welcome to my account. my original account was @whitemanscumslut i had moved due to difficulties with the app itself. here’s something’s about my blog.
minors and l*rries are NOT welcome.
nsfw blog!
my bio “KISS HER & DON’T TELLS” is where you can request or talk to me!
my request are ALWAYS open until said other wise. I will get to you as fast I can.
☓= nothing released yet
other interest i have: stranger things (eddie, steve, steddie!!!), chris evans, shawn mendes, charlie puth, too many to name. just alot of mediocre white men.
im a fool for subrry, lhh and dadrry so gimmie all u got
✮⋆˙ . bsf!rafe keeps 'accidentally' slipping inside after promising to just rub against you.
warnings — 18+ MDNI. bestfriend!reader x bsf!rafe pairing. name is self explanatory. manipulative tone & fake apologies.
cherie’s note — loosely based on this p!link.
your knees are bent, thighs open for him, trembling slightly from how real this feels — arms curled near your chest, lip caught anxiously between your teeth, breathing too fast for someone who's supposedly not having sex.
things had always been… complicated with you and rafe. secrets whispered in the dark, your body tucked into his bed more often than your own. he’d even taught you how to kiss — unforgivable, in hindsight. because now, whatever this was… it felt like the point of no return.
rafe kneels between your legs, stroking himself in slow, lazy pulls. deliberately. "just relax," he murmurs, voice low like he's talking you through something innocent. like this was something every best friend did — and you could definitely be convinced of such when it was him doing the talking. "i'm not gonna put it in. i told you."
he presses the head against your slit, sliding it up your folds, gathering the wetness along the underside of his throbbing cock. the squelch that bounces off the walls is unmistakable, a clear indicator of just how much you wanted this, despite the way your pulse raced. you jump at the first pass and he smiles — quick, hidden, gone before you even get the chance to look at him.
"how're you this worked up already?" he teases under his breath, more to himself than to you. "barely even touching you."
you squirm underneath him, embarrassed. "you're... rubbing on me..."
"mhm." he drags the swollen head down again, circling your entrance with soft precision — though his mind is anything but soft. not with you, sprawled out beneath him, eyes wide like a prey caught in a trap. his trap.
you gasp, a soft sound that shoots up his spine — and that's when he lets the tip catch you. not fully. just enough to make your body pull him in that tiny, helpless way you can't control. the thick head of his cock breaches the tightness of your cunt, and your thighs tremble slightly from the pressure.
"sorry," he breaths, pretending to pull back. "didn't mean— you're so warm, and wet. hard to aim."
you believe him immediately, like you always do, nodding. your cheeks burn, "it's okay. just... just be careful."
"i am," he promises, thumb stroking the soft skin of your knee. "i got you."
except he keeps doing it. that same slow glide, catching on you again, the head pushing just barely inside before he rocks back like it's truly accidental. each time, you make this soft, strangled sound that goes straight to his cock.
"you okay?" he murmurs.
you nod quickly, swallowing away at the nerves. "it just feels... weird."
"good weird?"
you nod again — and the way you do it, wide-eyed and trusting, makes him exhale shakily.
he strokes himself harder, a little faster, hips following the rhythm. the spongy tip of his cock keeps bumping and sliding against your slit with every pass, the feeling so dizzying you swear you could see stars. your slick coats his hand, helping the slick grip glide effortlessly against himself — makes everything sloppy and hot and impossible for him to 'aim'.
rafe swears he can lose himself in the sight of you alone. swears he'd give anything to see this everyday — you, eyes glassy and blinking slow, completely fucked-out and trembling under his guidance. so vulnerable. so trusting. pliant, too — keeping your thighs perched open enough to allow him the space he demands, without having to be asked.
you force a tiny breath out, shaky and full of shame, and he rewards you by rolling the head down again. and this time, when it catches, it sinks just a little deeper than before. enough to make your eyes fly fully open. enough to make your hips lift before you can stop yourself, telling him everything he needs to know.
he freezes. not really. just enough to pretend he's surprised.
"shit," he mutters, voice going hoarse. "that—that was deeper than i meant. m'sorry, baby."
and despite his apology, he stays there a beat too long — buried millimeters inside of your warm heat, throbbing. he pulls out slowly, letting a slick string stretch between where he’d previously pushed inside of you.
your heart jumps into your throat, "it's okay, ray," you whisper quickly, like you don't want him to feel bad. "was just an accident, right?"
Just imaging hanging out with bff!jj on a hot summer day, relaxing at the beach. asking to try his popsicle and he obliges, holding onto it while you lick it before he pushes it further into your mouth until you gag ://
𓇼˚₊‧꒰ა 👙 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚𓇼
“i see you lookin’ at my damn popsicle. i asked you if you wanted one n’you said no— n’now look at you.” jj shakes his head, turning his popsicle to the side to catch some of the syrup that was threatening to drip off. you whine petulantly, it had been an especially long and hot day— and now you were relaxing at the beach with the rest of the group, you felt a mood coming on. one when you were set on being difficult. as usual, jj was the only one who knew how to handle you.
“but i’m hot! jj!” you mewl, making a real show of rolling around dramatically on the towel by his side.
“y’can take my wallet n’go get yourself one but i ain’t gettin’ up again. told you that in the store.” he scolds lightheartedly, squinting across the beach at the sea where the rest of the pogues splashed about. you huff, lighting digging your nails into his thigh through his shorts.
“i want one.” you complain, spoiled and he winces — batting your hand away.
“hey, stop that. c’mere. ‘can have some of mine, god — you’re a nightmare y’know that?” he sits up a little straighter, tugging you to crawl closer to him onto his towel, bringing the popsicle to your mouth. he brings it to your lips and you happily begin to lick and suck at it, attitude diminishing by the second. “yeah, see? fussin’ over nothin’.” he comments in a low hum, shaking his head.
you get greedy, taking some of it into your mouth and he tsks at you, a smirk forming on his face at the audacity as you begin to quickly work through the popsicle without a care. “go on, have the whole thing. know you can.” he hears himself before he thinks it through— pushing the cylindrical treat further into your mouth until it hits the back of your throat. you almost seem oblivious to his doings, letting out a small whimper of complaint as you gag, an eye fluttering closed at the exertion.
your hand comes to weakly lay on top of his wrist as a half hearted attempt to slow his roll. he fucks your throat with it a few times, tonguing at the corner of his lip, cock jumping in his swim shorts. “jayj, tryna eat it.” you complain in a whiny groan, flattening your tongue along the base of it to collect the dollops of drool and syrup rolling down it. he hums, taking your hand and making you hold the stick instead of him.
“s’what you get for havin’ a slick mouth with me, ain’t it?” he presses his hands into the sand, pushing himself to stand and patting your head affectionately from above as you continue to enjoy the popsicle. “gonna go for a swim. s’all yours now, ‘kay princess?” he asks and you nod.
“‘kay.”
you watch as he jogs off to the cool water, jumping in to soothe his warm body from the growing arousal you caused. you were none the wiser, innocently enjoying the treat he generously donated to you. jj always took care of you.
JJ reluctantly agrees to you giving him a haircut, but will things stay platonic when he moves too close, touch lingering?
“Man, I really need a haircut, this shit keeps getting in my eyes.”
JJ's voice cuts through the thick summer air, breaking the trance-like state you had been in, slightly high from the weed you had smoked an hour ago, worn from the day of swimming, skin still warm from the sun. You sit up slowly, untangling your bare legs from JJ's, skin sticking slightly.
JJ runs his fingers through his blonde locks, eyes widening as he sees the wheels turning in your mind, realizing the mistake he's just made. Your eyes light up, a mischievous smile appearing on your face.
"HAH no way.”
"What? I haven't even said anything yet.” You shrug innocently as he gets up from the hammock, walking towards the front door of the chateau.
"JayJaaayyy.” You follow close behind, determined to get your way.
“I know that look. You're not cutting my hair.” He turns to look at you, walking through the front door into the living room where John B and Kiara had been sitting.
"Pleeeeeaaassseee JJ.”
"No, get away from me,” he half teases as he walks away from you faster, pushing your hands away from him.
John B and Kiara exchange a look, sighing, used to the drama you and JJ tend to bring.
"Come on, I'm really good at it, I've cut JB and Kie's hair heaps of times – guys tell him.” You look at your friends, pleading.
JJ can't help but smile at the look on your face, eyes big, pouting as you wait on your friends’ help to convince him. JJ didn't really need convincing anymore, the second he saw your face pleading with him, he had folded, never knowing how to say no to you – but he played along, loving the fact that you wanted to do this for him so badly.
“It's true, she always cuts my hair, and my hair looks great.” Kie flips her hair to the front with a dramatic flourish.
"John B?” JJ looks at his best friend waiting for an answer.
"She's good man, 'sides she did a whole shampoo head massage thing last time and it felt soo good,” John B says as he tilts his head back and does an exaggerated eye roll.
A flash of jealousy passes through JJ at the thought of you running your hands through John B's hair. He looks at you and sighs dramatically.
"Fiiineee you can do it.”
You squeal in excitement, doing a little happy jump as you rush over to the bathroom, JJ hot on your heels. JJ can't help but grin as he sees just how happy this has made you.
"Not cutting it short, yeah?”
"Never.”
You smile as you remember the last time JJ had cut his hair short; almost a buzz cut, but not quite – you had pouted and tried quickly to cover it up with a smile, adding a weak It looks good Jay. JJ's face dropped so quickly at your apparent disapproval, vowing to himself to never cut his hair short again. He didn't know when your opinion had become so important to him, but it had, and without realizing, everything – from the way he cut his hair, to the clothes he picked out, and the perfume he wore – had slowly become catered to your taste.
You had once casually mentioned that he looked great in red and suddenly – unconsciously even – his wardrobe had gained 5 new red pieces. You hadn't really noticed – at least not the connection between him wearing red more often after you had complimented him – you had just noticed how good he looked wearing it. Your friends on the other hand, had noticed – Kie, Pope and John B all exchanging looks when JJ's eyes lit up at the compliment.
The next day, when he showed up to the chateau in his red muscle tee grinning like a kid who just got their allowance, Kie had to slap a hand over her mouth to stop the laugh from escaping. John B and Pope gave her a questioning look before she subtly pointed to JJ. Pope chuckled to himself while John B smirked and walked up to him, slapping a hand on his shoulder, “Nice shirt, man.” JJ would have picked up on the teasing if he hadn't immediately been distracted by you running up to him and hugging him, wrapping your arms around his neck.
"Hey princess.” He buried his face in your neck, arms wrapping around your waist, hands resting on your lower back, all but inhaling you and closing his eyes softly, never being the first to pull away. His hands lingered on your lower back as you reached for his hand and pulled him towards the dock, turning back and smiling at him, “I like your shirt, you look so nice.” JJ was beaming so hard that the others had decided to let him live for today, adding it to their mental tally of things to tease the two of you about.
───♡───
“I swear to god, if you mess up my hair...”
"You'll what?” you look at him, eyebrow cocked, challenging.
“I'll cut your hair – into a mullet.”
"You wouldn't dare.” You narrow your eyes at him.
"Try me princess.”
You roll your eyes playfully, pushing him into the bathroom.
"Relax princess, I'm not going to mess up your precious hair.”
"My hair is precious, my one beauty,” he teases in a mock high-pitched voice, feigning flicking his hair behind him with his hand.
You laugh as you move to the room, picking up a chair for him to sit on. You place it in front of the bathroom sink, looking at him expectantly.
"Sooo...”
“Oh shit, yeah how do we do this?” JJ shakes himself from whatever thought he was having, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Take your shirt off.”
“Trying to get in my pants, are you?” He raises his eyebrows at you, smirking.
“If you wanted to see me shirtless, could've just asked you know?” He says, rougher, lower, as he tucks a piece of hair behind your ear.
You inhale sharply, the skin behind your ear tingling from the warmth of his touch.
"No you idiot, I'm going to wash your hair and I don't want your shirt to get all wet, besides, you're the one who's always pulling your shirt off every chance you get.” You roll your eyes, sighing.
"You love it.” He winks before grabbing his collar, pulling his shirt over his head in one quick motion, tossing it to the floor.
You can't help but let your eyes drop quickly, gaze casting over the defined lines of his abs, never getting enough of seeing him like this.
You snap out of it, looking up at him, ready for him to tease you endlessly for so shamelessly checking him out. The universe had granted you a reprieve – he hadn't noticed – instead getting himself situated on the chair with his head leaning back into the sink.
You pull a towel off the hook behind the door, placing it between his neck and the hard edge of the sink. JJ's gaze drifts from your neck to your collarbone to your chest, smirking slightly at the position you're in standing over him as you shampoo his hair. His eyes don't stay open for long, fluttering closed as a soft groan escapes his lips, melting into the way your hands feel massaging his scalp.
"Fuck that feels soo good,” he groans, heat pooling low in your stomach at the small sounds he was making. He had to know how that sounds, right? Then again, JJ could be pretty clueless sometimes.
You swallow hard, stepping between his legs as he sits up, eyes locking on yours, water droplets travelling down the sides of his neck, down his chest and slowly disappearing into the waistband of his shorts. You avoid his stare, concentrating on trimming the ends of his hair evenly. You can feel his breath on your collarbone, warm and heavy, overwhelming your senses. You didn't think cutting his hair would feel so intimate.
JJ's hands come to the small of your back, not being able to resist touching you any longer. You're consuming him – your heavenly scent, your hands in his hair, your shirt barely covering anything – he could so easily place a kiss on the swell of your chest or reach his head up just a couple of inches and his mouth would be on yours. He could pull your legs down ever so slightly to straddle him and roll his hips up into –
JJ stop that's your best friend.
He lets out a sigh of relief as you move from between his legs, focusing on the back of his hair. JJ didn't know how much longer he could go not giving in to his thoughts. He can't help but feel disappointed though, wanting nothing more than to be consumed by you.
His disappointment is short lived as you return to your previous position, JJ not being able to control himself anymore – he needed to touch you, needed to feel the soft give of your skin under his calloused hands. You gasp as his hands come to the back of your thighs, legs clad in nothing but bikini bottoms, pulling you in closer. He rubs up and down, hands going higher each time, touch featherlight.
He whispers your name, voice coming out low and rough as he squeezes the backs of your thighs gently. You're still avoiding his gaze, feeling his eyes bore into you as you pretend not to hear him, focusing hard on keeping his hair even, breath shaking.
“Almost done, just a bit more to go right here.”
You put the scissors down with a shaky breath and start raking your fingers through his hair. He says your name again, louder this time, punctuating his words with another squeeze of your thighs. Your eyes meet his, just for a second before you go back to inspecting his hair.
“Uh, wha – what are you doing?” his voice falters, chest rising and falling rapidly as he tries desperately to gain some semblance of normalcy.
