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this fic contains…a reader that’s described like someone from old Hollywood, no skin color or hair type or color descriptions, no body descriptions either!! Rafe’s a little bit uh weird but so is reader tbh. Cussing. Uhh a little smut, masturbation (fem. and male). A few religious themes. That’s alll enjoy!!
a/n: I’m very excited. Uh pls tell me if this is bad so I can rewrite it. I’m kind of shy since I haven’t written smut in a while.
Now you know there’s something strangely romantic about fast-food places after ten at night. There’s no crowds, no screaming kids, no teenagers making TikToks or vaping cherry slush air.
Just silence.
And the annoying hum of the appliances in the kitchen and maybe one couple arguing by the front doors. Otherwise than that, it felt like a world for people who couldn’t sleep.
Or just didn’t want to go home.
You fell right in the middle of those two extremities. Your heels clicked on the cracked sidewalk as you crossed the Taco Bell parking lot, your reflection catching briefly on the restaurant’s windows. You stopped, fixed your hair for a second.
You looked hilariously out of place—or hilariously out of decade. You’d worn a black vintage wool swing coat cinched neatly at the waist covered the ivory satin blouse tucked into high-waisted charcoal trousers that flared just enough to skim the tops of your pointed kitten heels. Antique gold earrings swung beneath carefully done hair that framed your face. Your lipstick was a deep wine red. Winged liner sharpened your eyes into something almost feline.
You’d been compared to old Hollywood before.
That’s what caught your date’s eye. He’d called you “ethereal” before asking you for your number about three days ago. That said date lasted forty-five minutes. He’d been sweet enough. He worked at the record store downtown. He liked jazz, collected vinyls, and liked vintage fashion like you.
He’d taken you to a paint-and-sip class where he’d somehow managed to paint what looked like a possessed duck. You’d both laughed until you literally started crying.
You were turned off immediately when he started talking about cryptocurrency and how the rest of the date. Your interest packed its bags and you’d texted a friend to say something bad enough for you to leave.
So..
Greasy food it is. Watch some YouTube. Then go to bed. Perfect. You’d ordered your usual. Crunchwrap, soft taco, nacho fries, and a large Baja blast. You could resume your healthy choices tomorrow.
While waiting, your eyes wandered to the tables. There weren’t many people. A worker wiping a table down, a group of people eating, and a mom with her kid and a suitcase.
Then him. He’d occupied an entire corner table like he’d bought it himself.
Massive. That’s what you thought immediately. You couldn’t tell how tall he was but he was huge. Broad shoulders stretching an old gray hoodie. Heavy forearms and hands covered in faded and newer tattoos. He had a buzzcut. A medium large scar through his left eyebrow, it was mostly faded. Fresh brushing across his knuckles. Another yellowing bruise disappearing beneath the sleeves of his hoodie. His sweatpants looked high quality. But the way he ate, gosh. It was like a man preparing for winter in the forest. Three burritos. Two tacos. Something with chicken. Large water, a Red Bull he’d brought himself. His phone wasn’t visible. No one near him. His duffle bag on the chair across from him.
You glanced once before looking away. Your mother raised you better than to stare. You still felt it. A pair of eyes, watching.
But every time you looked up —
He’d already looked away. Interesting.
Then your order was done.
You smiled,”Thank youuuu.”
You gathered some sauce and napkins and went to the farthest table you could find which was somehow next to the man.
You settled down. Did the sign of the cross. A quick prayer.
Amen.
Then you ate one fry. Yummy. You propped your phone up against your drink and put your headphones on. It was something random you found on your feed. It was silly and comforting.
When you were about halfway through your fries, the feeling returned. Someone looking. You paused. Lifted your eyes.
Him. Staring.
You held the eye contact. No emotion between the two of you. Just two seconds of quiet and unemotional eye contact. Then you calmly returned to your food and video. You’d been told by your mother, never give strange men reactions.
That was rule number one.
By the time you’d finished your Crunchwrap. He stood. Gathered his trash and his bag. Walked past you to the trash can. You noticed a slight limp.
His hoodie brushed the edge of another chair. He didn’t look at you. That gave you the perfect amount of time to observe him better. The veins on his hand. His eye color. How defined his jaw was. And the ruby ring on your his middle finger.
About twenty minutes later, you packed everything away and tossed it in the trash.
