the other while his thumbs move across the screen.
Across the room, Logan lifts his head. His eyes move from Garrett to the loaf pan as a smirk plays on his lips. “Who the hell is that from?”
Garrett doesn’t look up, chewing on the inside of his cheek distractedly. Logan waits, leaning into a counter a little as he looks for a sign of life. Nothing.
“Earth to G,” he says, louder this time. “Who is that from?”
Garrett’s thumbs finally stop moving and he looks up at Logan before looking down at the pan. He shrugs lazily. “Chelsea.”
Logan’s eyes immediately narrow and Garrett tosses his gaze to his phone fast as another notification rolls in.
“Chelsea Reed?” Logan asks, reaching a hand out, dragging the bread in front of him as he pulls at the little pink bow on top.
Garrett nods, completely unaware of the grin spreading across Logan’s face. “Damn, dude.”
That finally gets Garrett’s attention, he cocks an eyebrow at him, adjusting his stance a little. “Am I missing something?”
Logan pulls off the tin foil, leaning down to give it a deep sniff. “Fuck… That smells good, bud. You didn’t invite her inside or anything?”
Garrett's nose scrunches a little, brows furrowing. “No.”
“Seriously?”
“Why would I?”
A laugh escapes Logan before he can stop it. “Why are you acting like that’s not a thing? She’s hot. She’s obviously into you. You two still got somethin’ goin’ on?”
“—No,” Garrett steps in fast, shaking his head. “Not for a couple weeks now.”
“Well,” Logan murmurs, grabbing a fork, digging in. “Guess the theory didn’t work.”
“Theory?” Garrett asks, his interest piqued for the moment.
Logan closes his eyes, nodding at the taste. “The theory,” he mutters through a mouthful of food.
Garrett’s brows pull together. “What the hell are you talking about?”
Logan digs in for another bite, eyes rolling back in his head. “This shit’s fantastic—”
“Dude what theory?” Garrett asks again, his arms crossing over his chest, finally giving him his full attention.
“Internet says banana bread is basically the fastest way to make a guy fall in love with you—S’workin’ on me.”
Garrett lets out a short laugh through his nose, shaking his head. “You shittin’ me?”
“I shit you not,” Logan sighs, taking down another slice in seconds. “It’s thoughtful. Romantic. Delicious. It says I was thinking about you. Here’s some sugar and some old bananas.”
“That’s dumb,” Garrett mumbles.
“Is it?” Logan asks.
“You know how chronically online you sound?” Garrett chuckles under his breath, pushing away from the counter.
Garrett wanders closer, resting both palms against the top while he studies what remains of the loaf, nearly half of it already gone.
The banana bread sits between them, seemingly working its magic on a man with absolutely no emotional attachment to the person who made it.
Garrett squints at it for a second as the wheels start to turn.
What would it do for somebody like him?
𝓣𝓱𝓻𝓮𝓮 𝓱𝓸𝓾𝓻𝓼 𝓵𝓪𝓽𝓮𝓻…
John Tucker barely makes it two steps inside before he stops completely. Something smells wrong. There is definitely banana somewhere in the mix, but whatever else is happening underneath it has gone horribly off the rails.
The air carries a strange combination of burnt sugar, something vaguely chemical, enough smoke to make him wonder if he should already be dialing 911.
His eyes lift slowly to the ceiling, catching the gray haze hanging over the entire first floor. Smoke has gathered along the ceiling in lazy clouds, drifting from the kitchen into the living room like a weather system settling over the house.
The shrill scream of the smoke detector cuts through the house. Tuck rounds the corner into the kitchen and immediately freezes.
Garrett’s standing underneath the alarm waving a bright pink oven mitt over his head. Sweat drips down his chest and disappears into the waistband of a pair of gray sweatpants. His curls are damp and sticking in every direction, shoulders rising and falling with deep breaths like he just finished killing a penalty in overtime.
Across the room, Logan is sitting on top of the kitchen island with his phone in one hand and a slice of banana bread in the other.
The alarm finally cuts off and Garrett lowers the oven mitt slowly before dropping his head, blowing out a long breath.
One hand settles on his hip while the other braces against the counter beside him. Sweat glistens across his chest and shoulders, a rough cough choking past his lips.
“I don’t wanna talk about it,” Garrett mumbles before Tucker can even ask him what happened.
The pink oven mitt hangs loosely from one hand, the heel of his sneakers digging into the kitchen floor like a kicked puppy.
“You good, bud?” Tuck asks as he steps closer, assessing the scene, his backpack dropping to the floor.
“I need your help.”
Tucker glances around the kitchen once more before rolling up the sleeves of his sweatshirt. “What are we workin’ with here?”
Garrett gestures vaguely toward the counter—toward the mess. “I’m trying to make banana bread.”
“You’re trying to make banana bread?” Tucker asks like he never thought those words would leave Garrett Graham’s lips and honestly, neither did Garrett Graham.
“Mhmm.”
“—You burned chicken nuggets last night.”
“I know.”
“You asked me how to scramble eggs.”
“Tuck, c’mon,” Garrett mumbles weakly, his shoulders slumping heavily.
He takes the oven mitt off Garrett’s hand and opens the oven door, a thick plume of black smoke billowing out. All three boys cough up a lung, wafting the smoke away, revealing what lies inside.
The inside looks like soup, the outside resembling something that had fallen to earth from space.
“Holy shit,” Tucker chuckles, his fist half-covering his smile when he sees how wounded Garrett looks at his first attempt.
“It’s better than I thought it’d look,” Garrett breathes.
“—Nothing about this makes any sense,” Tuck whispers as Logan snickers in the back.
“You think it’s salvageable?” He asks, running his hand through his hair anxiously.
“Absolutely not,” Tucker answers as he pulls it out, the liquid in the middle jiggling like molten Jello. He rests it on the counter, grabbing a fork, dipping in the middle. “I mean, maybe we could pour it into something smaller and pray.”
“Yeah?” Garrett asks hopefully, watching Tuck dip the tip of a spoon into the center.
“Sure—Holy fuckin’ shit,” Tucker dives for a water bottle as soon as the liquid hits his tongue and Logan folds over laughing.
“It can’t be that bad.” Garrett rolls his eyes and takes a bite himself. His face twists and his jaw locks. “Terrible, holy hell,” Garrett spats, rubbing the food and the taste off his tongue with a kitchen towel, the man still sweating profusely, his heart rate far too high for bread making.
“What did you put in there?” Tucker asks curiously.
Garrett gestures to the counter, pointing as he goes. “Sugar. Flour. Bananas. Eggs—”
“So, salt, flour, bananas, and eggs, bro. That’s salt.”
“Nah.”
“Yah,” Tucker breathes as Garrett tests a little for himself from the jar and sure as shit it’s salt.
Garrett closes his eyes and drags both hands down his face. “I’m trying my best.” Tucker rests a hand on Garrett's sweaty shoulder, patting him supportively.
“I know you are, buddy. How much time do you have left?” He asks as Garrett glances toward the clock on the microwave.
“An hour and a half—”
“Perfect,” Tucker says immediately. “I only need an hour.”
Relief flashes across Garrett’s face for a second before something changes behind his eyes. He straightens up a little, hand resting low on his hip while the other points to the bowl.
“You can’t touch it.”
Logan snorts out a little laugh and hangs his head. “You cannot be serious.”
“M’serious,” he answers. “I gotta make it myself.”
“—Why?” Tucker asks, pulling the dry ingredients out of the cupboard.
“Our boy is suspicious,” Logan answers. “G’s about to pull some Etsy witch shit and make his tutor fall in love.”
“Ohhhh,” Tucker smiles, pointing at Logan from across the table like the pieces finally clicked. “Banana Bread Theory.”
“Mhmm,” Logan mumbles as he takes the last slice out of the loaf pan.
The loaf of banana bread sits tucked beneath one arm while his backpack hangs from one shoulder. He adjusts his grip on the container, checking the lid before he checks it again, three hours of baking disasters and near house fires doing jack-shit for his confidence.
Garrett shakes his head and slips his phone into his pocket. His hand disappears into his dark curls again as he reaches the top of the stairs.
He looks to the left and there you are, his stomach twisting into nervous knots. Which is insane. He’s walked into championship games with less anxiety than he feels carrying a loaf of banana bread through Briar University’s library.
Your legs are crossed, head cradled in your hand as you run your highlighter across the page. The iced coffee he knows you probably snagged hours ago sits sweaty and completely melted on top of a pile of old notes. Your foot bobs along with the music in your earbuds and he can’t help but wonder what you’re listening to.
You bite your lip in concentration, tapping the page as you read, and even though you’re doing something so simple, he can’t take his eye off of you.
You never seem aware of the effect you have on people—on him. You talk about exams, research papers, and internship opportunities with the same excitement he reserves for a big game. You are brilliant in a way that makes everybody else seem lazy. Including him. Especially him.
And, it isn’t the fact that you’re the smartest person he’s ever met. It isn’t only your smile, or your eyes he gets lost in if he looks too long. It’s not just one thing. It’s all of it.
A collection of moments shared between him and the girl who’s seemingly too busy for anyone else. But somehow, you share your time with him.
The worst part is that none of this is usually hard for him. Garrett Graham has never spent three hours making banana bread for a girl before. He’s never stood in a library trying to calm his heart rate before walking over to a table.
And he definitely has never imagined himself working this hard for something this silly to work out in his favor.
He drags a hand through his hair one more time before walking over, immediately annoyed with himself for doing it, his fingers tightening around the container instead. A smile starts pulling at the corner of his mouth when he steps closer to the table.
“Hey.”
Your head lifts from your notes the second his shadow falls across the table.
“Hey, you.” The greeting lands exactly the way it always does. Garrett tries to hide it, ducking his head a little as he drops into the chair beside you.
His backpack slides from one shoulder, to the floor while he settles into the seat, nodding over to your drink, catching the way the cup has essentially waterlogged a pile of old notes. “Coffee flavored water?”
“Ugh,” you grumble, rolling your eyes with a smile. “Got a little lost in everything today.”
“I can see that,” he smiles, scooting a little closer.
Your eyes drift toward the container sitting beside his things. Something is wrapped around it, holding the lid in place, and it takes you a second to realize what you’re looking at. The white lace is tied into an admittedly lopsided bow across the top.
“You brought a snack?” You ask, taking a sip of your drink.
“Nah,” Garrett answers, glancing down at it before sliding the container across the table. “For you.”
“Seriously?”
“The lace is clean. Promise.”
“A little secure for baked goods, Graham,” you tease as you dig at the knot a little with your nail, loosening it. “You tied a double knot.”
“Habit.” Garrett glances away the second his voice cracks. “I was a little nervous, I guess.”
Your eyes flick up to his, wondering if you caught those seven words just right—and you did.
“Didn’t have a bow layin’ around the house.”
“It’s perfect,” you smile, tugging the lace free. “Very Garrett Graham. I love it.”
You glance down at the container again before looking back up. “Thank you.”
“‘Course.”
“It isn’t my birthday,” you whisper, saving him the embarrassment.
He chuckles and nods, drumming his fingers against the table. “I know.”
“So what am I missing?”
“Nothing.” The smile never leaves his face, instead it gets a little bigger. “I just wanted to make it for you.”
The words settle, breathing through the library while a hundred tiny moments suddenly start rearranging themselves in your memory. The way he always shows up early. The way he remembers things you’ve mentioned once and never brought up again. The way he somehow finds reasons to stay after your study sessions end. The way he looks at you sometimes when he thinks you’re focused on your notes instead.
Your hands come up and cover part of your smile.
“Did Tucker help you make this?” You ask.
“I made it.” Garrett points at his chest. “He supervised… aggressively.”
You bite your cheek, holding back a smile but the thought of him taking time out of his day, asking his friend for help to make something, the hockey lace bow, the little nervous way the corner of his mouth trembles each time he smiles, it’s sweet.
“This smells amazing,” you praise, pulling back the top, and the relief that crosses over his face has you holding back a nervous laugh yourself.
You break off a piece and take a bite as Garrett holds his breath, waiting for your verdict.
“Hmm?” He asks before you can even assure him.
“This is incredible.”
You take another bite and Garrett watches you chew. His brown eyes drop toward your mouth, lingering for a moment before they veer away, like he caught himself doing something he wasn’t supposed to be doing.
The moment lasts less than a second but it still makes your pulse stumble.
He looks back at you like he’s about to say something, then thinks better of it.
“What?” You ask.
“Uh… You—Umm… You got a crumb.”
Your hand immediately lifts, brushing at your lips.
“Nope,” he chuckles, leaning in a little more, cupping your cheek in his hand, brushing his thumb gently against the corner of your mouth. “There you go.”
His hands fall away and your heart skitters and all you can think about is the contact, and how you can get that again. You stare at him for another second before breaking off a piece and holding it toward him. “You want some?”
His attention flicks to the piece in your hand, then back to your face, nodding yes. The proximity is close enough that the only option is to eat it off your fingers.
For a second he looks almost surprised that you’re serious. Then he leans forward and takes the bite directly from you.
Garrett sits back slowly, chewing once before dropping his gaze to the table. Like he suddenly isn’t sure what to do with himself.
“Good?” You ask quietly.
Garrett finishes chewing before a grin starts pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Definitely worth three hours.”
You gasp, half-teasing half-genuinely surprised. “You’re joking,”
“Forget I said that.”
“I can’t,” you giggle, tilting your head a little, watching him melt into his palm as he relaxes a little more.
“Almost burned the house down,” he chuckles.
“Oh my god.”
“Worth it,” he breathes. “Your smile’s incredible by the way.” Your cheeks warm up instantly, your lips tilting, finding yourself having to turn away for a moment. “Stunning.”
“You’re sweet. This… This is seriously so thoughtful,” you whisper, playing nervously with the lace between your fingers. “Thank you.”
And for a moment the library fades into the background, and for the first time in a long time, none of it feels particularly important.
Garrett’s still leaning toward you from where he took the bite, his elbow resting on the edge of the table. And just like before, his eyes drift down for a second before lifting back to yours again, and this time neither of you looks away.