“Just making sure it's all even.”
He nods slowly and moves his hands higher up the backs of your legs, almost cupping your ass but not quite. His thumbs start rubbing circles on the sides of your thighs and your eyes flutter closed as his breath fans over your chest.
“Don't close your eyes, princess, you're going to mess up my hair.” His hands continue caressing your thighs, pulling you impossibly closer, placing a soft, barely-there kiss to your collarbone – you bite back the sound threatening to escape – he feels so good being this close to you. You're suddenly very aware of the fact that he's not wearing a shirt.
His hand gently traces the scar on the back of your leg, knowing exactly where it is, the quiet intimacy of it making you long for him.
"JJ,” you breathe out, hands reaching for the sides of his face, cupping his jaw. You look at him carefully, searching, his chest is flush against yours now, fingers gripping the back of your legs gently. His eyes drop to your lips, parted around a gasp as his thumbs press into your thighs. Your hand tightens slightly on his jaw, thumb moving to trace his bottom lip. You feel him sigh against your hand, warm and soft, eyes closing.
Just as you swear you can feel his lips softly trace yours, the door slams open, John B's voice cutting through the quiet tension in the room as you and JJ jump apart, JJ almost falling back on his chair as your heart beats out of your chest.
He has a knowing look on his face, eyes drifting between the two of you. “We're ordering pizza, you guys want anything?”
“Uh yeah... I'll come with you,” you offered quickly as you tried to gather yourself, following John B out of the bathroom.
You feel a familiar hand wrap around your wrist, pulling you back.
“Wait, princess.” JJ lets go of you, hand coming to rub the back of his neck. You wait for him to continue, eyes darting around not wanting anyone to overhear.
“Um, thanks for the haircut,” he mumbles.
“S all good, do you like it?” you breathe out, half relieved that he didn't bring up the almost kiss.
"Yeah, yeah I do, do you like it?”
“I love it Jay.” You smile as your hand comes up to his hair, ruffling it.
“Alright come on then, let's go have some pizza.” He grins, pulling you down the hall as you laugh softly.
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summary: being the only girl 'bsf' allowed in the toxic boys friendgroup on figure eight means you belong to all three of them.
pairings: nasty!trio kook boys x shy!kook!reader
18+ mdni. messy grammar
“you actually gonna wear that?” kelce’s voice cuts through the low hum of the outboard machine, heavy with mockery. gaze scanning to your whole body without any shame. its just funny seeing you wearing a grey zip up hoodie with denim shorts. cause, ironically and usually, you wear slutty fits infront of them—hell, or even naked. theyve seen your body. and they never miss a beat to not praise it, how could they not? they loved seeing your flustered face. plus, youve got a nice body to keep.
sometimes you wonder, what kind of best friends that see each other naked? not to mention youve fucked the three of them and suck their cocks too. they absolutely have nasty pics of you saved on each their phones too.
“i—”
“leave her alone, man.” topper’s arm shoots around your waist. holding you close and steady. pressing your ass against his cock underneath the garment intentionally. you gasped and turn your head. he looks down, eyes taking in the blown out eyes and flushed cheeks. “didnt i buy you a new bikini last night?”
you gulped, “yeah.. im wearing it, actually.”
“take them off, baby.” the command was low and raspy. it made your stomach drop. rafe leans lazily in the helm of the boat, pulling from his vape. blowing icy mint smoke out into the salty warm air. he kept his dark gaze locked to you. abandoning the wheel and walked forward. his tall and broad frame completely swallowing you. cedarwood and something spicy of his expensive cologne fills your nose.
you tensed. but you cant help to feel your cunt getting wetter, rubbing your thighs together. topper’s arm around you tightens, not in jealousy, he was smug about it. “dont make him wait,” low voice murmuring against your ear. “show him how fucking sexy you look in what i bought you.”
kelce let out a crude laugh. leaning back and manspreading onto the vinyl seat. “put on a show for us, babe. wouldnt miss any of it.”
rafe’s rough thumb pressing against your lower lip. parting your lips slightly and brushing it slowly. undressing you with his eyes. “well?” he smirked. you can hear the pulse in your ears. “strip.”
his dirty command sent a thrill down to your spine. with trembling fingers, you reached up to the zipper of your hoodie. but you couldnt bring yourself to pull it down.
youre trapped in a cage with men times bigger than you. suddenly youre very aware of topper’s arm around your waist. you could feel burning, heavy predatory gaze from the three of them. waiting for you to strip and perform for them like youre nothing but for them to play with.
well, youve worn bikinis to bonfire or boat parties. but the one youre wearing now? its a micro string bikini. the tiny triangles of silk barely covers your tits. threatening to spill out any time, only hiding your hard nipples. the strings riding high on your hips. making your plump ass and thighs pop more. the fabric only covers your puffy cunt. either way, you look sexy and slutty but, youre too shy to strip. especially not in a broad daylight like this, at a boat where any passing yacht could drift by.
every second felt longer. the predatory eyes are watching you to strip yourself. it made your skin crawl. you take too fucking long. you hesitate too much. i mean, its not like youve never strip infront of them—you have, alot of times even. but still, it all felt too much sometimes. your shaking hands still holding the zipper. biting lower lip unconciously. “im not sure if im—”
kelce let out a loud mocking sigh from the vinyl seat. “boring.” followed by a theaterical yawn. to humiliate you. you turn, a shameful flush burning spreading across your face and neck. you were so terrified and he treats it like its nothing.
“aw, you feelin’ shy now?” you even forgot topper was holding you close. his fingers digging into your waist.
“too fucking long.” rafe cuts impatiently, jaw clenching. he stood closer to you. watching his eyes go dark.
and just suddenly, he didnt ask for permission—stripped you from beside you. rough hand unzipping it down and throwing it away. he shoved the denim shorts over your hips until it pooled at your ankles.
the boat went silent.
you were completely exposed now. fingers intertwined as you fidget on them. you dont even dare to look at the three of these guys.
“holy fuck,” kelce let out a low whistle. “top, you deserve a goddamn medal for finding this.” hes practically drooling. you glanced between his spread legs, his bulge almost prominent now.
“hot, aint she?” topper’s fingers on your waist were long gone. he drifts them lower to the back of your hip now. slowly palming and cupping the fat of your ass. you went still, frozen.
“bet you were dripping bein’ our whore, huh? waiting for us to fuck you ‘til youre brain dead?” rafe gets behind you, whispered low on your ear. his hot breath makes your skin crawl.
you feel two thick fingers—and one of them with a ring, brushing against your pussy underneath the thin thong. he rubs you back and forth slowly. teasing your buds, feeling your wetness. a soft moan escaped you. you clamped both thighs while rafe’s fingers still between your thighs. but you press down harder against his fingers, chasing the friction.
topper’s arm around your waist are long gone now. he licked his lip when he watches rafe rubs your folds and your almost rolled eyes. “turn around, sweetheart. show kelce the back.”
your feet still glued. mind too hazed with lust because of how good rafe fingers are rubbing you. just then, his fingers are gone. you pouted in annoyance, not even listening at what topper said. but before you could even whine, he stepped behind you—next to rafe.
topper clicks his tongue in annoyance. “i said turn around.” he demanded, dropping the fake sweetness. he gripped both of your hips and forcefully spun you.
now your ass is facing kelce. he leaned closer in his seat. while you stare up to meet rafe and topper’s gaze. they both just smirk, eyes dark.
you feel kelce’s big hand rubbing your ass. he squeezed it hard, moving it around to watch your ass jiggle. he groans at the sight. “youve got some nice ass, slut.” he spanks you. you whimpered, body flinching. kelce tugged at the thong between your legs, then letting it go to watch the thong slap against your slick cunt.
“feels even better when im bending her over, best three hundred bucks ive ever spent indeed.” topper hooked his fingers under the string at your back. unraveling the knot in one swipe. the bikini top slid down and fell. your soft tits exposed to the air and hungry gazes now.
rafe’s fingers tangled firmly in your hair, making you feel the sharp sensation. he dragged down by your hair and making you kneel right between his legs. you look up to him, hes already fumbling with his belt. shoving his denim and boxers down. his fat cock slapping against his abs. the tip flushing, slick with pre cum. veins visible.
he rubs his dick against your cheek, wet with your humiliated tears from earlier and from his pre cum. he grunts at the sight. your expression is lewd too. you look like a fucking whore. he slides his cock from your cheek, tapping against your lips.
“suck.”
ⓘ do not copy my work or use my idea to ai. likes nd reblogs are appreciated!
in which i present to you rafe cameron x hypersexual!ditzy!reader headcannons!!
too many warnings to state them but lots of kinky things & not proofread.
hypersexual!reader who is absolutely insufferable about his hands, and not in a subtle way. she’ll stop mid sentence in a crowded room just to grab his wrist and examine his fingers like they’re a museum exhibit, turning them over and tracing the veins, murmuring “god, look at these.” under her breath while rafe tries to carry on a conversation with topper like his girlfriend isn’t openly ogling his knuckles. the obsession reaches a tipping point one lazy afternoon when she’s lying across his lap on the couch, supposedly napping, but instead she’s pressing soft, open mouthed kisses to his palm, his fingertips, the inside of his wrist. rafe lets her for a full minute, tension coiling in his gut, before he curls those same fingers under her chin and tilts her face up. “you got a problem?” he asks, voice already sandpaper rough. she blinks up at him, lip gloss smeared, and says with devastating sincerity, “just thinking about how good they feel inside me.” he has her bent over the arm of the couch within seconds, two fingers knuckle deep while she keens and babbles about how she knew they’d feel this perfect, she’s been thinking about it all day, and his hands are her favorite thing maybe ever. he makes her count each orgasm on those fingers after, holding them up, slick and shining, while she whines and loses track at three.
hypersexual!reader who talks during sex, genuine, unfiltered stream of consciousness rambling that should ruin the mood but somehow never does. he'll be balls deep, bottomed out inside of her, her back arching off the mattress, and she'll gasp out, "oh my god, wait, did i tell you what sarah said about the—oh—the party? she said kelce might not—right there, right there—bring a date and i said—" and rafe laughs against her neck, low and breathless, and says, "baby, baby. love you, but i swear to god i’m gonna need you to stop talking about kelce right now." and she'll blink up at him, dazed and flushed, and whisper, "m’ sorry. you just make my brain go all fuzzy." and then he's kissing her again because she's so unbelievably ridiculous and he puts up with it.
hypersexual!reader who has a habit of asking for the most unhinged things in the sweetest voice, like she's requesting a refill on her iced latte. they'll be lying in bed, post round one, her tracing patterns on his chest while he catches his breath, and she'll prop her chin on his sternum and say, "hey, rafey? can you choke me next time? like, not too hard, but hard enough that i feel it the next day?" and he just blinks at the ceiling for a solid five seconds before looking down at her with an expression somewhere between disbelief and desperate arousal. "you can't just say shit like that," he manages, voice wrecked, and she tilts her head like a confused kitten and says, "why not? you'd be so good at it! you've got such big hands." he has to take a moment. then he rolls her onto her back, wraps a careful palm around her throat, and watches her eyes flutter shut with a breathy little "finally." that makes him dizzy. she babbles through the whole thing about how safe she feels, how much she trusts him, how she knew he'd be perfect at this too, and afterward she's so blissed out she just curls into his side and murmurs, "told you," before passing out cold.
hypersexual!reader she has a habit of crawling into his lap during the most inconvenient moments, and rafe has stopped being surprised by it. movie night? she's sideways in his lap, legs hooked over the armrest, twirling her hair and whispering commentary about the film directly into his ear. family dinner at the camerons'? she's perched on his thigh like it's her assigned seat, passing him bread rolls and trailing her fingers up his forearm under the table until he has to excuse himself to adjust his pants. the worst, or best, depending on who's asking, is when he's on the phone with barry, pacing the driveway and trying to handle business, and she pads out in nothing but his button down, climbs onto his lap right there on the porch bench, and starts kissing his neck. "i'm on the phone," he mouths, but she just smiles against his pulse point and whispers, "i'll be quiet," in a tone that promises she absolutely will not. barry hangs up three minutes into rafe's increasingly distracted responses, and rafe doesn't even call him back.
hypersexual!reader who develops a pavlovian response to the sound of his belt unbuckling, which would be embarrassing if she had any shame left. it starts during a particularly tense fight that isn't really a fight, just him wound tight from a deal gone sideways, pacing his room like a caged animal, and she's perched on her knees on the bed trying to figure out how to help. he yanks his belt free in one sharp motion, more frustration than intent, and she just melts. visibly. pupils blowing wide, thighs pressing together, a tiny involuntary sound catching in her throat. he freezes, belt still in hand, looks at her with that slow, calculating head tilt, and pieces it together instantly. "oh, you like that?" his voice drops into something dark and curious, and she can only nod, glossy lips parted, completely caught. now he uses it against her constantly. will casually start loosening his belt in public just to watch her squirm, hooking his thumb in the leather with a half smirk while she completely loses her train of thought mid conversation. the first time he wraps it around his knuckles and uses the folded leather to tap her inner thigh, gentle, teasing. she makes a sound she's never made before, and he adds it to his mental arsenal.
hypersexual!reader who discovers a mirror kink by accident, or maybe not, because everything she does feels calculated in a way rafe is still learning to decode. they're in his bathroom, her freshly showered and perched on the marble counter in just a towel, him standing between her legs while she complains about having to move her nail appointment. he's half listening, more focused on the way her towel's slipping, when she glances at the mirror behind him and just stops talking. her eyes lock on their reflection, on the way his bare back looks, on her own post shower glow, and she breathes out a tiny "oh" that's all curiosity and zero shame. "wait," she says, pushing at his chest until he turns around, until she's facing the mirror with him pressed up behind her, "i wanna watch." and rafe gets so hard so fast he has to brace his hands on the counter. she watches herself with wide, greedy eyes the whole time, chattering away about how pretty they look together, how good he fills her up, how she wishes she could film it for later, and he comes harder than he has in weeks, face buried in her damp hair, rearranging his entire mental list of turn ons around this single moment. the mirror fogs up by the end, and she draws a little heart in the condensation with her fingertip, prints still smudged on the glass, and hums, "we should do that again tonight." and they do.
hypersexual!reader who gets it in her head that she wants to roleplay the classic "stranger at a bar" scenario, and rafe's initial reaction is a flat, unimpressed stare. "you want me to pretend i don't know you?" he says, leaning against the kitchen counter with a beer in hand, and she's already bouncing on her heels in a dress that barely covers her ass, nodding so fast her earrings jangle. "it'll be fun! you'll be all mysterious and broody—well, broodier—and i’ll be a ditzy little thing you pick up." he takes a long sip, eyes narrowing. "you are a ditzy little thing i picked up." she gasps, hand flying to her chest in mock offense, but her grin is pure trouble. "rafe! be meaner. pretend you don't like me yet." so he does. he slides onto the stool next to her with a cold, appraising look that sends a shiver down her spine, and orders a whiskey without breaking eye contact. she plays her part so well, twirling her hair, biting her glossed lip, asking if he comes here often in that breathy, clueless voice, that he almost forgets they've been together for months. by the time he's got her spawned out on the kitchen island, her legs on his shoulders and his name a wrecked chant on her lips, she's babbling about how he's so good at this, how she felt like she was cheating on him with him, and he just laughs against her throat, a low, surprised sound, and says, "you're batshit, you know that?" she hums, nails raking down his back.