Outside…
The air had turned cooler. You unlocked your car, about to get in. Then you saw him. He was smoking beside a black pickup truck. One hand shoved in his pocket. His hood up. He wasn’t looking at you. You kind of wished he was. Maybe he was appreciating your style.
You slipped into your car and locked the door, you locked it then put on some music. You sighed and drove off.
—
Rafe saw you drive off.
He let out a long exhale while he tossed his cigarette on the floor and put it out. You were beautiful. Unlike any woman he’d ever seen. Gosh. I mean he’d dated good looking women before, but damn you were different.
He drove home. The radio buzzing, npr. He hated npr news but he’d always find himself listening to it. It reminded him of his dad. He wasn’t on good terms with his dad. He didn’t know why he listened to it.
Once he got to his apartment, he chucked his shoes off by the shoe rack he’d set up but rarely uses. His massive golden retriever, Moose, ran up to him and placed his front paws on his shirt, Rafe crouched down and scratched behind his ears and kissed the top of his head. Moose panted, Rafe smirked a little. He got some food from the fridge specifically for Moose, poured it in his bowl and then did his water bowl. He gobbled it up immediately.
Rafe washed his hands and got his ground beef and rice out of the fridge and threw it in the microwave. His mind kept drifting to you. Your hair, your face, your clothes.
Gosh. He’d tried to think respectfully. He did at first. His mind kept wandering to not so sweet things. Not weird things. He’s not like that. He doesn’t even know you. What’s wrong with him. He shook his head and took his food out of the microwave. He cut up an avocado, and got the Berry Cherry limeade buzzball he’d been saving all week just for this Friday. He sat down in his living room. Turned on Ocean’s Eleven, he was halfway through already. He ate his food, watched tv, and then drank his buzzball in two chugs. He sighed in relief. That hit the spot alright. He’d started yawing and felt about ready to hit the hay.
Once he was in the shower. He thought. And thought. Anything other than you.
Before he went into the shower he found your instagram. Well your boutique instagram. He saw the sticker on your car when he went out to smoke. You’re very committed to the vintage thing.
He spent all his self control to not follow you. He did, but he took down your name in his mind.
“Y/n”
It felt good coming out of his mouth. Then he found your personal account. You’d posted a story. Your cat. Then your dinner, yes more food after the Taco Bell. You’d tagged your friend in a picture with a vodka bottle.
He closed his eyes, turned the water back on cold. He needs to stop. But his body said ‘No keep thinking of her’. He felt his dick throb once.
He groaned,”Fuck.”
He hit his temple with the bottom of his hand gently. He started thinking of his last match. He won. He felt good. Y/n. He found this protein drink he liked. Y/n.
His body got the better of him, his hand slipped down there. He touched his tip lightly with his thumb. He winced. It’s been so long since he’d had sex, or even touched himself. He needed to focus on boxing. Ladies were an after thought.
He stroked once, sighed. Then he kept stroking, slowly. His breathing was laborious and his eyes squeezed shut, his jaw slacked. He looked down for one second. He was egregiously hard to the point it was almost embarrassing. He rubbed his tip again and let out a moan. His mind wandered again. To you. The idea of you. Your voice, he’d heard it in a video on your boutique page with you were talking about your Vinted and depop finds. He stroked faster, his noises of pleasure becoming louder at every pass of his hand.
Gosh he felt disgusting. Literally three minutes later he spurted all over his shower wall, he’d been using his other hand to stabilize himself against the other shower wall.
He whispered to himself, ”What the hell is wrong with me.” He finished his shower and got his Clorox shower cleaner and washed the cum off feeling fully ashamed. Dried himself off, put on sleep clothes, and did his skincare which sister recommended he do.
He played with Moose before he went to bed. Well he didn’t close his eyes until he looked at your instagram again. You’d posted another story about Love Islabd and how much you hated Sincere.
He had no clue who that was. But whatever you said, at this point, he’d agree. That’s a weird thing for him. He’s never felt like this in a while. He’s been through 3 relationships since he started boxing and they’d all been the same, or that’s what he thought. He almost went red-pilled. Thank God he didn’t. But feeling like he could trust whatever someone said without knowing them fully. Yeah no that’s weird.
His eyes fluttered shut and he let sleep overcome him.
