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“‘kay, baby, that’s right. just like that…” jake sully purrs as you ride him with your hips sputtering in erratic movements. your pussy is squelching around his cock, and your arousal engulfing him is audible even with your loud moans echoing between the trees. his dick is too big, the feeling of each vein rubbing against your walls makes it hard to focus on the task at hand. he looks unaffected by you, though each time the tip of his cock hugs the soft tissue of your cervix, he grunts. “i know you can do it, big girl, can feel you squeezin’ around me.” his encouragement is enough to bring you right to the edge while he mutters sweet praises, “that’s my girl.”
メモ。—now, this is my kinktober fic. that’s it, that’s all. ain’t gon’ say too much. love y’all. pt two of nana. part one, here.
૮₍ ៸៸ ᵜ ก ₎ა piscesbimbobunny is online…
GHOSTS, GOBLINS, AND GHOULS FLURRY PAST YOUR MIDNIGHT CURLS, HAIR SLIPPING BEHIND YOUR SHOULDERS THAT TENSE FROM THE FEET OF HASTE CHILDREN SCURRYING PAST. What was scarier than children? You weren’t sure—but maybe shopping a day before Halloween within one of its busiest stores might’ve come close.
It’s pure chaos—screaming kids dart between aisles like sugar crazed gremlins, their sticky fingers grabbing at plastic pumpkins and rubber bats. Fake cobwebs cling to every surface, and the overwhelming scent of synthetic latex fills the air.
You weave through it all with your boyfriend in tow, his massive frame towering over the crowd—but his patience visibly thinning by the second.
Every time you stop to examine another costume—lingering on a lacy witch outfit or stroking your fingers over some fake blood stained vampire cape—his jaw ticks just a little tighter. But when you glance back at him with those big eyes? He schools his expression into something softer, even though he’d rather be anywhere else right now.
“That one’s cute,” you muse, holding up a skimpy devil ensemble against your body.
“You like it, baby?”
Eren grunts in response. It sounds like agreement but mostly resignation, adjusting the weight of shopping bags already stuffed with accessories you insisted were necessary. His free hand rubs along your lower back absently as if silently urging, hurry up.
Your lips push into an exaggerated pout as you lower the outfit in your hands, letting it dangle limply at your side.
"You aren’t gonna be able to find anything with that attitude,” you huff, tilting your head up at him pointedly—“We promised to film something today, remember?”
Eren exhales sharply through his nose—the closest he’ll get to an I know without fully admitting defeat. Then comes the muttered follow up, “I also told you we shoulda’ looked for shit days before.”
You sigh dramatically—but then your expression melts into something softer, sweeter as you lean into him slightly.
"Don’t you just love the excitement though? Baby…”
Your voice lilts while nudging his ribs gently with an elbow, “You love Halloween.”
His scowl deepens on instinct—but it doesn't stop that telltale flush creeping up his neck when he realizes you know. Of course he loves Halloween.
Instead of admitting it? Eren looks away while grumbling under his breath, “‘Never said that.”
Eren moves ahead of you, his broad shoulders cutting effortlessly through the crowded aisles like a silent shield. His olive tan skin glows under the harsh fluorescent lights—freckles and moles hidden beneath his clothes, little secrets only you know by heart. His deep brown hair—so dark it’s almost black in certain lighting—is pulled into a low bun at the nape of his neck, loose strands framing his sharp jawline. And then there’s deep pink lips, slightly parted as if he’s about to say something scathing or sinful, paired with those piercing green eyes that seem to dissect everything around him without effort.
His sheer size makes him impossible to ignore—a wall of muscle wrapped in a fitted black tee that clings stubbornly to every ridge of his torso, exposing full-sleeve tattoos snaking down both arms and curling behind his neck like ink-stained vines. Dark-washed jeans hang low on narrow hips, straining slightly over powerful thighs with every step he takes in thick-soled boots.
You bite back a smile as you pull out your phone discreetly, angling it toward him from afar before murmuring into the mic—“He's a lil' grumpy today 'cause we're shopping..."
Eren doesn’t even turn fully when he catches you recording from across the aisle —but one corner of that mouth quirks up anyway before he throws you a wink over one shoulder. Of course, it makes you giggle.
At first, it was just Eren—stoic, brutally efficient gym content. Short clips of him deadlifting with veins popping along his forearms. Protein-heavy meal prep vids where he never spoke, just let the sizzle of chicken on a skillet and the ripple of his abs under a sweat drenched tank do all the talking. His brand was raw masculinity—no nonsense, no fluff. A dominant presence even through a screen.
But then… people noticed you.
Not your face at first—just flashes of caramel skin in the background when Eren filmed at home; delicate hands sneaking into frame to steal bites of food before he swatted them away—only to pull you back by the waist for a rough kiss seconds later. The way you’d glide past him during workouts, earning yourself an aggressive ass smack that made his followers lose their minds in the comments—“Who is she?”
It wasn’t long before Eren leaned into it; letting glimpses of you become intentional parts of his videos. He caught how flustered you got whenever fans obsessed over your fingers tracing his abs mid-cooking sesh, or how perfectly round your ass looked in leggings when you trained together. He didn’t miss how you lingered closer to camera angles after that—or how red your cheeks would go reading thirsty DM’s about you and your own boyfriend.
But then it turned into… more.
At first, it was just playful—you hopping into frame during his Twitch streams, giggling as you perched on his lap while he played games fans requested. Then came the couples content—meal prepping high-protein dinners together, gym shopping sprees where he’d lift you onto equipment like a trophy, date nights where even your little arguments went viral because of how obviously whipped he was for you.
Eren noticed the shift before either of you acknowledged it out loud—how your breath hitched when he kissed you too roughly on camera, how your legs squeezed around him when fans commented about his hands spanning your waist in videos.
Then it happened—the second fans commented that they’d pay to watch him wreck you? You didn’t recoil—your face just burned darker under his stare.
It happened one night after filming a dinner tutorial.
The camera was still rolling when Eren pinned you against the counter with that look—the one that meant no take-backs.
Your whimpers were perfect for audio as he stuffed your mouth with his cock first—his subs lost their damn minds over those wet little gagging sounds—then he fucked every ounce of shyness out of you right there in their full view later, gripping bruises into your hips while growling something about, "Makin' sure they see who owns this fuckin’ pussy.”
And somehow? You were hotter on camera than off—arching and mewling like a dream beneath him until even he forgot this wasn't private anymore—until comments flooded in, demanding full videos.
That's how an OnlyFans got made overnight—top zero percentile within weeks, obviously. Turns out people would pay stupid money to watch authentic Dom/sub chemistry without cringe acting, especially from two gym rats who clearly adored each other between filthy moments. His natural dominance paired too well with how perfectly bratty yet submissive you got under pressure, and nobody filmed sex quite like a possessive boyfriend with his shy girlfriend. You were everyone’s fantasy come to life.
The camera flips to face you—dark curls bouncing playfully behind a brown headband, edges laid to silken perfection. Doe eyes blink prettily under fluttery anime-style lashes, freckles like spilled cinnamon dusting your cheeks as deep pink lips stretch into the sweetest smile—dimples peeking through as you tilt your head beneath the frame.