hypersexual!reader who has a thing for waking him up with her mouth, which rafe discovers on a random tuesday when he blinks awake to find her already under the covers, working him over with the kind of lazy, unhurried dedication that says she's been at it for a while. "what the f—" he starts, voice wrecked with sleep, and she pops up from under the blanket like a daisy, hair a mess, lip gloss long gone, and beams at him. "morning baby. you just looked so pretty, i couldn't help myself." he stares at her, chest heaving, one hand fisting the sheets while his brain reboots, and she just ducks back down without waiting for a response. it becomes a thing after that, he never knows when he's gonna wake up to her mouth or her hands or her already sinking down onto him with a contented little sigh, murmuring about how she couldn't sleep and he felt so warm next to her and she just wanted to feel close. he starts going to bed earlier just to give her more time, not that he'd ever admit it. one morning she's so focused she doesn't notice he's awake until he's flipping them over and pinning her wrists, "my turn" against her throat, and she just giggles and spreads her legs wider and says, "finally! i was getting lonely up here."
hypersexual!reader who gets obsessed with the idea of being his "good girl" in the most literal sense, wants rules, wants praise, wants him to tell her exactly what to do and then reward her for doing it. rafe thinks it's ridiculous at first, this hyper feminine little thing asking him to "give her structure," but then she's kneeling on his bedroom floor with her hands folded in her lap, looking up at him with those big eyes, asking "how can i be good for you today?" and something in his brain short circuits. he starts small. she texts him her outfits for approval, asks permission before touching herself, waits for his nod before she orders at restaurants. and every time she follows a rule, she glows, preening under his muttered "good girl" like it's a standing ovation. the sex is unreal, she's so eager to please, so responsive to every command, melting into a puddle of breathless gratitude when he tells her she's taking him so well, she's being so perfect, she's the best girl. after, she's curled up against his side, tracing shapes on his chest, and she whispers, "do i get a gold star?" and he laughs so hard he pulls a muscle, then kisses her forehead and says, "i'll get you a whole sticker chart, baby."
hypersexual!reader who has a habit of saying the most unhinged shit mid bite of a salad, like her brain and mouth have zero filter between them. they're at lunch with sarah and john b, some tense double date thing rafe only agreed to because she asked, and she suddenly sets down her fork, tilts her head, and says to no one in particular, "i think i have an oral fixation. like, not just with food. with everything. rafey's fingers, his d—" and rafe chokes on his water so violently sarah has to thump him on the back. "what the fuck," he coughs, eyes watering, and she just blinks at him with genuine confusion like she forgot other people were at the table. "what? it's a real thing— i read about it." john b is staring at the ceiling like he's praying for death, sarah is bright red, and rafe is gripping the edge of the table with both hands, jaw tight, a vein ticking in his forehead. "we're leaving," he announces, throwing cash on the table, and she pouts the whole way to the car about how she was just trying to share, she thought they were all friends. he doesn't say a word until they're in the truck, and then he just turns to her with this wild, incredulous look and says, "you cannot say shit like that in front of my sister. ever. i fucking mean it." she crosses her arms, lower lip jutting out, and mutters, "fine. but you know i'm right." he drags a hand down his face, starts the engine, and doesn't speak for five full minutes. then, quieter "i know." and she beams.
hypersexual!reader who has a habit of absentmindedly touching herself while they watch movies, not even in a performative way, just idly slipping a hand between her thighs under the blanket while she’s curled against his side, eyes glued to the screen, breath hitching so subtly he almost doesn’t notice. the first time it happens, he glances down and sees the movement, the blanket shifting, her bottom lip caught between her teeth, and he goes still. “are you serious right now?” he asks, voice a low rasp, and she turns to him with those big, startled eyes like she forgot he was there. “oh! m’ sorry, just felt good,” she pouts, completely unashamed, but starts to pull her hand away. he stops her, wrist caught in his grip, guiding it back where it was. “don’t stop. let me see.” after that, movie nights become a gamble, she’ll either fall asleep on his chest twenty minutes in or end up straddling him with the credits rolling, both of them too wrecked to remember what they watched.
first time writing little blurbs/headcanons (???) like this and i luv theyre so fun and cute. i have a really good rafe fic idea and i got inspo from a video i’d seen on twitter so im excited😫 but i also wanna write a fic for the 4th but sooo undecided on if i should do rafe, garrett or dean ughhegsgshsg help & send ideas!!!! kisses to u all<3
𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: age gap (reader is mentioned as 23, rafe as 39), established relationship, older boyfriend!rafe, reader insert (no y/n), secret relationship, lying to parents, class differences, kissing, making out, groping, grinding, dirty talk, praise, alcohol (wine), domestic intimacy.
𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦: your first sleepover at older boyfriend!rafe’s house is full of tiny discoveries: a junk drawer, a half-finished cup of coffee, your favorite creamer in his fridge, and all the little ways he was already making room for you long before you ever walked through the front door.
𝑎/𝑛: genuinely by the time i finished writing and did my final proofread of this, i couldn’t help but giggle and kick my feet. i really don’t love the idea of writing fan fictions about real people, but some parts of this feels more like what i’d imagine drew to be like and less like canon rafe if he was older. he’s pretty soft here, but i love him this way. i hope you guys do too ♡
𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 8.4k
your phone buzzes on your desk at 4:56 PM.
you're halfway through folding laundry when the vibration makes you freeze, a t-shirt dangling from your hands. you pick it up expecting a text from a friend, but your stomach drops the second you see rafe's name.
Pack a bag.
you stare at it. read it twice. three times. your thumbs hover over the keyboard, but you don't ask what for. you don't ask where or why or how long. you just know.
are you serious
three dots appear. disappear. appear again.
Very.
oh god. your heart is actually racing now.
you press your phone to your chest and let out a breathless laugh that's half excitement, half panic. you want this so badly your hands are shaking. but the thought of lying to your parents makes something twist in your stomach. you glance at the time. 4:59 PM. if you're going to do this, you have got to move fast. there's a really big chance that you can't pull this off. an even bigger chance that your mom shuts it down. but you're willing to try.
it takes you twenty minutes to come up with something believable. a trip to the mainland last minute with stella from your old sociology class. her friend bailed. you'd be back tomorrow evening. that's believable, right? you practice it four times in the mirror, watching your own face for tells. you look nervous and giddy. way too fucking giddy. you try again, aiming for casual, but casual isn't happening.
you pull your duffel bag out from under your bed and start packing, grabbing a change of clothes and the cute pajamas, the ones that don't look like you're trying too hard, your toothbrush and deodorant and phone charger. your hands hesitate over your underwear drawer, but you grab a matching set, just in case, and shove it to the bottom of the bag where your mom wouldn't see it if she happened to glance inside. god, that would be embarrassing.
downstairs, you can hear the tv on in the living room, your dad's low voice asking your mom something about dinner. you zip the bag shut and stand there for a second, staring at it. this is actually happening.
your mom is easier to convince than you expected. she's loading the dishwasher when you come downstairs, duffel bag slung over your shoulder. "hey, so stella from one of my old classes just texted. her friend bailed on this trip to the mainland and she asked if i wanted to go. i know it's last minute, but—"
your mom glances up, wiping her hands on a towel. "tonight?"
"yeah. she could come pick me up now. i'd be back tomorrow afternoon or so..."
she looks at you for a long moment, and your heart hammers against your ribs. please don't ask more questions. please don't look closer.
"stella... from college?"
"yeah."
"and you'll text me when you get there?"
"of course." immediately.
she smiles. "okay... have fun, sweetie. be safe. and text me when you get there, okay?"
the ease of it almost makes you feel worse. "i will. thanks, mom." you kiss her cheek and head for the door before she can ask any more questions, before the lie can show on your face and ruin everything.
by 5:30 PM, you're standing on the corner a block away from your house, duffel bag at your feet, phone clutched in your hand. the sun is starting to dip lower, casting long shadows across the pavement. the neighborhood is quiet. a dog barks somewhere in the distance. you shift your weight from foot to foot, your leg bouncing slightly. you check your phone. 5:31. then 5:32. what if he doesn't show up? or what if he changed his mind? what if—
then you see it—his black truck, pulling up beneath the shade of the oaks, windows tinted dark. relief crashes through you so hard it almost knocks the air out of you. you'd recognize it anywhere. you grab your bag and hurry down the sidewalk, glancing over your shoulder once, twice, before yanking open the passenger door and climbing inside.
the cool air hits you immediately. the ac is cranked high, carrying the faint scent of his cologne mixed with his black ice scented car freshener. the leather seat is cool beneath your thighs. the door closes with a solid thunk.
rafe is leaning back in the driver's seat, one hand resting on the wheel, the other draped casually over the center console. he's wearing a linen button-down, sleeves rolled to his forearms, and there's a faint shadow of stubble along his jaw. he looks casual. so unfairly casual.
he doesn't pull away from the curb yet. instead he just looks at you. his eyes move down your face to your hands gripping the bag, then back up. his mouth curves into a smirk.
"look at you," he murmurs, his voice low. "sneakin' away like a little criminal."
heat floods your cheeks instantly. you drop your bag to the floorboards and fumble with your seatbelt, trying not to meet his eyes. your fingers feel clumsy, uncoordinated. he's watching you. "i'm not—"
"no?"
you freeze. he's still watching you, that smirk fully formed now.
"checkin' over your shoulder like that?" he says, tilting his head slightly. his eyes drop to your hands where they're fumbling with the seatbelt, then back to your face. "trembling."
"i am not trembling."
"yeah, you are."
you bite your lip, fighting a smile. he's impossible. "c'mere," he says, and his voice drops, and you don't hesitate. you lean across the console and kiss him, hard and desperate. the leather of the seat creaks slightly beneath you. you can taste the faint hint of coffee on his mouth. your fingers find his shoulders and for a second you forget why you were even nervous.
you lean in again, throwing your arms around his neck, peppering soft, quick kisses along his jaw. he smiles against your skin. you kiss the corner of his mouth, then his cheek, then back to his lips, and he's making a low sound in his throat, his hands coming up to cup your face.
"hi," he says against your mouth, teasing.
you pull back just far enough to look at him, your face flushed. "hi yourself," you murmur, and he grins before kissing you properly again, deeper this time.
when you finally pull back, you're both breathing harder. his hand smooths down your back, his thumb tracing small circles against your spine.
"been waitin' all day for that," he murmurs against your lips.
you pull back just enough to look at him, your face flushed. "yeah?"
"yeah." his eyes are dark. "you?"
"maybe," you say, trying to play it cool, but he sees right through you. he always does.
he starts to protest, but then his eyes are catching on your hair falling across your shoulder and his hand moves, tucking it back behind your ear. his fingers linger there for a second, warm against your skin.
"what?" you ask, breathless.
"mm, nothin'." he's still looking at you like he lost his train of thought, but then he blinks. "you smell good."
"rafe—"
"you do." he's laughing now—quiet, rough.
you bury your face in the crook of his neck, embarrassed, and he wraps his arms around you properly, his hand smoothing up your back. you feel him smile against your hair.
"alright," he says after a moment, and his hand slides down to your waist, squeezes once. "sit back before your neighbors see something they shouldn't."
you obey reluctantly, buckling yourself in, and he's still watching you with that amused expression. he shifts the car into drive, one hand returning to the wheel while the other finds your thigh, his palm warm against your skin.
the neighborhood disappears behind you, and for the first time all day, you let yourself breathe.
the drive starts familiar, your neighborhood with its modest coastal cottages and beach box houses. rafe's hand stays on your thigh, his thumb tracing absent patterns. god, his hands are huge. after a few minutes, he glances over at you.
"you're quiet," he says.
you bite your lip, staying silent for a moment. "i lied to my mom."
"figured. what'd you tell her?"
"just... a really elaborate lie. about going to the mainland with stella. she believed me immediately and i guess now i feel—" you exhale shakily. "kinda guilty?"
his hand squeezes your thigh gently. "want me to turn around?"
"no," you say quickly, maybe too quickly. the thought of turning around makes your chest clench. and he smiles, like he already knew that would be your answer.
"then stop worryin' about it."
"easy for you to say."
"sweetheart." his voice is patient. "you're twenty-three."
"yeah," you mutter. "but you're thirty nine."
he doesn't argue with that. he just keeps driving, his hand warm on your leg. you watch the scenery change outside the window, the neighborhoods becoming progressively nicer. after a moment you reach down and lace your fingers through his. he glances at you again, something soft crossing his face, and brings your joined hands up to brush a kiss against your knuckles.
"you nervous?"
"a little," you admit. your stomach's been in knots since you got in the truck.
"yeah?" he says, his mouth curving slightly. "good. means you're gonna hold onto me the whole drive."
you roll your eyes but you're smiling now, heat creeping up your neck. you look out the window and watch as the landscape begins to shift. the houses get bigger, set farther back from the street. gated communities with brick columns and wrought iron. the kind of places where you definitely don't belong.
"wait," you say, sitting up straighter. "this is where you live? like, this area?"
"further north," he says.
"of course you do," you murmur, and he laughs—low and genuine. that's where almost all of the wealthy people live. the absolute northernmost area of the island.
"what's that supposed to mean?"
"nothing. just..." you gesture vaguely at the massive houses passing by. "very you. very well off person who has everything figured out."
"very me," he repeats, smirking. "that an insult?"
"no. i just mean—" you're fumbling now. heat is creeping up your neck. "you probably have like a… a fountain, or something don't you?"
he doesn't answer, which is answer enough. you groan and cover your face with your free hand.
"oh my god. you do."
"came with the house," he says, and there's that edge again, like he was waiting for you to notice.
"rafe. nobody's house just comes with a fountain."
"mine did."
you're laughing now, and his hand tightens on yours. the streetlights get fewer and farther between. the trees grow taller, older, spanish moss dripping from the branches. you watch it all pass through the tinted window, hyperaware of the way his thumb is tracing circles against your palm.
"how much further?" you ask after a while.
"ten minutes."
your stomach flips. ten minutes until you're actually at his house. ten minutes until this stops being theoretical. you nod and look back out the window, biting the inside of your cheek. the road narrows. suddenly there are no more houses at all—just dense forest on either side.
"rafe?"
"yeah?"