—
You’d been up all night. It was only 3 am. Your best friend Vivienne had gone home at 12 am. You’d tried to sleep but you couldn’t. So you got up to see what you had in your fridge. Your cat was asleep on his bed for once in his life. You grabbed your phone and checked some notifications. DMs from a few companies on your boutique page, friends liking your stories on your personal instagram, emails, blah blah blah bl-
Wait.
rafe.c liked your story.
You checked your notifications, maybe he followed you or your boutique page. Nothing. Huh?
You checked his page and you froze. Taco Bell guy. You’d spent twenty minutes telling Vivi about how hot he was and how big his hands were.
His profile picture was him in a gym lightroom, flexing his muscles. You smirked, gosh he looked good. He didn’t have a bio, well he had his boxing gym name and his boxing achievements put down.
—
Rafe Cameron.
Pro boxer
34–2 • 29 KOs
WBC Cruiserweight Champion
@ApexBoxingClub
—
So he’s a boxer. Professional one. Wow.
You got a Celsius out of the fridge, a horrible idea ,yes, but whatever. You sat at your kitchen island, scrolling through his page. He didn’t have much posted. Just a few pictures with trophies. The pinned post was him and his boxing club. He was smiling. That’s the only picture he had where he was smiling, well he had one other one where he was smirking because he’d won a championship. He had a picture of his dog. A picture of his family, it was a birthday post for his mom. That’s where the posts ended.
You finished your Celsius while you scrolled through your emails. But you kept thinking of Rafe. It was freeing to know his name. He didn’t post as much as you so you probably don’t know as much as he does about you. Then your phone buzzed again.
rafe.c started following you.
Well, you followed back immediately. Liked his pinned post. Then you thought. More like your brain blurted out:
‘What would it be like if he threw you on the bed and ate you out? His hands are so big and he’s strong so he wouldn’t leg you move?’
You felt heat rush to your face at the thought. You clenched your thighs together. Goodness gracious. You felt gross.
You muttered,”I don’t even know this guy. What’s wrong with me?” You shook your head and threw the can away. You went your bathroom to redo your skincare and head to bed. You dragged out rubbing in your serum and putting on your lip balm as if that would distract you. You turned on your TV, put on Jersey Shore. You weren’t paying attention because you kept looking at Rafes instagram. You put your phone down after you realized you needed to pull yourself together.
Then another thought came back. This one was was even more explicit. It was just a flash. Rafe bending you over your kitchen counter and taking you from behind. You were both sweaty and he was grunting in your ear, and you were moaning out his name, and his huge hands were tracing his back. You imagined he had more tattoos on his chest and torso. You remembered the smile he had in that picture. Fuck.
You snapped back to reality and felt how wet you were, how you clenching around nothing. You’d been so busy with work that you hadn’t had the time to even worry about being horny. You slipped your hands into your sleep shorts, just to see.
Your shorts were absolutely soaked. Wow. And you accidentally touched your clit and you let out a whine, your hips bucked once. You traced your pointer finger down to your slit, dripping wet. You slid your finger in a little. You whined again.
You reached over to your nightstand, your show absolutely forgotten now, and grabbed your g-spot vibrator. You usually used lube but this time you definitely didn’t need it.
You threw your covers off you, took off your shorts, pulled up your shirt. You spread your legs as wide as you could and started teasing your slit with the vibrator, you slid it in a little and you moaned out and your eyes closed. And all you could think of was Rafe. What he’d do to you, and how he’d do it.
You started teasing your tits with your free hand, pulling at them, squeezing the flesh. Then you put the vibrator in to the hilt and felt a sharp wave of pleasure right where you needed it, making your back arch off your bed, your toes curling. You moved it in and out continuously, causing you to get even wetter and you to moan and whine even louder.
You thought of rafe fingering you, with his long fingers. Hell, he’d probably be even better than this vibrator. Your hips bucked and your thighs twitched. It was so overstimulating. You couldn’t stay still. Your cunt kept pulsing and clenching on the vibrator, making you let out a guttural groan.
After a few minutes of the vibrator hitting your spot. You finally came. You were panting. You rolled over on your side, holding the vibrator in as you shook as you felt your pleasure.
You laid there for a few minutes before getting up to pee, wash your vibrator and your hands. You went out to check on your cat, hoping he was still asleep despite all the noise you made. He was fast asleep. You kissed his head and walked back into your room.