“Hiiii,” you coo at the lens, propping the phone carefully in the shopping basket to show off your outfit—a brown mini halter dress, golden sandals paired with French-tipped toes.
Then? A little spin—fabric flaring just enough for fans to catch a glimpse of heavy tits straining against thin material; nipples peaked visibly beneath it all as you chirped, “Got the dress you guys recommended. ‘Hope you love it as much as I do!"
This aisle is quieter than most in Halloween chaos… until Eren slinks up from behind like some feral shadow unleashed. His mouth lands on your throat first—sucking a rough kiss that makes you squeak before ducking lower to bite at one nipple through fabric— you squirm with giggled protests, “Eren, Stooop!"
“Look too fuckin' good right now.”
His growl then rumbles out, “Y'all wanted me actin’ up in public? Congrats."
You cup his face gently, pressing a tender kiss to his jaw—a silent be good that makes his scowl soften just a fraction. Turning back to the camera with an easy grin, you adjust the basket holding your phone and cheerfully announce—
"Okay! I asked you guys for Halloween costume ideas, and everyone left some super cute recommendations—so that’s what we’re hunting for today! Despite all of his complaining, me an’ ‘Ren have this big party tomorrow night—"
“Ain’t nobody complainin’, Bunny.”
He clarifies, “Just hate last minute shit."
You roll your eyes, "Anyway," you continue sweetly, "We’re at the biggest Halloween store right now—so fingers crossed we find exactly what we need!"
Your time in the store grows sweeter as Eren finally gets into it, holding up costumes he actually likes—testing the fit of things against his massive frame while you coo over him on camera.
Mindlessly, your eyes somehow find the mask section.
A Ghostface one stares back from its hook—blank white face, hollow black eyes. Suddenly your mind floods with those videos—men in masks fucking their women senseless, faceless except for that eerie plastic grin. Then your brain replaces them with Eren—tattooed and bare-chested, thighs spread heavy as he lazily grips his dick beneath Ghostface’s soulless stare before dragging you onto his lap.
"Ready?”
Eren’s voice snaps you out of it. He’s already pulling cash from his pocket, impatient but softened by how involved he got picking costumes last minute.
You blink up at him through the camera lens before flashing a little smile—“Mhm.”
Later at a dimly lit ramen spot, Eren slurps noodles aggressively straight from the bowl while you giggle behind your hands like it's the funniest thing ever, sake loosening both of you up enough for silliness.
The ride home is slow; streetlights blurring past as tipsy fingers trace patterns along Eren's thigh, creeping higher to palm firmly over denim where he’s already thickening under your touch.
“Behave,” he murmurs, a muse within the depth of his grunt.
Your shared home is big and cozy—the LED lights cast a deep purple glow across the spacious living room, illuminating lush green plants that cascade from shelves and corners, softening the space into something dreamy and serene. The low hum of music curls through the air—something sultry with a slow bassline—and at the center of it all sits an oversized black beanbag chair, plush enough to swallow whoever sinks into it.
You perch your camera on a nearby bookshelf, angling it just right before bending forward into the frame with a slow smirk—curves on full display as your dress dips dangerously low.
”We made it home, babies.”
The chat floods instantly—
OMG, THEY’RE LIVE!
THE DRESS? THE TITS? HELLO?
EREN LURKING IN THE BACKGROUND LOOKING FINE AS HELL, PER USUAL!
You giggle at the comments, “Hi, loves. ‘Missed y’all earlier."
Behind you, Eren sprawls across that massive beanbag like he owns it—one thick arm draped over its side while legs fall open in effortless manspreading dominance. His eyes track every move you make for their entertainment; fingers twitching against his thigh, watching.
“Look what we got!" you sing, flashing a playful grin at the live chat before turning to Eren—
“You ready to show ‘em, baby?"
He huffs from the beanbag—but there’s that barely there smirk curling his lips as he murmurs low, “Mhm. ‘Been waitin’ all day for this shit.”
You roll your eyes, “Look, now he's happy.”
Slipping your straps off freckled shoulders, you shimmy it down until it pools at your feet. The full glory of your body is revealed now—heavy tits that spill lush against your torso, nipples pert from anticipation; tiny waist cinched in by nature’s unfair favor; hips wide enough to make grown men weep into their screens—your doll like proportions were brought to life under purple LED glow.
But then? You lean forward over Eren's lap, spreading yourself shamelessly toward the lens with a giggly whisper—“Got my first wax today, doesn't it look pretty?"
Your pussy glistens bare under studio lighting—plump lips parted just slightly—and then? The chat goes crazy.
EREN, YOU LUCKY BASTARD.
Eren doesn't let them savor peace for long though–his tattooed hand grips one ass cheek firmly before roughly spreading you wider, growling something about, “Show ‘em properly, girl.”
Two sharp spanks follow—your squeak nearly making the chat combust—his fingers lingering possessively where pink skin flushes hottest beneath palm marks.
Giggling, you sway your hips teasingly between Eren's palms, the plush rounds of your ass bouncing playfully under his grip before he delivers a few more sharp spanks—each one making you yelp and squirm. The live chat is in chaos, more comments pouring in.
SHE’S WILD TONIGHT!
Eren looks like he’s about to snatch her up, omfg.
Costume reveal, NOWWW.
With a growl, Eren leans toward the camera—his dominant presence looming even through the screen—“‘She keep doin’ all that,” he rumbles with mock warning, “‘Y’all ain't gettin' no damn costume haul.”
The fans don't hesitate to clown on him.
Awe, let her be cute!
Eren’s definitely gonna wreck her after this stream, lmao.
You bat your lashes innocently at the camera before finally relenting with a dramatic sigh, “Fine!”
You dive into the first shopping bag with exaggerated enthusiasm. First pull? A sexy Little Bo Peep ensemble for yourself—fluffy short skirt, thigh-high lace-up stockings. Then comes Eren's part of the duo—holding up a classic Woody costume, complete with vest and cowboy hat.
You slip into your first costume—soft pink silk clinging to every curve, a dainty bow tied snugly between your heavy tits, while the fluffy skirt swishes playfully over your thick hips, barely covering the roundness of your ass.
“It’s a little smaller than I hoped for—even with it being a size large!”
You twirl for the camera to show off the fit, trying to explain sizing details through breathy giggles—through all of that, Eren’s hands keep wandering. His fingers slide along your waist before dipping dangerously low under your skirt, teasing at the edge of your panties until you let out a whimpery laugh.
"’Ren!”
You swat his wrist before rubbing his biceps soothingly, leaning back against him with puppy-dog eyes—“Baby… try on your costume, please?”
He relents. Tugging on Woody’s vest—which barely buttons over his broad chest—he tips the cowboy hat just right, his tattoos flexing beneath dim purple lighting as he angles himself toward the camera like he knows exactly what it does to people watching. Of course, the comments lose it immediately.
EREN IN A COWBOY HAT? WE DIDN'T KNOW WE NEEDED THIS.
The way he just knows how sexy that shit is.
