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a blurb about what olise would be like in bed?? 🤲🏽🫠🫠
— all the ways boyfriend!olise devours you.
warnings — 18+ mdni. explicit sexual content.
listen. olise is nasty nasty.
and the thing is? he doesn’t even act like it. you wouldn’t look at him and immediately think it. he carries himself too well for that. all put together, kinda quiet, kinda cocky but not in an annoying way. he looks like the type of guy who’s good in bed, sure. but he doesn’t look like the type of guy who spits in your mouth just to see your lips part for more.
but he is. and you learned that fast.
the first time you fucked, it shocked you a little. not because you thought he’d be bad—please, you knew he wouldn’t be—but because of how good he was. how nasty he was about it. how his mouth was naturally filthy in ways you didn’t expect.
you remember the way he held your jaw, dark eyes flickering between your lips and your eyes before he licked into your mouth like he had something to prove. the way he sucked on your tongue, let out this deep groan when your fingers threaded through his hair. how he was already pressing you down into the bed like he couldn’t get close enough.
and then he went down on you, and it was over after that.
because olise eats pussy like it’s his actual job. like there’s a contract involved and he’ll get punished if he doesn’t do it properly. it’s insane. you didn’t even know guys liked it that much until him. his mouth is hot, greedy, relentless. he’ll go down on you just to go down on you. not because he wants you to return the favour, not even because you asked—he just wants to. you could be laid out next to him watching a show, and if he gets in the mood, he’s tugging your shorts down, slotting himself between your thighs, and licking at your clit slow like he has all the time in the world.
he moans while he does it too. shamelessly. like he’s the one getting something out of it. like he enjoys it just as much as you. probably more.
and don’t even get me started on how he looks up at you while he does it. deep, brown eyes, big hands gripping your thighs to keep you from moving. and when you get loud, when your back arches and your hand tightens in his hair? he’ll just groan into you, slap a palm down on your stomach and hold you in place while he sucks on your clit like he wants to ruin you.
sometimes he talks. sometimes he doesn’t. but you can always feel him. feel the way his mouth works you open, feel how much he loves it, feel his breath fan against your skin when he pulls away just to drag his lips along your inner thighs, teeth grazing you before he’s diving back in.
and he doesn’t stop. even when your thighs shake. even when you try to push him away. even when you cum so hard you’re gasping his name. he eats pussy like it’s his favourite thing in the world. and it probably is.
olise likes control. not in a way that feels overwhelming, but in a way that makes you feel owned. he likes to be the one setting the pace, the one making you lose your mind, the one telling you what to do. he likes when you listen. loves it even more when you don’t. either way, you’re gonna get fucked how he wants.
he’s a body-worshipper too. he likes all of you. every inch. he loves your ass—grips it, smacks it, spreads it apart while he fucks into you deep and slow. loves your tits, too. likes to have a hand around your throat and the other tugging at your nipples, watching your face contort as he buries himself in you.
olise likes to be messy with it, too. he spits in your mouth like it’s second nature. if you let him, he’ll slap his dick against your tongue before easing it past your lips, watching as you take him down slow, groaning when you choke around him. and when you pull off, gasping, saliva glistening on your lips? he kisses you deep, sucks on your tongue because he absolutely does not mind that you just went down on him, the mess just makes it better.
but when he’s soft? that’s when it’s different.
because yeah, he’s nasty. but he’s also sweet. and when he wants to, he takes his time. whispers soft things in your ear. slows it down and makes love to you so good you feel like you could cry. and it’s not like he doesn’t talk dirty then too—he does, always—but there’s a softness to it. an affection that makes your chest ache.
“love the way you take it, baby,” he’ll murmur against your lips, eyes dark but fond.
or, “feels like you were made just for me.”
and he means it. you know he does. because olise isn’t just nasty in bed—he’s intense. he wants to make you feel good. he wants you to know it’s him making you feel like this.
and when it’s all over? he still can’t get enough of you. he still kisses you, presses his lips to your forehead, your jaw, your chest. his hands still hold you tight, fingers smoothing over your skin like he needs to keep touching you.
c/w 𑣲⋆rafe teaches you how to give head, talking you through it, #men who yearn earn, mutual pining, first kiss, praise, deepthroating, “boot riding” adjacent, spit, gagging, jealous!rafe, pet names (good girl, baby, pretty + no y/n) + rafe is very casual about you per usual ◡̈
“…Please?” The words leave your lips so gentle and sweet.
“You—Are you sure?” He stammers, more focused on how soft your lips are and how pretty you look just like you are now.
“Rafe, c’mon…” You sigh heavily, your focus falling down his body, seeing the difference almost instantly, his heavy cock swelling the fabric underneath his gray sweatpants.
“It’s just—” His words catch in his throat as you tug your sweater over your head, showing off your bra underneath. “Holy shit.” He throws his head back to the ceiling, hands bunching up the fabric of his sweats, holding himself back.
You huff out a sharp breath, feeling your frustration mount. After everything you’ve done for this man this semester, he can help you with this one little thing. You stand up and his expression goes wide in panic, hands flying up to grab your hips.
“Woah—Hey. Hey, now,” he stops you, looking back at you like you weren’t actively reading the situation. “Just. Don’t go. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t say sorry. I’m not going to beg for your help, Rafe.”
“You are not begging me for anything,” he panics, a desperate laugh clinging to his words as his hands go tighter on your hips. “I just—why?” he asks almost bashfully, licking his lips to fight back a smile as his gaze falls to yours.
“Same reason you wanted me to tutor you. I don’t know how to do it. I want to. You’re a guy…”
“I am,” he chuckles, stepping a little closer.
“You can teach me,” your voice softens, the heat of his body radiating onto your bare skin.
“Who?” he asks, his attention falling to your lips. “You learnin’ to give head just ‘cause?”
“I’m going to that party this weekend.”
“…Yeah?” he asks as he shifts his weight, his eyebrows drawing in ever so slightly as his gaze lifts to yours.
“I tutor, you know—”
“Some of the other frat guys, yeah,” he tracks, answering for you, getting a little impatient about who this is all for.
“Just getting this vibe from Mason. I don’t know. He’s sweet.”