As soon as you got cozy under the covers you fell asleep.
—
Two days later.
Whole Foods.
Sunday morning.
You wandered straight to the bakery like a woman on a mission.
“Cinnamon Coffee cake, where art thou?” You muttered under your breath.
There it was. Only one left. You felt victorious. You out it in your basket immediately along side the strawberries, heavy cream, butter, lemons, rosemary, and the tulips you’d gotten for the boutique. Perfect. Your list was complete.
You liked shopping. It was nice to finally be in control of what you bought. Also you liked putting together outfits for running errands.
You wandered to the bread aisle. Maybe you could get cinnamon bread—
A hand came into your peripheral view. You looked at where it came from. Rafe Cameron. In broad daylight. Looking sexier than two nights ago.
Oh God. You remembered. You’d literally touched yourself to him. omigosh omigosh omigosh. You panicked and just forgot about the cinnamon bread and walked away.
—
Rafe saw you walk away. That’s when his face went redder than a tomato. Did he do something? Maybe she magically found out he’d…uh well…jerked off to the idea of you? Maybe he looked scary?
He just shook his head and went to check out.
He saw you leaving. He smiled a little at self checkout. He wondered what the tulips were for.
“Please put scanned items in the bagging area.” The monotone self checkout voice brought him back to the real world. He finished scanning his stuff and went out to the parking lot.
But of course. Your little baby blue beetle was parked around his truck. He paused. His shoulders falling as you two made eye contact. Neither of you knew what you’d both done that night. It felt like you did. Like he was watching you telepathically and you’d done the same to him. But no. It was just two awkward people who didn’t know what they signed up for.
—
Rafe had just finished sparring with one of his gym buddies. He was chewing on his mouth guard and looking through his notifications on his phone. He saw you posted something. So he checked.
It was a mirror selfie of you. In a new dress you’d found—a plum satin dress with white lace at the bottom. He noticed you had some Miss Z’s on. He closed his eyes and sighed. His last ex made him buy those for her. She was bad. She was there for sex and money. Oh and drugs back when he used to do coke and shit.
He remembered just how he’d broken up with her. She’s just finished giving him a whole sob story about how she didn’t mean to cheat on him.
—
“Rafe. I’m telling you. I swear I was drunk out of my mind. So was he. And I didn’t want kiss him!” She was crying.
Rafe looked at her. No expression in his eyes,”I’m not gonna be a fucking cuck! You knew what you’d done and you’ve done it before! Fool me once shame on you, fool me twice shame on me. I don’t want anything to do with you anymore.” Sure he could’ve been nicer but he was mad.
—
That was three years ago. Three whole years without romance.
His coach leaned over his shoulder and let out a low whistle. Rafe’s thumb had kept the story frozen.
“That your girlfriend or something?”
Rafe snorted.
“Hell no. You know I’m on hiatus from women.”
“You’re blushing a little Rafe? Or is that just from sweating?”
“I’m not, coach.”
“Oh you are, Cam.”
Rafe rubbed a hand over his head and then rubbed his face.
“It ain’t like that.”
His coach raised an eyebrow, took another look. Then nodded.
“Is this the girl from Taco Bell you said prayed before she ate?”
Rafe nodded,”Yeah.”
“Makes sense why you’ve been distracted since Thursday then. You’ve been cutting weight,” he started numbering on his fingers,”staring into space, smiling randomly, you know, puppy love shit.”
Rafe stood up and shook his head holding a finger up at him,”I said it ain’t like that, coach. There’s no puppy love going on here and I’ve not been cutting weight.”
His coach shook his head and clapped him on the back,”Yeah yeah whatever get back to work.”
°⋆ summary: in which jack abbot uses his famous fourth of july barbecue to introduce his new girlfriend to the pitt crew.
°⋆ warnings: no use of y/n, big age gap (reader is early 20s and jack is around 50), reader is ditzy, slight ddlg vibes but not explicitly, abbot robby and shen are all perverts, allusions to smut at the end with a fade to black (sorry!)
°⋆ wc:
°⋆ note: if you enjoyed this please make sure to like, reblog, and maybe even comment so i know you liked it!! it would really help me out so thank youuu <3 enjoy! (also i am not american guys but i'll take any excuse to write jack like this)
Every year, Jack holds the best fourth of July barbecue imaginable. It's the social event of the year for the Pitt crew, topping Robby's Christmas potluck and Dana's little Valentine's events she organised in the hospital every year. But this year, it'd be better than all the past years combined.