You coo sweetly at chat—“Y’all love him too much!”, smacking Eren's arm once more when you catch him grinning smugly at all their simping messages in real time.
Eren adjusts himself with a low chuckle, the outline of his hardened dick straining against his jeans as he rolls his shoulders—muscles flexing beneath taut olive skin. He throws back his head with a playful howl toward the ceiling, then drops into a deep, exaggerated cowboy drawl—“There’s a snake in my boot… and it ain't the one y’all thinkin' ‘bout."
The live chat erupts.
You bite your lip hard enough to feel your own heartbeat between your thighs—watching him like this, all dark dominance barely contained under cheap costume fabric? Yeah. Problem.
Then he leans toward camera—reading aloud in that gravel-deep voice, “Somebody askin’ what size I got—”
But before he can answer properly? Your tongue drags slow and wet along the zipper of his jeans, dropping to your knees without warning. Eren groans but doesn’t stop you—fingers tangling possessively in your curls instead as he glances down with amused eyes.
“‘Thought you wanted me tryin' on costumes?”
“‘M sorry baby… you just look too good.”
He huffs but lets you go, watching as you scramble back up to grab the next set of shopping bags—a tiny cheerleader outfit for yourself and fitted football jersey for him.
You shimmy into the outfit—the top barely containing your full tits, threatening to spill over with every little movement. The short pleated skirt hugs your waist before flaring out just enough to leave your plush ass on full display as you bounce around. Your dark curls swing wildly as you shake the pom-poms with exaggerated enthusiasm, giggling like this is the most fun you’ve ever had.
Eren yanks on his football jersey—sleeves stretching tight around his biceps as he adjusts the low bun at the nape of his neck. Without warning, you dart over and tug up his jersey yourself, showing off all that chiseled muscle to
the amount of people begging to see all parts of him.
“Y’all see this shit?” Eren grunts cockily, flexing hard enough for veins to pop under ink-stained skin— “‘Been tryna’ lean my body into full fuckin' muscle.”
You dissolve into giggles against him—”He’s been on this strict chicken and keto diet,” adding in a whisper toward chat, “I sneak rice when he's not looking.”
Then—just because you can't help it—you leap straight into his arms like some overly enthusiastic groupie, pom-poms waving dramatically while squealing—
“GIVE IT UP FOR MY MAAAAAN!”
The energy between you two crackles as you become more playful for the camera. Eren, still in his football jersey, effortlessly lifts you into the air—muscles flexing as he hoists your legs over his shoulders like you weigh nothing. When he suddenly drops you mid-air onto his waiting dick—already fully hard beneath those jeans—your squeals of surprise and laughter flood the live chat. The donations explode, hearts and fire emojis spamming the screen.
Still giggling and flushed, you turn toward the camera—spreading your knees slightly before making that famous ass clap on command—even throwing in a playful self-spank that sends viewers into a frenzy.
Between breathless laughs, you announce—
“Okay guys! Final costumes.”
Eren’s brow quirks as he folds those massive arms—“Bunny, we only bought two.”
You shush him with a devious grin, shoving him backward onto the beanbag—“It’s a little surprise for you too.”
You vanish down the hall, leaving him with that. Eren distracts the chat by half-heartedly thanking subs between confused glances toward where you disappeared.
But then?
You reappear in an obscenely sexy fit—a shimmering pink bikini barely clinging to tits paired with fluffy white bottoms so short they might as well be lace wishes; every bounce of your steps makes that little cotton tail wiggle tauntingly above heart-shaped cheeks dusted in freckles.
The ears match perfectly atop of curls, framing doe-eyed innocence despite everything else screaming sin.
“See? I'm Bunny! Like, literally.”
Then, turning shy but sultry towards him, “Im'your bunny now…you like it?"
His growl could’ve shaken the walls.
“C’mere.”
With a sultry sway of your hips, you crawl towards him like a kitten stalking its prey—eyes locked onto the camera with a devilish smirk.
“‘Wanted to give you guys a little treat… since you’ve been so sweet.”
A tiny “Hi,” then escapes your lips—soft, playful—before pressing featherlight pecks against his mouth like he’s something fragile.
And then?
Your tongue slips past his lips in one smooth slide, tugging back slowly before diving in again—savoring him like candy melting on your taste buds. The kiss deepens quickly— loud, filthy, slurping sounds filling the room as your tongues stroke and tangle wetly together between gasps for air.
But he wants more.
Grunting, “Put that shit in my mouth," he orders lowly, lolling out his own tongue as an offering beneath yours. You obey instantly—leaning down until glossy strands drip from your parted lips straight into his waiting mouth. His groan rumbles as you reconnect roughly; saliva smearing across flushed skin while the chat erupts into complete chaos.
Eren grips your waist, hoisting you higher until your thighs straddle his chest—your round ass now positioned perfectly for the camera’s hungry gaze. His large palms knead the plush curves before pulling back and delivering a series of even more harsh spanks, each sharp crack echoing through the room.
Your giggles dissolve into weak little gasps with every smack—red handprints blooming across caramel skin as he growls up at you, “Tryna’ piss me off, huh?”
You tremble—caught between laughter and pleasured shivers—then, you’re tugging those tiny shorts aside with shaky fingers, letting swollen folds peek out for him…for the chat…for whoever wants to look.
Then? He shakes his head slow—tongue lolling out before pressing forward with a groan that vibrates straight into dripping heat. You jolt as soon as he drags through slick folds; head thrown back so hard curls spill down bare shoulders while sweet whimpers spill past bitten lips—“Oooh, baby.”
One hand flies behind yourself blindly, spanking one cheek roughly mid-ride on his tongue—“That feels so good!” Voice pitching higher each time hips grind harder against his mouth, tracing every inch of your clit like a starved man.
“M'your lil’ bunny," you slur between breathless moans, fingers gripping the back of his head to grind harder.
His groan vibrates through your pussy when you say it—filthy bastard that he is—before sealing those full lips around your clit with a suck so vicious it makes your thighs shake. His tongue flicks the swollen bud rapidly before dragging back up to tug it between his teeth in a rhythm that has you full on whimpering, nails biting into his scalp.
Then? You peek over your shoulder just in time to see him yank his cock free from those tight jeans—thick and already glistening at the tip from how turned on he is tasting you. The sight makes you mewl even louder, bouncing on his mouth like a needy little thing as the chat nearly implodes.
Giggles mixture with whines as you peek at camera again mid-ride—”Look at how big it's getting, guys…”
Your voice drips southern sweet despite the wrecked tone—“‘S so pretty… gonna’ look even prettier stuffed down my throat.”
Eren’s mouth works over you with a possessive, violent kind of hunger—no finesse, just raw dominance as he devours you like you owe him every drop. His growls vibrate straight into your clit—“Mhm," rough and approving, every time you whimper or try to squirm away. Your thighs tremble as you struggle to keep them spread for the camera, fingers shaking where they grip the back of his head.
And then?
You cream right on his tongue—a broken little “Ooh,” slipping past your lips before it turns into a full-on moan—your orgasm spilling messily against his chin. He doesn’t let up though; if anything, he doubles down, licking deeper until you’re gasping and jerking in oversensitivity.