"is it... big? your house?"
he glances at you, something unreadable in his expression. "figured you'd see for yourself."
"that's not an answer."
"you'll see in a minute."
"that's not reassuring," you mutter, and he laughs again, his hand leaving yours only to slide higher up your thigh. your breath catches slightly.
"you think too much," he says.
"no i don't."
"yeah, you do." he glances at you. "can hear it from here."
you huff, but you're smiling. "well, excuse me for being a little nervous about seeing where you live for the first time. seems like it deserves a reasonable amount of overthinking."
"why?"
"because—" you falter, searching for the words. your heart is actually pounding now. "because i've never been to your house before. because i don't know what to expect. because—"
"hey." his voice is lower now, and his hand squeezes your thigh. "s'just a house."
"yeah... with a fountain."
"i told you, it came with—"
"i know what you said," you interrupt, grinning despite yourself. "i'm just saying... it doesn't sound like just a house. it sounds like a place where people like me don't really... fit."
he's quiet for a moment. then the trees break, and you see it: the ocean, dark and endless, the last of the sunset turning the water to gold.
"oh," you breathe.
rafe's hand tightens on your thigh. "almost there."
you can't look away from the water. you've always known he had money. you'd have to be blind not to notice the car, the watch, the way he never looks at a price tag. but knowing it and seeing it are two different things.
he turns onto a private drive, oyster shells crunching under the tires. the forest opens up into something softer. sea grass and palmetto palms and flowering bushes you don't know the names of. it feels impossible to believe that there's a spot in a place like this for a girl like you.
"you alright over there?" he asks quietly, his eyes still on the road but his hand finding your thigh again.
you nod, not trusting your voice. your throat feels tight.
and then you see it. his house rising up ahead, low and modern with clean lines and huge windows that catch the last of the light. white siding, dark wood, a wraparound porch. there's a fountain in the circular drive.
you sit there, staring. this is his house. he actually lives here.
"told you," he says. "came with the house."
you let out a breathless laugh, but you're already unbuckling your seatbelt, already climbing out. the air smells like salt and jasmine and moss. the ocean is louder here.
rafe's already beside you, taking your duffel bag from your hand. "c'mon, baby."
he unlocks the front door and you follow him inside, and your breath catches. the space opens up in front of you: vaulted ceilings, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the ocean, furniture that looks expensive but lived-in. warm wood floors beneath your feet. the kitchen is all marble and stainless steel, and the entire back wall is glass.
but that's not what makes you stop in your tracks.
it's the sneakers by the door. one tipped over on its side. the heel scuffed. the coffee mug on the side table—there's still liquid inside it. cold by now, probably. the book left open on the arm of the couch, pages down. the spine is creased, well-loved. a hoodie draped over the back of a kitchen chair, slate grey. mail stacked on the console table. a ceramic bowl filled with keys. coins scattered among them. a receipt folded in half.
"oh wow," you whisper.
rafe's leaning against the doorframe, watching you. "what?"
"i don't know... you actually live here."
"well, yeah."
"no, i mean—" you gesture at the mug, the book, the shoes. "like you woke up here this morning. you drank coffee. you left a book on the couch. you're just... you exist here."
"yeah, baby." he's grinning now. "i live here."
you turn in a slow circle, taking it in. the throw blanket on the couch, worn smooth in places. the record player in the corner with a stack of vinyl beside it. you can see the edges of the album covers, the colors faded from sunlight. the way the light hits the kitchen island. there's a pen on the counter, uncapped. a grocery list stuck to the fridge with a magnet. the handwriting is unmistakably his—sharp, efficient, organized. there's a small framed photo on the mantle.
it's a much younger him and an older woman. she has his eyes.
"your mom?" you ask, not turning around.
"yeah," he says from behind you. "that's her."
you nod. you're standing in a photo of his life, looking at a photo of his mother, and something about it makes your chest feel tight. you don't know why exactly.
you wander into the kitchen, running your fingers along the cool granite. you open a cabinet without thinking and find glasses that are neatly stacked. you close it quickly, then you open another one. plates. another. bowls. you find a drawer filled with what looks like chaos: takeout menus, rubber bands, batteries, a phone charger with a frayed cord, business cards held together with a rubber band.
"this is a disaster," you say, gesturing at the chaos.
"yeah, well." he leans against the counter, crossing his arms. "that's where the random shit lives."
he has a junk drawer. like a normal person. and somehow that makes him feel more real.
you keep exploring, walking over to the refrigerator. there are photos held up with magnets. you pull open the fridge. it's surprisingly well-stocked. fresh vegetables, eggs, butter, a few bottles of expensive wine. there's a bottle of your favorite creamer on the second shelf.
"...is this mine?" you ask quietly, reaching for it.
he glances over from where he's started pulling things from the pantry. "hm?"
"the creamer."
"yeah."
your hand goes still. he bought this. he went to the store and bought the specific creamer you like and put it in his fridge knowing—knowing—that you'd eventually open this door and see it.
you don't say anything else. just put it back and close the fridge. your hands feel a little shaky. he just keeps moving, setting things on the counter. olive oil. garlic. a package of fresh pasta. basil in a small pot on the windowsill. he planned this. he really planned this.
"you're gonna cook?" you ask, wandering back over to the island, trying to sound casual.
"thought i'd make dinner." he's already pulling out a cutting board. "that alright with you?"
"yeah, i just—" you climb onto one of the barstools. "i didn't know you cooked."
"i don't really," he says, starting to chop garlic. "at least not all the time."
"so what, do you doordash?" you ask.
he stops chopping and looks at you, one eyebrow raised. "doordash?"
"i don't know." you shrug, smiling sheepishly. "i just thought you maybe had people bring you food or something."
"what am i, ninety?" he says flatly, going back to the garlic.
"you're almost forty."
he stops. looks at you again, his expression something between offended and amused. "that's rude."
you smile, and can't help but giggle. "i've been waiting to use that."
he shakes his head and goes back to chopping, but there's a small smile on his face. "old man," you mutter, and he flicks a piece of garlic at you without even looking.
you laugh again, ducking, and he pours you a glass of wine without asking. he slides it across the counter and you take a sip. it's cold and crisp. you watch him work, the knife against the board, the way he moves through the space like he's done this a thousand times. his forearms tanned and flexing. you take another sip of wine. stop staring.
the smell of garlic hits you suddenly, sharp and pungent, and your mouth waters. he's stirring something, and the pan hisses when he adds more ingredients. the smell becoming richer.
"so you cook couple times a week then?" you ask, genuinely curious now.
"yeah," he says, not looking up from what he's doing. "relaxes me."
you put that away for later. you take another sip of wine and notice him glance at you, then back at the stove.
"how long have you lived here?" you ask.
"couple years."
"do you like it?"
"yeah." he doesn't elaborate.
you wander away from the counter, drawn to the bookshelf in the living room. you run your fingers along the spines. cookbooks, mostly, but also novels you recognize, a few nonfiction titles about business, some memoirs. there's a small ceramic bowl on the shelf, filled with shells and smooth stones. you pick up one of the shells, turning it over in your hands. it's worn soft at the edges.
"you collect shells?" you call out.
"hm?" he appears in the kitchen doorway, wooden spoon in hand. "nah. just stuff i find."
you put it back and keep browsing. you find a photo album wedged between two books and pull it out, but you don't open it because that feels too invasive. there's a record player in the corner with a stack of vinyl beside it. you read the titles, trying to piece together who he is. old soul records sitting next to indie rock sitting next to classical. it doesn't match what you expected.
"you comin' back over here or you gonna take inventory of my whole house?" he calls out.
"just getting to know the place," you call back. you head back to the kitchen anyway, perching on the barstool again.
he's stirred the sauce, added something else. the kitchen smells incredible. your stomach rumbles, and he glances at you, his mouth curving slightly.
"almost ready," he says. "grab some plates from that cabinet." he nods toward one on the far side of the kitchen.
you hop down and pull out two plates, setting them on the counter beside him. he plates the pasta with ease, and without thinking, you lean up and press a quick kiss to his cheek. "thank you, rafe." you murmur.
he looks momentarily stunned, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly before he catches your chin with his free hand and tilts your face toward his. he kisses you properly, soft and warm before handing over the plate.
steam rises from it. you take a bite before you even sit back down, and make a small sound of approval without meaning to.
"not bad for a guy who survives on doordash, huh." he says, settling onto the stool next to you.
you laugh, nudging him with your elbow. "i didn't say you survive on doordash. i just—"
"you absolutely implied it."
"okay, fine. i thought you did. clearly i was wrong." you take another bite. "this is actually really good."
he takes a bite of his pasta, watching you. "you taste wine with this?" he asks, nodding at your glass.
"not yet," you take another sip of the wine. the flavors pair perfectly. "oh. wow."
"hm," he says, like that was the obvious choice all along, and goes back to eating.
you eat in comfortable silence for a while. it's easy, and you find yourself leaning slightly into his space, your knee brushing his under the counter. he doesn't move away. if anything, he shifts closer. his hand finds your lower back at one point, stays there for a moment while he reaches for his wine glass with the other, then moves away. he feeds you a bite of his pasta with his fork, watching you carefully as you taste it. your face flushes.
"this is really good," you say after a few minutes, your voice slightly smaller than before.
"you already said that."
"i know. but it is. like, genuinely."
he glances at you, then back at his plate. you watch him for a second, then go back to your own food. there's something intimate about eating together like this, sitting close in his kitchen, the ocean visible through the massive windows behind you.
when you're finished eating, you start to stand, reaching for his plate, but he catches your wrist gently.
"leave it," he says.
"rafe, i can—"
"sweetheart, just leave it."
you hesitate, then sit back down. he stands, rounding the island to rinse his hands in the sink. he leaves the plates where they are, just washes his hands and turns back to you.
"you wanna go for a walk?" he asks.
you look surprised. "now?"
"why not?"
you glance at the plates, then back at him. "the sun's almost gone."
"i know." he's already moving toward the glass doors that lead to the deck. "come on."
you follow him, and he doesn't wait for you to grab shoes. you slip off the barstool and just follow him outside. the air hits you immediately, cooler than this afternoon. salt-laced and clean. the sky is still holding onto the last traces of daylight, deep blue fading to violet at the horizon. the ocean sounds different. louder.
"oh my god," you breathe, stopping to look around. "this is—rafe, this is insane."
"you think so?" he says, and there's that slight curve to his mouth. he's watching you, not the view.
"you just— walk out here whenever you want?"
"pretty much."
you shake your head, laughing. the privilege of it is almost absurd. "you're so lucky. the beach back home is always packed with tourists."
"you can come here whenever you want," he says, and when you glance at him, he's already looking at you like he's imagining you here, coming back, making this a habit. "you know that, right?"
"really?" you ask, your voice softer now.
"yeah, baby. any time."
you walk a little further, the water getting closer. the sand is soft and still warm from the day, giving slightly under your weight. it's quiet out here. just you and him and the sound of the ocean.
"wait," you say suddenly, stopping. "do you swim out here?"
he huffs a laugh. "mm, sometimes."
"at night?"
"yeah."
"that's terrifying."
"nah." he tugs you closer, his arm sliding around your waist. "it's peaceful. we should sometime."
"it's dark," you counter, but you're grinning now, leaning into him. "what if there's like a shark or something?"
"wouldn't stand a chance against me."
you burst out laughing, shoving at his chest. "you're ridiculous."
"i'm serious." he's grinning too now, catching your hand before you can pull away completely. "what— you think i'm lettin' a shark get you?"
"oh my god, stop—"
but he's already pulling you in, kissing you mid-laugh. his hand cups the back of your neck, and you melt into it immediately. his other hand finds the small of your back, pulling you flush against him. he tastes like salt and wine. when he pulls back you're both smiling, both a little breathless.
he kisses you again, softer this time. "hi," he murmurs, teasing.
you pull back just enough to look at him, feeling heat creep up your neck. "hi," you say sheepishly, and he grins before leaning in to kiss you again—quick pecks along your jaw, your temple, the corner of your mouth.
you're still catching your breath when he pulls back to look at you. his thumb brushes across your bottom lip, slow enough to make your stomach flip.
"jesus..." he murmurs, almost to himself. "look at you." the way he says it makes your cheeks heat up.
"c'mere."
"i'm already here."
"not close enough."
heat floods your face and you kiss him again, because what else are you supposed to do when he looks at you like that? he smiles into it immediately, both hands gripping your waist as you melt against him. when you finally pull back, he's still looking at you with that same expression.
"what am i gonna do with you, huh?" he murmurs.
you pull back and look out at the water. the last of the sunlight is turning everything gold. the wind picks up, and you shiver slightly. your bare feet are cold against the sand.
rafe doesn't say anything. he just pulls off his zip up and drapes it over your shoulders before you can protest. it's warm from his body, and it swallows you—the sleeves falling past your wrists, the hem hitting mid-thigh. you wrap it around yourself and breathe in.
"alright," he says, taking your hand. "let's go back in before you freeze."
you follow him back up the beach, your fingers laced with his. when you reach the deck you notice your shoes still sitting there by the door. right next to his, like they belong there.
the warmth of the house wraps around you when you step back inside. the dishes are still on the counter. he's already moving past that, gesturing toward the couch. "c'mere, baby."
he picks up the remote and scrolls through something on the tv. a movie flickers to life on the screen, but you're not really watching. you're watching him. the way he moves. the way he tosses the remote onto the coffee table like he's done it a thousand times. he settles beside you on the couch, and you don't hesitate. you shift closer immediately, tucking yourself against his side. his arm comes around you properly, his hand settling at your waist, his fingers splaying wide against your ribs. the cotton of his shirt is soft beneath your palm. you can feel his heartbeat under your fingertips. it's faster than you expect.
"better?" he asks.
"much," you say.
he presses a kiss to the top of your head, then to your temple, then to the corner of your mouth. you turn slightly and catch his lips properly, and he makes a soft sound before pulling back. his hand comes up to cup the back of your neck, his thumb brushing the soft skin there, and he's kissing you again before you can take a full breath.
this kiss is different. slower. he takes his time, pressing his lips to yours once, twice, then deeper—his tongue tracing the seam of your mouth until you open for him. when he licks into your mouth, your stomach clenches and heat pools low between your thighs. you make a small sound against his mouth and he groans, pulling you closer.
his hand tightens on your neck—not rough, but firm. his other hand finds your waist and he's pulling you toward him, and you're moving without thinking, your knee sliding up onto the couch cushion.
suddenly you're half in his lap, your hands gripping his shoulders. he pulls you the rest of the way, adjusting you so you're straddling him properly. the kiss turns messy. his tongue slides against yours and he tastes like the wine from dinner, like salt air, like want. you press yourself against him and feel the hard line of his cock between your thighs where you need him most
his hands grip your hips and he pulls you tighter against him, harder. his fingers dig into the soft flesh there, and you whimper into his mouth, clenching around absolutely nothing.
