#drewstarkeysmut

[rafecameronbicep]

Movie Night Tease

(steamy Rafe Cameron one-shot)

The living room at Tannyhill was buzzing with the usual Friday night energy. Sarah and John B were tangled together on the far end of the massive sectional, sharing a bowl of popcorn. Wheezie was sprawled across a pile of pillows on the floor, phone in hand but occasionally glancing at the screen. Topper and Kelce had claimed the recliners, arguing loudly about the best action movies, while a couple of other friends filled in the gaps. The massive TV lit up the room with explosions and car chases from the latest blockbuster.

You were nestled perfectly against Rafe’s side, your legs draped over his lap under a thick, oversized blanket that smelled like his cologne. His arm was wrapped possessively around your shoulders, fingers idly playing with the ends of your long, glossy chestnut waves. To everyone else, it looked like typical couple cuddling—sweet, comfortable, innocent.

They had no idea how wrong they were.

Rafe’s hand had been resting innocently on your bare thigh for the first twenty minutes, but as the movie’s plot thickened, so did the tension between you two. His fingers slowly crept higher, slipping under the hem of your short skirt. When he discovered you weren’t wearing anything underneath, you felt his body tense against yours.

“No panties?” he breathed hotly against your ear, voice barely a whisper. His breath sent shivers down your spine. “You dirty fucking girl. You’ve been walking around my house all night with this fat pussy exposed, just waiting for me to touch it.”

You gave the tiniest nod, biting your lip as his fingers dragged slowly through your already slick folds. He teased your entrance before circling your swollen clit with perfect, maddening pressure. You were soaked—had been since he’d pulled you into the hallway before everyone arrived, kissing you deep and promising he’d “take care of you properly later.”

Rafe slipped two thick fingers inside you without warning, curling them deep to stroke that sensitive spot. Your pussy clenched greedily around him, and he let out a quiet, satisfied hum that only you could hear.

“Fuck, baby. So wet and tight already. This greedy little cunt is sucking my fingers right in.” His thumb found your clit again, rubbing firm, steady circles while his fingers pumped slowly in and out. The wet, obscene sounds were thankfully masked by the movie’s loud gunfire and explosions.

Sarah laughed at something on screen and glanced your way. “You okay? You look a little flushed.”

You forced a weak smile, gripping Rafe’s thigh hard under the blanket. “Yeah… just the movie. It’s intense.”

Rafe’s smirk was hidden against your hair as he added a third finger, stretching you open deliciously. He curled them perfectly, hitting that spot over and over while his thumb never stopped its relentless rhythm on your clit. Your huge tits heaved under your thin tank top, nipples hard and visible through the fabric. Rafe noticed immediately—his free hand slid up under the blanket to palm one breast, rolling your nipple between his fingers and pinching just hard enough to make you squirm.

“Eyes on the movie, baby,” he murmured, nipping at your earlobe. “Can’t have them knowing what a slut you are for me right now. Dripping all over my hand in front of my sister and everyone else.”

Your hips rocked subtly against his hand, chasing the pleasure. Rafe’s cock was rock hard against your hip, straining painfully through his sweatpants. He pressed it firmer against you, grinding slowly so you could feel exactly what you were doing to him.

Every curl of his fingers made your breath hitch. You buried your face in his neck, pretending to cuddle closer, but really trying to muffle the tiny whimpers escaping you. Rafe’s fingers moved faster now, pumping deep and steady, his thumb flicking your clit with precision.

“You’re getting so close,” he whispered darkly. “I can feel this fat pussy fluttering around my fingers. Come for me right now, baby. Let me feel you cream all over my hand while they’re all sitting right here.”

The combination of his filthy words, the risky thrill, and the relentless thrust of his fingers sent you spiraling. You bit down hard on his shoulder through his shirt as your orgasm crashed over you—hard, intense, and silent. Your walls clenched rhythmically around his fingers, soaking his hand as waves of pleasure rolled through your body. Rafe kept working you through every pulse, drawing it out until you were trembling and oversensitive under the blanket.