When he finally pulls back just enough to smirk at the camera—his tongue lazily drags along his swollen lower lip to catch every last bit of your taste—voice nothing but gravel, “‘Fuckin' naughty ass bunny."
You slide down with a shivery groan, crashing mouths together in a kiss that’s all spit and slick arousal before tugging away breathless—cheeks flushed dark under those freckles even more than usual.
“I got somethin' else for you, ‘Ren.”
“You’re too fuckin’ good to me.”
The rumble of his voice sends a shiver down your spine, and you can’t help but giggle in response, nipping at his bottom playfully before pulling back.
With a devilish grin, you reach behind the bean bag—slowly revealing the Ghostface mask with dramatic flair. Your free palm slides up Eren's stomach as you lean back into him for another messy kiss, tongue curling against his while murmuring—
“‘Want you to fuck me in it…”
A dark chuckle vibrates through his chest. He catches your chin between two fingers, “Put on a lil' show for 'em," he grunts, voice dripping with promise as he nips at your swollen lower lip one last time, “I'll be back."
And just like that—he tugs away from you with that infuriating smirk and disappears down the hallway, leaving the live chat in absolute shambles while anticipation coils hot in your belly.
Your fingers fiddle with the fuzzy bunny ears as you glance at the live chat—comments flooding in fast.
OMGGGGG.
‘Need my shit ate like that, my god.
Giggling, you tug the pink bikini top down just enough to free your tits—full and heavy as they spill into your palms. You give them a teasing squeeze, whining softly for the camera—“Can’t wait for him to come back…”
Then—footsteps.
You don’t even have to look before your body reacts, thighs pressing together instinctively when Eren steps back into frame. The sight of him like this? Naked. Muscles carved deep under ink, his thick cock hanging heavy between powerful thighs—but it’s that mask that sends electricity straight through you. Ghostface stares back with eerie silence, belt coiled loosely in one hand.
This. This was always the fantasy playing behind your eyelids. You sink further on your knees against the beanbag, doe-eyed and waiting.
Large fingers suddenly knot into your curls—yanking sharply until tears prick at lash lines, but all that escapes is a shaky giggle of pure want as his grip drags you forward.
"Lemme’ suck it, baby..."
The mask offers no answer. Only the sharp tug of his grip on your curls as he drags you forward again, forcing that as an answer. Your fingers scramble against his thighs as you part your lips —trying and failing to wrap around his fat tip, swelling impossibly wider in your mouth second by second.
A soft whine vibrates around him when all you can do is take it, sloppy slurps filling the air as spit drips down your chin. The way those wet noises mix with his harsh breathing—mask amplifying every ragged inhale—makes your pussy clench around nothing.
You steal glances between bobs—the black voids of that mask staring down like something out of a filthy nightmare, drool pooling under your trembling lips each time he thrusts deeper.
And then? When hollowed cheeks suck harder on reflex?
That's when Eren finally growls above—voice muffled but wrecked—“Fuck. That’s right...swallow that shit.”
Your eyes roll back the moment his cock hits the back of your throat—stretching it wide as he forces himself deeper with a brutal shove. The mask tilts up slightly as his head lolls back in pleasure, groans muffled but no less feral when you choke around him, spit bubbling past stretched lips.
He finally pulls out with a slick pop, leaving you gasping—chest heaving as drool drips down your chin and onto your trembling hands. Without hesitation, you spit messily against his shaft before wrapping both palms around what you can’t fit in your mouth, jerking him off desperately while whining—
“Face fuck me, baby… ‘m okay.”
The mask shifts downward slightly—his breathing ragged beneath it before he growls low and grips either side of your head.
Then?
No more mercy.
His hips snap forward in long, punishing thrusts—fucking into that tight heat of your throat over and over until tears streak through ruined mascara. Each sloppy gag only eggs him on harder; the wet slap of skin against lips mingling with choked moans that make the chat nearly explode.
And all you can do is take it—fingers gripping his thighs for balance while he uses that pretty mouth like it was made just for him. Every choked noise punched from your chest just feeds his rhythm, gllrk, gllrk, gllrk.
This is worship.
Your mouth works him in messy, filthy devotion—lips stretched around his girth as spit froths at the corners. Each time he thrusts in, you roll your head with him, hollowing your cheeks like you’re trying to siphon his soul straight from the root. And when he shoves deep enough to hit the back of your throat? You choke—gagging around him with a wet gurgle that only makes his hips stutter harder. Eren picks up one of the phones nearby, angling it down so the light catches every drool-slick detail—your doe eyes wide and glossy above stuffed lips, freckled cheeks hollowed as he fucks into you with nothing but slow, controlled rolls of his hips.
When he pulls back abruptly—your body jerks forward greedily like you can’t stand losing even an inch of him. But then, fingers clamp under your jaw tight enough to make you whine as he forces your face toward camera view; spit-smeared and utterly wrecked before delivering another few sharp smacks to your flushed cheek.
"Look at this shit," comes that gravel-dark voice behind the mask —thumb swiping through ruined gloss just for it to smear all again, shoving himself past trembling lips once more. It’s not like you’d say no anyways.
The moment he erupts in your mouth, you choke loudly—thick, salty heat flooding your tongue as his hips jerk against your face. His palm lands a few more sharp smacks against your cheek for good measure, the sting only making you swallow harder around him with a muffled moan.
Gentleness cuts through the filthy haze as Eren’s fingers slide along your jaw, tilting your face up slightly while his low voice rumbles beneath the mask—“You alright?”
You nod quickly with a sweet little smile despite being absolutely wrecked, lips glossy and swollen. But he’s not done yet. The mask dips closer like he’s going to kiss you—only for you to dart forward and drag your tongue right up where his mouth would be beneath it, giggling filthily at his gruff exhale in response.
That playful energy doesn't last long though, because suddenly? Your arms are yanked tightly behind your back by one of his big palms, the other fishing for that belt nearby.
You pout toward the camera view, “He knows I hate not being able to touch him.”
Eren pulls you onto his lap effortlessly; your bare back pressed flush against that tattooed chest, thick thighs spreading yours wide open for the camera to see everything glistening between them.
His palms knead heavy over full tits next —bouncing them shamelessly before rolling stiff nipples between rough fingertips—you arch into every touch like a kitten chasing sunlight, wanting more, needing more.
His fingers trail down slowly, teasingly, until his thick calloused thumb finds your swollen clit—rubbing in slow, deliberate circles that make your breath hitch. Your head falls back against his shoulder with a soft gasp, lashes fluttering as you squirm against the belt binding your wrists. The restraint only makes everything feel hotter—frustration and pleasure twisting together when all you can do is writhe under his touch.
Beneath the mask, Eren’s gruff voice rumbles darkly—“Gonna’ have bunny make a fuckin’ mess.”
Your eyes flicker down between fluttering lashes to watch his thick fingers glisten with your slick before you mewl—voice dripping with spoiled impatience—“Slide ‘em in…” lips puffing out in a pout that would’ve made him chuckle if he wasn’t so busy being mean.