And, in the back of his mind he can’t help but wonder how sweet your lips would taste.
i am just melting at this 🥹🥹 garrett would definitely burn the banana bread, and have used salt instead of sugar
logan is deadass so funny in here, especially with the texts 😭
"Nope," he chuckles, leaning in a little more, cupping your cheek in his hand, brushing his thumb gently against the corner of your mouth. "There you go."
girl… im exactly where i want to be!!! giggling n’ kicking my feet at this
"Worth it," he breathes. "Your smile's incredible by the way." Your cheeks warm up instantly, your lips tilting, finding yourself having to turn away for a moment.
"Stunning."
DONT EVEN PLAY
having spent three hours on banana bread too?!?? that’s just the cherry on top
this was yet again so good! soft garrett graham just does something to me 😫😫😫
dean’s chain swinging back and forth in your face… 18+ mdni. contains smut.
another grunt tore from deans throat, his head dipping down and eyes following down to where your bodies were connected. your legs wrapped tighter around his waist, keeping him planted deep inside you. sweat was beading in his forehead, damp locks of blonde hair sticking to his forehead. the air was thick, your bodies sticky and slick with sweat. you had lost track of how long you two had been at this and to be fair, it’s because you were under a spell.
dean’s gold necklace swung back and forth with each of his movements, completely mesmerizing you as he fucked into you. his heavy breathing matched yours, his breath mingling with yours. the pendant glistened in the LED lights dean had glued to the wall, which only mesmerized you more. of course you could feel him inside you. the way he reached all the way into your tummy, stretching you out… but you were also completely hypnotized by a stupid little chain.
“going silent on me already?” dean teased softly, eye scanning over your face, watching the way you eyes follow the necklace. your lips curled into a cheesy little grin, biting your lip as you had been caught red handed. your hands left dean’s scratched up back, his movements slowed as he watched you carefully. your finger hooked around the chain hanging from his neck, tugging it down towards you. dean leaned down, chasing the necklace as you guided it, and him, closer to you. he knew what you were doing, now and it made him smile, his dimples making your heart melt.
now, dean’s lips were hovering above yours, his nose brushing against yours softly. your heart was racing, thumping like a drum in your chest. you loved being this close, and intimate, with dean. finally, his lips pressed to yours, your arms wrapping around his neck to keep him pinned flush against you. he was still moving his hips, just much more slow and deliberate now.
he pulled away, just enough to really look at you, and there your eyes again. lain right on his chain again. he figured since you were already distracted by the little movements of it, he’d really make it with your time. dean picked up the pace, his lips slamming into yours, the bedroom flooding with the sound of his skin slapping against yours. your back arched, eyes rolling back as he desperately gripped at his flexing biceps. you felt like your body was ascending and gripping him was your only way to stay right here on the bed with him.
“don’t look away now, baby. keep your eyes on that chain, okay?” dean’s voice was soft, sweet, fucking innocent. he leaned down again, his nose rubbing yours. “open your eyes, baby. keep watching that chain.” he cooed, his voice so soft, it was melting and turning your insides to goo. turned your brain to goo too. your eyes slowly shifted back to his chain that was swinging back and forth directly above you. dean couldn’t help but smile as he noticed you finally looking at the pendant again. “good girl.”
within seconds, you were pretty much gone. completely hypnotized by the chain in your face, looking so pretty… on an even prettier man. the bedroom reeked of dean’s expensive cologne and sex, but neither of you cared. dean’s hips rocked into your yours, each thrust making your tits bounce. “fuck, you feel so good, baby. like an angel on earth. my angel.”
your eyes were trained on the metal still rocking in time with dean’s hips, a moan falling from your lips at how good he felt. his large hand splayed out on your outer thigh as he hitched your thigh up on his hip, giving him access to a slightly different angle. an angle that let him go deeper. “got a little drool.” dean teased, wiping the corner of your mouth though there was nothing there. okay, maybe you did have a little drool there. you leaned up, opening your mouth and gently biting down on the pendant swaying, your eyes locked on dean’s.
“shit, just like that, sweetheart.” dean groaned, the sound music to your ears. he wasn’t going to last much longer and he could tell you were close too by the way your pussy was gripping his cock. with just a few more thrusts, dean’s cock hitting your cervix, both of you came. hard. your body shuddered and jerked beneath him, toes curling and back arching. dean had let out this primal roar, his cock twitching as he filled you, painting your walls white. he gently brushed some hair from sweat slicked face, his fingertip lingering on your skin as he looked down at you.
after several moments of both of you just trying to catch your breath and come down from your fierce highs, you finally spoke. “i want that chain dangling in my face 25/8. not 24/7, that’s not enough. sun up to sun down. life or death.” too dramatic? dean let out an amused chuckle. he was definitely, absolutely, not opposed to that plan. whatsoever.
c/w ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ needy!dean, cutting corsets, unprotected p in v, backstage sex, tearing tights, praise, pet names (baby, beautiful + no y/n) + di laurentis is absolutely 𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓇𝓋𝒾𝓃𝑔 for it
The corset clings to your body like it was painted on, teasing your curves with every shift. The shiny material of your skirt, the little wings, the fishnets stretched across your thighs—you knew he wouldn’t be able to keep his hands to himself and that’s exactly what you wanted.
The second his eyes land on you, you know it’s game over. Dean hasn’t stopped staring at you since you stepped on the stage, his attention zeroed in on you whenever someone so much as breathes your air.
You’re halfway through the first act when your phone buzzes in your hand. You glance down, immediately having to bite back a smile.
. ݁₊ ⊹ 📱.ᐟ.ᐟ 𝙳𝚎𝚊𝚗: 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚛𝚢𝚗𝚊 𝚔𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚘𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝?
A second bubble appears before you can answer. You look up through the curtains, seeing him sitting in the crowd with the other hockey boys. His phone rests in one hand while he scans the stage looking for you, his thumb tapping against the screen when you make him wait a few seconds.
. ݁₊ ⊹ 📱.ᐟ.ᐟ 𝙳𝚎𝚊𝚗: 𝚂𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗.
He glances up, catching just a glimpse of you backstage, craning his neck for a better view. He drags a hand across his mouth and shakes his head to himself when he catches you looking, lifting his chin toward the stage, a grin tugging at one corner.
“Text me,” he mouths, his eyebrow arching. “C’mon.”
You bite your lip and roll your eyes, looking down at your phone.
. ݁₊ ⊹ 📱.ᐟ.ᐟ 𝚈𝚘𝚞: 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚘 𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚝 💕
The second it delivers, his gaze drops to the screen, the light glowing against his face. His mouth curves, that cute little dimple popping in his cheek.
He runs a hand through his hair before typing something, thinking better of it, then typing again when he just can’t let it go.
The lights flicker and dim, and the next act begins. You look up through the curtains again and catch him leaning forward in his seat, forearms braced against his knees.
The rest of the hockey boys are laughing about something beside him, but Dean doesn’t even glance over. His eyes stay fixed on the stage for another second before he finally looks down at his phone.
The after party rages around you and every time someone leans too close—every time a drunk college boy makes a comment to him about how good you look, he winds up a little tighter until his hand catches your wrist.
“Let’s go. Now.”
Dean wastes no time pushing you into the backstage room, shutting the door with a slam, pressing your back against it. His fingers tilt your chin up, his grip a little rough as his eyes burn into yours.
“You kidding me with this?” He murmurs.
“You don’t like it—”
“I love it,” he stops you before you can even start. His hand skims down your body, over the fabric stretched across your waist and ass, gathering the material in his big hands. “Me and every other guy here.”
“You seem jealous.”
“I am jealous,” he corrects you before his mouth crashes against yours, starved and desperate. You kiss him back just as hard, fingers twisting and tugging at his hair; gasping when he grinds his hard cock against you.
Dean squeezes your ass, dragging his rough hands up your hips before smacking the satin stretched across your skin, letting that satisfying crack fill the room.
The corner of his mouth twitches as he presses his fingers against your clit, cursing under his breath. Sure, you’re in panties, but those little shorts and fishnets are still in his way. That little gasp and a moan don’t tumble from your lips like they usually do. Easy fix.
You break for air, chuckling breathily against his lips. “What’s wrong?” You whisper.
“Can’t get to you,” he pushes out a sharp breath, tugging your shorts off your hips, yanking down your panties between rough kisses, looping his fingers around the fishnets between your thighs just enough to yank a hole.
“Dean!” You gasp and he chuckles.
“Beautiful.” A rough breath leaves him and he rolls his neck once, jaw flexing as his eyes drop to the torn fishnets stretched across your thighs. “Yeah,” he says under his breath. “That was even better than I thought it was gonna be.”
His hands slide to your hips as he kisses you, your heart leaping when he flips you, your hands slapping quickly against the wall.
His lips brush along the side of your neck, chuckling deeply against your skin, pressing wet kisses as his fingers work open the bow of the corset.
“Fuck, baby,” he groans when he feels your ass press back into him, his fingers working at the ribbon faster and faster when it refuses to cooperate. “M’getting—Holy shit,” he mutters. “How do I get you out of this?” His words come out clipped with frustration.
You hear him rummaging through the clutter beside you long enough to snag a pair of scissors. He grabs your hip, huffing out a laugh when you giggle, arching your back to get a better view before—snip!
“Dean!”
“Spare me,” he rasps.
The sound of the blades snapping together makes you gasp as he cuts the ribbon crisscrossed up your back.
He tugs the top ribbon away with a satisfying slip, baring hot skin to the cool air when the corset pulls away. The scissors fall to the dressing room floor with a clatter—the zipper of his pants already down by the time he turns you, lifting you up into his arms, your bare back pressed to the cool brick wall.
Dean pushes his dick into you in one slow, steady stroke. A strangled sound catches in your throat and your hand flies back, grabbing a fistful of his hair while your other hand clamps over your mouth.
“Fuck,” he groans. “Pussy’s so damn good.”
Your head falls back against the wall as he stretches you wide, his big hand tightening on your ass. He rocks back, making you whimper, his lips pressing against yours to swallow your sounds as he pushes back in again.
“Lucky I’m not teasin’ you. Needed you too bad,” Dean sighs, smiling against your lips as you breathe out, hearing just how wet he has you, the sounds of your pleasure filling your room. “These fuckin’ tights, huh? Buying you another pair so I can do this shit again.”
His tongue drags across his bottom lip as his eyes stay locked on yours. Your eyes soften as he slows down, letting gravity do the work, your body sinking down on his cock with his arms locked around you.
“You have any idea how good this feels?” He whispers, burying himself in your neck, thrusting up into you. Your fingers twist into his shirt as he grips you by your hips, drilling into you again and again until your back arches into him, and your pussy gushes, cumming around his while he does everything he can do to keep his pace, but it feels too fucking good.
He grits his teeth, not stopping until he feels your body melt in his arms, his heavy head falling to your shoulder as he breathes out a sigh of satisfaction and relief.
“I was so well behaved, you know that? I could have been so, so much worse,” he says softly, his voice breaking with pleasure as he leans in and presses a slow kiss to your mouth, tender and deep as his rough thumb traces your cheek. “Put on my sweatshirt. Let’s get out of here, huh?” He asks, quiet now, a smile pulling against your lips.
“The after party’s not over,” you tease through a breathless giggle as his nose nuzzles against yours.
He sighs, his big body pressing you up against the wall again, his head falling back with a smirk on his lips when your nails slide through his hair.
ANDDD it’s already starting good 😫😫 like please rip them??
“Can’t get to you,” he pushes out a sharp breath, tugging your shorts off your hips, yanking down your panties between rough kisses, looping his fingers around the fishnets between your thighs just enough to yank a hole.
fuck. me. we love a desperate man!!
He grabs your hip, huffing out a laugh when you giggle, arching your back to get a better view before—snip!
OKAYYY a VERY desperate man i see. deadass the corset scene in the show had me going feral.
“I was so well behaved, you know that?”
(sort of book spoilers) this just reminded me of when dean said “please baby, i’ve been such a good boy…” that scene is gonna have me acting like a whore. full on barking at my screen
everytime i get a notification you post i just get so happy and immediately open tumblr! this was amazing, as usual 😚 hope you had a good day <33
summary: garrett graham is your protective older brother and you’ve been sneaking around with dean behind his back.
contains: fluff + sexual content.
“oh my god, are you purposely trying to wake the whole house up?” you whisper shouted at dean who was in front of you on the stairs.
he turned his blonde head back to look at you, a perplexed look on his face as he threw both of his hands up in innocence.
dean had snuck you into the frat house. no one knew the two of you have been together for pretty much the entire summer, so it resulted in having to sneak in after dark.
your big brother just so happened to be deans best friend and roommate. he would put both of you in an early grave if he knew you were seeing dean “the manwhore” di laurentis of all people.
garrett loved both of you and had the patience of a saint, but he would castrate dean if he found out he had even looked at you in the wrong way.
“you were the one who had to get a snack first and couldn’t just come straight up” he whispered back pointedly, the wood creaking with each slow step the two of you took.
you narrowed your eyes at him before glancing down at the cookie in your hand. well . . . he wasn’t wrong, but you weren’t going to let him shame you out of your baked good.
as you stepped ahead of dean impatiently, a yelp of surprise escaped your mouth when he slapped your ass on the way past.
the tiny shorts and tank top didn’t go amiss with him and he had been desperate to get his hands on you from the second you walked through the door ten minutes ago.
dean had a smug grin on his face, his eyes resting on the curve of your behind.
you softly giggled and shook your head, padding barefooted across the hallway until you reached deans bedroom door.
the sound of another door opening made you freeze in place, your panicked gaze clashing with deans.
tucker stumbled out of his room and headed towards the bathroom, his hair sticking up in every direction as he rubbed at his eyes.
“hey, y/n” he slurred tiredly, the door closing behind him with a soft click.
“what the fuck” dean mouthed loudly before hissing in pain as you suddenly gripped your sharp nails into his skin, pulling him in to the safe confines of his four walls before anyone else saw you.
the two of you stood in silence until you heard tucker retreat back to his room.
breathing a sigh of relief, you flopped down on deans bed face first.
a whistle left deans lips, his hand resting on his chin as he admired the perfect view he had of your ass from where he was stood.