“Mason Jennings?” Rafe asks, arms pulling away from you to cross over his chest, biceps pulling the arms of his t-shirt taut. “Is he just bein’ nice? Or…”
You scrunch your nose in annoyance, scoffing before you turn around. “Whatever, Rafe.” You chuckle weakly, bending over to grab your skirt and your sweater, but he’s scrambling again.
“Stop. Just, don’t—calm down,” he grabs the clothes off your hands, tossing them back to the floor. He lifts both hands, lashes fluttering as he rakes his fingers through his hair.
“He’s not just being nice. He’s not pitying me—”
“Well, that last part didn’t leave my mouth,” he chuckles tiredly, his hand rubbing the back of his neck as his gaze travels down your body. He hangs his head for a moment, lost in thought.
“And, I know I’m just your Ancient Lit tutor, but don’t tell women to calm down—”
“You’re right. You’re right about everything, actually.”
You blow out a breath, rolling your eyes. “Well, as fun as it’s been standing in front of you for the last fifteen minutes in my bra and panties begging you to teach me—”
“You didn’t beg,” he answers, cutting you off as you spin out, his hand reaching out to grab your hand, fingers tracing down your arm to find yours, urging you closer. “You asked me once. You said please. That’s not begging.”
His thumb rubs along your knuckles, his lips tugging to the side as he thinks a little more.
“Mason’s my friend. That’s why I asked if he was being nice.”
“Okay?”
“He was supposed to be in the class with me across the hall, then I saw you walk into Ancient Lit—”
“Mhmm…”
“And I switched classes,” he continues, the corner of his mouth tipping up like he’s playing it back.
You nod, your eyes following the chain on his chest as it flickers with his quicker breathing before he speaks again.
“Already felt like I was doin’ something wrong asking you for help on day one before we even got our first assignment… Seems like a conflict of interest if I teach you how to do that, feeling like I feel. Do you know what I mean?”
The question breathes past his lips and, just like Rafe, your heart starts to race a little faster. “I think so.”
“Yeah, I like you,” he answers honestly, the words cracking a little at the end with nerves. Your cheeks swell with warmth, the little tingles in your body getting stronger.
“Were you gonna tell me?” you ask.
“Eventually… Just didn’t feel right letting you do that without knowing—” You steal the words off his lips with a kiss and he deepens it instantly, arms wrapping around your body, fingers sliding into your hair. He kisses you so deep your back bows, but he has you, holding you in his big arms, his soft lips pressing against yours.
He kisses you again, softer this time, then one more, smiling into your kiss.
“I can still teach you,” he whispers, taking off his shirt.
“Yeah?” you ask.
“If you want me,” he sighs when your palms rest on his strong chest.
“Beg,” you breathe, and he laughs against your mouth, liking how that word sounds leaving your lips.
“You want me to beg?” he asks, feeling as you hum a mhmm against his mouth. “I want you.” His rough palm falls with those words, slipping under the lace of your thong, squeezing your ass. “You have no idea what I’ve been dreaming about doing to you. This… This is exactly what I need. So, please, baby.”
“Baby?” you hum.
“You’ll call me that one day,” he says confidently, feeling your soft giggle against his lips. “Got a good feeling about us.”
“Teach me,” you smile, and he sighs, the muscles in his shoulders softening.
He looks at you for a second before he says anything, the corner of his mouth tugging up like he still can’t believe you chose him in the first place.
“You gonna let me teach you anything else?” he says quietly against your lips, stealing a kiss.
“Maybe,” you tease, fingers falling down his stomach, tracing over his abs, feeling them flex tighter under your touch. “Second session.”
“Seriously?” he asks breathlessly, following your gaze as your nails trace along the top of his sweats. “Sounds perfect.”
“So, what do I do now?” you whisper, fingers looping under the band of his pants.
“We’re startin’ the lesson from up here?” he asks, chuckling warmly when you mumble yes. “Kisses. Just like you are now. S’perfect.”
“Okay,” you hum.
“Move to my neck, and your hand.” The words leave him slowly as he grabs yours, lifting and placing you on top of that thick bulge between his thighs. “Right here.”
His breathing changes and his voice dips lower as he guides you to rub your hand on top. “Gotta tease me a little. I want this too fuckin’ bad, okay? Make me sweat a little. Don’t let me have it yet.”
You hum out a yes, kissing your way along his sharp jaw as your hand strokes his long, hard cock over the cotton. You can feel him tilt into you a little, pushing himself into your hand.
His face turns into you a little when you get to his ear, hands resting on your body still. “Tighter,” he mutters and you can hear the smile in his voice as your hand squeezes around him.
“Like that?”
“Just like that.”
You kiss under his ear and his head falls to the side, your lips working down the column of his neck, feeling his pulse hammer against your lips.
“Lick,” he murmurs, his hand coming up to cradle the back of your neck to keep you close, your tongue tracing up the trail of kisses you just left. Rafe shudders out a breath, goosebumps fanning across his tan skin.
“Talk to me,” he rasps, turning his face slightly to look you in the eyes, the tension between you thick. “You want it? Let me know.”
“What I want to do to you?”
“You can lie,” he answers softly, tipping your lips toward him when his fingers hook under your chin.
“I don’t wanna lie.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” you answer as he draws you in for a kiss.
“Tell me.”
“I want you to teach me—”
“No,” he stops you, his brows furrowing when it sounds like less than he was hoping for—like you’re using him instead of wanting this too.
“Listen,” you breathe.
“Yes, ma’am,” he answers, through a soft smile.
“I want you,” you whisper, tilting closer with each word. “To teach me what you like. So, I can do it again. And, again. I want to get so good at it, that it’s all you can think about.”
“Fuck, baby,” he huffs, gaze lingering as you drop down on your knees in front of him, pressing kisses as you go, his cock painfully hard. “How are you—you sound like you know what you’re doing.”
“In theory,” you answer, wrapping your fingers around the gray material at his hips. “Not in practice.”
“That book you have, huh?” he asks as his fingers find their way into your hair, guiding you to look back at him from where you sit on your knees.
“Mhmm,” you answer, dragging the cozy material down his legs, watching his thigh muscles tense and soften.
“Looked it up. Had to figure out why you were blushin’ like that yesterday before class,” he drawls, cupping your chin in his hand, thumb tracing your bottom lip. “Look so fuckin’ good on your knees, you know that?”
“Thank you,” you whisper, his smile spreading with yours. Your hands work up his thighs, resting on his boxers, tracing along the length of his thick dick, straining the material, his tip leaking through the fabric.