And then? No warning.
Two digits plunge deep inside all at once—your gasp breaking into a weak moan as he immediately starts fucking them into you at a punishing pace, knuckles brushing against that spongy spot with every thrust until drool nearly drips from your parted lips.
“Ooooh my g—god,” you slur helplessly —back arching off his chest as legs fall open even further like some fucked-out puppet on strings—“F—Feels so good… ‘Ren.”
Tears prick at lash lines when those fingers crook just right; hips stuttering mid-air like they don’t know whether to chase or run from overwhelming pleasure.
Your pussy clings to his fingers like it’s begging for more, sucking them in with greedy little flutters every time he pushes deep. But Eren? He’s a fucking tease.
He drags those fingers out slow—just enough to make you whine and squirm—only to rub your throbbing clit in tight circles, the tips of his fingers occasionally brushing against your dripping opening without giving you what you really want.
“Mmmph—nngh!”
He sinks them back in with one smooth thrust before roughly pumping them inside you at a relentless pace. The sound is obscene; wet squelches filling the room as he fucks into you hard enough that your entire body jolts with each snap of his wrist.
Tears spill freely now—pout trembling between squeaky moans until suddenly? You break. A high-pitched cry tears from your throat as pleasure crashes over you like a tidal wave, thighs shaking violently while slick gushes messily onto his hand and down trembling thighs.
The masked bastard has the nerve to groan cockily above—“There it is.”
His palm lands an approving smack against one twitching thigh just to watch you jump through aftershocks—“Good fuckin’ girl.”
His fingers plunge back in without mercy—frantic, deep thrusts coaxing out every last drop of your release as you gush messily around his hand for the camera. Your cries pitch higher, body seizing with overstimulated tremors while he works you through it, chasing those fluttering spasms like they’re his personal entertainment.
One large palm suddenly grips your jaw, tilting your face toward the lens—mascara smudged, lips parted around silent gasps, tears streaking down freckled cheeks. The cold mask presses against your shoulder from behind as he smacks your flushed cheeks a few times more with that arrogant rhythm of his—like he’s reminding everyone who owns this pretty little mess of a bunny.
But then?
A whisper only for you—gruff and low beneath the mask, “You alright, baby? Talk to me.”
Through whimpers and shuddering breaths, you nod eagerly even as fresh tears spill past puffy lashes. Because how could you not be? When he turns you into this.
The chat explodes—comments and donations flooding in faster than you can blink.
HOLY FUCK.
THE WAY HE JUST OWNED HER.
But Eren’s already moving, flipping you onto your stomach against the bean bag with a rough tug on your bound wrists, forcing your back into a deep arch. The camera catches it all—his massive, tattooed frame looming over you, the eerie mask staring down as he smacks his thick cock against your dripping folds just to hear you whimper.
“Ain’t gonna’ run from me, huh?”
Your eyes flicker back at him over one shoulder before nodding softly, pouty lips parting around shaky breaths as you lower your hips just enough to show him what you want—what that greedy little body of yours has been craving this whole time.
With a grunt, he snatches up another phone —holding it above at an angle that makes everything look even filthier before pushing in. And god does it feel like he’s stuffing every inch of you open; veins pulsing against tender walls, his girth stretching impossibly deeper with each slow thrust until finally? Bottomed out.
You bury your face into the bean bag with a broken squeak—hips twitching involuntarily around him while knuckles turn white from gripping restraints too tight for words anymore.
The camera stays steady in his grip above, capturing every filthy detail—his thick cock glistening with each slow, deliberate thrust as he pulls halfway out before driving back in with nothing but the power of his hips. Your whines are soft and shaky beneath him, bunny ears shifting as you peer over your shoulder to lock eyes on that masked face looming behind you.
Eren’s fingers suddenly hook under your chin, twisting your face toward the lens.
“Look at 'em," he murmurs darkly—thumb swiping away a tear just to smear it across freckled skin for the camera, “They love seein’ this pretty fuckin' face ruined."
Then? He starts dropping you onto him—harder now—each bounce creating a lewd slap of skin against skin that echoes between heavy breaths. The new angle makes every brutal descent drag his balls tight against your swollen clit while the blunt head of his cock grinds right into that sweet spot inside.
One large hand wraps around your throat without warning—forcing those glossy eyes to stay locked on him even as pleasure burns through you like wildfire. The other grips the belt binding your wrists tighter, using it like a leash to yank you down onto each punishing thrust until tears spill freely again.
“Fuckkmmph…b—baby…”
You slur moans between gasps, voice cracking under sheer sensation when an especially rough snap of his hips punches out a wet squelch from dripping folds—
Then another—
And another—
Until all control shatters completely; vision whitening as your pussy farts violently around him with messy little spurts between thrusts while ass cheeks clap louder than ever against tattooed thighs. Eren’s watchful silence breaks only for ragged growls of, “Take it.”
A particularly vicious slam wrings out garbled nonsense from trembling lips, “’Mgoddd, fuck.”
His thrusts turn feral—deep, aggressive pistons of his hips that make your ass applaud like rapid gunshots between the wet squelch of your pussy struggling to keep up. The rhythm is brutal—silence for half a second—just long enough to hear you whimper—then another sharp slap of skin on skin, followed by the obscene gurgle of your cunt being stretched beyond its limit.
Eren’s palm smothers your moans as his other hand crashes down in a series of harsh smacks against your reddened ass. Your cries are muffled beneath rough fingers, thighs trembling violently as pleasure and pain twist together into something ruinous.
But then?
He rips his hand off your mouth with a dark grunt of, “Pussy louder’ than that mouth. Lemme' hear you.”
And you break again, voice cracking around whimpered pleas—“…D—don’t stop… Daddy.”
A title reserved only for when he fucks you stupid like this. His grip tightens on the belt binding your wrists before he yanks you down onto him again—this time slow but mercilessly deep, forcing every inch inside until tears spill over anew. The way his tip nudges that spongy spot has cream spilling out around him in thick ropes while hiccuped little "Ugh!” sounds punch from your throat between thrusts.
But it's when glassy eyes finally lock onto the mask hovering above—despite being so wrecked, words barely form properly— shaky lips part around something softer than all this filth, “…Love y—you, ‘Ren.”
The mask tilts just slightly downward —a silent tell that he wants to kiss you senseless, but can’t through the damned obstruction covering his face.
Your voice slurs into the filthiest whimper—"Pound me…”—and Eren growls, fingers digging bruises into your hips as he gives you exactly what you’re begging for.
His thrusts turn punishing—slow, but devastatingly deep—each one landing with a heavy grind that makes your toes curl. The sheer force of him pounding into you like this has high-pitched squeaks tumbling from your lips in senseless, sweet little babbles only he could snatch out of you.
"Yes! Yes! T—That's sooo good! Fuck, yessss.”
The praise only eggs him on harder. His rhythm stays relentless, driving into that spot until pressure coils tight in your belly—until suddenly?