“fuck, baby you look absolutely heavenly right now” he muttered appreciatively.
deciding to put on a little show for him, you arched your back just enough to be able to hook your fingers underneath your shorts and panties.
you pulled them down your thighs at a frustratingly slow pace and left them in a pile at your feet, twisting your neck just in time to see dean adjust his loose grey sweatpants, his arousal being clear as day.
he was mumbling incoherent nonsense as he knelt down behind you, not being able to restrain himself any longer.
his breath was warm against your skin, the feeling of anticipation coursing through your body.
any previous fear of getting caught vanished as he his palms landed on your ass, squeezing at your flesh.
dean was always slow with it, never wanting to rush the moment despite how desperate he always was.
“perfect” he whispered to himself, his thumb spreading your folds, your glistening pussy on full display.
you never felt shy when you were with dean, letting him see every part of you unashamedly.
his thumb dipped inside of you, coating his digit in arousal of your own.
a shaky moan slipped out of your mouth, revelling in the feeling of his hands finally being on you.
dean leaned down placing experimental kisses against your pussy before you felt his tongue against you.
he liked to toy and tease with you, enjoying the sound of your breathing getting heavy and your legs wobbly in quiet desperation.
when his tongue was finally where you wanted it, your unfiltered whining filled the room, your hand slapping against your mouth as you remembered where you were.
the sound of dean lapping at your slick pussy made your stomach ache with desire.
his feel of blonde hair was light against your skin as he nestled himself against you as much as he was physically able to.
“fuck dean, don’t stop” you choked, your sensations heightened, all too aware of every little touch right now.
he hummed against you in agreement and that was all it took to push you over the edge.
your fingers gripped the covers and your sounds of pleasure circled the room as you fell apart on his tongue.
dean gripped your unsteady legs in his hands, letting you slowly ride your orgasm out.
he let up and you rolled onto your back, your heart beating so fast in your chest it felt like it was going to burst.
a loud bang on the door followed by a muffled voice sent a wave of panic through your body as you scrambled to pull your shorts back into place.
dean wiped his face with the back of his hand, and you could tell this whole situation amused him.
“di laurentis, i know you can hear me” someone shouted from the other side.
his eyes widened as he edged closer towards the closed door, “it’s your fucking brother” he mouthed at you.
“yooo, what’s up dude?” dean shouted back at garrett, not giving you time to process that your brother was stood a mere few feet away from you right now.
“it’s 3 in the fucking morning. we have practice in a few hours and some of us don’t want to hear this pornographic shit all night” garrett groaned in annoyance.
your head fell into your hands in horror and you wondered how if this was actually happening right now or if it was a bad dream.
“gotcha, dude. i’m heading to sleep now so you won’t hear another peep from me” dean says, throwing a wink your way as though he was lying through his teeth.
garrett’s response was nothing but muffled pissed off curse words as you heard him head back to his own room, the door slamming shut behind him.
“fuck! what is wrong with you? dean hissed, flinching back when your hand slapped against his forearm.
you pointed a finger at him, “this is all your fault”
he smirked at you smugly, “is it my fault that i’m good at fucki-“
you huffed and cut off his obvious crude remark by throwing one of his pillows at him, hitting him square in the chest, “i’m not coming over here anymore”
he raised his brows, wrapping you up in his monstrously strong arms and dragging you into bed next to him.
dean peppered sloppy kisses all over your face until you were a laughing mess in his arms, “you’re never leaving, actually”
your body flooded with heat and you looked up into those mischievous blue eyes, knowing he would keep you here forever if he could.
c/w ᝰ.ᐟ coach’s daughter!reader, secret relationship, possessive!garrett, praise, risk of getting caught; in the hockey house kitchen, fingering, handjob, briefff oral (m.) language, teasing, edging, pet names (baby, pretty thing, my girl, gorgeous + no y/n), oh && he refers to himself as a good boy + refuses to leave ☺︎ ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆
You’re barefoot in the kitchen, hair still damp from your shower as you measure out some sugar with the little spoon. A to-go cup for Garrett. And a mug for you.
You stir without really thinking, watching the little sugar crystals disappear into the swirl as you hum some song from the bar last night, lingering in the back of your mind. Ding!
The toast pops out of the toaster. You walk over to the fridge to pull out some jam. You bend at the hips, reaching for the little glass jar tucked behind the mess.
A whistle cuts through the kitchen. You already know who’s standing behind you.
You glance back and sure enough, there he is, caught mid-stare, duffle slung over his shoulder, dressed head to toe in Briar U Hockey workout gear. His dark curls are sticking out from beneath his hat, still messy from sleep, and the gold chain around his neck catches the kitchen light when he shifts.
He looks at you like you’re something he’s not supposed to touch, always seconds away from getting walked in, but that's half the fun at this point. He takes his time looking you over, his hand lifting to turn his hat from the front to the back with a lazy flick.
He’s on you in a second, big hands sliding around your hips as you straighten up; his body pressing into yours.
“Holy shit,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice rough with sleep—the kind that always gives him away when he’s stayed up too late the night before and woken up too damn early. “What are you doin’ down here, huh?”
“I made your coffee,” you murmur and he groans.
“Saw your text,” he hums, grazing his mouth over your cheek. “You’re too good to me.” His chain brushes your collarbone when he leans in, cool against your skin.
Garrett lets you go, reluctantly, and you start to walk toward the counter. His eyes trail up the length of you.
“It’s just coffee and toast, baby,” you smile, tilting your head slightly.
“Considering everything you did for me last night… I should be the one making breakfast—you don't owe me anything.”
Your cheeks burn, suddenly shy under all this attention as he walks closer. His hands rest on the counter on either side of your hips just as you lean over the counter, reaching for the butter, your ass arching back, right onto his lap. On purpose. You don’t even try to pretend it wasn’t.
“Oh, shit,” he breathes, his voice low and amused as he plays along with the accidental contact, his bag falling heavy to the floor, looking over his shoulder for his roommates. “Real sorry, baby.”
You let out a bubbly laugh as he grabs your body and turns you toward him, lifting you up to set you down on the cool counter.
“What if the boys see you down here, huh?”
His smile’s smug; the man stepping between your thighs as his hands slide up the back of his jersey. His rough thumbs slip under the band of your panties, gripping your hips in his big hands.
Garrett reaches up a little higher, squeezing your breasts before his thumbs brush softly against you. “And what if they did?”
“See you?” His grin widens. “Coach’s daughter wearin’ forty-four and not much else.”
“Yeah,” you sigh, arching into him a little more.
“Well, damn,” he murmurs, looking at you like he’s just remembered he has somewhere to be. “I’d be fucked—I mean, it's pretty risky. I could stop,” he grins against your skin.
“No, you couldn't,” you dismiss it with a teasing laugh.
“No shit. Wearin’ my jersey. No bra… Panties. Textin’ me telling me you made me coffee and breakfast. You honestly think I wasn't gonna thank you a little. Thank you, baby,” he breathes as he leans in, pulling the fabric up, his mouth finding your breast.
He circles it once with his tongue, then again before sucking down, rough enough that your breath hitches and your fingers thread through his dark hair, his curls tangling between your fingers as you hold him there.
“Wish we lived alone,” he grumbles, turning his face further into your chest as his curls tickle your skin.
“Yeah?” You ask breathily as your thighs widen on the counter.
“Whole house to ourselves?” He says, letting the words vibrate against your skin.
He tilts back in, greedy mouth following the curve of your neck as his hands clutch your thighs, holding you open as he leans in close.
“I’d lift up the back—bend you over the counter.” His fingers shift around your body, tracing down your spine, landing on your ass, kneading your flesh.
He smiles against your lips, snapping the waistband of your panties against your skin. “Couldn’t have put on some shorts, or somethin’?”
“More comfortable like this,” you whisper, turning his words back on him when you say, “I mean, it's pretty risky. I could run upstairs and put some on.”
“No, you wouldn't,” he hums. “You did this for me and I fuckin’ love it. Just walkin’ around here like you own the place. What if Tuck and Logan see you, huh? Dean?”
“Oh, Dean?” You ask, because suddenly this conversation makes a lot more sense.
“Don’t start,” he scoffs. “You know he likes you.”
“None of you are subtle,” you answer and he lets out a laugh.
“Yeah, well you got no idea how many conversations I’ve sat through, baby.”
Then his hand slips forward, grazing over the thin material between your legs, pressing soft little circles onto your clit until your hips twitch at his touch.
“They think they know what it’d be like to be with you—they got no fucking clue,” his voice breaks a little when he softens it. “How perfect you are—how much you do for me. To me.”
You hook a hand around the back of his neck, thinking about how easy it would be to have him press himself in and lay you out across the counter, but the both of you would never recover from being caught like that.
You pull him closer and his lips suck down on your neck, rough enough to leave a mark.
“Kept my mouth shut. Haven't said shit. It kills me…” He breathes over your collarbone right where the collar of the jersey meets your skin. “I've been such a good boy for you.”
“So good,” you whisper. “And yet, you stopped telling what we would do if this house was ours,” you breathe, nails tracing over the thick bulge in his shorts.
He laughs, liking the sound of that. “Got you bent over this counter. One hand on your hip, the other gripping this jersey in my fist while you cry out that name on your back.”
His fingers trail even lower, dipping just barely between your folds, right above your entrance, the barrier of fabric only adding to the ache between your thighs. So much for all that teasing he accused you of. He’s worse.
“Too bad you have a workout.” Your fingers card through his dark hair. “We could stay back.”
He grins as he chuckles warmly against the column of your neck, dragging your panties to the side. “Fuck, you wanna get me in trouble, huh? Won’t be able to play tonight if I don’t show—you know that. After the game, though. Boys’ll go to the bar,” he breathes as his fingers mimic the tempo of his words.
His breath catches in his broad chest as your finger slips under the band of his shorts, pulling him closer before you slide your hand inside.
“Christ,” he grits through a smile as your fingers wrap around his cock, finding him hard and heavy. You stroke and he hums deep against your lips about all the things he wants to do to you when you're alone.
“Trying to get me all worked up just to send me off,” he whispers. “That’s fucked, pretty.”
He works you with his long thick fingers, slow enough to tease. “How fast do you think I could get you off, huh?” He chuckles, his laugh buzzing against your lips. “Pretty close right now, huh?”
Garrett breathes those words against your jaw. Your hand slaps over your mouth, muffling the sound of his name.
Your pussy squeezes around his fingers and you lose the rhythm of your strokes, but he doesn't, leaning into the counter a little more. The wet sounds of his hand darting in and out suddenly, too loud but it's replaced by the pounding of your heart in your head.
“Come on, baby… Cum on my hand,” he mutters, teeth scraping your neck and your body releases, fluttering around his fingers.
Your thighs squeeze together as he keeps going, whining against your hand, before he slows his pace.
He brings his fingers to his mouth, cleaning them with his heavy gaze locked on yours, the watch on his wrist glinting.
“Fuckin’ perfect,” he mumbles as you slip off the counter and into his arms. “I love you—”
“I love you too,” you whisper as your lips find his again, hands sliding down his chest. Your hands slip lower. His shorts are already halfway down his hips, cock trapped beneath the waistband.
“What are you up to, huh?” He asks like he doesn’t already know as you back him into the counter. “Yeah?” He laughs softly. “Bet you won’t.” That challenge barely leaves his mouth before he kisses you again, eyes flicking toward the stairwell mid-kiss before dropping back to you as you sink to your knees.
“In my jersey,” he mumbles as he tilts back, hands resting on top.
He sucks in a sharp breath when the air hits him, shivering when your tongue glides up the side of his cock, tossing back his head as he bites down on his lip, holding back a moan—BANG!
“Fuck me,” he hisses, hanging his head between his shoulders when a bag drops in Logan’s room above you.
Your tongue swipes against his tip and he blows out a sharp breath through his nose, his sticky wet precum catching on it.
“Just—Just a little more,” he mutters, holding your head, following you as you take him in your mouth. You bob back and forth and his grip tightens, eyes fluttering shut—THUMP!
You draw away when you hear some more motion upstairs. He shakes his head, laughing under his breath, watching as you kiss the tip.
“That’s how we’re playin’ this, huh?” Looking back at you in playful frustration, he tugs you up fast, muttering bitterly under his breath as you tug his shorts in place.
“Sorry, baby,” you smile.
“Teasin’ me, baby. Just wait until later,” he warns with a smile, grabbing his workout bag, walking with you back up to his room.
His fingers find yours automatically as the two of you step into the hallway.
Garrett walks a half-step behind you, his thumb rubbing back and forth across your knuckles. You glance over your shoulder and catch him already looking. He drags a hand across his mouth, trying and failing to hide his smile.
You step up one stair, and by the third he already knows he’s in trouble. His number stretched across your back. His last name stamped over your shoulders. The curve of your ass peeking out each time you take a step higher.
The intrusive thoughts win without effort. His other hand reaches out for you, pulling you back and into his strong arms. “Garrett Graham!” You whisper-scream and his deep laugh echoes through the stairwell.
“You are drivin’ me fuckin’ crazy,” he mumbles like he's pissed—smiling like he's in love. “I’m just a man, alright? What do you want from me?” Your arms curve loosely around his neck, your legs wrapping around his waist as he holds you, carrying you the rest of the way. “Plus you were walkin’ up the stairs too slow, you needed my help.”
“My hero.”
“Good thing I'm riding by myself. I need some time alone with my thoughts.”
“You’re dramatic,” you cut in, but that only encourages him.
“You know one hand on the wheel, the other doin’ what you started and didn't finish… you're lucky you're gorgeous.”
“So are you,” you smile and he scowls.
By the time he sets you down inside his room, he’s smiling so hard his cheeks hurt, shutting the door before anyone can see. “I mean…” Garrett shifts his bag higher on his shoulder. “Maybe I could stay.”
You give him a look. A long look. And his shoulders slump.
“I know,” he mutters. “Goddamn, baby. You run a tight program.”