He finally eased his fingers out, bringing them to his mouth under the blanket and sucking them clean with a low, hungry groan only you heard. “Taste so fucking good. My favorite snack.”

The movie dragged on for another twenty minutes of teasing. Rafe didn’t stop—he kept his hand between your thighs, lazily stroking your oversensitive pussy, occasionally dipping a finger back inside just to feel you clench. By the time the credits rolled, you were a needy, dripping mess, thighs sticky and aching for more.

Goodbyes were exchanged in a hazy blur. Everyone thanked Rafe for hosting, completely oblivious. The second the front door clicked shut behind the last person, Rafe pounced.

He flipped you onto your back on the massive sectional, yanking your skirt up to your waist and shoving your tank top up to expose your huge tits. In one smooth motion he freed his thick, throbbing cock and buried himself balls-deep inside your still-spasming pussy with a single powerful thrust.

“Fuck—yes,” he groaned, forehead pressed to yours, eyes locked on you. “Been dying to feel this tight cunt wrapped around my cock all night. You’ve been teasing me for hours, baby.”

He fucked you hard and deep right away, hips snapping forward with possessive force. The wet slap of skin on skin filled the now-empty living room. One hand pinned your wrist above your head while the other groped and squeezed your bouncing tits, pinching and tugging your nipples as he drove into you over and over.

“Say it,” he growled between brutal thrusts. “Tell me whose pussy this is.”

“Yours,” you moaned loudly, legs wrapping tight around his waist, heels digging into his back. “It’s all yours, Rafe. Only yours.”

“Louder. Want the whole damn house to hear who owns this fat pussy.”

He shifted angles, hitting that perfect spot with every thrust until you were crying out his name. Rafe leaned down, sucking one of your nipples into his mouth, teeth grazing as your back arched off the couch. Your long glossy chestnut waves spilled across the cushions like a halo as he pounded into you.

Your second orgasm hit even harder than the first. Your pussy clenched and fluttered wildly around his cock, milking him as pleasure ripped through you. Rafe followed right after, burying himself to the hilt with a deep, guttural groan, filling you up with hot, thick pulses of his cum.

He stayed buried deep inside you for a long moment, both of you panting, foreheads pressed together. Then he pulled out slowly, watching with dark satisfaction as his cum dripped from your pussy onto the couch.

But he wasn’t done.

Rafe scooped you up effortlessly in his arms, carrying you upstairs to his bedroom. He laid you down gently on the bed, stripping the rest of your clothes off before shedding his own. In the soft glow of the bedside lamp, he cleaned you up with a warm cloth, pressing tender kisses to your thighs, your stomach, your breasts, and finally your lips.

“Such a good girl for me tonight,” he murmured, voice soft now. He climbed into bed and pulled you on top of him, guiding his still-hard cock back inside your slick, cum-filled pussy. This time it was slower, deeper—your hips rocking against his as he held your waist, guiding you.

“Ride me, baby. Want to watch you take every inch.”

You moved on him, tits bouncing with every roll of your hips. Rafe’s hands were everywhere—squeezing your ass, playing with your nipples, pulling you down for messy kisses. He sat up eventually, wrapping his arms around you as you rode him, mouth on your neck, whispering praise and filthy promises.

“You’re mine. This pussy is mine. Gonna fill you up again before we sleep.”

You came a third time like that—clenching around him, moaning his name—before Rafe flipped you onto your back and fucked you through his own second release, deep and possessive.

Afterwards, he pulled you into his arms, your head on his chest, fingers gently playing with your long glossy chestnut waves. The room was quiet except for your breathing and the distant sound of the ocean.

“Love teasing you like that,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “But I love fucking you even more. You’re everything, baby. Always mine.”

You smiled, tracing lazy patterns on his chest as sleep started to pull you both under, safe and thoroughly satisfied in Rafe’s arms.