“Suck that. It’ll fuckin’ kill me,” he sighs as your focus stays fixed on the dark spot.
“Over your boxers?” you ask, already leaning in, your gaze flicking up to him. “You don’t want my mouth?” The question leaving your lips a hell of a lot more like taunting than asking, making him chuckle.
“You have no idea,” the words barely leave his lips when your mouth wraps around him, the fabric resting against your tongue. The taste comes second, his tip warm and throbbing—his hold on your hair tightening the wetter it gets.
You can feel the arousal soak the lace between your thighs, a steady pulse thumping, your body aching for contact—especially when that first sound of pleasure falls from his lips.
“Goddamn,” he groans, his jaw locking. You reach up without being told and he sucks a sharp breath through his nose when you cup his heavy balls in your hand. “Mhmm…” the praise breathes through a pleasured hum, nodding as you roll them in your hand, still sucking him through the cotton.
“More?” you ask, your breath hitting the place you mouthed, air filling his lungs at the sensation.
“Shit, pretty—yeah,” he slurs, drinking you in with his heavy stare as your hands follow the band of his boxers, tracing his sharp v-lines. You lean in, pressing a kiss on the soft skin below his bellybutton, just above the elastic.
He tips his chin toward you, shaking his head.
“You’re gonna be so good at this, baby,” his voice softens. “So fuckin’ perfect at everything. Why wouldn’t you be?”
His praise goes straight through you, your body drawing closer, settling a little more. He shifts his stance ever so slightly, his jaw tightening as he feels how wet your pussy is when your weight lands on top of his foot.
Your body moves instinctually, rocking your hips a little, feeling some relief you hadn’t known was building. “Feels good?” he asks, already seeing it in your body language. “Teach you how to ride my thigh. You’ll love it.” His words come out a little distracted as he watches your hands disappear behind your back.
“Next lesson?” you ask through a little smile.
“Don’t know if I can wait,” he confesses. “Take it off,” his voice dips, and you unclasp your bra, letting it fall away. He pushes out a breath, looking down at you, feeling that desperation he told you would come if you teased him—and you are.
You lift your hands, pinching the cotton, pulling down his boxers too. His cock strains—long and weighed down—that heavy walk he carries around campus clearly needed.
Your mouth starts to water, the blushed tip of his dick leaking with wet. “Kiss it off, baby,” he hums and you nod. Your lips press against the warm head of his dick, kissing it off just like he asked. “Just toy with me, yeah?”
Rafe’s words come out a little tighter and breathless. His eyes roll back in his head when your tongue curls around his tip, dipping in the slit, your other hand stroking slowly.
“Tongue out,” he tells you, wrapping his big fist around his dick, slapping the tip against your tongue. “Beautiful,” the word comes out quiet. “Kiss again,” he guides you. You press your lips into a pout, slick from spit, and he rubs his head against them messily.
He hums out a sound of approval, nodding down to his dick. Your hand circles him again, tongue dragging up the side of him as well, following a vein that maps all the way from base to top, your name dripping past his lips as his head hangs between his shoulders, chain swaying off his neck.
“Take as much as you want. You’re doing so fucking good—so, so good,” he sighs. “You can’t fit it all. That’s okay, baby. Just use your hand for the rest. Get me good and wet.”
You spit on his tip and his eye rolls back like there were two options to get him slicked up and you chose the best fucking one. Your hand circles around his thickness, stroking at the base a few times.
“Please,” he exhales, and your lips tilt into a smile before your lips wrap around him fully, taking him deep in your mouth.
You moan around him, discouraged for a moment about how much of him is left and how little you’ve taken in. Your mouth is stuffed, the look on his face letting you know that it’s more than enough for him.
“Holy shit,” he gasps. “Fuck, you feel so good.” When your hand wraps around him again, his eyebrows knitting tight.
You can feel his blood pumping through his cock, his hold on your head careful, like he wants you to guide the pace and not the other way around. For a moment he seemingly forgets about the task at hand as you work him with your mouth and your fist.
“Like—fuck me…” he sighs, losing his train of thought, the muscles in his thighs trembling. “Like this, baby.” He wraps his hand around yours at the thick base of his cock, twisting it slightly instead of jerking it back and forth.
“Yeah. That’s it,” he breathes, smiling as you start to bob around his length, rutting your pussy on top of him with the tempo of your mouth.
“Gonna use you a little,” he pants, resting his hands on your cheeks. “Tap out if it’s too much, alright? Breathe through your nose.”
He gives you a few shallow thrusts, melting like putty in your hand when you gag around him, smiling when you don’t push him away, resting your hands on the back of his thighs instead to keep you right where you’re at.
“Good girl,” he hums, making you choke on his cock again and again. Your vision starts to swim with it, tears pooling along your lashes. Your eyes flutter shut and the wet rolls down your cheeks.
“Goddamn, baby,” he mumbles as he reaches his thumb out, tracing it under your eye, catching some tears as they fall.
“You’re a natural, baby,” he hums, sucking the tears off his thumb, handing back control, looking down at you like he’s proud.
“Let me thank you after this.” The words breathe past his lips as you suck and stroke, jaw aching from the stretch, moaning around his dick, the vibrations making his jaw tighten as he realizes just how much pleasure you’re getting from having his heavy cock in your mouth.
“You’re so fuckin’ wet… Fuck my thigh. Let me clean that up for you—teach you how to ride my face instead.”
His breathing changes and the grip on the back of your head suddenly tightens. The wet sounds fill the room around you, cock slipping through your spit, moans and grunts breaking past his lips getting closer and closer by the second.
“Gonna—I’m gonna cum, baby. You don’t have to swallow it,” he breathes, but you know he wants to finish deep in your throat.
Your hands move a little higher, nails sliding down the back of his ass and thighs and he loses it completely, climaxing with a deep moan, ropes and ropes of cum slipping down the back of your throat.
Your eyes slam shut and you swallow hard, sucking through it until he’s holding you in place, panting in overstimulation, each slide of your tongue making him flinch.
He smiles as he pulls you off him nice and slow, his breath leaving him shakily.
“Fuck, baby,” he hums. “Lemme see.”
You giggle breathily, holding out your clean tongue for him. He shakes his head and smiles, helping you up to your feet. His hand cradles your cheek, the other wrapping around your waist as he reaches for a breath.