“Workout,” you whisper.
“Yeah.”
“Hockey,” you remind him.
“Mmm… Mhmm,” he hums, so dreamily you laugh. “Fuck, I love when you boss me around—”
“We’ll have all night—”
“How am I supposed to focus now? All I can think about is how pretty you looked trying not to make a sound.” His finger hooks under your chin, lifting your lips to his. “But you... you gotta be careful, baby. These boys are gonna hear you one of these days. They could have caught us down there.”
You look up at him through your lashes ever so slightly and he melts.
“Fuck,” he mumbles, blowing out a tired breath. “You own me—don’t even know why I try.”
He reaches out, grabbing the jersey on your body, pulling you closer. His nose brushes against yours—his lips doing the same, drawing back and leaving you chasing them just enough to notice before he kisses you.
“You don't have class until ten, yeah?” He murmurs between kisses.
“Yeah,” you breathe. “Wishin’ you were me right now, huh?”
“Wishin’ a lot of things honestly.”
Garrett groans, dropping his forehead to yours, his voice dripping honey-sweet as he takes a different approach. “Shit, baby… what about your coffee? I should probably go get that for you, hmm?”
“Seriously—”
“Then, I don’t know…” He continues when that doesn’t work. “Maybe not get my ass beat at the gym. Sweat here instead. Do something better with my time.”
“You’re gonna be late—”
“And, I wonder why,” he cuts in. “Running out of excuses.”
“What are you gonna tell him, Captain?”
He thinks about it for a moment, stalling still. “Pretty thing. Wears my number. Torments me. Tells me I have to stay or else—”
“Or else, huh?” You giggle, and his eyes fall to your lips. “She sounds like a bitch, baby.”
“—Don’t talk about her like that. That’s my girl.”
“Such a charmer, Garrett Graham,” you hum, twirling one of his curls with your finger. “Leave—” Smack! His hand claps against your ass, the mesh barrier, just another reminder that he can't have you how he'd like.
He batts his hand against the door handle, still unwilling to let you go for another moment.
“Send me a picture or somethin’,” he mumbles against your lips. “You know, for the car ride there.”
“I don’t know, baby. You look extra pretty when you suffer,” you whisper, and he chuckles deeply, the sound going straight through you.
“Gonna ruin you later.”
“M’counting on it…” You smile and his groan breathes against your lips when he pushes open the door.
c/w ᝰ.ᐟ oral sex (m. receiving), shower sex, unprotected p in v (consensual condom removal), using the shower head, dirty talk, praise, possessive!dean, pet names (baby, angel, bunny <- jokingly, sweetheart + no y/n), teasing, multiple orgasms, mild choking, wrist pinning, overstim., playful power dynamics, language + he fell first + he’s been pining ever since ⋆˙⟡♡
“You’re gonna love it,” he mumbles as he turns the handle, water spilling from the showerhead, introducing one of his favorite ways to hook up like the two of you don’t spend half your time together in here already.
“Never have I ever,” you laugh, stumbling a little as you kick off your bar heels.
“Really? It’s a crowd favorite,” he mumbles as he tugs down his jeans and boxers. “Shower sex is seemingly the third hottest thing, after me, then you.” He winks at you as he holds up a number one with his calloused finger before pointing in your direction, waiting for you to crack.
“You’re so annoying,” you laugh.
“You’re number one—”
“I caught that. Thank you.”
“Hot as fuck,” he breathes out, his dick already painfully hard. He glances down at himself before looking back up at you. “I’m excited. Can you tell?”
“A shame you’re so nonchalant,” you giggle as your dress falls into a puddle at your feet.
A dramatic moan rips out of his throat. You slap your palm over his mouth and his blue eyes twinkle on yours.
He peels it off his lips, amusement flickering across his face. “You can be rough with me, bun. I can take it.”
“Bun?” You echo with a raised eyebrow as you unclasp your bra.
“Bunny,” he grins, his eyes zeroing on your tits as the lace material falls as well. “Fuck me,” he mutters under his breath, his rough fingers reaching out, looping around the band of your panties at your hips, tugging them lower. A deep groan rumbles out of him, vibrating against your lips.
He dips in kissing his way up your stomach, over your chest, up your neck, his hands resting against your back, pulling you into him.
“I was minding my business, Di Laurentis. You are the one that begged me to come here—”
“I did,” he answers honestly. “And aren’t you glad you did?” The look he gives you makes your heart flutter, dimples popping into his cheeks. “You love me.”
“I like you,” you say, fighting a grin.
“Give it another week. You’ll be at the bar next weekend fighting for my attention. I know it. I’m perfect.” His mouth curves. “Boyfriend material.”
“Boyfriend material? Says the man that’s never asked me on a date,” you whisper as your lips press against his neck. You feel his pulse race and, as cool as he’s playing it, you can tell he’s nervous.
“Lies. Didn’t know that was still an option,” he says as your mouth traces a path over his chest and stomach as you sink to your knees. “You gonna say ‘yes’ this time?”
“You’re keeping score?”
“I always keep score,” he huffs out a breath.
Your fingertips skim along the sharp lines of his hips, making the muscles in his stomach tighten. “You’re growing on me, Dean. What can I say,” you whisper.
“Oh?” His eyebrows lift as a stupid-excited laugh slips out of him. Steam curls through the room as the water grows warmer. “You know what?”
“What?” You murmur as your hand wraps around the base of his cock. His breath catches in his chest when you press a kiss on his tip.
“I…” He mumbles, watching you lay out your tongue and glide up the side of him. The thought dies behind his eyes in real time. “S’unimportant,” he murmurs as your lips wrap around him.
You take him in your mouth inch by inch, his lips parting, brows softening. The wet sounds of your mouth on him leave him reaching out and squeezing the edge of the sink for support, his other hand resting on your head.
“There is no way you’re gonna stand there and pretend you don’t know what you’ve been doing all night,” he grits out.
You pop off his cock and the breath punches out of him, spitting on his dick before you smile, stroking him lazily with your fist. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Liar,” he grins. “You spent three hours winding me up.”
“I did not.”
“You absolutely did,” he snorts. “You love that shit.”
“Maybe a bit,” you whisper, your breath ghosting across him and making goosebumps fan across his tanned skin.
“Knew it.” Dean smirks, that smug little look he had when he walked out with his arm around your shoulders at Malone’s tugging at his lips again.
“I was just having fun,” you look up at him through your lashes, far too innocently for how you’re working him in your hand.
“Trust me, I noticed. Love when you tease me—love when I get anything from you.”
You roll your eyes, warmth pooling in your cheeks, running your nails up his thighs.
“I’d sit through another three hours of it.”
“That so?” You ask.
“Mhmm,” he hums as his hold on your head gets tighter, guiding you back toward him. You wrap your lips around him and his jaw clicks, eyes rolling back in his head when you let him use you a little. The head of his cock kisses the back of your throat, spit seeping from the corners of your lips.
“So fuckin’ good at suckin’ cock, baby. Jesus Christ,” he rambles breathily, thrusting deeply a few more times before giving you back the reins.
You moan around him and his eyes screw shut, the thick muscles in his thigh shaking as his dick swells on your tongue.
“Not gonna last if you let me use you like this. I’m gonna—Fuck,” he gasps when you release him from your lips, stroking him with your tongue flat and your breasts pressed together.
“Shit, baby,” he groans, white ropes of cum landing on your tongue and chest as steam hangs heavy in the air.
Dean catches your wrists, pulling you up off your feet and into his arms. You wrap your legs around his trim waist, melting into him as he breathes laboriously, coming down from his high.
“Goddamn, baby. You’re so fuckin’ good at that,” he mumbles breathlessly. “Do you know how good you make me feel?”
You hum into the kiss, catching his bottom lip between your teeth as he steps into the shower with you.
The water is warm, remnants of his release rise off your body, swirling down the drain. He tilts in, tongue slipping in your mouth before your lips even touch.
Your gasp breaks the kiss as your back presses against the cool tile wall, so cold it sends shivers straight through you.
Dean reaches for the shower head, taking it off the base and turning it to a steady stream. He sets you down on your feet and your brows furrow in confusion because no matter how many times you've found yourself in Dean Di Laurentis's shower, he's never done this.
He kicks your foot out gently. The corner of his mouth curls as he sees you start to put the pieces together.
“Dean?” You breathe out a laugh.
“You ever done this before?” His voice drops as he grips the detachable shower head in one hand, the other pinned just over your shoulder as he looks down at you.
“I mean maybe,” you admit.
“Well,” he laughs, clearly excited by the idea. “We’re gonna have to talk about that later. No one’s ever done it for you?” His eyes flick down as the warm water sprays against your thigh, working upward.
You bite your lip and shake your head ‘no’.
“How romantic,” he whispers. “I’m your first and only. Love that for me.”
“Shut up,” you chuckle, your focus falling to the narrow space between you.
You gasp when the water hits your pussy, surging over your clit and making your knees buckle. Your arms quickly wrap around his neck for support, a moan echoing through the bathroom.
“Baby… Fuck, baby. Too much?”
You shake your head rapidly, feeling your heartbeat climb, nails clawing into his skin. “So good,” you pant. “Don’t stop.”
Dean moves his arm from the wall to your waist, drawing you closer, rocking slowly, increasing and decreasing the intensity, making you throw your head back in pleasure. Dean’s lips quickly lock onto your skin, kissing you harshly before biting down, making you cry out.
He watches your face as you drift closer and closer to your breaking point.
You feel your pleasure building fast, the pressure mounting stronger than anything you’ve felt in a while.
“You like that, huh?” He grunts.
”Mhmm,“ you whimper as your vision starts to cloud.
“I can’t wait to fuck you, baby. This is just a warm-up—”
“Dean!” You cut him off, crying out in pleasure as you wrap your arms tighter, nails digging into his shoulder blades. He lets out a devilish laugh, forcing the stream a little closer. “D-Dean,” you stutter.
“What, angel?” Your body jolts as you fight him slightly in overstimulation, continuing to ride the waves of your orgasm, pussy clenching around nothing. ”Does it feel good, baby?“
“Yes, fuck!”
“Then just take it,” he soothes, your heart pounding in your chest as you reach for air. Dean returns the water head to the base, cranking up the heat, pressing you into the wall once more as you continue to kiss, ears ringing, body tingling head to toe.
“Fuck me?” You whimper, desperation laced in your tone, but he’s already reaching above the shower, patting around the windowsill until he finds a condom.
He brings the package to his teeth and tears it open, watching as you roll it on, the thick weight of his cock squeezed in rubber.
Dean reaches down, taking a grip on your thigh, looping it in his bicep, muscles flexing as he lifts you slightly.
“Shit,” you whine as he circles your sensitive clit with the ribbed rubber on his tip, making him smirk. Dean traces the tip through your folds, teasing your entrance.
“Dean. Please.“
“Please what?” He teases you again.
“Fuck. Me.”
“Baby…” He lets out a gravelly laugh. “Beg harder.” Dean swipes his head across your clit again, making you gasp.
”Dean, can you please fuck me? Ple—” He thrusts his cock into you, rutting up, breasts pressing flush to his broad chest as he steals your breath.
Dean grabs your ass and picks you up swiftly, causing you to sink deeper on his cock and moan onto his lips.
He pins you to the wall, tilting in, drilling you into the tile quickly. His strokes are merciless, incredibly deep as you cling to his shoulders again. The hot water cascades down your body, flowing between the two of you, the sensation on your clit alone almost enough to send you over the edge. But it’s not enough. You want to feel him.
“Baby,” you murmur and he melts at the sound of your voice, pushing himself even closer. “Can we… I—” Your voice stutters with each snap of his hips.
“What is it, sweetheart?” He murmurs against your mouth.
“I wanna feel you—”
His hips lose their rhythm and his reaction speaks for itself, but he’d never leave it like that. “You serious?” He pants, and you can hear the smirk in his voice.
“Please,” you whisper, and he growls out a breath. “Is that okay?”
“Begging too? Fuck me. You even gotta ask?”
“Take it off,” you whisper, and the look on his face is so pleased it nearly makes you laugh.
“Hands against the wall,” he mumbles, chuckling under his breath when he sees your legs trembling after he pulls out.
He grabs the condom by the tip, tugging it off, letting it slip down the drain without a second thought.
Dean grabs your hips impatiently, bullying you toward the wall before pressing himself deep. Your eyes slam shut as you tip your face toward the ceiling. Your mouth falls open as his big hand comes up, curving around your shoulder, the other drifting to your waist, using his hold to fuck into you harder.
“Holy fucking shit,” he pants, every muscle at work, water flying with each rough clap of his hips against your ass, his blonde fringe, wet and messy when you look over your shoulder, his parted lips curling into a smirk.
“Dean…” You sigh, feeling yourself about to cum again, your head throbbing with your heartbeat.
“Yeah? That’s the spot, huh?”
“Yeah,” you whine, cock-drunk, thighs quivering uncontrollably, making you lose your rhythm.
“Let me, baby. Let me,” he groans.
Dean fucks into you, striking the perfect angle, making your muscles tense up. “Shit… Right there, Dean. You’re gonna make me cum.“
“Pussy was made for me. Cum on my cock.”
You let out a cry far louder than intended in a house full of hockey boys. You cover your mouth with the back of your hand.
Dean quickly grabs your wrist, pulling it away from your mouth, shaking his head ‘no’ as he tacks it and the other to the small of your back.
“Never do that again,” he pants through parted lips, punctuating each word with a rough snap of his hips.
The knot in your stomach tightens—threatening to snap. “Dean,” you gasp.
“Me too, baby. Fuck. Me too,” he moans, as his hand shifts from your shoulder to your neck, squeezing just enough to have your eyes rolling back.
Your orgasm spills over, your hand coming back to wrap around his wrist, pussy squeezing him so tight he’s hissing out a breath.
“That’s it… Good fuckin’ girl.”
His hips snap into you one last time, filling you with his warmth, his blunt nails digging into your skin as his rhythm stutters out.
You can feel everything at this moment—the spasm of your sex and the throb of his cock. Your head falls between your shoulders in exhaustion, but he uses his hold on your neck to guide you back to his lips instead.