[drewssgirl]

⋆˚࿔ "YOU CAN'T WEAR THAT WITHOUT ME"

— pairing: actor!drew x actress!reader

— warnings: MDNI 18+, explicit language, smut, oral (fem receiving), p in v, unprotected sex, slightly jealous drew, little bit of fluff at the end

— word count: 1.7k +

— A/N: i need this problem irl.

your suitcase is already open, exploding with outfits that looked way cuter on pinterest than they do in your hands. shoes are lined along the bottom of the hotel bed, your toiletry bag is wide open on the nightstand, and drew’s sitting on the armchair like it’s his own personal fashion week.

“okay—be honest with me”, you say, stepping out in your third outfit, a silky bronze two-piece that’s half slinky, half classy. “this or the black one?”

drew raises his brows, tongue poking the inside of his cheek. “the black one was hot. but this one? you look like a golden trophy. like i just won something.”

you laugh, adjusting the top in the mirror. “you’re so dramatic.”

he shrugs. “you’re so hot.”

you roll your eyes, already heading back to change. this has been the cycle for like twenty minutes now: you try something on, he hypes you up like it’s his full-time job, you pretend not to melt a little, repeat.

“don’t forget i need something for the press thing too,” you call out from the bathroom, peeling off the bronze outfit. “like, something pretty but not too ‘look at me’ just ‘i’m that girl’ energy.”

“so...anything you wear,” he says casually, and you can hear the smile in his voice. "babe, try on that dress i bought."

"yea?" you call out, trying not to grin like an idiot as you shimmy into the white dress drew had gotten you out of nowhere. it’s simple—thin straps, open back, short—but it fits like it was sewn onto you. you smooth it down, frown at your reflection for a second, then step out.

and drew goes quiet.

his head lifts slowly. his hand actually falls from where it was resting on his cheek. and his jaw—his jaw.

“jesus christ,” he mutters.

you shift your weight. “...too much?”

he blinks once. then again. “you can’t wear that without me there.”

you blink back. “what?”

he pushes up from the chair, walking toward you with that look in his eyes—slow and sharp, like he’s trying to decide something dangerous.

“you look like…” his hands reach out, barely touching your waist, his fingers grazing the fabric. “i don’t even have a fucking word. you look illegal in this.”

you swallow. “so…not press appropriate?”

he laughs, but it’s all breath. all chest. “nah. you wear this, i’m flying to venice with you. no discussion. no solo red carpets. no fans—actually anyone—getting ideas.”

you roll your eyes, but his fingers slip behind your waist and pull you closer. “drew—”

“nah, baby, i’m serious,” he says, voice low now, lips brushing your neck. “you walk out in this dress and you don’t take me with you? i’ll lose my mind.”

“mm,” you hum, heart skipping. “so what’re you gonna do about it?”

and that’s when he kisses you.

not the sweet, lazy kind he gives you in the mornings. it’s urgent. messy. his hands on your hips, your back hitting the full-length mirror, the white dress riding up as he pushes between your legs. your laugh gets caught in his mouth, and his breath hitches when your hands slide under his shirt.

“god, please don't wear this without me...” he mutters, voice all gravel and heat, his lips dragging down your collarbone.

“guess you’ll have to ruin it before anyone else sees.” you whisper, tugging him closer.

“oh, i plan to.” he kisses you like he’s mad. like you did something to him.

your back’s still pressed to the mirror, and the dress is already bunched up around your hips from the way he’s gripping you. his mouth moves fast—kiss after kiss like he’s been starving, like the second he saw you in that dress, something short-circuited in his brain.

“drew—”

“nope,” he breathes, lips dragging along your jaw. “no talking. this is your fault.”

“how is it my fault?” you gasp when he sucks on the side of your neck, hands gripping his shoulders now. “you told me to try it on—”

“yeah, and then you came out here looking like that,” he says. “you knew what you were doing.”

you try to fire back, but your words dissolve the second his hand slips under the hem of your dress. his fingers skim your thigh, moving higher, teasing.