“How was that, baby?” you ask.
His forehead tilts to rest against yours, his thumb brushing the apple of your cheek. “Baby?” he breathes, kissing you gently.
You tilt your head, lips drawing to the side. “I have a good feeling about us too?”
“You do?”
“I do.”
He kisses you again, deep and claiming. “That was perfect.”
“Yeah?” you ask sweetly, feeling his hands wrap around your body, dropping low, rough thumbs slipping under your lace thong, pulling it down this time instead, humming against your lips as your breasts press against his bare chest, your panties tumbling down your thighs.
He lifts you effortlessly off your feet into his strong arms, walking with you to his bed, resting you down on top before mounting it fast, caging you under his weight.
You suck in a sharp breath as he rolls you on top of him, your knees sinking into the mattress. His hands drag up your thighs, resting on your ass, pulling you closer to his lips. The warmth of his breath hits your wet pussy and your head falls back.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
-bf!ferran who holds you by the waist or shoulders when you’re walking through chaotic crowds, using his frame to shield you from the paparazzi and fans just to keep you safe and close.
-bf!ferran who calls you "amor" and "mi vida" in that low, raspy voice of his, especially when he’s half-awake in the morning and pulling you back down into the sheets.
-bf!ferran who plays football with you in the backyard with his dogs running around, deliberately letting you nutmeg him just so he can watch your proud smile, even if he pretends to be offended after
-bf!ferran who laughs at you till he squeaks. (The first time i heard it, guys, i smiled so hard. )
-bf!ferran who sends you quick post-training mirror selfies from the locker room, flexing just to get your compliments and praises.
-bf!ferran who completely hypes you up whenever you change your hair style. Whether you just got fresh braids, a sleek blowout, or you’re rocking your natural hair, he will stare at you like you hung the moon, taking candid photos for his private camera roll.
-bf!ferran who gets jealous silently: his jaw tightens, avoids eye and body contact, but when you acknowledge it, he wraps his arms around your body and puts his face in your neck.
-bf!ferran who tries to cook traditional valencian paella for you when you’ve had a stressful day, completely making a mess of the kitchen but presenting it to you in bed with a proud, hopeful look on his face.
-bf!ferran who traces the lines of your palms and plays with your rings while you’re venting about your day, listening to every single word like it’s the most important thing in the world.
-bf!ferran who gets so excited when he sees you, making you fall in love with him all over again.
-bf!ferran who proudly gives you his Barcelona or Spain national team jerseys, smirking when he sees how oversized and long they look on you before pulling you in by the fabric for a cute kiss.
-bf!ferran who teaches you Spanish and also learns your language.
-bf!ferran who laughs softly when you get frustrated over a minor inconvenience, kissing your forehead and murmuring “It's fine amor, let me handle it”, then giving you a kiss on the forehead to calm you down.
-bf!ferran who sends you ridiculous TikToks or memes at 2 AM while sleeping right next to you, already giggling at your reactions to them.
-bf!ferran who lets you do a full skincare routine on him while watching a movie, while he keeps wanting affection as you apply face masks, purely because he loves you and can't stay still with you being on his lap like that.
-bf!ferran who blends in so well with your culture and extended family.
-bf!ferran who sneaks up behind you while you’re cooking, giving you lingering kisses until you’re completely distracted. 👀
-bf!ferran who let's you blast your favorite music in his car, holding your hand over the center console and rubbing his thumb over your knuckles, kissing them once in a while.
-bf!ferran who texts you “¿has comido algo?” right after his first training session of the day, always making sure you're taking care of yourself when he's not there.
-bf!ferran who introduces you to his teammates, managers, and family as "mi mujer" with an intense, proud gleam in his eyes that he can't even try to hide.
-bf!ferran who scrolls through your camera roll while you're leaning against his chest, stopping on random candid photos of you and saying, “look how beautiful you are here... how did I get so lucky?” or "When did you even take that?".
-bf!ferran who sets blurry photos of you being silly as his phone lock screen, not caring if his teammates tease him about being a hopeless romantic.
-bf!ferran who is completely fascinated by your hair routine. He’ll sit on the floor between your knees while you’re parting your hair or gently hold the bottles of oil for you. He knows exactly how much care goes into your hair, and he loves watching the process, always asking questions because he wants to understand everything about you.
-bf!ferran who insists on picking you up from the airport or a night out with your friends, even if he just finished an exhausting 90-minute match, because he can’t bear the thought of you making it home without him.
-bf!ferran who dedicates his goals to you by blowing a kiss or making your signature gesture directly to your section of the stands before his teammates even have time to tackle him in celebration.
-bf!ferran who loves surprising you with huge bouquets of fresh flowers, no occasion needed just because he saw them on his drive home and thought they matched an outfit you once wear or the color of your eyes.
- bf!ferran who loves the contrast of your hands locked together. He’ll constantly trace the pads of your fingers, admiring the warmth of your skin against his, while you’re driving completely being lost in your side profile.
yourstruly!gf who everyone assumes is way too sweet and innocent for rafe, smells like vanilla and fresh laundry, writes him handwritten letters instead of texting paragraphs, always reminds him to eat, makes him become extremely protective because he knows she’s gentle, is the only person who can get him to genuinely laugh, makes rafe embarrassed because she makes friend ship bracelets for them and he wears it every where for her.
myeverything!gf who is effortlessly pretty, rides around figure eight with her feet on the dashboard, cries during arguments but still stands her ground, has dramatic breakups and dramatic makeups with each other, causes rafe absolutely loses his mind when other guys look at her, accidentally becomes his safe place.
dangerouswoman!gf who is confident without trying, absolutely humbles rafe when he gets cocky, wears leather jackets, wears winged eyeliner, has rafe secretly loving when she challenges him, has everyone thinking she’s the scary one, drives too fast, isn’t intimated by any of the camerons, tells ward exactly what she thinks.
sweetener!gf who starts every conversation with a soft hello and an i love you, is sunshine after every storm for him, convives him to try new things, dances while cooking, always has music playing for the both of them, tells him to come here after he has had a hard day, reminds him that healing isn’t weakness, celebrates every tiny accomplishment he makes like she’s the one who did it, laughs with her entire body, makes his house actually feel like home.