A soft laugh escapes him against your mouth, your post-sex giggles bouncing off the walls of the shower as you soften into his arms.
“Aren’t you glad you came home with me?”
You go to say something smart, but he kisses you instead, stealing the words before they leave your mouth. He turns you back toward him, not letting you get far at all. His big arms wrap around you, holding you close as he presses a kiss to your forehead.
“What I tell you, huh?” He grins, still trying to catch his breath. “Shower sex is hot.”
“Mhmm,” you hum into yet another kiss and he can’t stop grinning.
“Tomorrow. Seven PM. You and me. What do you say?”
Your lips brush over the top of his, the tension between you thick and charged as you make him sweat it out a little more. His fingers flex against your waist.
“Okay, Di Laurentis,” you say, unable to hide your smile.
“That a yes?” He asks.
“That’s a yes,” you answer, and he sighs in relief.
“I mean did you wanna hear the speech I had in case you said ‘no’ again?”
“Was it good?” You taunt.
“Amazing—pathetic as hell,” he answers simply, his hand following the rush of water down your skin.
Your fingers drift into his hair, tugging at the root and he smiles, the stupid-pretty dimples popping yet again, making you absolutely weak.
“See? You love me.”
“I like like you at best,” you smile, matching his hushed tone.
And for the first time all night, Dean goes quiet. A smile pulls at his lips as he tilts in, cupping your cheeks in his hands.
“No shit? Like like, huh?” He teases against your mouth, chuckling when he says it back. “That’s pretty goddamn close if you ask me—”
“Don’t start,” you whisper, fighting a smile before he kisses you.
girl, this has me melting. like i said—i never get tired of your fics, because this is once again AMAZING. i need myself a dean di laurentis immediately!
rafe is obsessed with wrapping his arms around you . ♡
whether it's in a soft way, or a sexual way, there's something about holding you that makes him go crazy.
just the feeling of your warm skin pressed against his ── as if you only existed to him and only him in that very moment, like no one else could get to you.
sneaking up on you and hugging you from behind, grinning against your back when soft giggles escaped your lips as his arms wrapped around you.
picking you up, your legs snaking around his body, clinging to him and making him feel untouchable.
whenever you were on top of him during sex, he loved to pull you close, your arms looped around his neck and his looped around your waist.
"fuuuck, rafe" you'd moan, and he'd soothingly rub your back in response as if to say "i know baby, i know"
he liked that he got full control ── getting to grip your body and pull you down onto his cock, shoving it as deep inside of you as it could go.
knowing that when you finally reached your high, you'd fall apart in his arms, your bare chest pressed intimately against his.
summary: reader's series of attempts to open rafe cameron's eyes just to make him see and realize how much she yearned for a marriage.
content: oblivious!boyfriend!Rafe Cameron x giddy!girlfriend!reader, long-term relationship, fluff, short
Rafe Cameron's face was one you've been seeing (and kissing) for years and years long, affection was the only language you chose to speak and breathe in the air whenever you're around each other. In private or in public, you are the center of each other's world. You adore him and he adores you.
You love every little thing; sharing a bed, toothbrushes, closet, and certain routines and habits that were done by married couple. People thought there was not a single doubt in the idea of the two of you getting married in the mere future and neither did you doubt it. Especially not when Rafe loves calling you "my girl" and you couldn't stop comparing it to men calling their spouses "my wife", heart doing cartwheels every time he said it.
Okay, so maybe you did get a little nuts when thinking about being Rafe's Mrs. Cameron, perhaps even journaled about it while giggling to yourself. You genuinely thought he'd caught you daydreaming about your wedding day right away. Well... it was simply the exact opposite.
One time, at a friend's wedding, the bride was doing the traditional bouquet toss. And you, eyes squinted and calculating the probabilities of where the bouquet will land, were standing right in the middle with a stance somewhat close to a horse stance, hands already preparing the perfect grip. The catcher is traditionally believed to be the next in line to be married, so you can't really blame a girl for putting too much effort, can you?
However, as the bouquet was about to reach you just like you previously predicted from your perfectly calculated position, a hand casually reached out above you and snatched it from the air.
"Nice. Free flowers for the living room, babe. These are your favorites, right?" Rafe simply smiled and gently smack your head with the flowers.
"Rafe..." You sigh, knowing damn well the man did not even understand the concept of the tradition.
A round of aww's filled the crowd, which Rafe thought nothing of as he took ahold of your hand and waved his pals goodbye before walking you out of the wedding venue as if he didn't just made the whole crowd believe that you would get married next.
You're not saying he's dumb, no no, Rafe Cameron is not an idiot. He's just... a little slow about hints sometimes.
Like another time when you were lying in bed together, your head on his chest and his arms around your body. You were "coincidentally" holding your phone so high up to the point it's close to his eyesight with pinterest opened on your screen, specifically a secret board filled with wedding inspo's; dresses, cakes, venue decoration, you name it.
Rafe respected your privacy, but he couldn't help but chuckle when he caught a glimpse of the all-white board you opened on pinterest. "That's a lot of white," He said, "You wanna throw an all-white party? Is it like a white themed girly hang out thing? Or a birthday surprise?" He asked, pinching your cheek.
A huff escaped your lips as you rub your cheek, "Sure. Girly hang out thing." You scoffed and slip out of his arms with grumpy mumbling.
"Hey! What did I do now?" Rafe let out a long sigh as he grip your shirt and pull you back down onto the bed.
At some point, he took you out on a shopping day as an apology to whatever it is that made you grumpy that time. Once you reach a jewelery store, you empathize your interest on a certain ring that was advertised as an engagement ring.
"Oh, look how beautiful!" You dramatically gasped as you tried it on, smiling from ear to ear as you practically shoved your hand at his face, eyes sparkling with hope.
Rafe flinched and chuckled, holding your wrist. "Anything is beautiful if it's you wearing it." Rafe winked and pull out his wallet casually, ready to pay and still oblivious.
You really did try not to rip your hair out of your scalp at that moment, placing the ring back onto the counter before grasping onto Rafe's arm and dragging him out, mumbling something about suddenly being uninterested in the ring anymore while he looks at you like you've officially lost your mind.
Well, what did you expect? Even earlier that day, when you dragged him into a bridal boutique's display window, where a mannequin in a beautiful white wedding dress; satin, with delicate laces and a timeless sillhouette along with a gorgeous veil, was linking arms with another mannequin in a suit.
"Oh my god, look! I always wanted to be in a wedding dress!" You'd say, which you thought had been a killer move. "Look how cute the mannequin bride and groom are together, reminds me of us." You said in awe, blinking rapidly and waiting for his response.
But then, he said... "The mannequin groom doesn't have my good jawline though, nor the mannequin bride with your cute smile." As he poke your cheek with a finger before walking past the store.
You're almost convinced he's playing dumb on purpose at this point. But he genuinely looked confused everytime you huff and get all pissy every now and then. Your insides were practically begging for you to just scream at him to "come on and marry me, Rafe!" since he can't even take a big hint.
And so at a simple dinner together at your home, you ponder a question to ask him as you play around with your food using your fork, "Rafe...?" You slowly say with that type of tone you use to start a conversation, "what kind of woman would you marry one day?" You asked with hope glimmering and sparkling in your eyes.
His eyes flicker up from his alfredo pasta, munching on the decent amount he had put in his mouth. "Mm?" He smile softly, taking his time to think as he swallow the chewed up food carefully.
"Well, easy." He shrugged and grinned, "I want a person that would always be on my side, even when I'm losing."
You blink, sitting up straight with a spark of confidence. Who else have been glued shut onto his side whenever he feels down and was at the lowest point of his life? You. Always you.
"A person that would never scheme or lie."
You were positive that Rafe must know that you would never do such thing, there have been not a single fooling in your relationship. To backstab him is to lose half of your head, you vowed to be the most honest and true you've ever been since the beginning.
"Someone to run to when I'm lonely."
A full-on wide, giddy smile is now plastered across your face, biting your lip just the smallest just to hold back an excited shriek and refrain yourself from letting a happy giggle out. If there's anything you know about Rafe is that you were sanctuary number one. The shoulder he rests his heas on. The bed he lay in and find comfort within.
"Geez, sounds an awful lot like Topper, huh?" He laughed out loud, simply turning his attention back to his food.
That smile that once so proudly gracing your face? Dropped immediately in a milisecond as you let out a scoff and rolled your eyes. It took everything in you to stop your face from falling onto the food in your plate out of exhaustion. You push your knife away from your area, careful not to kill yourself or even him while you lay your face in one palm.
⊹ ࣪ ˖ SUMMARY ♥︎ your husband comes home after a boys' night and has a bit of confusion about who you are, and you two end up having a heart-to-heart about your pregnancy.
⊹ ࣪ ˖ TAGS ♥︎ fluff. silliness. comfort. ꒰ 𝟏.𝟑𝐤 ꒱
⊹ ࣪ ˖ AUTHOR'S NOTE ♥︎ i think the drunken confusion trope is really silly, if you guys have seen true beauty, i always found that scene really adorable.
HOUSEWIFE જ⁀➴ ♥︎ RAFE CAMERON ⊹ ࣪ ˖
rafe had boys' nights nearly weekly; you understood his wish to blow off steam, and honestly, it was nice for you to have the house to yourself for the evening, and sometimes you'd occasionally invite your friends over for a girls' night.
but after you found out you were pregnant, and as your pregnancy was progressing, it was nearly impossible for you to get any alone time outside of when he was working. he clung to you, even more than usual, coming home earlier, and sticking to your side at all times. so, you'd practically had beg him to go out with his boys, wanting to have a girls' night with a few of your girlfriends to tell them the news, finally feeling ready as you were almost to your second trimester and were starting to show, deciding to cover the slight bump with a large sweater.
"do i have to?" rafe mumbled, standing behind you in nothing but his sweatpants, his large hands massaging your shoulders, as you sat at your vanity doing your makeup, the man leaning down to press a kiss on the crown of your head, "yes, you do." you laughed softly, "a girl's night isn't a girl's night if there's a guy there." "i'm your husband." "still a guy. just don't be out too late and don't drink too much."
"just 'cause you told me not to i'm gonna do both of those." rafe grinned mischievously, moving to press kisses all over your face while you laughed, gently trying to push him off, mumbling about your makeup.
a little while after you'd said goodbye to your husband, your friends started coming in, and you'd started catching up, your friends telling you about how their lives had been while sipping wine, ranting about their jobs, telling about their dates… but your best friend, therese, suddenly interrupted beth in the middle of her sentence, her eyes narrowed on you.
"why haven't you touched your glass?"
your other friends then looked your way, and you couldn't help the wide smile taking over your lips, therese letting out a small gasp, "no fucking way!" which made the other girls to come to the conclusion your best friend had come to.
you nodded your head and before you could stand up and hug them, therese nearly threw herself at you and squeezed you, making you let out a laugh as you hugged her back, before standing up to hug your other friends, receiving congratulations.
some hours later, after your other friends had left and therese was the only one left, helping you clean up, when she turned around to face you.
"can't believe you're growing up so fast." she sighed dramatically, making you let out a soft laugh, "i'm three months older than you."
"still. you're having a baby. you have a whole human growing inside of you. i still remember us being kids and you had that doll that you'd feed that weird powder goo to and you'd give it water and it would piss and shit, and you'd bring it everywhere with you in a stroller." therese laughed, "and when any of the boys tried to mess with me and my firstborn you'd threatened to beat them up."
your friend held her arms out and pulled you into a hug, "you're gonna be a great mom. i know how much and how long you've wanted this." "and you're gonna be a great auntie." you chuckled into her hair, "nah. i'm gonna be the awesome aunt who's gonna dye their hair for the first time and take them to get their first tattoo."
you rolled your eyes and pulled away with a fond smile, "if you do that, i'll end you."
you were already in bed reading, when you heard the front door open and close, looking to the bedside clock to see that it was a little over one in the morning. you smiled as you heard rafe let out a muffled curse, already knowing that he hit his knee on the staircase railing like he sometimes did.
he came in through the bedroom door, clearly having made good on his promise to drink which you made a mental note to nag at him about the next morning. "did you have fun?" you laughed softly, rafe letting out incoherent mumbles as you watched him strip himself of his and pants only slightly uncoordinatedly.
your husband flopped onto the bed over the covers, but when you put your book on your nightstand and rolled over to snuggle up to him, rafe suddenly jerked away with a startle.
"whoah! lady!" he looked at you in shock, "what the hell are you doing?" you raised your brows in confusion, "rafe, what… what's up?
"i'm sure you're nice and everything and you're really pretty but i'm a married man." rafe lifted his left hand, his golden wedding band glimmering in his ring finger.
oh. he didn't recognize you. maybe you could have some fun with it.
"really? you are?" you frowned, "that's too bad. i thought you were really handsome."
"i am. i know i am. and my wife knows i am."
"well, you think i'm really pretty. is your wife as pretty as me?" "she's the prettiest. she's sooo… gorgiuful."
you snorted at his choice of words, "tell me more about her." "well, she smells nice. she bakes good. she's smart, and sweet… and we're having a baby." a dumb smile suddenly overtook his lips, and you couldn't help but press a small peck on his cheek, only making him pull further away, "hey!"
"i'm your wife, doofus." you lifted your left hand, rafe's eyes going to your rings and then to your face, rubbing at his eyes before they focused on you, and the goofy smile was back on his lips, "oh, yeah. you're my wife."
you laughed softly, rolling your eyes and softly smacking his bare chest, "you can't even recognize your own wife. i feel betrayed." "'m sorry…" rafe feigned a pout, "how much did you drink?" "mmm… blur. we had to celebrate." "so, you told them?" "of course. my wife's pregnant."
rafe tried to snuggle up to you, but this time, you were the one to pull away, bringing your hand to your nose, "can you shower, baby? you reek."