"yeah?" he asks, and his voice is rough. "you like that?"
you nod, but it's not enough. you pull back just slightly, still straddling him, still breathing hard. your eyes meet his and for a second neither of you moves. you can feel the slight dampness between your legs, the way your panties are starting clinging to you. god, you're already wet for him and he hasn't even hardly touched you.
"please," you whisper, and your voice comes out small and broken and completely helpless. "i need you."
he watches you for a moment, and you can see him fighting it. fighting himself. and you're trembling slightly, still twitching against him, your hips moving in these tiny involuntary circles because you can't help it. you need friction. you need him.
"fuck, baby—" he pulls you back down, kissing you harder now, messier. like he's trying to devour you.
"need more," you whine against his mouth, the words coming out breathless and desperate. he groans into your neck, kissing along the line of your throat, his hands shaking slightly.
his free hand slides down your back, past your waist, and grips your ass, pulling you harder against him. you can feel exactly how much he wants you. the strain of his jeans, the hard heat of him pressing right where you need it most.
"please—" you say it against his mouth, just that one word, and he groans like you've actually hurt him.
for a moment it feels like it could go either way. like he could just keep going, like he could bend you over the back of this couch and—
but then he stops.
it's sudden enough that it takes your breath away. his hands still. his kiss gentles, though he keeps his mouth on yours for just a second longer. then he pulls back, and you can see the tension in his jaw, the way his breathing is ragged.
"hey—" he says quietly. "look at me."
you're already looking at him, but he reaches up anyway and cups your face with both hands, his thumbs settling on your cheeks. he tilts your chin up slightly, forcing your eyes to stay locked on his. up close like this, you can see exactly how much restraint this is costing him. his pupils are blown, his breathing heavy, a flush creeping up his neck.
"gotta be good for me, alright?" he says, and his voice is rough. rough in a way that makes your stomach clench. "can you do that? be patient for me?"
be patient? wait? you're not sure you can sit here and not combust. you nod, but your eyes are already tracking down to his mouth. to the way his lips are swollen from kissing you, the slight shine on his mouth. you want to lean in and taste him again so badly your whole body aches with it. your hips shift slightly, just an inch, testing—
"look at me," he repeats, not unkindly, and you snap your gaze back to his immediately, but it takes actual effort. like your body doesn't want to listen to anything but the pull toward him.
"good girl," he murmurs, and the praise hits you somewhere deep. his thumbs trace your cheekbones, gentle now, tender. "we're gonna do this right. but not tonight, yeah? tonight you're just gonna sit with me."
you nod again because you can't speak. because you're trembling slightly, something hot buzzing just beneath your skin. and he's holding your face like you're something precious and the contradiction of it—the softness and the absolute control—is making you dizzy. some part of you is thinking how long you can actually wait before you lose your mind.
he kisses your forehead, then releases your face. his hand finds your waist instead and settle there.
"c'mon," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple. then your temple. then the corner of your mouth. his breathing is still heavy. "sit with me."
but when you shift to move beside him on the couch, he pulls you back into his lap instead. his arms wrap around you from behind, anchoring you against his chest. you can feel him beneath you, still hard, but he's resting his chin on your shoulder like this is enough. like just holding you like this is enough for right now.
the movie plays on. you're not watching it. you're not even pretending to watch it. you're hyperaware of every point of contact between your bodies. his arms around your waist, his chin on your shoulder, his hands occasionally drifting lower before he catches himself. his breathing is steady now, but you can feel his heartbeat. fast, still affected by what just happened between you.
after a while, he presses a kiss to the side of your neck. "you okay?" he murmurs.
"yeah,"
"good." another kiss, this time to the sensitive spot behind your ear. you feel it shoot straight down your spine. his hand tightens on your waist. he doesn’t make it easy.
you sit like that for a while, existing in this space between wanting and waiting. his breathing eventually steadies, but his hands don't stop moving, tracing patterns on your ribs, your waist, your back.
eventually, you shift position slightly, turning so you can rest your head in his lap. his hand immediately finds your hair, fingers threading through it gently, stroking from your crown down to the ends. you have no idea what's happening on screen anymore.
"mm, you're gettin' sleepy," he says after a while, his fingers still moving through your hair.
"'m not," you murmur, but your eyes are already closing.
"no? cuz it looks like it."
"but i'm awake," you protest, but your words are soft, slurring slightly.
his fingers keep moving through your hair, up and down, up and down, a small, knowing smiling playing on his lips.
"c'mon, baby," he says softly. "let's get you to bed."
you want to argue, but you're too tired. so you just nod, and he helps you sit up, his hand steadying you. your legs are a little unsteady. the darkness wraps around you. your bare feet are cold against the hardwood floor. but his hand is warm against the small of your back.
the bedroom is at the end of the hall. when he pushes the door open, you stop in the doorway for a second. clean lines, dark wood furniture, a massive bed with crisp white sheets. there's a watch box on the dresser, a book on the nightstand, a pair of his shoes by the closet door. it smells like him.
"bathroom's through there," he says, nodding toward a door on the far wall. his hand is still on your back.
you nod and cross the room. the bathroom door is slightly ajar, and when you push it open, the light flickers on automatically. it's beautiful. all white marble and clean glass. you step inside, your bare feet cold against the tile, and that's when you see it.
a toothbrush. sitting on the counter beside the sink. in your favorite color.
you freeze. your hand hovers over the counter. it's just a toothbrush. just plastic. but he bought this. he put it here. your eyes move to the folded fabric beside it. silk pajamas, soft and expensive. your size. you reach out and touch them, the material slipping through your fingers like water.
there are bottles lined up near the shower. you pick one up, turning it over in your hands. light and floral. the scent hits you immediately—something that reminds you of the perfume you wear on special occasions.
your hands are shaking slightly when you set it back down.
you hear him before you see him. his presence fills the doorway. when you turn, he's leaning against the frame with his arms crossed, watching you.
your throat tightens.
he pushes off the doorframe and crosses to you slowly. his arms slide around your waist from behind, pulling you back against his chest. you can feel the warmth of him. his chin rests on the top of your head.
"the toothbrush," you say. your voice sounds small. "the pajamas. the shampoo."
"yeah," he says simply.
"how long ago did you buy those?"
he's quiet for a second. "while," he says finally. "been thinkin' about you stayin' over for a bit."
you turn around in his arms to face him. his eyes are soft, patient.
"so you've been planning this," you say.
"yeah." he doesn't sound apologetic.
you've never had anyone be this thoughtful. this intentional. your ex-boyfriends never remembered how you took your coffee. never planned for you. never looked at you like you were something precious. something they wanted to keep.
"you okay with that?"
"yeah," you whisper. "yeah, i'm okay with that."
he kisses your hair once, soft and tender before letting you go. "go get ready," he murmurs. "i'll be in bed."
you nod and he leaves, and you're alone again with the toothbrush and the pajamas and the shampoo that smells like you.
you change into the silk pajamas (they fit perfectly, of course they do), and brush your teeth with the toothbrush he bought. when you catch your reflection in the mirror, your cheeks are flushed and your eyes are bright.
when you step back into the bedroom, he's already under the covers, propped up on one elbow. the lamp on his nightstand casts everything in warm gold. he's shirtless, the sheets pooled around his waist. for a second you just stand there.
his eyes follow you as you cross the room like he's taking his time appreciating the sight of you in pajamas he bought for you. in his room. in his house
"c'mere," he says, and you slip under the sheets beside him.
for a moment, you're not sure where to put yourself. your hands hover awkwardly.
then he huffs out a quiet laugh and his arm reaches across the space between you. he pulls you against his chest without hesitation, his hand splaying wide across your back. your bare skin meets his warmth, and you suck in a breath.
"there," he murmurs, and then he's kissing you—soft and slow and deep. once, twice. his hand slides up into your hair, tilting your face toward his. you make a small sound against his mouth, and he pulls you closer, his chest pressing against yours. deeper. like he's trying to commit the feeling of you to memory.
when he finally breaks the kiss, he's breathing harder.
"goodnight, sweetheart." he whispers, and his voice is rough.
"goodnight, rafe." you murmur back, settling against him, your cheek pressed to his chest. your bare hand rests over his heart. you can feel it racing. his arm wraps around you properly now. you can feel his chin rest against the top of your head. his hand moves slowly up and down your back. he's still awake. still aware.
you're hyperaware of how little you're wearing. how close you are.
eventually, your breathing evens out, and you drift off like that—wrapped around him, his hand on your back, the sound of the ocean through the window.
you wake up slowly and for a second, you forget where you are. the ceiling isn’t quite right. the angle of the sun is wrong. then you remember. you're in his bed.
you turn your head, and he's right there. still asleep. his face is turned toward you on the pillow, one arm stretched out between you. his breathing is slow and even. his mouth is slightly parted, his jaw relaxed. his hair is messy, falling across his forehead. without his usual intensity, he looks younger. softer.
you've never seen him like this. the morning light catches on the stubble along his jaw, which is thicker this morning than it was last night. you want to reach out and touch him, but you're afraid to wake him.
slowly, carefully, you reach out anyway.
your fingers hover over his face for a second before you let them settle against his jaw. the stubble is rough under your fingertips, coarser than you expected. you trace the line of it, feather-light. his skin is warm. you move higher, brushing your thumb along his cheekbone.
your fingers move to his temple, then his hairline, smoothing back the strands that have fallen across his forehead. you let your hand rest there for a moment, your palm against the side of his face.
and then it hits you all at once.
you're in love with him.
your heart kicks into overdrive, your hand still on his face, and you can't breathe. you're completely, irrevocably in love with him. this man who bought you a toothbrush and silk pajamas weeks ago. who remembered how you take your coffee. who kissed you like you were the only thing that mattered. who's been planning to have you here all along.
he stirs.
it's small at first—just a shift in his breathing. then his eyes flutter open, still heavy with sleep, and he's looking right at you.
his mouth curves immediately.
"caught you," he says, his arm sliding around your waist. he pulls you closer.
heat floods your face. "no," you say anyway, but you're smiling despite yourself.
"no?" he repeats, his eyes sharper now. then he leans down and kisses you before you can deny it again.
"mornin'," he murmurs, pressing his forehead against yours.
"good morning," you say back.
he pulls back just enough to look at you, his hand still on your back, his eyes dark. "what's goin' on in that head of yours?"
you shake your head. "nothing."
his eyes narrow slightly. his thumb traces slow circles on your skin—bare skin.
"mm."
he studies you for another moment, then leans down and kisses you again—deeper this time. slower. his other hand comes up to cup your jaw, tilting your face toward his. you kiss him back, your fingers curling into his shoulder, and he makes a low sound. when you look at him, there's that slight curve to his mouth. but his eyes are darker than before.
"c'mere," he murmurs, and he's pulling you up to straddle his lap without breaking eye contact. his hands steady you at the hips, and then they move—sliding up your sides, tracing the curve of your waist beneath the thin silk. his thumbs brush the underside of your breasts and you suck in a breath.
"you're okay?" he asks.
"more than okay,".
he kisses you again, and you let yourself sink into it. your hands find his bare chest, his skin warm and solid beneath your palms. you can feel his heartbeat racing. his hand slides up your back, and suddenly the only thing between you is silk and the awareness of what's happening. the way your body fits against his. the way his hands know exactly where to touch you.
when you finally pull back, you're both breathing harder. "i want—" you start, and then you're not sure how to finish that sentence.
"i know," he says quietly. "but not yet. wanna do it right with you." you reply with a nod, even though what you want right now has nothing to do with right.
he brushes a strand of hair from your face. "c'mon," he murmurs. "let me take care of you. coffee?"
“yes please.”
he moves to get out of bed, and you follow the shift, adjusting slightly as he sits up, your legs still tangled with his. he disappears for a moment, and then you hear the soft pad of his footsteps in the hallway, the quiet clink of ceramic against wood.
when he appears in the doorway again, he's holding a mug in one hand—the same blue one from yesterday—and a small plate balanced in the other. still shirtless. still rumpled. his hair still falling across his forehead.
he sets the mug carefully on the nightstand. the plate follows, and then he just stands there for a second, looking at you. his gaze feels intimate, like he's looking at something that belongs to him.
"you look good in my bed,"
your face heats, and you're smiling sheepishly. "rafe—"
he sits on the edge of the mattress, and you shift closer without thinking. his hand finds your hair automatically, smoothing it back from your face. he stops, his hand stilling in your hair. his eyes move over your face.
you glance over and watch as steam curls lazily from the rim of the mug. you can smell it from here—rich and warm and sweet, exactly how you like it.
"still can’t believe you remembered the creamer," you murmur.
"’course i did." it's not a question. his hand slides down to cup your jaw. "c'mon. sit up."
you push yourself up, the sheets pooling around your waist, and reach for the mug. it's warm in your hands. you take a sip, and it's perfect.
he doesn't ask if it's okay. he just watches you, his hand resting on your thigh beneath the sheets, his thumb moving in that slow rhythm. but his eyes don't leave your face.
you take another sip, and his mouth curves slightly.
"what?" you ask.
"nothin'." but he's still watching you.
you set the mug back on the nightstand and reach for the toast, breaking off a corner. you take a bite, and you wrinkle your nose slightly.
"oh, so that's how we're doing this," he says, and there's amusement in his voice. "you're gonna judge my old man breakfast?"
"i'm not judging," you say, but you're grinning. "i'm just observing. burnt toast and coffee. very... vintage of you."
he leans back slightly, his hand still on your thigh, and gives you a mock offended look. "vintage?"
"sorry, i meant to say geriatric."
"geriatric," he repeats, shaking his head. "you're callin' me geriatric while you're sitting in my bed eating the breakfast i made you?"
you bite your lip, trying not to smile. "when you put it like that—"
"so what does that make you?" he asks, leaning closer. his hand drifts higher on your thigh. "you're the one who likes old men, so what's that say about your taste?"
heat floods your cheeks. "my taste is clearly terrible."
"terrible, huh?" he's grinning now, that cocky smirk on his face. "you seemed to think my taste was pretty good last night on the couch."
"rafe—"
"what?" he says innocently. "i'm just sayin'."
you throw a pillow at him, and he catches it easily, laughing. but then he tosses it aside and leans over, kissing you softly. when he pulls back, he's still smiling.
"finish your breakfast, baby. before it gets cold," he says, his hand giving your thigh one last squeeze before he stands up and heads to the bathroom.
you watch him go, your heart still racing, and take another bite of the burnt toast.
he comes back a little while later, showered and almost dressed, and the morning light catches on the water droplets still clinging to his hair. you're still in bed, cradling the empty coffee mug, watching him move around the room.
"you alright?" he asks, pulling on a black tshirt.