Because this year, Jack had a pretty young thing practically velcroed to his side, helping him organise everything. Naturally, this changed the nature of the party a little bit. Where he'd usually gone for a classy feel, this year there were sparklers on every corner, large bowls of candy, and his girl was there in the tiniest gingham bikini he'd ever seen.
God Bless America.
He hasn't technically introduced her to anyone yet, and she's been buzzing all day, excited to meet his work friends. Which is exactly what he's afraid of.
"Jackie!"
He hears her cooing to him from outside, which he simply can't resist. He's only a man, after all. He crosses the house in a few steps to see her already in the pool, braids wet and matted down onto her skin, bikini clinging to her skin for dear life.
"Jackie, when are your friends getting here?" She paddles up to the side of the pool, looking up at him with her big, wide eyes.
"Soon, honey. I told them to be here at 4:00, it's 3:55." He goes to the side to meet her, crouching down, mindful of his prosthetic.
"Then we have a little time." She jumps up to give him a big, wet kiss, arms wrapping tight around his neck. Her force would've tugged him into the pool, had he not anticipated it and braced himself on the edge.
"Careful, baby. Remember what I said about all that energy?" He murmurs, very reluctantly pulling back from the kiss. He was a strong man. He'd served in the military. But denying her was so difficult to him.
"Yes, Jackie. You said to keep it in so that I don't scare your friends, who are old and boring." She sighs, lifting herself out of the pool and shaking out like a wet dog, letting some water droplets land over his nice button up shirt. He doesn't comment.
"Not all of them are old. I'm hoping you can make friends with some of the residents." He groans as he stands up, making a mental note to swap out for his waterproof leg later on, so he could swim with her when she would inevitably beg him to. She stands up beside him, bouncing from foot to foot.
It's then that he hears it.
"Brother, I've been ringing the fucking doorbell for 5 minutes, are you going dea- woah."
Robby. Robby who probably expected Jack's new girlfriend to be at least 10 years older than she actually is, if not more. Robby, who was now staring at his girlfriend's chest as she ran up to introduce herself.
"This is Robby, baby. Go get yourself a towel." He pats her on the butt as she runs past him into the house for the towel she'd bought especially for this party, with the American flag on it.
Robby, beside him, was staring at him like Jack had just told her to go fetch.
"Is that your long lost daughter?" The snark is accompanied with a raise of eyebrows, and Jack sighs exasperatedly. "Because that was pretty inappropriate."
"Shut up, Robby."
He endures lots more comments like that during the night, mostly from Dana, Ellis, and Shen. Everyone else is too scared to comment. Just as he'd hoped, his girl is across the party playing mermaids with Javadi, Mel, and even a reluctant Santos. This spares Jack from having to play.
"Are you sure you know what you're doing, old man?" Dana stands next to the barbecue with a cigarette in her hand, watching him flip the patties. It's autopilot for him after doing these parties for so many years. Probably as long as his girlfriend has been alive.
"What are you talking about, grandma?" He shoots her a sideways grin, tilting his head to the side.
"You know what I mean. She's very... energetic." She shrugs, watching the game happening in the pool. "Very much not your thing."
"She's very much my thing." He shakes his head, eyebrows furrowing as he looks up at Dana.
"You sure it's not just a midlife crisis?" She raises an eyebrow, turning to look at him curiously.
"I'm not even close to my midlife, Evans, this is my prime." He grins, and she sighs like she's finished with this conversation. There is no helping him. You can't help a man who's exactly where he wants to be.
It's quieter once everyone's eaten, and everyone's gotten used to the idea of Jack having such a young girlfriend. He's watched her go from mermaids, to having a spirited conversation about different kinds of crystals and their meanings with Mohan, to even holding her own in a race with Robby and Shen, although he's pretty sure they lagged behind on purpose to watch her ass jiggle in her bikini bottoms.
Needless to say, there was a conversation had about appropriate behaviour with her. And there had also been an outfit change when she was done swimming.
But perhaps Jack was the biggest hypocrite of them all, because now he had her between his legs, drawing on his thighs with skin marker. She'd begged him to buy them, promising she'd only do it on herself, but there was only so much surface area on her leg, and after a time, she'd moved on to him.