"that's a mean thing to say." your husband sighed dramatically, before rolling off the bed, "fine. but if i slip and crack my head, it's your fault."
rafe was holding you in his warm embrace, and you were almost half-asleep when you heard rafe speak quietly, "can i… can i ask you something?" you turned around in his arms so you were facing rafe, letting out a soft hum and nodding, "are you scared? about… the baby. about becoming a mom, and stuff."
pursing your lips in thought, you nodded. "yeah. i worry that they're gonna get hurt, they're gonna get sick… that i'm gonna do everything wrong… are you?"
"i'm fucking terrified." rafe let out a self-deprecating laugh, "i think i'm gonna be a shit dad. that our kid's gonna end up hating me. i already know you're gonna be great with them, but i didn't have any good role models. i was a screwed up kid, and i'm worried i'm gonna be too hard on them, and end up screwing them up."
you cupped his cheek, stroking the skin there with your thumb, "i know. but you've worked on yourself a lot. you've been doing good lately. and i think you'll be a great dad. it's gonna be a lot of work, and it's gonna take a lot of patience and dedication, but i think you're going to be the best dad they could ask for. and i'll be here with you. always."
rafe brought your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to the palm of your hand and intertwining your fingers, "what the hell would i do without you?"
you laughed softly, "good thing we don't need to worry about that."
⊹ ࣪ ˖ PAIRING ♥︎ soundcloud!rafe x ex-girlfriend!reader
⊹ ࣪ ˖ SUMMARY ♥︎ never date a wannabe soundcloud rapper. you find out that your ex-boyfriend has put a drunken voicemail you sent him on one of his songs, and when you go over to confront him, it turns out like it always does.
⊹ ࣪ ˖ AUTHOR'S NOTE ♥︎ i found this in my fic idea folder from JULY and i thought it was a funny idea 😭 anyway i picture him with drew's bleached hair cause i thought it was fitting.
જ⁀➴ ♥︎ RAFE CAMERON ⊹ ࣪ ˖
you and rafe had been together on and off for two years now. things would be going well, but then he'd do something to piss you off or screw up in some other way, you'd dump him and swear that 'this was the last time!' and then end up in his bed two weeks later and you'd kiss and make up.
but this time, you really meant it. really. it had been three weeks since you broke up with him after he'd forgotten another one of your dates; and you were officially done with him. he was too toxic, and he was bad for you; rafe didn't deserve you. he wasn't good enough for you.
after spending another weekend partying with your friends, trying to forget about rafe, you were back at work on monday, the perfume counter situated next to the register not making the incessant pounding in your head any better. luckily, mondays were slow days.
your phone screen lit up with a message from one of your friends, and when you opened it up, it was a soundcloud link along with the message that read "omfg is that you?"
you furrowed your brows, taking one of your airpods out of the case and putting it into your ear, clicking the link and pressing play, a gasp leaving your lips.
"rafe... i miss you." you heard your low, drunken voice murmur, "i wanna be with you again. but i don't. i hate you so much... you're such an idiot..."
that was then followed by rafe starting to rap mediocrely, and you yanking the airpod out of your ear. how dare he?
you'd basically stormed out of work, your anger simmering as you pulled up outside the cameron home, your fist pounding against the door.
"rafe! open the fuck up!" you shouted, only to be left unanswered. you grabbed the fake rock you knew mr. cameron stored the spare key, unlocking the door yourself and letting it slam shut as you rushed up the stairs, your fists clenched.
and when you pulled open the door with your eyes narrowed, they fell upon rafe, sleeping blissfully in his bed, the sight enraging you even more.
"wake the fuck up!" you shouted, pulling the blanket off him, your eyes flickering to his morning wood before focusing back on his face, rafe's eyes starting to flutter open.
"damn, baby." he mumbled in a low, raspy voice that would usually cause shivers to run down your spine, "you miss me that much, huh?"
"what the fuck is this?" you held up your phone, open on the song, rafe's lips widening into a sleepy grin, "you like it? made it just for you." "no, i don't! what in your chipmunk-sized brain made you think i would ever like you putting my voicemail in your shitty ass song?!"
"woah, just because you're mad at me doesn't mean you can diss my art. the song just didn't feel right until i put your message in it. that shit gave it actual meaning, y'know?"
rafe reached out to grab something from his nightstand, and when you saw his vape in his hand, you slapped it off his hand onto the floor, "it's not art, it's an invasion of privacy, dumbass! i never gave you permission to use it!"
"c'mon, i thought it was sweet..." rafe's larger hand took yours, his thumb rubbing the back of your knuckles with his thumb, tugging you closer, "i miss you too..." "rafe, delete it. seriously."
"aight, fine, i'll delete it... don't get all worked up." he brought your hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss there, "lemme make it up to you." you raised your brows in disbelief at his boldness, "you really think i wanna fuck you after you put my voice in your song without my permission?"
"i know you haven't gotten laid in three weeks..." "and how would you know that?" "well, i know you at least haven't gotten properly fucked in three weeks." rafe tugs you onto his bed, bringing your hands to his warm, chiseled chest, "nobody touches you like i do. we both know that."
"yeah, and no one makes me as angry as you do..." you murmured, your fingers tracing his abs, biting down on your lower lip as rafe looked at you with a lazy grin, sitting up and bringing his face closer to yours, lips only inches away from yours, "but that only makes it hotter, doesn't it?" he whispered.
and if you had been any smarter, or any less horny, you would've pulled your hand away and stormed out. but instead you dove forward, your lips crashing against his.
rafe's head was between your legs, your hand holding onto bleach-blond strands of hair as if for dear life, your brows knitted together, rafe's one of rafe's hand gripping onto your thigh.
"f-fuck, rafe..." you mumbled as you felt him give a sharp suck to your clit, his fingers diving in and out of you causing an obscene squelch to echo in his room, your cheeks warm with embarrassment, "you're so fucking wet... all for me, hm?" rafe's words vibrated through your body at the same time as his long fingers hit that spongy spot inside you, your back arching off the bed as a loud moan left your lips.
"i'll take that as a yes." "s-stop being a s-smartass..." you tugged on his hair, only for rafe to pull back from your pussy, giving it a sharp smack that made you gasp, "don't tell me what to do." rafe said warningly before diving back between your legs, fingers pushing back into you, his tongue circling around your clit teasingly before he gave it another teasing suck.
you arched into his mouth, the hand that wasn't in rafe's hair clenching the sheet underneath you, "god, rafe…" you mumbled, your legs shaking even as he held onto you.
the pleasure tingling in your abdomen grew with every lap of his tongue, with every gentle nip on your folds, with every curl of his fingers inside of you, your clit throbbing as rafe sucked on it, unintelligible whimpers leaving your mouth, "rafe…" you whined, practically grinding into his mouth, chasing the pleasure he was giving you, "fuck, rafe…"
your walls started clenching, spasming around rafe's thick fingers with the force of your orgasm, the pace of his fingers slowing down to help you ride it out, "did so good for me…" he mumbled as he took his fingers out of you, climbing up your body, "open."
your lips parted and as rafe pushed his fingers into your mouth, you could taste yourself at the same time as you felt rafe thrust himself into you, gasping around his digits.
and when rafe pulled his fingers out of your mouth, you felt him pull out of you, a string of saliva connecting his fingers with your lips. "such a good girl…" he murmured, pulling another gasp out of you as he thrust back into you.
the next day as you laid in your own bed, you checked the link your friend had sent you, and the song was gone, a sigh of relief leaving your lips.
but just as you were about to put your phone away to start getting ready for work, you got a message from rafe; it was another soundcloud link followed by a text that said "you happy now?"
you chuckled softly, putting one airpod in your ear and clicking the link. and this time, when you pressed play, it wasn't your drunken voicemail.
"god, rafe..." you heard yourself moan on the track.
and the scream you let out was so loud it might've reached his house.
Giving Away Your Ex’s Phone Number @ The Bar Instead of Yours…
ex bf frat!rafe x reader
c/w .ᐟ.ᐟ voyeurism (phone call during sex), physical violence (rafe vs random guy), digital threats, pet names, praise, unprotected p in v, oral (f + m receiving), jealous!rafe, choking, spanking, possessive!rafe, begging, praise + degradation kink, face fucking, cum play + overstim
-> Click on the image and slide your finger to the left 💕
4.9K
Rafe’s Phone…
Your back is pressed to the bar, one hand clutching your drink, the other buzzing with an incoming call from Rafe. You don’t even look—you just double-tap the side of your phone to decline it, eyes locked on Easton as he leans in, mumbling something about how ‘he’s not scared’.
“Can’t believe you gave your ex my number,” he chuckles, stepping closer. “Could’ve just told me you wanted me to fuck with your ex in exchange for your number. I would’ve done way worse.”
“I’m sorry,” you murmur, giving him a soft smile, head tilting slightly—and that’s all it takes.
“Nah, sweetheart. It’s alright,” he says, the space between you narrowing.
This isn’t what was supposed to happen. He was supposed to take Rafe’s number, text him, and fuck off. But now he’s looking down at your lips, wetting his own. The kiss he stole earlier still burns on your lips—and from the way he’s looking at you, he wants more.
So you wrap your lips around your straw—keeping yourself busy.
A hand slaps down on Easton’s shoulder—too familiar to be anyone else. “Rafe!” His name slips out on a gasp. Gold ring. Signature watch. Just a flash before he spins him around.
Easton barely has time to blink before Rafe’s fist slams into his jaw—brutal and fast.
He hits the floor hard and the bar erupts around you.
Rafe stands there, chest heaving, shaking out his hand. “You done?” He growls. “Seriously. Are you done now?”
He laughs—low and humorless—as you look up at him, eyes wide.
“Six fucking guys, huh?” He steps forward. “You were really about to give him my number too?”
“No…”
“Oh? Finally got some sense, huh?”
“You know him… it’s Easton,” you breathe—just as the other man groans, stumbling to his feet between you. Crack—another hit, straight to the face drops him again.
“I told you to stay away from her—HEY!” The word rips from Rafe’s throat as two bouncers grab him from behind. “I’M TALKIN’ TO HER!” He shouts.
You sip slow and careful, trying not to smile but the corners of your lips betray you. And Rafe sees it.
“Oh, you think this is funny?” He snarls, eyes drilling into you.
You just look at him, drink half-raised, face calm even as your pulse skitters.
The crowd parts around him as the bouncers drag him toward the door—all six-foot-two of him fighting every inch of the way.
They toss him outside like garbage, but he never stops looking back at you.
Nostrils flared. Lips tight. Jaw locked like stone. Red and blue police lights flicker across his face as the doors close.
You know he’s not gonna push it. Too much security. And a night in jail would leave no possibility of a night with you.
He’s not done.
The bar’s still buzzing behind you as you and your friends slide into the back of the Uber.
You barely settle into the middle seat when someone else climbs in behind you fast… uninvited. “Rafe—” You gasp for the second time of the night.
He slams the door shut before you can react, settling in beside you, fastening his seatbelt. Your friends exchange a look, both trying not to laugh. Honestly, they expected no less.
Your friend lays out her hand to the other— “Pay up, babe.”
Bailey groans dramatically from the front seat. Slaps a five in Hannah’s hand with an eye-roll.
“You two bet on this shit, seriously?” Rafe mutters under his breath.
“Mhmm.” Hannah hums, smug. “I said he was gonna get her on the street.”
“I said you were gonna try to break in and get arrested,” Bailey sighs like she’s disappointed.
“I told you, Bails. He’s predictable,” Hannah chuckles, like Rafe’s not even there.
Bailey gives you the look and you wink. She glances at the wide-eyed Uber driver, his night taking a turn for the dramatic real fast. “We’ll catch another Uber—I’m starving,” she mutters, pushing the door open.
Rafe’s hand shoots out—grabbing your arm like he really thought you might leave him behind. “Don’t,” he murmurs under his breath.
“Are you—Is everything okay?” The driver asks, and you chuckle tiredly and nod.
“Just perfect,” you mutter, voice flat and sarcastic—just enough to make Rafe’s head snap to you in disgust.
You blow out a raspberry, digging in your purse for your lip gloss, denying him the attention he’s so clearly starving for. You unscrew the cap slowly, dragging the wand across your bottom lip like it’s no big deal—like your ex-boyfriend didn’t just knock a guy out at a bar for saying his name, then climb into your Uber like some movie villain. Like this is just how your Wednesday nights go now.
You click the gloss shut and fluff your hair, adjust your cleavage, fixing the little R pendant on your chest.
“You done?” Rafe asks, annoyed—but you ignore him still. Instead, you lift your phone, angling it slightly downward, pout soft, eyes softer; chin tilted just right—and flash.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Rafe recoils, disgust painted all over his face because a part of him knows exactly who that’s for.
You hum lightly, scrolling through your messages until you find the thread.
Easton…
📱Easton Lookout Bar 🏒🧸: Damn tonight was crazy. I hope you’re okay.
📱Your Name: How are you doing?
📱Easton Lookout Bar 🏒🧸: I’m fine. Just a little banged up.
You scroll a little lower, taking the time to let Rafe read it as well.
Your Name: Oh no is it bad 🥺
Rafe sucks his teeth, looking away for a moment to collect his thoughts as he sees the top of a picture sent from Easton—and a double-tap, heart reaction from you.
You roll your thumb a little lower—making sure Rafe sees. And of course Easton’s shirtless. Of course he looks like every hockey boyfriend romance main character after a rough game. Abs on full display, split lip and a black eye, one arm folded and flexed behind his head.
His eyes are a rich chocolate brown—black hair damp from a shower, skin dewy, eyes fixed on the camera like he wants you to come fix the damage he got from your ex.
📱Your Name: I’m so sorry about my ex. That looks like it hurts.
“Don’t,” Rafe warns.
📱Your Name: I can stop by if you need a little distraction tonight 💕
You tap the plus sign on the bottom of your text messages, uploading the selfie you just took.
“Enough,” Rafe snaps, snatching your phone from your hand.
But that sick little whoosh already hit.
📲 Message delivered. Too late.
His jaw flexes once, then again, like he’s chewing glass. He blinks at the screen like he might still have a chance—like if he grips the phone hard enough, the message might crawl back out.
💬 Read.