tun!gf who knows exactly what she deserves, doesn’t chase rafe, has incredible comebacks to him, has to earn every ounce of her trust, teaches rafe accountability for the first time in his life, calm during arguments instead of yelling, if rafe messes up she’d leave, knows exactly what she deserves, is healed after heartbreak.
positions!gf who is extremely domestic, loves cooking for him and or together, always fixing the collar of his shirts, makes grocery lists for him, his boys starts calling him an old married couple, folds his laundry because she knows he won’t, keeps his life organized, talks about their future casually.
eternalsunshine!gf who is soft spoken but emotionally intelligent, believes honesty is kinder than pretending, gives him and others closure, isn’t afraid to admit when he hurts her, notices every little change in rafe before he says anything, encourages difficult conversations instead of avoiding them.
synopsis: you unwind with your boyfriend after his game within the confines of your hotel room.
warnings: very fluffy! one tap on the ass? reader gets called bratty (jokingly), playfighting, very much slice of life almost
the inky texas summer night cools down outside of the hotel. inside, you’re lying on the fluffy hotel bed, the coolness of the air conditioning dawning on your skin, a flimsy paperback between your fingers as you listen to how ferran fiddles with the lock of the bathroom.
when he steps out, a waft of shower steam pours out with him. he’s only clad in some old, jersey shorts, a little loose around his thighs, and simply his towel around his neck, stray droplets of water pooling on his collarbones, his golden skin illuminated under the dim hotel lights.
you’ve been dating for so long, accompanied him to so many away games and international tournaments, you don’t even look up when he pokes into your side.
“move over, babe.” says ferran, nudging you a little toward the other side of the bed. he looks at you with tired, droopy eyes, but that happy twinkle is still present. that’s just how it is: he’s always happy when he’s with you.
a small, affable smile pulls on the corners of your mouth. “no.” you say, as smug as ever.
“no?” your boyfriend repeats teasingly, disbelieving. he snatches your book out of your grip, drops it on the nightstand. “you’re a little mean to me, baby.”
his warm hands travel to your sides, the place where you’re most ticklish. “fer— no!” you shriek out, laughing, trying to escape ferran’s strong, yet gentle grip as he digs his fingers into your plush skin.
“you’re a minx.” ferran laughs with you, hovering over you, caging his thighs on either side of yours. his nimble fingers travel under your pajama top — an old manchester city jersey of his, his name and the number 21 on the back completely chipped off from the countless laundry washes.
to top it off, he shakes his head right in your face, the stray water droplets landing right in your face and your shoulders. “oh my god, ferran—” you giggle when the wet spots splatter across your skin.
“you gonna be a brat again, huh?” he laughs breathily, face shoved into the crook of your neck while placing fluttery, light kisses all over the column of your throat — he knows you get squirmy and fidgety when he does that. “no— i won’t!”
his wet hair against your chin smells fresh. mixed with the light touch on the soft of your waist and the feathery, velvety kisses to your neck, there’s only one solution for you.
“i surrender!” you giggle, absentmindedly raking your fingers through ferran’s soaking wet brown — now almost black — strands. “i give up.”
the tickling stops instantly. instead, it’s replaced with a smoothing touch over your bare skin. “good choice, baby.” your boyfriend says with a self-satisfied smirk, lifting his weight off your body. he shifts his head up to your jaw before placing a chaste kiss to it.
ferran rolls himself partly off of you. “you had fun today?” he asks, chin resting on your ribs as he looks at you with those big brown eyes you’ve come to love over the past years, a dopey smile on his face.
“yeah, fer,” you sigh. no matter where the two of you are, ferran always wants you to have fun. he’s not always outspoken about it, but he worries when you’re left alone in a foreign country when he prepares for a game. “bought a couple of books today.”
you gesture to the nighstand, where your book lies, all abandoned. “oh? you did?” your boyfriend huffs, stretching his arms to grab the book from the little table. he inspects the cover with utmost attention, reads the little summary on the back.
“that’s good, baby,” he says sweetly, the book looking comically small between his fingers as he places an absentminded kiss to your jersey-clad midriff. “glad you’re having fun without me.”
you catch the little disappointed tone in ferran’s voice. you know he has a tendency for dramatics when he’s all tired from a game.
“don’t start, fer,” you say, lightly scratching your boyfriend’s back. “saw you after, remember? on the pitch?”
ferran lets out a hearty chuckle. “what did you think?” he asks intentionally, knowing damn well he assisted.
“oh, good game. really good. especially that number seven who assisted… you reckon you can give me his number?” you joke. your boyfriend looks up at you, chin still placed on your ribs. crimson blossoms all over his cheeks. “don’t be like that, baby, please.” he laughs, voice a little strained, burying his face into the fabric of your — technically his — shirt at the mention of his assist.
the sound of ferran’s laugh is burned into your mind like a cattle brand. “you were amazing, though. don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.” your voice drops lower, more serious. you cup his chin, thumb rubbing over his bottom lip.
his gaze turns into something more vulnerable. you know he needs to hear those words now more than ever.
that makes ferran crawl up your body. his gaze all mellow and gooey, like melted honey. his warm arms wrap around your waist as he flips you two over. now you’re on top of him, in his arms, legs tangled together.
“thank you, love,” ferran mumbles, lips smashed against your cheek as he talks. you can feel the frantic thumping of his heart under his bare chest. and his hands on you, you love it. “i love you, you know that?”
“i do,” you retort sarcastically, pushing yourself up on your elbows so that your face hovers above his. “you tell me like, oh— only ten times a day.” you look at him pointedly.
your comment has a mischievous smile spreading across ferran’s lips, earning a playful swat to your bum. it’s light, but it still contains hints of that teasing, lighthearted humour you two always share like an unspoken secret.
“thought you weren’t gonna be a brat today, hm?”
a/n: fml this has me thinking of him w a nerdy, bookish girl (totally not self-indulgent 🤥🤥) and sorry that pic on the BANNERRRR has me going nuts. like actually NUTS. like i want to bite his forearm
➤ summary: Ferran is obsessed with you wearing his jersey while you celebrate their win
➤ w/c: 1.5k
➤ warnings: smut, unprotected p in v, doggy style, possibly my inaccurate Spanish🥲
➤a/n: experimental fic for my shark, so I honestly don't expect much interaction/likes. just had to get some stuff off my chest + i changed the plot a bit for it to fit with their recent win. happy Ferran day to everyone who celebrates 🦈❤️
masterlist
The roar of the crowd still echoed in your ears even after you stepped into the hotel room you stayed at during the World Cup and closed the door, separating you and your boyfriend from the rest of the world. Another Spain game, another step towards the win, and another stressful evening for you as you sat in the middle of the thousand fans and were mainly rooting for one particular person.