"yeah," you say, and you mean it.
he bends down and kisses the top of your head, his hand lingering on your hair for a moment. "you have to be back soon?"
“i told my mom this afternoon.” the reminder of reality crashes down like cold water. you don't want to leave.
"mmm.” he says quietly, like he can read your mind, "you could text her. tell her you're stayin' another night."
your heart jumps for a moment, then another wave of reality hits you. "not sure that i’d be so lucky."
"worth a shot, yeah?" he sits on the edge of the bed and takes your hand, lacing his fingers through yours. "i want you here."
your throat tightens.
"i know," you whisper.
for a second, you let yourself imagine it. another morning. another cup of coffee. another night falling asleep with the windows open and the ocean just outside. he studies your face for a second before leaning in to kiss you again, slow this time. his thumb brushes your cheek when he pulls away.
"alright," he murmurs. "we'll worry about that later."
you nod. later can wait a little longer.
𝑎/𝑛: EEEEKKKKKK i love them so fucking much i can’t. i love love. i want to be love.
i’m willing to bet at least a few of you were wondering where a lil special something was… and trust me, i get it LOL. but i really wanted to focus on the emotional aspect of their relationship and make sure their weekend together paid off emotionally, rather than risk having that swallowed up by smut. before i even started writing, i knew i wanted the heart of this chapter to be reader realizing she’s completely in love with him.
that being said… i am planning to write a yummy smutty bonus that’s basically an alternate ending to stay a while. 🤭 so stay tuned!!!
please let me know what you guys think via comments and reblogs! pls pls pls feel free to send asks and requests as well! i promise i don’t bite ♡
Hmmm maybe something about whether they like to cuddle and how cuddly they are
i can work with that
fbh is absolutely a physical space invader so this man is cuddling you every chance he can. parties, study sessions, walking to class, this man is going to be hanging off your body somehow. and it only gets worse when he's drunk. can't forget about the time he stood up on the counter at his party, shouting "has anybody seen my cuddle buddy? she's really pretty and she's the best cuddler ever and she's doing a very bad job right now!"
lhh wants his privacy. even after making someone come, he's like "okay, now get out." he does not want people to stick around, he wants them out of his space. the only time he allows people close is when he's off his ass high and he has something VERY important he has to tell you (it's something stupid but it's the only time you're close enough to breathe in his shampoo so you've learned not to argue)
after sex, fbh loves keeping that person in his bed for as long as possible. for cuddles, tickles, maybe another round, he loves having another person in his bed with him, begging them to stick around longer, promising to make them breakfast in the morning (he doesn't know how to make anything more complicated than a bowl of cereal but he'll at least buy you something at the local diner)
the only time you've spent the night with lhh was when you got accidentally black out drunk at fbh's party and lhh will be damned if he lets you be loose at that hellish frat party without supervision. he'll complain about it all the next morning too, "man, did you know you kick in your sleep? my back is permanently bruised from your little footie tryouts last night. you're lucky i'm a gentleman and didn't kick you back."
I LOVE your sugar daddy Rafe x bratty reader fic!! Their dynamic is so funny and cute🥹🩷 do you have any thoughts about Rafe taking her on a shopping trip? I feel like she’d have sm fun going to all her favorite stores while he opens the door for her and holds all her bags and uses his credit card🥰
𝙋𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜: sugar daddy!Rafe Cameron x bratty!reader
𝙒𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: 18+, minors dni, daddy kink, sugar daddy x baby relationship except they’re also actually in a relationship, age gap (Rafe is in early-mid 30s, reader is in early 20s), MAJORRR misogyny and sexism, objectification, babying, super condescending, SEXIST RAFE!, touching, fondling, blowjob in public, power imbalance, I think that’s it.
𝙎𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮: Rafe’s having a business meeting and you decide to interrupt…
𝘼/𝙉: yet another surprise little drabble! I love writing these two, let me know what you think! and any other scenarios you wanna see them in!
“Hold this, pretty please.”
You toss another item of clothing at him without so much as a glance back. Too in your zone. You got like that whenever he took you shopping. Which was practically every other day since spending his money was your favourite pastime.
“This could be done online.” Rafe balances the light pink miniskirt on top of all the other shit you have him holding, along with the five shopping bags of things he’s already bought you. “I have better shit to be doing right now.”
It’s a bold faced lie. Taking you shopping turns him on more than anything else. It’s the way you just go to town with his American Express like you’ve got no other care in the world. Which you don’t. He takes care of everything. And gets off on seeing you buying random shit with his money. Drives in the fact he owns you completely.
“But daddy, we still have shoes left. And lingerie. And then something to eat, maybe?”
You blink up at him cutely, and he’s aware you know exactly what you’re doing. Knows he can’t resist you when you get like this. That’s why you’d dressed up all sweet today too. In this little pink dress with the ribbons, flouncing around the mall like some goddamned Tinkerbell, holding onto his hand before something shiny and exciting inevitably distracts you.
“Fuck shoes,” he growls, “you’ll take hours in there.”
“So what you’re saying is you don’t love me.” You cross your arms over your chest (your completely free arms because God forbid you hold a shopping bag. Not that he’d let you anyways).
“What I’m saying is I’ll book the store out for you tomorrow, and you can come back and not have to deal with people or lines or shit like that.”
You frown, considering it before finally smiling. Going on your tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek, “Okay fine. But you owe me, because I wanted new shoes today.”
“Sure, princess.” You and him both know who really owes who. And he’d get his end of the deal whenever he so pleased. “One more store and then we’re done for the day.”
You roll your eyes and huff, go through your whole bratty shtick of how “he’s sooo unfair” and how you had a “whole list of things I still need to buy!” He waits for you to be done and sure enough, soon you’re all smiles again.
“Okay, let’s go to Victoria’s Secret!” You announce after he’s finished paying for the latest round of clothes you’ve chosen. You drag him out of the store, but it’s only after a few seconds that you stop and pout, “Why aren’t you holding my hand?”
Rafe wonders if you try to wind him up on purpose. He knows you’re not as much of an airhead as you sometimes pretend to be. Now, he simply stares at you, his hands very clearly full and occupied by the shit ton of Prada and Louis Vuitton shopping bags.
But you just smile sweetly and hold your hand out. In the end, Rafe sighs and shakes his head, offering you his pinkie finger that you happily hold on to.
“You’re a piece of work.”
“You love it.”
You go wild inside the Victoria’s Secret store. Rafe hands all the shopping bags to one of the sales associates as he watches you in your element. Picking out everything pink and glittery, leopard print, rhinestones, lace. He comes up behind you and slips his hand up your skirt, squeezing your bare ass. You giggle, but you know better than to push his hand away.
He nods at a red lacy set on a mannequin, then at the sales associate, “She’ll try that one.”
“Yes, sir.”
The VIP dressing room is dimly lit and spacious. Rafe sprawls out on the velvet sofa, eyes dark as you model one set after another for him. He nods at all the frilly pink shit you try on, the silk negligees that show off your pretty legs, and push up bras that make your tits look fucking insane.
“Can you buy me angel wings, dada? Like the models have in the fashion show?”
“If you’re good.”
His jaw clenches when you come out in a lacy black corset and matching g-string. You give him a twirl and he gets a good look at your cute little ass on full display. His palm itches to spank it.
“This one is soooo cute,” you gush, “I think I’ll wear it to Sarah’s costume party this weekend.”
“You’re not going to any parties dressed in that.”
You roll your eyes, “Obviously I’d wear it with like shorts or a skirt or something. And a cute kitty tail and ears.”
Rafe licks his lips, “Kitty huh?”
You smile cutely, “yes daddy.”
He motions for you to get down on your knees, not really having to say anything because he’s got you trained well enough to understand orders based on a look. He crooks his finger, beckons you closer.
“Crawl.”
You both know how much he gets off on it, the power he has over you. You were a little brat and he spoiled you rotten but in the end, he could make you do anything. Snap his fingers and you’d come running. Spread your legs for him if he so pleased. Crawl over to him like a little kitty cat in a public dressing room because he said so. Because he paid for your life. And he owned you.
He pets your head lazily, stroking your hair while you nuzzle against his hand like a good little pet in your sexy lingerie. Looking up at him through those sexy long lashes. He smirks.
“You wear this to a party and I’ll make sure it’s the last one you ever attend.”
You pout, but he presses his thumb into your mouth to silence you, allows you to suck on it to keep your tantrum at bay.
“You can still get the kitty ears. Wear ‘em in bed for when I come home from work. Maybe we can get you a collar and leash too.”
He makes you stand up, give him a few more twirls before slapping your butt and sending you to try on the next set. It’s the red one he’d chosen, barely conceals anything, just tiny strips of lacy red fabric and a bunch of strings.
Rafe grabs the front of your panties, dragging you into his lap till you’re straddling him. His patience is wearing thin, and you’re being a little tease with how you’re flaunting your cute, sexy body at him. As if he didn’t own you and could have his way with you whenever he pleased.
“Knees.”
It’s all he has to say and then you’re on the floor between his legs. You scowl though, because you’re you and of course you would, “Floor’s uncomfortable.”
“I don’t care. Take it out.”
You do. He’s got you trained well enough. And it’s so hot, your hand wrapping around his dick, expensive manicured fingernails gleaming against the dim lights. He grabs your hair, pushing your head down. You take him like a good girl, as deep as you possibly can. None of that kitten licks shit because you know he’d beat your ass if you tried that right now.
“Good girl,” he mutters, stroking your hair back and making sure you’re looking at him. Watches your lips stretch out on his fat dick as you bob your head and suck him how he likes it, “So cute on your knees.”
It’s definitely Rafe’s favourite part of these shopping trips. You could be as bratty as you wanted but at the end of the day, you’d always be on your knees for him. His property, his pet, and he kept you looking so pretty and expensive. His bratty little girl, all dressed up in head to toe designer, complaining and throwing your cute little tantrums but never once daring to say no to him when he wanted you.
A successful investment.
He finishes down your throat, watching you swallow before pulling you into his lap for a rough, possessive kiss. You’re all submissive and shy now, cuddling into him with nothing left to say.
It never lasted long though.
Sure enough, once his car’s been loaded up with all your shopping and he’s put you in the passenger seat that you finally speak again.
𝙒𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: 18+, minors dni, daddy kink, sugar daddy x baby relationship except they’re also actually in a relationship, age gap (Rafe is in early-mid 30s, reader is in early 20s), misogyny, sexism, Rafe is a lil bitch, oral (f receiving), swearing, arguing, reader keeps calling rafe old lmao, that’s it I think.
𝙎𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮: Rafe can’t have people thinking he doesn’t know how to discipline his girl.
𝘼/𝙉: Surprise lil drabble which I wrote during work today hehe. Please let me know what you think!
“She, like, basically has you on a leash.”
Rafe snorts, watching his friends laugh at the comment and pretending to join in except inside he’s seething. His hand clenches around the crystal glass which holds his whiskey, and he shoots them a sardonic smile.
“You keep thinking that.”
“It’s true, though. Weren’t you with her at the mall the other day, holding like fifteen different shopping bags?”
He shrugs, “I like to spoil her.”
“Yeah? But you don’t keep her in check, do you?”
Kelce and Topper exchange a meaningful look before they both burst into a fresh wave of laughter. Rafe’s jaw clenches; he leans forward, annoyed.
“The fuck are you talking about?”
“Word on the street is she’s a little wild. A party girl, if you will.” Topper refills his drink, doing his best not to look Rafe in the eye. Fucking pussy.
“Yeah,” Kelce adds, “As in, she’s everywhere. Out every night, every club on the strip. Unsupervised.”
“She’s not a child, you morons.” Rafe takes another sip of his drink, and it takes everything in him not to down the whole damn thing in one go. You were younger than him, sure. But that didn’t mean he had to personally hold your hand every time you went out.
“No. But if word spreads that you can’t keep her in check? Won’t be good.”
“Yeah, man. Especially those old school investors you’re always having meetings with. They won’t wanna do business with you if they know you can’t discipline your girl.”
“I discipline her just fine,” Rafe snaps, but they’ve got to him. And he hates it. His stupid clown ass fucking friends who couldn’t even dream of having a girl as hot as you in their beds. Talking to him about not knowing how to discipline his own girl. “Trust me, I have things under control more than you’d know.”
They leave it at that and change the subject. But Rafe’s pissed the fuck off. Wants to shatter his glass on the goddamned coffee table type of pissed off.
He’d show them.
***
“Baby, look! That new dress I bought finally came!”
You’re like a ray of sunshine inside his dark, desolate house. Always so excited, always up to something. Trouble, but in the most intoxicating sense. It’s what had attracted him to you in the first place.
But Rafe’s still seething from earlier, and all he does is grunt, tugging his tie off and throwing it on his bed along with his suit jacket. You jump into his arms, your legs wrapping around his waist.
“Daddy, I missed you. Do you like my new dress?”
“Sure.” He mutters, gently prying you off him and not giving the dress you’re wearing a second glance. He knows it’s the one from some high end designer label’s new resort collection or some shit like that. It wasn’t even out in stores yet, but you’d made him pull some strings to get it for you. The exact one that had been worn on the runway. Nothing less for his princess. And all you’d had to do was bat your eyes and mention that you’d wanted it.
Maybe he was too lenient…
“Well, okay Mister Grumpy,” you giggle, skipping off back to your place in front of the vanity which is littered with your expensive makeup, skincare and hair oils. The ornate, vintage vanity you’d made him buy for you when he’d moved you into his house. “Well, I’m gonna wear it out tonight. Don’t wait up, by the way. I’m not sure when I’ll be home.”
He frowns, sitting down on the edge of his bed, “What?”
You pout, but it’s only to put your sparkly, candy pink lipgloss on. He loved it on you, it made you taste so extra sweet and made your lips look so fucking sexy and kissable.
“My friend Sierra’s party, silly! It’s at this new VIP club called Absynthe. And then there’s an after party back at—”
“You’re not going.”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
There’s a few beats of silence before you put your makeup brush down and cross the room. Perch yourself on his lap all pretty, looking so tiny and delicious, yet taken aback at the same time. You grab his hand, pressing it down on your bare thigh.
“Daddy,” you breathe in that sexy voice of yours that gets him weak in the knees, “Is this ‘cause you’ll miss me in bed tonight? ‘Cause we can make up for that right now, if you want…”
You press his hand between your thighs and he sucks in his breath sharply. Fuck, you were so hot. He doesn’t pull it away, instead feeling the warmth of your bare skin which glows with whatever glittery body oil you’ve massaged on. And inhaling that sweet perfume of yours that you’ve spritzed liberally all over your body.
“This dress is too short.”
The realisation snaps Rafe out of whatever spell you were about to put him under. He takes a closer look, unable to stop the poisonous thoughts that invade his mind. The dress barely reaches mid thigh, barely covers your fucking ass. And it’s tight like a second skin, makes your body look insane. Too insane to be seen by any pair of eyes that weren’t his own.