“Oh my god,” Rafe’s eyes fall shut and his head tips back to the headrest. He takes a tight breath, blowing it out his nostrils, hands clutching his legs, fingers digging in to keep himself from falling to pieces. “Baby… what kind of game are you playin’ here?”
He lifts your phone between you like it’s evidence, and you can already see back-to-back notifications coming in from Easton.
“I honestly don’t think I can fuckin’ look at this reply without killing him.”
“That’s a lot—”
“You really sent that to him? To him? Really? You want me to lose it? Is that what you want?” His voice breaks—hoarse and broken. You lean a little deeper into the seat, crossing your arms. “He’s got that picture in his phone forever,” he fumes.
“It’s a selfie… it’s not like I sent him a nude. Calm the fuck down.”
“You—You wanted me here. Don’t act like you didn’t. Why else would you do this shit? You know who I am. You knew I’d lose it and come find you. You let him touch you—fucking kiss you.”
“He bought me a drink,” you say flatly.
“Yeah, and I broke his fucking face,” he answers with the same tone, the vein in his neck pulsing; knuckles white as they clutch your phone.
“Give me my phone, Rafe—”
“You’re not texting him. I know you don’t want to either. I could see it on your fuckin’ face. You didn’t give a shit about him when I hit him. You weren’t scared for him. You were watching me. Your texts to him are dry as fuck. I remember vividly how you were talking to me when we first started dating—even before we took a break,” he murmurs. “Just say you miss me. Say you wanted me to follow you. Just say it—so I don’t feel like a complete fucking idiot right now.”
“All that time, Rafe. Day after day, spent showing you how much I cared for you and it still wasn’t enough for you, until it was too late. I wanted you to sweat—”
“Mission fucking accomplished, sweetheart,” he huffs out a breath, pinching the bridge of his nose as his eyelids fall shut. “I know I deserve this shit and I'm so fucking sorry. I will work on my shit—but you could’ve stopped at the first or second and got your point across—”
The Uber pulls up to the curb and you step out, heels slapping against the pavement.
Rafe moves to follow you, and you slam the door behind you, hitting him clumsily—making him fumble forward as he rushes to catch up.
“Shit. Fuck,” he hisses.
“Oh. Were you planning on coming in?” You ask without so much as a glance over your shoulder at the broken man behind you, dragging himself up the stairs.
“You serious?”
“I didn’t ask you over.”
Rafe’s shoes hit the stairs—loud and angry. “Give me five fucking minutes—”
His palm slams against the door above you, holding it open, refusing to give you the chance to push him away again. He’s coming inside.
You start up the stairs, and he follows.
Your phone starts to ring in Rafe’s fist, the sound echoing through the empty house like a warning bell—chills race down your spine.
The growl that escapes him is animalistic, clawing out of his throat.
“DON’T SAY A FUCKIN’ WORD,” he barks into your phone at Easton. “DON’T EVEN FUCKING BREATHE. I TOLD YOU TO FUCK OFF. I TOLD YOU SHE WAS MINE, ALRIGHT? YOU THINK SHE WAS SENDING YOU THAT SHIT BECAUSE SHE GIVES A FUCK ABOUT YOU?”
You bite your lip, holding back a nervous smile, adrenaline coursing through your veins as he storms up the steps behind you.
“SHE’S MINE,” Rafe growls. “YOU HEAR ME? IF YOU EVER CALL HER AGAIN—IF YOU EVER LOOK AT HER AGAIN—YOU’RE DEAD. DEAD. DO YOU HEAR ME?”
He ends the call just as your bedroom door slams shut behind you, his back hitting it with a heavy thud.
Silence.
His chest rises slowly. Eyes fall shut. You don’t move, and neither does he—his breathing shredded like he just ran from the cops instead of ending a call with some hockey boy named Easton.
He watches every step as you cross the room, tracks every flick of your fingers as you toss your keys on the dresser, pull your earrings off one by one. You don’t even spare him a glance—you know that’ll be the final blow.
You sit on the edge of the mattress. Finally, your gaze lifts.
And he looks destroyed.
Rafe rests his hands over his eyes, muscles clenched tight, dragging them down his face as he moves toward you slowly.
And just when you thought he couldn’t possibly look more ruined for you, he sinks to the floor—one knee, then the other. His head bows between his broad shoulders. A long, winded breath leaves his chest before he raises his eyes to meet yours.
“Baby,” he says softly, his voice already fraying at the edges. “I—I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t even know where to fuckin’ start, okay?”
You press your lips together, letting him unspool.
“I know I hurt you,” he goes on. “I know I fucked up. I know I let my jealousy eat me alive for no reason. You’re fucking perfect. And I… I’m a mess. I know I am. Especially when I think about someone coming in between me and you—and fucking it up. And then I go and fuck it up myself.”
He shakes his head, jaw clenched, eyes glossy.
“You were so fucking good to me. I'm begging you please, please stop. I'm so sorry.”
Then, slowly, you part your knees—just slightly.
Rafe sees it and breathes deeper, moving in—settling as close as you’ll let him. He rests his head in your lap, hands finding your hips as the tension bleeds from his body.
“I’m so tired,” he whispers. “I’m not okay. I’m not. Not without you.”
You rest your hand on his head, fingers slipping into his messy hair.
“I need you,” he says, voice barely audible.
You stroke his cheek and he shuts his eyes, living in your touch.
“Co’mere,” you murmur, guiding him to look up at you. You hold his cheeks in your palms—and you swear you see the glimmer of tears in his eyes, his nose scrunching slightly like he’s begging them not to fall.
“I missed you,” you whisper.
“You got no idea how much I missed you,” he breathes, dragging his hand down your arm, wrapping his fingers around your wrist, pressing a kiss to your palm. “M’sorry for callin’ you so much—I lost it a little—”
“A little?” you giggle breathily.
“A lot… I was a fuckin’ problem.”
“You’re not allowed to break my heart again, Rafe,” you say softly.
“I won’t, baby. You got my word.”
He slips his hands beneath your thighs and lifts you. Your legs wrap around his waist, chest to chest, your palms still cupping his cheeks, your eyes locked on his, and he kisses you, like he’s trying to erase the days apart from his memory—the nights spent wishing he could get over you.
You tighten your legs around his waist as he carries you toward the bed—kissing you harder with every step.
His forehead presses to yours. Eyes closed. Breathing unsteady. When he speaks, it’s barely a whisper. “I’ll never do that shit again.”
Your fingers skim the side of his neck, feeling the thump of his pulse—fast and nervous. You wait just a moment, until his eyes meet yours again.
“I swear to God, baby,” he says, voice raw. “I’ll never accuse you like that again. I won’t let my jealousy ruin us. Just—” He swallows hard. “Can we try to go back to us?”
“Yes,” you whisper and he steals the words straight off your lips.
The kiss deepens.
His mouth parts against yours, tongue sweeping slow and hungry, tasting you. You moan into him as your hands slide up his chest, twisting the fabric of his shirt, dragging him closer. His hips press forward, grinding slow and heavy between your legs.
Rafe breaks the kiss just long enough to tear his shirt over his head, tossing it blindly. His chest heaves—skin flushed, jaw tight. That gold chain swings at his collarbone, catching the light.
And then he’s on you again. Mouth on your neck. Your shoulder. Biting just hard enough to make your breath catch.
“I missed you so fuckin’ bad,” he groans into your skin.
You grab the back of his hair, dragging his mouth back to yours, kissing him harder now—hungry and open, your teeth catching on his bottom lip.
“I missed you too, baby.”
“Love when you call me that,” he mutters against your skin, hot breath skating over your skin as he tugs at your dress. “Take this off. Let me see you.”
You grab the bottom of your dress—already bunched around your waist—pulling it over your head.
“Fuck me…” His hands are already on your body, sliding up—palms hot and rough—and then he’s mouthing at your chest, sucking at the gentle skin of your cleavage.
He shoves his jeans down, cock already straining through black briefs. You lick your lips as your gaze drops—panties clinging, lace wet between your thighs.
His voice drops to a dangerous rasp, fingers slipping between your legs to pull the fabric tight against you.
Your thighs bracket his hips. He’s still catching his breath when you lift a hand to his jaw, thumb brushing over his bottom lip.
“I hated that you didn’t trust me,” you murmur, voice barely above a breath. “It fucking hurt, Rafe.”
“I know, pretty—”
“But…” You press your lips to his neck, working slowly up his skin, lips brushing his ear. “Seeing you like that? Losing it over me?”
You grab his hand—knuckles bruised and split—bringing his fingers to your lips.
“So fucking hot,” you hum, sliding two of his fingers into your mouth, slow and deliberate. The tips press against your tongue and your lips seal tight, cheeks hollowing.
Rafe lets out the filthiest groan as you swirl your tongue—just like you would if it were his cock in your mouth—and you know from the look on his face that he’s fantasizing about that as well.
“You like me possessive?” He asks, pulling your panties down, dragging your thighs apart. “You want me obsessed?” He asks as you whimper a soft ‘yes’. “You fuckin’ got it.”
You try to smirk but it falters when he bites your thigh, a sharp gasp fleeing your parted lips as he leaves his mark.
“You’re mine. Say it,” Rafe breathes.
“I’m yours,” you pant, head tipping back.
He pushes his briefs down his legs, cock swinging free. Long and hard; thick and throbbing. His dick presses against your thigh, tip dragging along your slit as he lines himself up.
He drives into you, burying himself to the hilt.
He fucks into you hard—jealousy fueling every thrust, like he needs to brand you from the inside out.
Your gasp snaps into a moan, back arching off the mattress, hands flying to his shoulders, nails digging in.
“Rafe, fuck—”
“I know, baby, I know,” he pants against your mouth, forehead pressed to yours, every thrust deep and punishing. “You feel what you do to me?” He grits. “Every time I close my fuckin’ eyes it’s you—this pussy, this face, this fuckin’ mouth.”
You pull him down by his chain, crashing your lips to his again. Your teeth scrape his lip, his tongue licking into your mouth. You’re so wet he slides in and out of you with ease, obscene sounds echoing between your bodies.
He grinds down, hips circling, making your breath catch. “Yes,” you cry, clenching around him, and he groans—loud and filthy.
“Look at you. Crying on my cock—”
Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.
Rafe’s phone lights up on the edge of the bed, vibrating with an unknown number and a local area code. Your breath catches and Rafe freezes for a moment.
“This some guy from the bar, ain’t it?” He asks, slamming his hips forward so hard your body jolts, skin smacking against his. “Fuck, pretty girl. You made a goddamn mess for me, huh?” He mutters through gritted teeth.
Before you can even answer, he snatches the phone and takes the call.
“WHAT?” He snarls into the speaker, sweat dripping off his brow, bicep flexing as he squeezes your hip, keeping you flush to him.
“Rosie?” You hear on the other end, tentative and confused.
Rafe’s hand cracks against your thigh—sharp and stinging—you scream, breathless and broken, your voice spilling straight into the phone. He clamps his big hand around your throat, using the leverage to slam into you harder.
“YOU HEAR THAT, BITCH?” Rafe snarls as a self-satisfied smile stretches across his lips.
He throws the phone somewhere beside you without bothering to end the call. His hands hook behind your thighs, folding you in half, pinning you to the bed as he drives into you. Your nails claw at the sheets, then at his back, then into his hair, pulling at the roots.
“Rafe—Rafe, holy shit—” He dips down to kiss you—his cock sinking impossibly deep. “You’re right there. C’mon, pretty girl. Give it to me.”
Your head falls back, mouth open in a silent cry as your body tightens, every muscle trembling as he keeps hitting that exact spot.
“C’mon, baby. Let him hear who makes you cum.”
Your orgasm rips through you so hard your back arches off the bed, a choked sob escaping your lips as you clamp around him, shaking under his weight.
“That’s it,” he whispers against your mouth, still thrusting through the aftershocks. “Good girl. Good fucking girl.”
You’re soaking him, dripping down your thighs, pulsing around him as he keeps fucking you through it, working you toward another.
“Feel that mess you made?” He asks, smugness dripping from every word. “Proud of you, baby. So filthy for me.”
“Feel so good,” you manage, barely forming words.
“One more—just one more. Need you on top.”
He pulls out fast, making you gasp at the loss of him. Rafe wraps his hand around his dick, pumping as he watches you climb on top, hovering over him; delicate fingers circling your clit as he licks his bottom lip.
You spread your thighs, sinking on his tip, taking the first few inches, moving up and down teasingly before you take the rest—eyes locked on his, nails digging into his chest.
You ride him hard, your bodies colliding in messy, rhythmic slaps, the sounds of your pleasure filling the room.
Rafe can’t keep quiet—his moans, his praise, his ragged breathing filling the room. You know if that fucker is still on the phone, he wants him to hear all of it. Rafe grabs your waist, lifting you slightly only to slam up into you.
“You’re gonna cum for me again,” he rasps. “Right fucking now.”
And you do—your belly tightens, the band snaps, and his name tumbles past your lips as your head falls back. Your throat’s ragged from sobbing his name, thighs drenched in sweat and slick, shining under the low light.
“Goddamn, baby,” he mutters, reaching up, hooking a hand around the back of your neck to kiss you. You’re breathing heavily and so is he—a breathy chuckle buzzing against your lips.
“Go on,” he murmurs, thumb brushing your cheek. “Get on your knees.”
Your whole body trembles as you lift off his length, hissing in overstimulation, knees pressing against the bedroom floor. You look up at him from between his legs—mascara smudged, hair wild, eyes glassy, chest rising fast.
Rafe reaches for his phone, grabbing it off the bed. The call ended seconds ago. He taps the screen a few times—then points the camera right at you as you open your mouth, tongue out.
His other hand wraps around his cock, tapping the swollen tip against your tongue; your mouth already pillowy and wet from kissing.
You wrap your lips around him and he groans instantly, jaw dropping, one hand slipping into your hair. You taste yourself on him and moan around his length as you take him deeper.
“Christ… Just—Just like that, baby,” he pants, guiding your head, using your mouth to stroke him slow, then faster. You let him use you—let him fuck your throat—spit slicking your chin as your eyes water and your hands grip his thighs for balance.