Ferran was close behind you, his hands steady on your waist the whole time from the car, but that smile is what made your heart swell—the big, bright, and almost cocky one. He assisted the last goal, ensuring a win for the team after a long streak of missing, and now you could finally see some of the weight dropped off of his shoulders. He was supposed to be with the team now, probably resting and recovering after the match. Hell, he even might get in trouble for sneaking out and following you to your own hotel room instead of following the schedule, but he truly didn’t care about any of it.
“You were incredible out there.” You smiled, looking back at him while you kicked off your shoes, finally alone and away from anyone who could disturb you. Ferran’s hair was still damp from the shower, thick and dark strands of hair curling wildly and looking perfectly fluffy for you to run your fingers through it. He flashed a smile back at you, brown eyes briefly darting towards your, or his, jersey that you were wearing.
His name. His number. On his girl. After you were rooting for him and then hugging and kissing him after the game as if he scored a damn hat trick. Could it be any more perfect?
“And you’re incredible right now.” He mumbled, following you instantly, pulling you flush against his chest while his lips found the side of your neck. Ferran nipped at your skin, then kissed the same spot softly, while his hands sneaked under your jersey impatiently. He didn’t care that his body felt a bit sore after the game or that you barely even got inside of your hotel suite—he wanted you now. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me when you’re wearing my kit.”
You laughed softly, the sound bubbling up as he nuzzled into your neck, kissing and nipping playfully again. “You’re so happy tonight.”
“I am happy.” He grinned against your skin, cocky and bright all at once, pushing his hips forward and nudging you to walk. “I wanted to win for you. My lucky charm.” He suddenly turned you around, not letting you move even an inch away from his body, catching your lips in a kiss. Your hands wrapped round his neck instantly, melting under so much affection and attention.
You giggled as he walked you both towards the bedroom, both of you struggling a little, way too consumed by the messy and smiling kisses, hands wandering over each other’s bodies. Ferran kept one hand under your jersey, brushing the side of your bra with his thumb, while the other one cupped your face softly while his lips moved hungrily against yours. When you finally felt the side of the bed with your legs, he pulled back, looking as hot as ever—lips puffy, cheeks boyishly flushed, and eyes sparkling with emotions and pure hunger.
“I’m so proud of you.” You whispered, reaching for his lips again, finally threading your fingers through his hair and softly tugging at the roots.
“Yeah?” His voice dropped, playful but now sounding a bit deeper with undeniable heat and intensity. “Then show me, princesa. Keep the jersey on.”
Ferran spun you around gently again, slightly pushing you forward until you bent over, palms flat against the bed. He pulled down your jeans along with your underwear, leaving you bare and heated in front of him, his warm hands greedily palming your ass as if he had been impatient this whole time.
You looked back at him over your shoulder, taking in the disheveled look, his slightly open mouth—everything that never failed to turn you on even more. You pushed your ass back at him, arching your back and falling forward and face down on the bed as if presenting yourself for him. Ferran groaned loudly, adjusting your position with firm yet gentle hands, while the prominent bulge visible through the blue tracksuit bottoms was already pressing against your bare thighs.
“Joder… look at you.” He breathed with a laugh, brushing his hair back in that signature gesture, then not wasting any more time to pull down his sweats and boxers.
His hard and leaking cock pressed against your entrance impatiently, you both groaning at the familiar feeling. You couldn’t help but moan when he rubbed the thick head along your slick folds, fingers digging deeper into the plush of your ass.
“Ferran…” You whispered, pushing back again, ready and aching to take him in.
“Sì, princesa, I've got you.” The accent alone made you clench helplessly, but when he finally, fucking finally, guided his cock with one hand, your eyes instantly rolled back in pleasure, your mouth open in a silent moan.
The stretch and fullness felt delicious. He steadied you with one hand on your lower back, another one gripping your hip when he started moving slowly but steadily. His hips met your ass with each deep and slow thrust, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling your bedroom. Ferran’s eyes were glued to your back, to the way you were wearing his name so proudly—the sign that you were his and with him no matter the shit he was going through.
“Te sientes tan bien.” He murmured, the Spanish slipping out naturally in his pleasure.
Every thrust made his name in bold red letters bounce on your back, the oversized jersey rolling up your spine to reveal more of your already damp and warm skin. Ferran slid one hand to your chest, blindly tugging at the cups of your bra and palming your tits in his large hands, thumbs softly circling hardened peaks.
You couldn’t stop moaning, couldn’t stop saying his name, and a smile spread on your face every time he said some sweet or dirty nonsense in Spanish. He leaned slightly forward, now close enough for him to bend forward and kiss your neck, changing angle and fucking you deeper, pushing your body further into the mattress, while all you could do was take it.
“P-please, Ferran—“ You gasped, gripping the sheets tighter, moving yourself back on him as much as you could under the weight.
“You like taking me like this?” He sounded so proud, so cocky—just exactly like you liked him, but the soft and affectionate touches and feather-light kisses against your neck made your stomach flutter. “Te quiero tanto, fuck—“
Ferran straightened up again, gripping your hips with both hands now, fucking you harder, faster, getting a weird fix again from the moment his eyes landed on the jersey you wore to all of his games. The angle had you seeing stars, every thrust of his cock hitting the exact spot you needed to come undone under him. Your legs started shaking from the position, knees slightly sliding down the silky sheets, while pleasure kept coiling in your belly.
“Come for me. Let me feel you.” His voice behind you sounded more like an order, even though you could tell he was holding himself back to let you finish first. Ferran kept fucking into your heat again and again, leaving you and your body no other chance to comply when your pussy started spasming around him.
“Ferran!” You whined his name again, face down into the bed to muffle how desperately you sounded, tugging at the sheets harder and wishing it was his back you could scratch and mark. He cursed again, you felt the way his cock twitched inside of you as he came with a deep groan, spilling inside of you. The soft and rocking thrusts still shook your body while he prolonged your orgasm, not ready to let you go or leave the warmth of you wrapped around him.