You giggle, “I like short dresses. You said you like me in them.”
“Yes. I like you in them. Doesn’t mean the entire male population of Kildare gets to see you in them too.”
You huff, standing up abruptly, “Fine. Then I’ll change into something else.”
Rafe knows you too well. Knows you’ll change back into the slutty dress the moment you leave the house. You’re trouble with a capital T, and he’s always found it enamouring, cute, sexy, exciting. Except now.
“Change into whatever you want, you’re still not stepping foot outside this house tonight.”
Your hands land on your hips, perfectly groomed eyebrows raised and an indignant look on your face, “You can’t be serious…”
“I am. And spare the dramatics, I’m not in the mood.”
“Just because you’re in a bad mood doesn’t mean you have to take it out on me, Rafe!”
He frowns, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Don’t be a spoiled brat just because I won’t allow you to go clubbing till the early hours of the morning in a dress with your tits practically spilling out.”
Your jaw drops, and now you cross your arms below your chest, and it makes your cleavage look even more incredible. Despite everything, he can feel himself getting hard.
“You’re being mean,” you look at him venomously, but your lower lip quivers. That’s when he realises just how much he let you get away with in the past. But you were just so sweet, so charming. Such a sexy little thing, and you were his weakness.
He couldn’t be weak anymore.
“Trust me, you haven’t seen mean yet.” Rafe mutters, “No more clubbing for the foreseeable future. I won’t have my girl doing that shit anymore.”
“You can’t tell me what I can or can’t do.” You breathe.
“No? Do you want me to cut your allowance? Change my credit card details?” He waits, but you remain silent. “That’s what I thought.”
Now you’re glaring at him with daggers in your eyes, meticulously manicured hands curling into fists by your sides. You’ve always been a brat, and right now you look like a petulant child about to throw a tantrum. You’ve done it before, and he’s always given in. Happy wife, happy life, that kind of thing. Not this time, though.
“Go fuck yourself.”
Rafe snorts, standing up and running a hand through his buzzed hair, “Why? When I’ve got you for that.” He smirks when you gasp lightly, “Now if you actually want to make yourself useful, then make me a drink how you know I like it, and bring it to me in my study.”
He leaves, but not before tapping your ass on his way out. You huff angrily, but he doesn’t look back. Not this time. Who said he couldn’t discipline you? Hell, you’re lucky he didn’t take you over his knee the moment he saw that fucking sorry excuse for a dress.
No, this time you’ll learn.
***
Predictably, you don’t bring him his drink. Instead, he leans back against his leather chair in his study, watching as his phone pings with multiple rapid notifications from his bank.
You were using his credit card right at this very moment, spending his money on a bunch of different shit. Several thousand dollars at Van Cleef, Guiseppe Zanotti, Chanel. It was your way of getting back at him, but you spending his money only served to turn him on.
The corner of Rafe’s mouth twitches upwards. He could block his credit card from your phone, or change his details. But he’s never had a problem with you spending his money. In fact, he found it to be the hottest fucking thing: the confidence with which you spent his money on the most extravagant shit possible. And he loved that he could show you off, his girl who was always dripping head to toe in diamonds and designer labels. Well taken care of. And all his.
Now if only you could just be a good girl and stop going out partying so much.
It’s not that Rafe cared much about you going out clubbing before today. He himself felt too old for that shit, but he never had a problem with you going. He liked to see you have fun, and you always came home to him all drunk and giggly. Snuggled up to him and let him take care of you. He liked that. Because he trusted you and knew you were a good girl who knew who she belonged to. But what he didn’t like was other people thinking he was some pussy-whipped little bitch.
It takes him upwards of an hour to get through the remaining work he has. By the time it’s all done, Rafe’s itching to get in bed with you. Hopefully you were done being dramatic and he could have a quiet night.
Instead, he walks back into the bedroom to see your suitcase open wide on the bed, and your shit strewn everywhere.
“The fuck is this?”
You sniffle, dramatically folding an article of clothing, “I’m leaving you.”
He rolls his eyes, “Can you leave me tomorrow? I’d like to sleep right now.”
You toss your hair over your shoulder in frustration, shooting him a glare but all he can focus on is how hot you look. You’ve changed into a pair of tiny pink silk pyjama shorts and a matching vest top. Hardly the kind of attire you’d wear when you were about to leave someone.
“You’re such a jerk, Rafe. A mean, horrible, unfair jerk. Fuck you.”
Rafe yawns, leaning against the doorframe and watching you in amusement, “A mean, horrible, unfair jerk, huh? For setting boundaries that you clearly need?”
You scowl, “I’m not your child, Rafe. And you’ve never had a problem with me going out before.”
He shrugs, “Yeah, well that’s going to change from now on going forward. I can’t have people thinking I don’t know how to control my girl.” He makes his way over to you and shuts your suitcase with a finality, pushing it onto the floor, “Now get in bed, I’m tired.”
“Of course you’re tired. You’re old and boring and you don’t understand that you’re smothering me and I hate you!” You’re growing more hysterical by the second, but it’s not something Rafe isn’t used to. This isn’t the first temper tantrum from you he’s had to deal with, and it probably wouldn’t be the last.
“Baby,” he wraps his arms around you, not budging even when you fight against him with your feeble, ineffective little punches that only make him chuckle, “C’mon, don’t be like this. You know I’m only trying to protect you.”
“No. You’re just trying to control me. Because you hate me.”
“If I hated you, you’d be dead,” he laughs, pressing a kiss to the nape of your neck while you’re still trying to push him away, “Now come on, there’s worse things to pout about than not being allowed to go clubbing.”
“It’s supposed to be the biggest party of the summer! And my outfit was soo good!”
“Why don’t you act like all the other girlfriends? Plan a brunch or go to the country club?” He continues pressing kisses down your neck.
“Because I’m not a brain dead tradwife, Rafe!”
That makes him laugh, and he can sense you holding back a smile too.
“No, baby, you’re just a brat.”
He kisses you, claiming your mouth while his hand reaches down to palm your ass. He grabs a handful, giving it a squeeze through the silky material of your shorts. You gasp into his mouth and he smirks, ignoring how you pound at his chest.
“Let go of me! I told you I’m leaving!”
But you let him push you down on the bed, let him climb on top of you and kiss you some more. Sure, you have a lot to say, cursing and whining and crying about your stupid club all while he kisses you everywhere. Your face, your neck, your collarbones, pushes your top down to kiss your breasts. And he can taste the chocolatey coco of your shimmery body oil, and he’s so fucking hard.
“I wanna go to the Bahamas.” You say while he’s between your legs, eating your cunt like he’s starved. It’s his favourite type of food, and he loves pressing your thighs so far apart he’s sure he’ll leave bruises.
He looks up at you indulgently, “Sure, baby. Anything else?”
A trip to the Bahamas with him was better than you going clubbing by yourself.
“I’d like a car. Like a cute pink convertible.”
“Of course you would.”
The truth is, he’d buy you just about anything you wanted. All the dresses, cars, jewellery, makeup, trips, all of it. If it meant you’d be happy in your gilded cage, satisfied enough that you’d give up your frivolous clubbing and wild ways that made him look bad.
Now, you thrash above him, grabbing at the sheets and at his head as you come undone. Arching your back so pretty, pressing your wet pussy right on his face as he laps you up. He knows he was hard on you today, and you need the extra attention.
“Mmmm, dada… I-I…”
Rafe makes you orgasm three times before coming up for air, kissing you possessively so you can taste yourself on him. And you’re more docile now, you always are after he’s tamed you and gotten you off. Like you’ve orgasmed the brattiness out of you. Except it never lasts long, but he’d take what he could get.
“Go to sleep now,” he orders you, pecking your face a couple more times. “It’s late.”
“For you it’s late.”
“Shhhh,” he kisses you again till he can feel you smiling against his lips.
“Fine.” You yawn, letting him tuck you by his side and pull the covers up as he turns the lamp off.
He knows it’s anything but fine, and the battle is far from over. But he’s got you tamed for now, which was a victory in itself.
Fuck his dumb fucking friends. Who said Rafe Cameron didn’t know exactly how to control his girl?
LMAOOO rafe is such a bitch. I love writing this kind of reader though, she’s so me 🙏🏼🥹 anyways, what do you guys think? PLEASE let me know!! I was bored at work so wrote this little drabble, hopefully yall enjoyed! kisses 💋
ToxicEx!Rafe, who plays in the NHL and Popstar!Reader (<- Short and Sweet Tour) who performs in his city, and of course, he comes to the show. The reader has been rumored to be dating the captain of the opposing team he’ll play the next night, which he was already fuming about.
With how things ended between them, she couldn't help but stare up at the box seating the other guy was watching from as she showed the crowd the “new freaky position,” ruining Rafe’s whole night in a second. Now, he can only imagine the two of them doing that. He has the entire night to work himself up about it, too, studying her socials and his hoping to catch what hotel she's at because she won't answer.
Right before puck-drop she waves at the captain; the simple gesture’s enough for Rafe to go on a full-on rampage. At the same time, the reader sits against the glass; all smiles as she watches the man she’s only had a drink with once and her handsome asshole of an ex go back and forth, throwing jabs at each other from the penalty box, hearing bits and pieces of most of it but watching it all on the Jumbotron. Rafe gets thrown into the box five times, only to get ejected from the game, and it takes all but five minutes for her phone to start blowing up with Rafe begging to talk.
✯ an introduction to the protagonists of “high infidelity”
002. NOTE !
✯ so this is a bit of a sneak peek on what’s to come👀 i may take a while to post the first chapter but that doesn’t mean i won’t keep yall fed….. (face claim is maia reficco but i won’t specify in writing about appearance).
bsf!jj followed you on all of your social media accounts. well, he thought he did. ꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱ ౨ৎ⋆ ˚｡⋆
your instagram was adorable and demure. photo dumps and stories of your daily iced coffee in your little manicured hand. you had pinterest boards too — jj had seen you scrolling through endless pictures of clothes on his bed and asked questions. you helped him make his own account so he could find new ideas on how to customise his board. he hasn’t opened the app since, but it seemed like it made you happy so he couldn’t find it in himself to delete it off his lockscreen.
he followed you on twitter too. he knew he did because he saw your tweets all up and down his timeline when he would be scrolling late at night trying to find porn. tweets about the cashier that was rude to you, or about that one song you just can’t get out your head.
he thought he’d covered all bases with you. he liked to be in tune with everything you were doing — and maybe that was wrong for a best friend to want, but the two of you were close! it only felt right. it may also have something to do with the fact he’s head over heels for you.
you were laying on your front on his bed. contrasting so sweetly against the boyishness of his room with your cute little hello kitty shirt and denim skirt — epitome of girly girl in such an unfitting space. it made him smile, and he nearly forgot to tune into what you were saying.
you were ranting about your mother again, the woman making it her mission to constantly bring you down.
“seriously jayj, if you saw the way she spoke to me...” you mutter with a frowny little pout as your fingers tap away at the screen, assumably responding to a text.
“i have seen the way she speaks to you. the lady is a nut job, no offence.” jj leans back slightly, tossing a balled up pair of socks from his laundry in the air and catching it.
“her texts are even worse.” you huff.
“s’alright. i’ll be your mommy.” he quips as you’re distracted by pulling up the correct screen.
“jj.” you tsk before turning your phone around. “look!” you whine, and he knows he’s meant to be looking at the texts displayed infront of him. but with undiagnosed adhd, jj couldn’t help but find his focus on the notification sliding down at the top of the screen. the twitter icon, notifying someone reposted your tweet — however, it was accompanied with another username he’d never seen before. an account ran by you assumably, that he no idea about.
“huh… yeah, no yeah. she’s batshit.” jj shakes himself off as he takes mental note of the username, leaning back and hoping you don’t ask any questions knowing he didn’t read the texts at all. you seem none the wiser, continuing to complain and go about your business. that evening, it’s time for you to head home. jj squeezes you at the doorway, cups your cheek and tells you that if your mom is giving you grief, you can come right on back. it seemed to comfort the pout off your face, and you skip off.
now it’s time to sate his curiosity.
when jj gets into bed that night, he types the username into twitter. it takes a few tries to get the specific spelling right, as it had been a few hours and slipped his mind — but finally, the account filled his screen.
your age is attached to the account, yet no name. there was definitely a sense of anonymity— to the point where you hadn’t even told him about it. he considered doing the right thing and clicking off — but jj didn’t always do the right thing, and this was one of those times. the first thing he notices is how clearly you the account is. the header, the profile picture — even the font in your bio was so… you. all curlicues and girly and pink — it was undeniably his best friend.
and then he scrolls.
‘want my best friend 2 hold me down n use me so bad :(’ a tweet from 3 days ago. the blonde sits up in bed, blinking at the screen. that was him, right? eagerly, he continues his scrolling — finding endless tweets about your sexual desires, fantasies, anecdotes about jj himself. it didn’t take much longer of scrolling until he comes across a video — his face heating and crotch stiffening at the familiarity of it all. it was your bedroom, and your face was cropped out. that one pair of pink panties he occasionally caught peeks of beneath your skirt hang off the ankle of your knee high clad legs, pretty pussy on display, glistening as you roll your hips, desperately fucking a pillow.
“god… damn.” he breathes, hand coming up to rub his chest as if to attempt to still his quick-beating heart. he stuffs a tongue in his cheek, part of him wanted to be mad that you were letting strangers on the internet see you like this before he got to. it was a childish type of jealousy that made his hands sweat and the back of his neck all prickly.
a bird squawks outside his window, causing the maybank boy to jump out of his skin like he was about to be caught watching his best friend get herself off. he juggles the phone, quickly checking the screen to make sure he hadn’t accidentally liked any posts. he hadn’t, and he exhales— but with the commotion, he’d accidentally refreshed the page. the loading wheel disappears with a pop, and a new tweet displays itself from three minutes prior.
‘my bsf looks after me so good :( he shld make me feel btter by letting me cum on his fingers <3’
it would be stupid to make a move. he would be potentially destroying a friendship, and on top of that — you could be mad at him for snooping. it was kind of a betrayal of trust after all, similar to if he’d read your diary. but his dick was hard and had taken over the steering wheel that operates his brain — and like he always said, stupid things had great outcomes all the time.
so with a clammy hand, he calls you.
“whats up jayj? did i leave something at your place again?” you croak, sounding all sleepy and cute. god, he couldn’t believe he’d waited so long.
“uh… so, like — imma cut to the chase, with everything goin’ on at your place, i don’t love the idea of you stayin’ there tonight. i’m comin’ to get you. you’re stayin’ here.” he makes up a quick excuse and feels kind of bad about it. his own desire toward you being masked as genuine concern for a friend. he expects some questioning, maybe even some resistance— but you perk up instantly.