The phone is still trained on your lips, trembling in his hand, catching every moan, every gag, every obscene sound.
He bites his lip, hips jerking. “Close, baby. Shit—I’m fuckin’ close—”
He pulls out, stroking hard, warm ropes of cum painting your lips, your tongue, your chest.
Your hands are trembling against his legs, looking up at him as he looks down at you. “Fuck, baby,” he mumbles as he grabs you by your cheeks to get a better look.
His thumb rubs his cum along your lips, slipping it inside your mouth. You suck it clean, releasing it with a filthy pop.
“God, you’re fuckin’ stunning, you know that?” He drawls, voice syrupy and spent, eyes half-lidded and impossibly blue. His thumb drags across your cheek, gathering a drop of his own cum and pressing it past your lips. “Say it again for the camera, angel—who the fuck do you belong to?”
You lean into the lens, licking the corner of your mouth clean, eyes gleaming. “Rafe Cameron.”
ex wife reader going to rafe's house after feeling sad.
you didnt know what was wrong, you weren't on your period, ella was with sarah so you should of been more relaxed. except you weren't. it had been a week since rafe left the house after staying for atleast a month in yours to make ella feel more comfortable. maybe it was him that was missing; his coffee in the morning.
the soft kisses he would press against your skin at night when both of you just couldn't control eachother and inevitably run back to one another. he was the cure to many of your problems. but possibly the man reason to most of them.
in an attempt to feel better, you drive yourself to his house, needing to be in his arms again. surely he would also be missing you. so with a trembling hand, you knock at the front door of his house. you wait for a good minute before a girl opens the door.
the girl's probably the most beautiful girl you've seen. she's young, beautiful dark hair and bright gleaming eyes. she's a sight for sore eyes. and she's wearing his shirt. same shirt you used to wear. "hi!" she says softly, arching her eyebrow curiously at you.
you just stare at her, not trusting yourself with talking because you know you'll end up sobbing. you didnt need this, you were already feeling horrible as it is and this happens to you. "rafey!" he comes up from behind a couple seconds later. "im coming im coming-" his heart stops when he locks eyes with you.
in the eyes of others you would look fine, hot, put together. but he knows you better than anyone else. he can see the exhaustion in your eyes. in the way your shoulders slump. but most importantly he can see the way your eyes rake over his shirtless body and messy hair. "w-what are you doing here?" he mumbles, clearing his throat.
"i-" you start, but you shut up. looking down at the floor. you can feel the tears forming without you being able to hold them back. but how could you? he's with another woman days after telling you how much he needs you back. its a cruel cycle, a cycle you thought you escaped for once and for all. "give us a minute." he mumbles, pushing you back softly, giving the girl a small nod before closing the door.
"look im-" "no. dont say anything. you dont owe me anything." you whisper, rubbing your arms softly. trying to bring yourself some comfort. "i just- i needed you." you continue, eyes locked on the floor. "i didnt know you would be busy." he shakes his head furiously, hands cupping your cheek. "im not-"
"dont touch me." you cry out, ripping his hands off your cheeks. "i dont need your lying. it was clear what was happening and im so stupid for thinking we had atleast something back between us." you cry out, burying your face into your hands. "i keep humiliating myself, all in hopes that you would atleast try for me again."
he stares at you with a pained expression. how can he defend himself when he literally has hickies and bite marks around his neck and collarbone. "please.." he says aimlessly, reaching out for you again. "you dont understand- i thought you wouldn't want anything more to do with me and-"
"why would you think that? we spent days telling eachother how much we miss eachother. you spent hours telling me how much you need me." you take a deep breath in, but it doesn't help to slow down the tears down your cheeks. "and i stupidly believed you." you stare at him, his heart breaking even more at the sight of your pretty face now contorted into a pained expression. "if you have anything to tell me, tell my lawyer first. dont ever, ever reach out to me if it isnt about ella."
with a final sob, you rush to your car. he doesn't even try to follow you. he knows you mean it, atleast for now. "fuck." he groans, clenching his fists as he watches you drive off at a dangerously high speed. "fuck fuck fuck..."
he would love to watch you fall apart in the mirror, him pounding into you from behind, but i also think he'd love to watch himself.
(we all know how he is throughout the second season, so i feel like him seeing you, but also himself in the mirror would get him off so quick.)
rafe with his hands on your hips, pulling you back onto him over and over while your hands brace themselves on the mirror in front of you. your mouth is dropped open, eyebrows furrowed, spine bowed.
"god, fuck," rafe grunts from behind you. "feel so good around me — jesus." you spare a look at his face through the mirror and oh.
his entire focus is on himself. it's almost like you're not even there.
he moves one of his hands from your waist, his attention still on himself, and pulls you up so your back is against his chest. his hand settles around your throat.
"fuck." you gasp. both of your hands wrap around the wrist that's around your throat. you look back in the mirror and what a sight.
you're completely bare, a slick sheen of sweat covers your body, legs trembling, and if you focus hard enough, you can see a very small protruding bump right above your pelvic bone every time rafe pounds in.
you spare a glance at rafe again and your brain goes fuzzy, your stomach erupting in that familiar feeling of need.
he's still lost in the reflection of himself. completely covered in you, by you, not wanting to space a centimeter of space between the two of you.
"rafe, please. god," your eyes roll back in pleasure as he keeps hitting that one spot so deep inside of you.
"so deep, oh god. so deep." you whine. you open your eyes to what vanthink in without a doubt the most erotic thing you have ever seen in your life up until that point.
rafe leans the side of his head against yours and moans. mouth wide open, spit slick lips bright red, half-lidded eyes stare at himself in the glass mirror.
the sound is guttural, almost inhumane; something you've never heard come out of his mouth. his glazed eyes still pay you no mind, and then.
and then his eyes roll back into his head, a familiar move you've seen whether in a sexual manner or trying to talk some sense into someone who ends up making him angry, deranged. his hand grips tighter around your throat, his hips moving at a faster pace.
the realization settles deep in your fucked our brain; he's getting off to the sight of himself. evidently loving the way he looks, immersed in now he loses it when buried inside of you.
it happens all at once. your orgasm hits you out of nowhere with a strained cry, the thought of rafe being so enamored with himself and the feeling of being stuffed so full. your knees give out, but you don't hit the floor. he catches you, an arm wrapping tightly around your torso.
but he doesn't stop.
he chases his own pleasure, rutting into you with no abandon.
your eyes, hopeful, scanned through the crowds of men in the same uniform. lined in rows, backs straight, and dead serious.
families rush through them, launching their arms around their loved ones and tears are shed.
you feel terrible; you can’t even find rafe.
you’re smarter than this– surely it’s arranged in some way you can get your head around like alphabetical, or by order of rank. but no, despite it all, every face isn’t his, and you’re getting lost in a maze of camouflage and deep green.
minutes tick by while everyone’s finding their sons or husbands, or boyfriends. minutes that stretch into more time you’re spending without your boyfriend, as if nine months wasn’t enough. your lashes begin to grow heavy with the weight of tears forming on them. you swipe them away, trying to hold onto your own sanity in the masses.
then you see him
well, the back of him
your footsteps are hurried, walking along the row to get to him.
you don’t hesitate
don’t do any of the teasing pauses where your hand hovers.
your arms just come around him, crashing into him.
rafe’s shoulders sag ever so slightly. one arm comes around the back of your thighs, hoisting you up into your arms, and the other wraps around your shoulders. “thank god, bug, i saw you walk past seven fuckin’ times,” he grumbles into your hair, holding you tighter.
you’re sniffling, crying in relief over finally having seen him and— he says this to you? you pull back slightly, causing him to lift his head too. you just blink at him, some tears slipping down your cheeks as you do.
rafe sighs, knowing he hit a nerve. “i’m—”
“are you fucking kidding me–” your say, voice wobbling.
“i’m sorry,” he chuckles, pulling you back in, slipping his hand up to cradle the back of your head. “i’m just surprised it took you so long,” he adds, adding insult to injury.
“rafe..” you whine, trembling lip, lifting your head away again. if stressing over trying to find him for twenty minutes wasn’t enough, now he was poking fun at the matter, making you feel worse.
his thumb and forefinger grab ahold of your chin, forcing you still and closer. “alright, alright, bug,” he mutters, a lingering smile on his face as he brings his face closer, nose brushing yours. “i missed you.”
you squint at him, then your eyes soften before you press a gentle kiss to his lips. he chases your lips when you make a move to pull away, roughly bringing you back in for a deeper kiss. “i said i missed you, what d’you hate me or somethin’?” he grumbles against your lips, unhappy with the small kiss.
you smile against him, arms tightening around his neck. “missed you too,” you murmur, letting him tug you back into another kiss.
Ex!rafe finding out you’re going on a date with one of his golf buddies🤭
RAFE IN : ex-husband!rafe finding out you're going out with one of his golf buddies.
4:57 PM.
rafe loves golfing. its a break from everything, just him and the field, in the sun. usually he goes with topper and kelce. but surprisingly, they have a life. rafe does have a life, but said life has turned alot less eventful now with you both divorced. this made him have new golf buddies!
men who he can play with from time to time. "im talking to this single mom," one of the says, leaning on the golf cart as the men, including rafe, stand around to catch some shade. the man whistles, doing a squeezing gesture. "ass and tits. we're going out today." the other guys holler at him, like they're fucking teenagers about to fuck their first girl. rafe shakes his head, wiping sweat off his forehead.
the man pulls out his phone, showing off a picture of the mysterious woman. "damn, you hit the jackpot." one of the men said, smirking while staring at the picture. "go show rafe," the man with the phone turns the phone to rafe, showing him a picture of one of your pictures from your highlights from instagram. you're in a dress, one he bought you, posing both elegantly and seductively at the camera. rafe was not aware you posted that picture.
you must of hidden it from him.
so now he doesn't know if he's mad at one of his golf buddies going out with you or the fact that you hid him from your story. "really nice." rafe says with a tight smile, grabbing his phone before walking away. the group of men are too busy ogling at your pictures to care or notice he left.
5:30 PM.
he's banging at your door, his chest heaving erratically. he doesn't why he's that mad. he also doesn't know what he's doing in your front door. "rafe?" you say softly. almost innocently. you're putting an earring in your right ear as you open the door. you're all dolled up, and that enrages him even more. you're dolled up for another man.
"really? you're fucking dating?" he doesn't let you speak, barging into the house. he shuts the door closed behind him, even locking it. "what are you-" "you promised. we promised we would tell eachother before ever even thinking about dating." and he is right. you were the one that came up to that compromise. for the sake of ella's safety, or whatever. and totally not because you wanted to know who rafe was fucking around with.
"how- how do you know?" you mumble, looking down at the floor in embarrassment? shame? you dont know but you feel so bad. "you have a type, baby. you probably didnt know, but the guy you're fucking plays golf with me every sundays." rafe says in a condescending tone, backing you up against the wall.
"why didn't you tell me before?" you look up at him, hands pressing against his chest almost to appease him. it works, a bit. his voice softens, so does his eyes. "i would of told you." he mumbles, eyes falling to your cleavage. "i know im sorry. i just didn't want you to make a big deal out of it." you mumble, feeling tiny under his gaze. but in a good way? kinda.
his hands fall to your hips, bringing you closer. "that guy is an asshole, baby. you deserve better." he wants to bury his face into your neck, so bad. but he cant get too ahead of himself. more than he already is. you smile slightly, your cheeks heating up. you'll be lying if you said u didnt miss his attention, his affection. "i know a way in which you could spend time in. and you dont have to get all glammed up," his fingers bring your back zipper down slowly, eyes zeroing on yours.
and for a second the world stops. its just you and him again. like the way it used to be. so you do before you think and throw your arms around him, smashing your lips against his in a messy, passionate kiss. he picks you up swiftly, locking your legs around his waist, softly squeezing your plump ass and thighs before un-ceremoniously dropping you to the bed. "take it off baby, come on." rafe says gruffly, unbuckling his belt while watching you strip right infront of him.
he missed the view or your body, of your pretty eyes staring up at him so in such a needy way. frankly, you didnt know what you were doing. you told yourself that you wouldn't fall for the temptation of being with him again. but your body craves him so much. rafe smirks, noticing the way your legs tremble, revealing your dripping pussy.
as much as he wants to tease you, he also wants to claim you. to mae you not want to find pleasure in other men. so without wasting another second he's shoving his shorts and boxers off, getting ontop of you. he rubs the tip of his cock against your pussy folds, letting out a heavy huff. "rafe..." you whine, hands gripping his shoulders. "i know baby i know." he says, kissing your lips softly before propping his forearm over your head, resting his forehead against yours as he inserts his full length in you. his first thrusts are slow, making you moan out in pleasure.
but after a while he gets rough, snapping his hips against yours in such a force that the bed frame hits the wall in a loud bang. "rafe rafe!" you cry out, moaning loudly while clawing at his chest, his shirt now discarded on the floor.
6:27 PM
its the 2nd? 3rd round maybe? you dont know. but you're tired. your face is against the pillows, rafe still thrusting in you from behind while gripping your hips tightly. "fuck baby." he groans, rolling his head back while giving your ass a slap. he did get too ahead of himself. took advantage of your submission and fucked you for almost an hour. you come in no time, your pussy puffy and incredibly sensitive. he comes inside of you, not bother to ask anymore since he did come inside you the past rounds. he might have to buy you a pill.
or maybe he'll not remind you and make you have another kid of his. he shakes his head, pulling out of your hole, giving your back a tiny peck before laying down and bringing you into his arms. "that was so fucking good." he whispers, cupping your cheek. you look incredibly fucked up, your eyes beraly open yet you still lean against his touch.
you fall asleep in his arms in less than 5 minutes, drooling on his shoulder. he grabs your phone, unlocking it with your fingertip and opening you camera.
he posts it. in your account. its petty, territorial even. but he doesn't care. he has you, slow but surely he'll get you fully back. also that post makes sure that one guy back off of you. he cant wait for your reaction. rafe settles down your phone with a satisfied smile, burying his face in your hair before pressing a soft kiss against your ear. "i love you..."