Only when he was finally spent, satisfied enough to let you go for a second, did he pull out, letting your fluids leak down your thighs in a complete mess. You fell on your side, and not even a second later he followed you. Ferran was facing you on the bed, wrapping his hands around your waist to pull you even closer.
Your eyes met again, and you both grinned at each other.
“Best celebration I’ve ever had.” He whispered, voice almost sappy, while his eyes twinkled with warmth and leftover joy.
You arched a brow playfully. “Yeah? I’m sure we’ve already had plenty of those?” You reached for his face, running your fingers over the slight stubble. Ferran’s lips found your wrist to leave there a soft kiss, not answering back to your comment because you both knew you were right, and you took a deep, contented breath. “I love you.”
“I love you.” He replied back simply. “Thank you for being here. For wearing this… for everything.”
You smiled, still a little dazed, and pulled him forward into a slow, sweet kiss. “You earned it, my shark.”
Ferran grinned against your lips, already tugging your leg over his thigh, as impatient as always. “Round two after a shower, mi amor?”
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the only sounds in the room are the disheveled grunts and moans from ferran and you. the orange barcelona sun is dipping below the horizon behind the light curtains, the cool summer breeze wafting through the shared bedroom. soft echoes of children playing outside, a siren blaring further away.
nothing is more attractive than watching him run outside, play football, in the summer with the kids who live on your block. they all admire him like the shining star he is; kind, sweet, helpful. and what about it? he’s a community man above all else.
especially with that backwards hat pushed down on his head, the thick brown locks out of his beautiful face, the strands curling up at the bottom. and then ferran came home — completely oblivious — to the fact of how mouthwatering attractive he looked. all out of breath with rosy cheeks, neck coated in a thin layer of sweat, his sun-kissed biceps bunching up as he wiped his face with his soaked shirt.
and you? you had to push your thighs together. cramp your fingers around the pages of the book you were reading on the windowsill, especially when ferran came up behind you, still smelling like the sunscreen he put on hours ago. “’m back, princess.” he mumbled, pressing a small kiss to your collarbone.
which brings you here— now you’re sprawled on the thin, white duvet of the bed ferran and you share. the slow, syrupy strokes ferran’s feeding you driving you insane. “fuck, look at you—” he grits through his teeth, the press of his hips to yours so tantalising and the grin on his face oddly teasing— somewhat cocky. “such a pretty girl f’me.” he dips his head down to your neck, pinching the thin of your skin between his teeth teasingly.
your panties and ferran’s shirt are reduced to two pathetic heaps of fabric on the floor. but his hat? the dark blue one that drives you absolutely crazy? it’s on his head right now, as steady as ever, perfect in your line of sight like a fucking taunt as the squelching sound of your pussy sucking him in ricochets off the walls.
“—just look so good like this,” you whimper as ferran continues his sticky ministrations. your arms are wrapped around his neck, his necklace gently tapping against your chin every time you try to speak. when your hands travel to the strands of hair of ferran’s brown hair peeking out from the sides, you feel his thick fingers press firmer in the plush of your hip on instinct.
ferran lets out a satisfied, breathy huff. “oh yeah?” he chuckles as his hand beside you clutches the duvet tighter. “how good do i look, huh?”
you stay silent for a moment, only dreamy sighs escaping your lips, until he gives you one particularly powerful thrust. “tell me, baby.” he presses when you don’t respond, the feeling of him inside you too intoxicating and addictive to care about what’s happening around you.
ferran’s strong grip around your chin pulls you out of your stupor, though. you waste no time in responding; partly because you’re so close to your climax, you think. “so good, fer,” you admit, a soft whimper tumbling from your lips. “always wanted you to fuck me with your hat on so badly.”
“shit— say less, princess.” without any more words, he flips you over, you’re looking down at him and his usual, godforsaken crooked smile. the chub of ferran’s cheeks blossoms a rosy colour again, but this time for a whole other reason. your hands find leverage on his sweaty chest. he cranes his neck up, lifting the blue hat off his head, plopping it right on your head instead.
ferran’s smile grows wider between his heavy breaths. he looks at you like you’re god’s gift, eyes twinkly and pupils dilating. “fer, what are you do—” you breathe, but he cuts you off with a small squeeze of his hands around your thighs.
the hat still feels warm from your boyfriend’s head, the warmth it has absorbed from the sun. it’s a tad bit too big on you, on the verge of slipping off your head.
“prove it to me, then,” he mumbles, shifting his arms behind his head, giving you a nod of his head for you to start moving on him. “prove to me how badly you want it, baby.”
a/n: next post is gonna be fluff bc this guy is going THROUGH it rn + more ferran shit can be found in my masterlist, and requests are so welcome!
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After successfully manifesting no shorts and keeping the beard, as well as an underwear ad and lots of back tattoos photos, it is time for my most powerful manifestation yet.
You have taken hot girl summer very seriously and this is the ultimate step to achieve the mogging of the century, the hottest man in all of Spain status...
hii i saw you wanted request but i don’t know if you felt confident writing something about reader that has an ed and rafe finds out but hes very gentle about it even tho reader doesn’t know how to let him help. so a little angst but also fluff by the end
One step at a time
pairing: Soft!Rafe Cameron x Reader
blurb: Rafe finds out reader has an ed and tries his best to help
warnings: heavy mentions of an ed, slightly dark thoughts, slight angst, fluff
wc: 1.4k
You couldn’t exactly point out when it started. It was always there in some way. Maybe not visible on the surface, but it lived beneath you, deep down under the smiles and soft words. The thoughts that you were never enough. That everyone else was prettier. More beautiful. Perfect. It was everywhere you looked. On social media. In magazines. Within the people around you.
Sometimes when the thoughts got bad, you’d eat a little less. Skip a meal or two. Maybe go on a few more walks. No one really noticed. Or if they did, they never said anything. Because within a few days, everything would go back to usual. It was a recurring routine. Rafe would note it, but he never pushed. Chalked it up to your period or a stomach ache.
But it was never this bad. The thoughts were worse this time around. A gnawing feeling in your brain. A voice telling you that maybe if you stopped eating and lost some weight you’d be pretty like all the other girls. Rafe could do so much better than you. Why couldn’t you be like them? What was wrong with you? What if-
“Baby?” Rafe’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts. His was locked on you across the table, with a hint of underlying concern.