A gush of cream spills out around his cock with a shuddering cry from your lips; giggles and weak sobs mixing together as pleasure whites out every thought. Your body convulses around him helplessly, squirting messily onto his thighs while he fucks you straight through it—every slap of skin against skin wringing out another broken moan until drool drips onto the beanbag beneath.
Eren’s grip tightens possessively when your legs start trembling too hard to hold yourself up anymore—masked face tilting down to watch the absolute wreck he’s made of you with dark satisfaction.
His hands shift from punishing to protecting in an instant—one arm hooking under your trembling thighs to steady them while the other pulls you flush against his chest, palm cradling your throat gently as he murmurs low reassurances only for you. His masked face buries between your shoulders—hidden from the camera’s view—as his fingers trace soothing circles along the back of your thigh, urging you to relax through those shuddering little cries.
For a single, stolen second? The mask lifts just enough for him to press a soft kiss against your swollen lips—a silent you okay? that makes you smile sweetly despite the mess he’s made of you.
But then? It’s tugged back down abruptly as his voice roughened with dark intent—“Feel good enough t’ride me?”
You nod eagerly with a tiny whimper of, “Please…”
Eren unfastens the belt around your wrists with one sharp tug before grunting toward the camera like some possessive beast proud of his prey—“She did good. ‘Hands back.”
The moment you’re free, shaky giggles spill out as you push him down onto the bean bag beneath, crawling into his lap like an eager kitten despite slick between trembling thighs.
Your fingers brush over that masked face playfully before whispering—“Hi, ‘Ren.”
And just like that? His aggression falters for half a heartbeat—mask tilting slightly when he rumbles back in a voice too warm for character—“Hey, baby.”
You tease him mercilessly, sliding his thick tip between your soaked folds with a sultry sway of hips—“You miss Bunny's little pussy, baby?”
His hands grip your hips gently as he grunts in response—“You know I do. Drop that shit on me."
With a soft giggle, you grab the phone behind you—one hand angling it to capture the perfect shot of your round ass sinking down onto him, the other guiding his cock deeper with each whimpery, “Mmmph!"
The camera shakes slightly in your grasp as you start rolling those sinful hips—slow at first, then faster when his groans rumble beneath like thunder. Your moans match every filthy grind; Eren’s head lazily thrown back against the beanbag as pleasure turns sweet and thick between you. His fingers dig into caramel thighs just for an excuse to feel more of this sinuous rhythm —his own sounds barely contained beneath dark fabric masking his face from view, but not from you.
The phone wobbles in your shaky grip as you lift it higher, capturing every second of those desperate little bounces—your thighs trembling with effort while your face twists in overstimulated pleasure.
“‘S splittin' me, baby…”
Beneath the mask, Eren lets out a low moan, his hands sliding to grip your hips gently before shifting them just so—angling each descent to hit that perfect spot inside. The moment you feel it? Your giggles bubble up between moans as you clap your ass down even harder against him—deliberately showy for the camera now watching from behind.
And when his head rolls back with a broken groan of "Oh fuck..." You can't help but grin wickedly through fluttering lashes—both at how wrecked he sounds, and how good that girth feels stretching you open on every rise and fall of needy hips.
Dammit. He was supposed to be mean right now.
You drop the phone onto the beanbag beside him, letting it capture everything—the wild bounce of your curls, the sinful arch of your back as you ride him hard, and that fat ass clapping down onto his lap with every eager drop. The wet slap of skin against skin echoes obscenely in the room.
“M’your bunny, Daddy..." you repeat in a whimper between breathless giggles—voice sugar-sweet even as you take him rough.
Eren's head is fully thrown back against the cushion now as he groans filthy things into empty air—fingers tightening just enough on your hips to bruise while pleasure wrings out each ragged moan of—
"Fuck—oh fuck, f—fuuuuck—”
And for once? It’s him unraveling beneath you instead of the other way around.
Your palm smacks your own ass cheek hard, punctuating your breathless taunt—"That's a good fuckin' boy, baby.”
Leaning against his chest, you roll and grind on him with filthy precision—eyes locked over your shoulder at the camera as you twerk atop his cock with giggly Mhm’s. Eren’s hands spank and grope your ass blindly between ragged moans—his usual control shredding down to nothing but primal sounds of pleasure.
When you turn fully forward again? Your expression flips from sinful to angelic in half a second as you blink innocently—”Gonna’ cum in Bunny’s pussy, baby?”
His grip on your hips turns vise-tight, slamming you down onto him as he whimpers out, “Shit…Y—Yeah… fuck, Bunny.”
You hover inches from that masked face —giggling darkly while riding him through each shuddering thrust until hot breath ghosts against your lips through fabric. His release hits violently; thick spurts painting deep inside while you twist suddenly —tongue darting out playfully, just in time for those last messy ropes to splatter across it like some perfectly ruined dessert.
Eren goes utterly still when cool fingertips wrap around what’s left of his sensitivity—”‘Atta’ boy,” you mewl sweetly, licking sticky cum off deep pink lips without breaking eye contact once—“Did so good, baby.”
The moment the mask is lifted away, your mouth is all over him —giggling kisses against his sharp jawline until he grumbles with mock annoyance, "Need a real fuckin’ kiss,” before his mouth is crashing on yours.
Your lips move against each other in the filthiest kiss yet, tongues swirling together like you’re both starved for contact. Your arms wrap tight around his neck as you tug him into the camera view with a breathless giggle—“Happy Halloween!” you sing happily into the lens.
Eren chuckles deeply—a rough, warm sound—as he hides his face in the crook of your shoulder, suddenly shy under the camera’s gaze. Meanwhile, you lean forward with a playful grin, scanning the comments as they flood in.
“Awwww, thank you!"
You coo at sweet messages before pausing at another question—“Oh! The costumes? We got them from that Spirit Halloween, it’s the one downtown near Bourbon Street!"
You wiggle happily against his lap, Eren’s hands drifting along your waist with lazy affection, patience as he always had for you.
But then? His voice rumbles low near your ear—just one word that seers finality, “Bunny."
You sigh dramatically but melt all the same, turning back to the screen with a sugar-sweet smile.
“Okay guys, we’re gonna go. Love y'all!"
The chat erupts instantly—DON'T LEAVE!—but Eren's already reaching for the phone with a huff of amusement as he ends it on your giggle, tossing it aside and dragging you into him fully this time.