“okay!”
and that’s exactly how you end up cradled in his lap with the rings at his knuckles tickling your opening from how deep in your greedy, drooling pussy they were.
“hmm— mm—huh—” you’re whining, all incoherent and fucked out with your cheek smushed against him, only two orgasms in. jj is grinning ear to ear, like some kind of sicko — never in his life thinking you’d want him like this. he almost wished he’d kept up the act for longer, preyed on your twitter account for longer to see what else you’d say, but he couldn’t help himself. he’d wanted you since you met in high school, and he was hungry.
“what’d i tell ya about not asking for things? could’ve just told me dude, i literally wanted this more than you.” he thinks out loud and you groan, pulling yourself up face to face with the handsome blonde.
“don’t call me dude when your fingers are n’side me!” you slur, lip all puffy and pouted. he smirks, unable to stop himself from finding amusement in your neediness and tilts his head a little so he was breathing right into your mouth.
“i’m sorry that’s my bad. baby.” he corrects himself, before pressing his lips to yours. that was much better.
summary: you and jj share a joint on the beach and have some good ol’ beach sex.
warnings: 18+!!! drug use (weed), semi public sex (there is no one around but it’s still in a public place), unprotected p in v sex, creampie, squirting, dirty talk, a lil praise kink.
wc: 2064
a/n: this is literally just filthy dirty smut. had me giggling and kicking my feet writing this. enjoy! <3
It was well past dusk, the only nearby light source being the moon which illuminated the dark waves that splashed onto the shore.
It was beautiful, this spot jj had taken you to. No one else around for miles, only you and jj occupying this little sliver of the beach that he claimed was a ‘hidden gem.’
It was, it was peaceful and you could get away from the congestion of your hectic lives for a bit.
“I like it here, jay.” You hummed, head on jj’s shoulder as you both sat on a beach towel, one and a half joints deep.
He flashed you a satisfied smile as he passed you the joint, his hand rubbing softly up and down your thigh.
You brought it to your lips and inhaled, holding it in a bit longer than usual as you decided this would be your last hit of the night, your eyes feeling heavy and your body loose.
“Atta girl. You done?” He asked, taking the now almost finished joint from you.
Nodding in response, you rested your head against his shoulder, watching the gentle waves move in front of you.
You loved moments like these. Just you and jj and the tranquility of the beach. All the drama this island brought was long forgotten when you got to experience this side of things.
jj finished off the last of the joint, putting it out in the sand below before slowly inching his fingertips up your thighs.
You instinctively opened your legs a bit, allowing him to go higher, a soft sigh leaving your lips. His light touch felt so much stronger and it felt like his fingertips held electricity.
“That feel good?” He whispered against your ear, and you hadn’t even realized you let out a quiet whimper, your mind a beat behind your body.
“Yeah, it does,” he answered for you, chuckling softly, his fingers now undoing the buttons on your shorts, “let me take care of you, pretty girl.” Your head fell back and off of his shoulder, your gaze finding jj’s face as he worked to undo your shorts and pull them off your legs, leaving you only in your shirt and bikini bottoms.
He cupped your pussy through the fabric, and this time you were well aware of the moan that fell from your lips, moving your head down to watch as he slipped a finger through, rubbing a slow line up and down your wet slit.
You didn’t miss the slick sound that his actions created, and neither did he, his dick now fully hard in his shorts as he began rubbing circles on your clit.
“You’re all wet for me, baby. Look at you.” He cooed gently, chuckling when you bucked your hips against his hand, desperate for more of him.
“Need you, jj.” You breathed, completely at his mercy.
Your words emitted a groan from him, his dick now painfully pressing against the seam of his shorts, begging to be released, to feel you.
“I know, sweet girl. Let me see you.” He moved his body so he was in front of you now, but not before he gently laid you down on the towel. Keeping his motions against your clit, he used his other hand to fully remove your bikini, sliding it down your legs.
You shivered as you were now fully exposed from the waist down, the soft ocean breeze hitting your wet pussy and bringing goosebumps to your skin.
He quickened his pace against your clit, your mouth falling open as you shamelessly grew closer to your high. It didn’t take much, the weed very much present in your system had your body feeling extra sensitive and after spending the whole night with jj, you were already fiending for him.
“I know, baby, I know, let go for me, yeah…” he urged you on, sensing how close you were without you having to say anything.
You opened your mouth to say something, but all that came out was a loud moan, your eyes rolling back as you came, his fingers working you perfectly as you rode out your orgasm, thighs clenching and threatening to close due to how sensitive you were.
“Fuck,” you panted, reaching to grab jj’s wrist to pull it away from your now throbbing clit, the sensitivity too much.
He chuckled at your actions, bringing his fingers to his mouth to lick up your arousal that had coated them.
“God…” you breathed, his sensual actions making your pussy ache for more of him.
“Need you to fuck me.” You spoke, not a care in the world.
“Yes, ma’am.” At that, he wasted no time undoing his shorts and pulling them off, the tent in his boxers present along with the wet spot that pooled just where his tip rested, precum leaking eagerly.
He quickly rid himself of his boxers, his hard cock springing free from its restraint and you swore your mouth was watering at the sight of him like this. His tip was slightly swollen, the moonlight gently illuminated his slick precum that was leaking down onto the base of his cock. He was perfect.
He spread your thighs a bit more, positioning his body between your legs, his hand pumping his cock slowly as he slid it teasingly against your leaking entrance and up to press against your clit, gathering your arousal and dampening his cock even more.
You whined at the feeling of him, not usually caring about his teasing actions, but right now, you needed him inside of you. Your pussy ached at the feeling of emptiness, his cock right there and so close to being inside of you had you ready to throw all of your morals away. You were so down bad for him.
“Eager, huh? You need this sweet pussy fucked good, huh?” He teased, lightly smacking his cock against your sensitive clit, a hiss falling from your lips at the feeling.
“jj, please, please.” You begged, not a care in the world. He loved this, though. He loved how much you needed him this way, and he certainly needed you, too. He ached for the feeling of his cock buried deep inside you, but seeing you so desperate for him was one of the hottest things in the world.
“Shh, I got you, baby, I got you. Imma take care of ya.” He assured you, lining himself up with your entrance as he slowly pushed himself in, his mouth falling open at the feeling.
Your body accepted him immediately, taking little to no time to adjust to his cock, allowing him to bottom out almost immediately.
You moaned at the feeling, his tip pressed deep inside your pussy as he stayed still for a moment, relishing in the feeling.
His balls were pressed against your ass, both of you breathing heavily as you waited for him to move.
“Please-“
He pulled back swiftly, cutting you off as he began to finally thrust his cock into you, a loud gasp falling from your lips at his movement.
He found a good rhythm, his hand grabbing onto your thigh and lifting your leg to wrap around his waist as he pounded into you.
He grunted with each movement, your pussy swallowing his cock perfectly, gripping him tightly as he fucked into your wet walls.
“Let me…” he grumbled, stilling his movements for just a second as he grabbed onto both of your legs, bending your knees and positioning you so your legs were bent and your knees were pressed up against your chest.
“Oh, fuck, yeah…” he groaned loudly as he began his movements again, this new position allowing him to fuck you even deeper, hitting parts of you he had never reached before.
You gasped, which quickly turned into a loud moan, reaching your hands up to hold onto his shoulders as he fucked you relentlessly, your tits bouncing beneath your shirt with each movement.
“You like it like this, baby? Like feeling me so deep inside of you?” He grunted, quickening his pace, his tip hitting your g-spot perfectly with each thrust.
“I- oh god, yeah, so good.” You panted, digging your fingers into the skin of his shoulders as if you were holding onto him for dear life.
His movements were hard and quick, and with each thrust you could feel his heavy balls smacking against your asshole, which only brought you closer to your end.
“Takin’ me so well, baby. You’re- you’re perfect, my perfect girl, this pussy is so perfect.” He praised you between moans, his breathing staggered as he attempted to speak through the euphoric pleasure that filled his entire body.
Your pussy clenched around him, hugging his cock tightly as he continued to fuck just the right spot inside of you.
“I’m close, oh fuck… jj- oh god, I’m close.” You whined, your heart rate picking up as you felt your lower stomach twist and tighten, your fingernails now pressing harshly into his skin.
“I know, baby, let go for me. Cum all over my dick for me.” He moaned hoarsely, his own cock twitching as he felt you tighten around him.
It didn’t take much more, his cock hit your g-spot once again, and that was it for you.
Your head fell back onto the sand, eyes rolled back as you came, your pussy clenching so hard onto his cock that it pushed him out, squirt gushing out of you and all over his cock and down his balls, some painting his shirt as well.
“Oh, fuuuckkk…” jj gaped, quickly grabbing his cock and shoving it back inside of you, continuing his previous movements as your pussy continued to flutter and clench around him.
You moaned so loudly, a straight up pornographic sound filling the air as you came, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you continued to ride out your high, the wet sounds of jj’s dick fucking into your soaking pussy was euphoric.
His now soaked balls were warm with your release, smacking against your ass once again, only heightening the sensation you were feeling.
“Fuck, baby, I’m ’bout to cum.” jj announced only a second before you felt his cock twitch inside of you and you felt him fill you up with thick hot spurts of his cum.
He groaned loudly through his release, keeping a steady hand on your upper thigh so he wouldn’t slip out again, the mixture of both of your releases creating a wet mess between you.
“God, you’re so good, so so good.” He muttered as his thrusts slowed, both of your releases now leaking out of your pussy and down onto his balls before he eventually stilled inside of you, taking a moment to catch his breath as his dick slowly softened.
You were a panting mess below him, feeling properly fucked and full of his cum, your pussy clenching around his softening cock as it adjusted to not feeling as full anymore.
He eventually pulled out of you, thick globs of his cum pooling out of your pussy and onto the towel below you.
He leaned down to kiss your damp forehead, peppering a few slow kisses before kissing your plump lips sloppily, having to pull away as he was still working to properly catch his breath.
“That was so good, baby.” He smiled lovingly down at you, pulling up the corner of the towel to somewhat clean you up the best he could.
You sighed happily, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him down on top of you, relaxing at the feeling of his body weight on top of you as you held him close, breathing in his scent. Ocean water, sweat, weed, sex and a hint of cologne he had put on hours ago.
“I love you so much.” You hummed, the serotonin from the sex and the weed pooling around in your brain. You couldn’t ask for anything more in life.
“I love you, too, baby.” He spoke against your skin, his legs intertwining with yours.
“Ugh, we have to walk all the way back.” You spoke after a moment, realization hitting you like a ton of bricks. Your legs were jelly, that thought just about ruined the moment.
jj laughed loudly at that, shushing you with another kiss.
“Don’t worry ‘bout that right now, baby. I got you.”
hehe dark!rafe fucking jj's ex bc she spiraling after the break up and using hella drugs so he's just degrading & using her however bc she's beneath him and he can't help but record it and send it to the male pouge's
warnings; DARK, smut (18+ only), drug use, dub-con (r is HEAVILY under the influence and not very aware), throat fucking, fingering, slight daddy kink, breathplay, degradation (I may have gone insane with this one I fear)
A cruel hand is splayed against the top of your spine where the base of your neck begins, subduing you enough to keep you from thrashing as Rafe curls his fingers against the spongy walls of your cunt. You're alight with pleasure, the lick of a flame igniting your every muscle as you gargle into the sheets below you; you're not entirely sure how you got here but your drug addled brain is too hazy with the white-hot euphoria he is so kindly granting you.
He groans at your blank eyes, breath hot on your skin as he licks a long line against the column of your throat and bites down, taking great enjoyment in the way you wriggle and whine.
"Please," you gasp out, that coil in your belly drawing tighter the longer he keeps his fingers nestled against that spot deep in your pussy that makes you scream.
"Please, what?"
"Please, daddy. Lemme cum."
"Attagirl." His grin is wolfish, teeth pointed and bared like a predator. "Little fuckin' whore, aren'tcha, kid? Bet Maybank never made you feel this good."
You shake your head vehemently, almost incomprehensible where you're drooling into the pillow beneath your balmy face.
He tweaks his fingers once more and suddenly the dull flame of bliss has roared to life, squeezing every one of your muscles like tendrils as you gush and your hole clenches around his thick digits.
The muted roar of white noise is all you can hear for a good while; eyes rolling, lashes fluttering, limp and spent from just one orgasm.
You don't see him next but rather you feel him. A thick mushroom head prodding against your swollen lips, the taste of bitter precum on your tongue as he feeds his cock down your spasming throat. A gag rips through you but he pushes past it, unfazed by your own discomfort as he chases the feeling of your tender gullet tightening around him.
"Yeahhh, that's good," he unabashedly moans, deep and gravelly. His cock pushes at the thin skin of your neck, flesh bulging as he settles your nose in the thatch of hair at his pubic bone, heavy sack pressing lewdly atop your gurgling mouth with every rut of his hips.
Bubbles of spit ooze from the corners of your stretched lips and then you're suddenly blinded by white light. The flash of a phone camera crowds your vision and Rafe doubles down, hips pistoning against your slack face as he groans and grunts, degrading insults pouring from his mouth.
"Dirty slut, all you're good for 's takin' dick, right? Just a filthy little hole for me to use when 'm bored."
You purl and choke around him in an effort to voice your complaints, but all it seems to do is spur him on further.
"G'na have this throat trained in no time, kid. You're my personal cocksleeve from now on."
He wrenches himself away despite being seemingly on the precipice of blowing his load; you gasp and whimper as he turns to prop the still recording phone on the dresser behind him, twisting a large handful of your mussed hair around his hand and dragging you across the expanse of the king sized bed. Your neck contorts in an odd sort of manner as he positions you with your head hanging upside-down from the side of the plush mattress. It gives him ample leverage to use you without care; he's not bothered if you pass out, he'll use you either way.
It's rough, borderline abusive, how he fucks your throat. Hard and fast and unrelenting despite your almost continuous retching and slapping feebly at his thick thighs. The bulge in the divot of the soft flesh only becomes more prominent, his spongy head pushing from the inside as though it's trying to rip through you.
His hand reaches between his own legs to plug your nostrils and a menacing chuckle hits your ears as your vision blurs and your eyes lose focus and roll to the back of your skull.
He lets up just as you're on the cusp of unconsciousness, dick never leaving your warm cavern as he reaches blindly behind him for the phone. Forearms dig cruelly into your ribcage as he props himself up and zooms the camera in on your sopping, swollen cunt, parting your petal soft lips and slipping two fingers inside to bully another orgasm from you.
"If I were you, Maybank, I'd have never given up this tight cunt," Rafe rasps. "Fucked the poor thing dumb, already. 'M keeping her."
He presses send before you can protest- not that you'll ever be able to. You'll be too cockdrunk to ever notice what he's done.