“Hmm?” You looked up with a soft smile, a little strained, your salad untouched. You’d spent the past few minutes just moving it around. Had Rafe noticed?
“You’ve barely touched your salad. Is it not good? We could get you something else.” Rafe didn’t want to push, but he also knew one thing. You hated salads as a full meal. You used to say you never understood how anyone could be full after having one. So when you ordered one today, Rafe was worried.
He’d noticed things over the past few weeks that nobody else had. They weren’t around you all the time. He was. At first, it was just smaller portions at dinner. Then you started skipping dinner. Then breakfast. Lunch was the only meal Rafe ever saw you having, and even then you’d barely eat. Rafe noticed how your clothes fit larger. How your skin was always a little paler. The way you were always tired. Maybe you were going through a phase, is what Rafe told himself at first, but now? It had been almost a month.
Rafe didn’t know how to bring it up. What if he was wrong? What if nothing was going on with you? But what if there was something going on? He tried his best with subtle little ways.
“You want seconds, baby?”
“Here, try some of mine. I promise you’ll like it.”
“You sleeping okay? Just look a little tired is all.”
Each time you’d smile that gorgeous little smile of yours and tell him that you were okay. That you were fine. Make up some little excuse.
And each time Rafe would press his lips together and nod. He didn’t want to force you to tell him. He was worried you’d close off more. But he also didn’t want to see you like this. He knew something was wrong.
You wouldn’t let him get too close since the past two weeks. You were usually the clingy one, and yet now he was trying to convince you to come cuddle on the couch or before bed. Whenever he’d kiss you and things got heated, you’d pull away, murmuring how you were tired and maybe later. The worst part was that he believed you. You were tired. He could see it. But he also knew there was something else to it.
He pulled himself out of his thoughts when you answered, just as he expected.
“No. It’s good. I’m just… not really hungry,” you whispered, taking a small bite for Rafe’s sake.
“Really? You didn’t have breakfast either, sweetheart.” Rafe tried to make a joke with a little laugh, but he saw the way you tensed, looking down. “No, I didn’t- it’s okay… You don’t have to eat it if you don’t want to, baby.”
You just nodded. Rafe knew he needed to know then. If his instinct was right. He didn’t ask you right there in the restaurant. He waited until you were home that night, getting ready for bed. Rafe was lying on the soft sheets, watching you brush your hair. Once you finished, he patted the spot beside him. “C’mere.”
You hesitated for a second, not wanting to get too close. If he truly held you, he’d know. But you also couldn’t deny him. You’d been putting this off for weeks. Rafe’s voice was firm this time, so you crawled into the space beside him, leaving just a little gap. He couldn’t know.
Rafe noticed and wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you closer so you were pressed against his chest. You gasped softly, not expecting that. Fuck. Rafe froze, not loosening his arm around you. He could feel how much smaller you were. How much sharper your ribs felt. He could probably count them.
Rafe swallowed hard. For a moment, there was a mutual silence between the two of you. Rafe spoke first. “Baby… I…” He took a deep breath, trying to find the words to voice his feelings.
Your voice was shaky. “I’m sorry.”
Rafe shook his head, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “No… no, don’t apologise. It’s not your fault, baby. Just… please, tell me what’s going on.”
“I…” You looked away, not knowing how to put it into words. Surely Rafe would be upset.
Rafe noticed you weren’t meeting his eyes and gently tilted your chin, his voice surprisingly soft. “I’m not upset. I could never be upset with you.
You relaxed subconsciously at his words. Rafe noticed, combing a hand through your hair. “I’m just… worried. I want to know what’s going on with my girl. I don’t want you to feel like you have to hide your thoughts from me.”
“It’s… you can’t fix this, Rafe. You can’t fix me.” Your whisper was barely audible as your hands fists in Rafe’s shirt, as if looking for something. Anything to latch onto.
Rafe didn’t argue. He didn’t say that there was nothing wrong with you. That you didn’t need to be fixed. It wasn’t what you needed right now. He knew that. “Maybe… but that doesn’t mean I can’t be here for you.”
His words made you go quiet for a second as you tried to voice everything that had been going on in the past weeks.
“The thoughts don’t… stop. I just feel like everyone’s better, you know? That I’ll never be enough. Never be like them.”
Rafe’s heart twisted at your words. The fact that you couldn’t see yourself the way he did hurt him more than anything else. But he’d try. Try to make you see what he saw.
You looked up, trying to gauge Rafe’s reaction. He just pulled you a little closer, tucking your head under his chin. You buried yourself there, face against his neck as you breathed in the musky scent of his cologne.
“That’s the thing, baby. You don’t need to be like them. I love you just the way you are, you know that, right?”
You didn’t pull away when you nodded. Rafe sighed softly, “I know that words won’t fix it. I know maybe I can’t fix it. But I want you to know I’ll be with you through all of it, yeah? I’m not going anywhere.”
You blinked, looking up at him willingly this time. “Promise you won’t leave?”
Rafe smiled a little, his lips curving. “I promise. You’re stuck with me. And we’re going to get through this one step at a time, okay?”
“Okay,” you murmured against his chest.
“You hate salads.”
The unexpected words pulled a giggle out of you, “What?”
Rafe’s face softened at that sound. “I said you hate salads.”
You went quiet for a moment, then: “Yeah, they taste like shit alone.”
“How about some cookies then? I bought them yesterday.” Rafe didn’t want to push. If you denied it, he wouldn’t ask again, but it was worth a try.
You didn’t answer right away. The voices in your head were telling you no. That you weren’t that hungry. But now Rafe’s words lingered there too. How you were enough for him. You knew the voices weren’t disappearing anytime soon. That this wasn’t over. But you did want cookies. “Okay…”
Rafe couldn’t hide his smile as he carefully picked you up, but deep down he was relieved more than he’d admit. “C’mon.”
a/n: sorry this took so long to do considering it was sent in like two weeks ago but thank you for the request! this is my first time writing an ed, so sorry if i misrepresented something. if you are going through something like this just know that you are enough and don't be afraid to reach out for support. anyways in my active era now soo more works will be coming soon 🫶 feel free to send in requests for fics, headcanons or moodboards ꫂ᭪݁
taglist: @rafesgreasycurtainbangs
dividers: @chrisssiren
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