Oh my gosh, it’s amazing like I can’t get over how dominant he is like. I just love a dominant man. I love a man who was just all about Dominic like everything he do is dominant like for example, picking up a chair dominant I need that sit down. I’m about to slurp you up, but I love how she is how cute it is like and how it’s literally in the season like Halloween costumes you know it actually gave me a couple ideas, but I just love like how they stream together and it’s lucky real like there’ll be some people out there that stream and they look hot as fuck. I’ll pay to see yeah like how y’all get down. But I just love this so much and I’m mean that I love when it comes to fucking and y’all low-key get submissive but overall I love this. It’s amazing if y’all know me for a long time y’all know eren was my first, so do you know how much is missing me 
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The night was quiet, warm with the scent of salt and summer grass as Rafe drove you past the Cut, out where the sky stretched wide and the stars burned brighter, and though the radio hummed low, all you really noticed was him — the way he leaned back in the seat, watching you like you were something rare, asking with a teasing grin, “You always this shy, sweetheart?” and when you ducked your head, smiling nervously, he reached across the console, his fingers brushing yours, his voice softer now, coaxing, “Don’t be shy with me, I like seeing you,” and when you finally looked up, his gaze caught yours and held it until the rest of the world seemed to vanish, his hand lifting to your jaw with a gentleness that didn’t match the roughness of his palms, giving you every chance to turn away, but you didn’t — you couldn’t — and then his lips met yours, slow and sure, deepening like he’d been waiting all night for this, his hand steady at the back of your neck as your whole body felt light, like you might float straight into the stars, and when he finally pulled back, forehead resting against yours, his breath still brushing your lips, his voice came out rough and tender all at once: “Sweet girl, don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you,” and in that moment you weren’t thinking of anything else — not your mama, not the line between your worlds — only the way his words wrapped around you, the safety of his arms, and the dizzy, impossible feeling that this kiss was just the beginning.
The screen door slammed shut behind you, no matter how carefully you tried to close it. You froze when you saw your mama waiting in the living room, arms crossed tight over her chest, her jaw set like stone. “Where in God’s name have you been?” she snapped. You clutched the strap of your bag, throat tight. “Just… out with a friend.” Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t lie to me, girl. I seen you get out of that fancy car, the one that boy drives.” You bit your lip, words caught in your chest. Silence gave you away. Your mama’s voice sharpened like a whip. “You stay away from him, you hear me? Boys like that they’ll drag you straight into the dirt. I won’t have my daughter throwin’ her life away over some no-good Kook boy.”Tears stung your eyes, but anger flared just as hot.
“You don’t know him—”
“I know enough!” she cut you off, her face red now. “And you ain’t seein’ him again. Not while you live under my roof.”
Her words landed heavy as stone, and suddenly your throat closed up. You stormed off, choking back sobs, slamming your bedroom door before collapsing onto the bed. The tears came hot and fast, muffled against your pillow, your chest aching with the weight of her anger. And yet… her warning only made you want him more. So when headlights swept across your window an hour later, you didn’t hesitate. You wiped your eyes, slipped out the back door, and climbed into the passenger seat of Rafe’s car. He took one look at your tear-streaked face and smirked, reaching over to brush his thumb across your cheek. “Well, well… looks like Mama doesn’t approve of me, huh?” You shook your head, sniffling. “She said I can’t see you anymore.” Rafe leaned back in his seat, chuckling low. “Course she did. Women like her—they want to keep sweet little things like you locked away, safe and quiet. But you…” His eyes flicked over you, slow and deliberate, voice dropping to a husky murmur. “You’re meant for more than sittin’ at home, darlin’. You’re meant to live. To feel. To be mine.” Your chest tightened, torn between fear and desire, between your mama’s words and the warmth spreading through you at his. Rafe reached over, taking your hand in his, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “Don’t cry over her rules, baby. You’re with me now. And I’ll take care of you. Better than anyone else ever could.” The tears stopped, your pulse thundering in your ears as his thumb traced circles on your skin. Maybe it was wrong, maybe your mama was right—but sitting in his car, wrapped in his attention, you felt more alive than you ever had before.
The invitation didn’t sound like a choice. “Get in,” Rafe said, leaning against his car outside your house just past ten o’clock. His shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, cigarette glowing in the dark, the smirk on his lips daring you to tell him no. You hesitated, glancing back at the faint glow of your mama’s bedroom light. “It’s late,” you whispered. Rafe flicked his cigarette to the ground and crushed it beneath his shoe. “Sweetheart, you’re gonna waste your whole life worryin’ about bedtime.” He opened the passenger door with a flourish. “Now, are you comin’, or am I gonna have to beg?” You slid into the seat, heart pounding, trying to ignore the thrill sparking in your chest. The car smelled like leather, cologne, and smoke — sharp and intoxicating, just like him. He drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting over thigh. The radio hummed old rock songs low, filling the silence until neon lights appeared in the distance. He took you to a diner, the kind of place with checkered floors and a jukebox humming softly in the corner. It should’ve been ordinary, but nothing about the way Rafe looked at you felt ordinary. “Order whatever you want,” he told you, sliding into the booth across from you. When you hesitated, he leaned forward, blue eyes locking on yours. “Don’t be shy. A girl like you deserves to have the world handed to her.” Your cheeks burned at the words, and he smiled like he knew exactly what he was doing. He always had a way about his words that could make you feel so special like you were the only girl in the world. Conversation came easy, though he did most of the talking — stories about parties you’d never dared to attend, about fights you didn’t want to picture. But when you laughed, soft and nervous, he went quiet. Just watched you. “Don’t look at me like that,” he said finally, voice low, almost dangerous. “You’ll ruin me, sweetheart.” You looked down, fumbling with your straw, but his words stayed with you. He didn’t touch you — not yet. But when he drove you home, he walked you to the door, stood a little too close, eyes lingering on your lips before he finally stepped back. “Next time,” he murmured, smooth and certain, “I’m not lettin’ you off so easy.”And then he was gone, leaving you flushed and breathless on the porch, already waiting for the next time.
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The first time was an accident. The second time… not so much. After that first night he’d offered her a ride, it became something unspoken between them. She’d walk out of school, clutching her books to her chest, and there he’d be — leaning against his car like he had all the time in the world. Cigarette dangling between his fingers, shirt sleeves rolled just so, a smirk playing at his mouth the second he spotted her. “Need a lift, doll?” he’d drawl, like he wasn’t already opening the passenger door for her. At first, she told herself it was just easier than walking. But soon, it wasn’t about convenience. It was about the way he looked at her — like he noticed everything. The bow in her hair. The hem of her skirt. The way she blushed when he called her sweetheart. And no matter what, he always got her home before her mama even noticed. It started small. One afternoon, he held out a cigarette between his fingers, the smoke curling lazy in the sunlight. “Just one drag,” he coaxed, tilting his head. “Won’t kill you.” She shook her head, cheeks hot. But Rafe only leaned closer, voice smooth as honey. “C’mon, angel. Don’t tell me you’ve never been curious.” The hesitation only made him grin. When she finally gave in — just one shaky inhale before coughing into her hand — he laughed low and warm, rubbing her back with his hand. “Atta girl. Knew you had it in you.” Another day, it was his flask. “Just a sip,” he promised, sliding it across the seat toward her. “Sweet as you are, you’ll like it.” The burn made her wince, but Rafe only smirked and called her darlin’ in that way that made her stomach twist. And sometimes it wasn’t about vices at all. Sometimes it was the way he’d reach across the console, slip a necklace into her palm — delicate, expensive, wrong. “Looks better on you than sittin’ in some box,” he’d say, watching her face soften in awe. Piece by piece, she let him in. One drag, one sip, one secret at a time. Because to him nothing tasted was better than turning a good girl just a little bad.
BIMBO READER would easily described as “TOO MUCH” — such as too pink, too loud and too dumb. Pouty lips, long lashes, shimmering eyeshadow, pink blush and highlighted cheekbones.