“drew…really?”

he pulls back just enough to look at you—eyes dark, lips a little swollen already. “you want me to stop?”

you shake your head immediately, already tugging his shirt over his head. “just— i wanna be able to walk tomorrow morning.”

he smirks. “no promises.”

his hands are all over you now—lifting you up slightly so he can lay you on the bed, sliding the dress up even higher, until the thin fabric’s barely hanging on at all. he trails kisses down your stomach, his voice all low and teasing.

“gonna make it hard for me to let you go to venice like this,” he murmurs, slipping your underwear down slow, his hands dragging against your legs. “what if i just kept you here?”

“i’d miss my premiere,” you breathe, already arching toward him.

he grins. “worth it.”

and then he goes down on you like it’s the only thing that matters.

no jokes, no breaks, just him and his mouth and the way he hums when your thighs tighten around his head. he’s cocky about it too—peeking up at you through his lashes, fingers gripping your thighs tighter every time you moan his name. he eats you out like he's been starving his entire life.

when you finally finish, your back lifts off the bed, hands in his hair, chest heaving—and he’s smiling.

“knew that dress was trouble,” he mutters, kissing your inner thigh. “knew you were gonna be the death of me.”

he climbs up over you, kissing you deep this time, slower. your hands fumble with his sweats, pulling them down just enough for him to kick them off, and you feel him—hard and already leaking—pressing against your thigh.

“you good?” he whispers against your lips.

“yes,” you say, too fast, breathless and already pulling him in. “please.”

he doesn’t tease anymore. just slides in slow, groaning into your neck once he’s all the way in. your legs wrap around him instinctively, and the first few thrusts are deep, almost gentle. like he’s trying to memorize how it feels.

but then your hips move with his. and his rhythm stutters.

“fuck,” he mutters. “you feel—i can’t—”

he buries his face in your shoulder, the pace picking up, your body arching to meet every movement. the dress is still bunched around your stomach, one strap hanging down, and he keeps glancing down to watch it all happen—to watch you.

it’s hot. messy. your nails scratch his back knowing you'll be leaving marks. he groans when you clench around him. and when you finish again, he kisses you through it, whispering your name like it’s the only thing holding him together.

he follows a few seconds later, hips stuttering, breath catching in your ear.

after, he doesn’t move for a long minute. just lays there, both of you sweating and barely catching your breath.

“you okay?” you whisper eventually, smiling a little.

he lifts his head, looking like he’s been hit by a truck. “no,” he says.

“you really gonna wear that,” he says quietly. “just walk out in it. like it didn’t do this to me.”

your smile softens. “i mean… i didn’t plan on you absolutely losing your mind over it.”

he doesn’t laugh. just looks at you like he’s trying to memorize every inch of your face.

“you leave tomorrow.”

you nod slowly, fingers tracing the curve of his jaw. “only a few days.”

he swallows. “yeah. i know.”

he lays back beside you, his hand finding yours in the mess of sheets between you. neither of you talks for a minute. there’s just the hum of the AC and the way your pinkies hook like they always do when you’re trying not to say too much.

“it’s dumb,” he mumbles finally. “you’ve been away before.”

you turn your head. “it’s not dumb.”

he looks over at you again—barely a few inches away now. he tries to smirk, but it fades too fast. “just… call me. okay? when you land. and when you get to your hotel. and before the carpet. and after. and at the after party—”

“so… constantly?” you interrupt with a snort.

“yeah,” he says, kissing the back of your hand. “constantly.”

you laugh, tugging the strap back up. “we’ll see.”

he narrows his eyes playfully, then drops his head back onto your chest.

“venice or not,” he mumbles, “i’m not letting you leave this room without round two.”

©DREWSSGIRL 𖦹 est. 2025 — please do not copy, translate or repost my work as your own, thank you!