BIMBO READER is hyper feminine. obsessed with self-care routine, taking care of her own nails and lashes, and leaving hair to the salon. (We love a DIY nail & lash tech)
BIMBO READER sex positive. open minded to everything as long it includes consent and safe protection to avoid the nasty diseases cause that’s not hot.
BIMBO READER social media icon and influencer already. Gives tutorial for skin care, how to apply lash clusters, and DIY tutorial on new nail set. (Plus shopping hauls on the side if requested)
BIMBO READER outfits/style involved pink and mainly ‘girly-girl’ fashionista. Often the mini skirts showing off her ass or thong if bent over, the small tube tops barely covering her perky ample chest, and paired with high-heels. (Skin-tight dresses and strictly low-rise jeans if necessary)
BIMBO READER smells like vanilla and cherries, soft yet sweet. Often carrying the travel sized perfumes, oils tincture, and lotion to stay smelling good plus skin soft. (Secret one time used vanilla extract if running out of oils)
BIMBO READER couldn’t live without her lipgloss, lip-liner and lip oils. Refuses to have dry and crusty lips, in fact kept all three attached to her keychain for ‘emergencies’
Rafe Cameron was trouble in pressed polo shirts and silver watches. Everybody knew it. The son of old money with too much time, too much cash, and a taste for things most boys his age couldn’t even pronounce. On the surface, he was just another rich Kook — the boat parties, the cars, the kind of charm and connections that could talk him out of any situation. But under that perfect smile was something darker. Rafe ran with men older than him, men who kept their hands dirty and their pockets full. He dealt things you weren’t supposed to touch, stayed out late in parking lots where fists and knives did the talking, and carried himself like the rules never applied. He drank too much, fought too often, and lived like he had nothing to lose. Still, there was a sharpness in him — a way of watching, of noticing. Innocence didn’t last long around Rafe Cameron, because he always saw it, always smelled it in the air, and he couldn’t resist testing how far it could bend before it broke. What nobody expected was that he’d notice her.
You were the opposite of everything he knew. A Pogue girl, raised quiet and careful, living with your mama in a little house that always smelled faintly of soap and dandelions. Your mama worked too hard to give you what she could, and you tried to make her proud — pressed school skirts, polished shoes, grades good enough to maybe get you somewhere beyond the Cut. You were the kind of girl people called “sweet.” You said yes ma’am, no sir, always minded your manners. Not rich, not spoiled — just soft, shy, and untouched by the sharper edges of the island. Your beauty wasn’t loud, but it was the kind that lingered — all soft smiles, doe eyes, and the scent of vanilla soap that clung to your sweaters. You kept to your own, never wandering too far from where you belonged. And maybe that’s why you caught Rafe’s eye. Because you weren’t supposed to. You were too good, too clean, too far from the chaos he swam in every night. And Rafe Cameron, with all his smooth talk and sly grins, never could resist a girl who still believed in things like goodness.
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The sun was dipping low behind the trees as Rafe parked the Jeep beside the fairgrounds. Dust swirled around your feet as you stepped out, hand brushing his, and he caught it immediately, holding you as if it were the most precious thing in the world. To him you were
“You ready?” he asked quietly, voice low, the tone that always made your heart skip.
“I am,” you said softly, leaning slightly into him.
He didn’t need to tease or joke to make you smile. He simply looked at you—eyes warm, steady, and full of something that made the rest of the fair fade away. “You look… beautiful,” he said, and it wasn’t a passing compliment. It was the way he saw you, completely and fully.
You felt your cheeks warm and looked down, but he lifted your chin gently with a finger, meeting your gaze. “Don’t hide it. I like seeing that smile. It’s mine to notice, isn’t it?”
You squeezed his hand, your heart fluttering. “Yes,” you whispered.
He guided you through the fair, keeping you close, letting his arm brush your back as he subtly shielded you from the crowd. You stopped at a small game booth, and he leaned in just enough to brush his lips against your ear. “Anything you want tonight, darlin’, I’ll make sure you get it,” he murmured. His voice was soft, intimate, full of that quiet authority that made you trust him completely.
When the Ferris wheel came into view, he offered his hand. “Come on,” he said simply. “I want to see the world with you from up there.”
You climbed into the seat beside him, the world falling away as it rose. He held your hand in both of his, fingers intertwined, the other arm resting lightly around your shoulders. You leaned into him without thinking, the warmth of him grounding you.
At the top, the fair stretched beneath you like a sea of lights, and Rafe’s gaze met yours, steady and unwavering. He tucked a loose curl behind your ear, thumb brushing softly across your cheek. “Being here with you… this is all I need. Just you.”
You pressed your forehead to his, heart racing in the quiet space between you. “Rafe… I feel the same.”
He leaned down then, gentle and deliberate, pressing his lips to yours. The kiss wasn’t hurried, and it wasn’t showy—it was soft, grounding, and full of unspoken promises. When he pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, he rested his forehead against yours.
You closed your eyes, letting yourself sink into the safety and warmth of him, the world spinning around the Ferris wheel and the fair lights—but all you could feel was him, and the certainty of being exactly where you belonged.
He pressed another soft kiss to your temple, brushing his lips along your hairline, and murmured, “You make everything better. Everything worth it.”
And for the first time that night, you knew every moment with him, every quiet touch and glance, was a promise of something lasting, something tender, and something true.
You were the kind of girl who made men forget their own names — all soft curves, slow smiles, and that sweet Southern lilt that sounded like magnolia honey.
You’d just moved back into your grandmother’s old house after finishing your nursing program. Small-town life hadn’t changed much. Neither had the gossip, the stares, or the way men tipped their hats when you walked by.
But he was new.
Or at least, new to you.
Sheriff Rafe Cameron — the name alone sent a buzz through the salon the first time it landed in someone’s mouth. Nobody knew where exactly he came from, but the badge on his chest and the gravel in his voice didn’t leave much room for questions.
You first saw him when your car overheated on a back road, the summer heat rising off the pavement like steam. You were leaned over the open hood in a sundress, bright red, showing little to much.
That’s when the cruiser rolled up, slow and deliberate.
He stepped out like he had all the time in the world — boots hitting the dirt, sunglasses sliding down the bridge of his nose as he looked you over.
“You alright there, darlin’? Or is this your way of causin’ a traffic jam?”
You raised an eyebrow, lips twitching. “If I’d known the sheriff himself would show up, I might’ve picked a better outfit.”
That made him smirk — just the edge of it. Dangerous. Handsome.
“Name’s Rafe,” he said, tipping his hat. “And I reckon red suits you just fine.”
You felt your heart stumble. Just once.
He fixed your engine that day — rolled his sleeves up, grease on his knuckles, sweat on his brow. You handed him tools, watched his arms flex, caught the way he glanced at you like he was trying to be respectful… and failing.
When the car finally sputtered to life, you tried to thank him with a pie. He tried to resist it.
He didn’t succeed.
And after that?
Well, folks noticed when the sheriff’s cruiser started parking out front of your place more often.