So now she was drawing red, white, and blue fireworks and swirls on his thighs, head resting on his knee. Her mouth was parted, almost drooling on him comfortably. Everyone has migrated elsewhere, so they're pretty secluded where they are.
"Jackie, I think your friends like me." She glances up at him, tone still hushed. He smiles, and his hand comes down to stroke her hair softly as she lays on him.
"I think so too, ladybug. Everyone's getting along really well with you." He nods slowly, thumbing at her cheek. She bristles happily and leans into his hand, encouraging him to continue. "But that's because you're easy to get along with, beautiful."
She stays between his legs for the fireworks, but she's taking pictures and giggling happily when the colours streak the sky, shaking him. She even gets up and runs around the lawn with her arms up in the air, and he's grateful she's swapped her bikini for shorts and a baby tee. She finds her way back home once the show is over, curling up in his lap, and thats that.
When people start leaving, they have to come to him, because he is no longer going anywhere, very content as he is. She shakes everybody's hand like its a business meeting, which Jack thinks is adorable, exchanges Instagram handles with Javadi and phone numbers with Mel (who wants to come over again to see her hair clip collection). And everything seems to have gone well.
Once the last person, Robby, leaves, Jack finds himself alone, with his girl in his lap.
"You did so good, baby, I'm so proud of you." He smiles, holding her face in his hands. She burrows into the touch, resting herself and relaxing into his palms. The tone changes when he starts thumbing at her lower lip, and she parts her lips to take his thumb into her mouth. He sucks in a breath, and his smile widens. There's his girl.
She pulls off after a minute, pursing her lips. "I bought a new underwear set, Jackie."
"With my money?" He quirks an eyebrow, tilting his head to the side, because he'll be upset if she used her own money for it. She nods, and he does too. "Let me see."
She clambours off his lap, which he mourns momentarily, until she unzips her jean shorts to show him a white fabric, topped with black lace, and red stitching saying 'America's Sweetheart'.
"Fuck, come here, baby." She giggles and climbs onto his lap on his request, pressing her lips to his in her typical excited and feverish kiss.
Yeah. God fucking bless America.
credits to feldiesgraphics for the dividers
tagging some moots: @pittsick @pedaltothepetal @gilmrres @pyronations (let me know if you'd like to be tagged for new jack abbot content!)
you know what, fuck it be free, keep reading that bad fan fiction, keep writing that bad fanfiction, keep using y/n, keep staying up to 4 a.m reading x reader, to be cringe is too be free
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
this fic contains…a reader that’s described like someone from old Hollywood, no skin color or hair type or color descriptions, no body descriptions either!! Rafe’s a little bit uh weird but so is reader tbh. Cussing. Uhh a little smut, masturbation (fem. and male). A few religious themes. That’s alll enjoy!!
a/n: I’m very excited. Uh pls tell me if this is bad so I can rewrite it. I’m kind of shy since I haven’t written smut in a while.
Now you know there’s something strangely romantic about fast-food places after ten at night. There’s no crowds, no screaming kids, no teenagers making TikToks or vaping cherry slush air.
Just silence.
And the annoying hum of the appliances in the kitchen and maybe one couple arguing by the front doors. Otherwise than that, it felt like a world for people who couldn’t sleep.
Or just didn’t want to go home.
You fell right in the middle of those two extremities. Your heels clicked on the cracked sidewalk as you crossed the Taco Bell parking lot, your reflection catching briefly on the restaurant’s windows. You stopped, fixed your hair for a second.
You looked hilariously out of place—or hilariously out of decade. You’d worn a black vintage wool swing coat cinched neatly at the waist covered the ivory satin blouse tucked into high-waisted charcoal trousers that flared just enough to skim the tops of your pointed kitten heels. Antique gold earrings swung beneath carefully done hair that framed your face. Your lipstick was a deep wine red. Winged liner sharpened your eyes into something almost feline.
You’d been compared to old Hollywood before.
That’s what caught your date’s eye. He’d called you “ethereal” before asking you for your number about three days ago. That said date lasted forty-five minutes. He’d been sweet enough. He worked at the record store downtown. He liked jazz, collected vinyls, and liked vintage fashion like you.
He’d taken you to a paint-and-sip class where he’d somehow managed to paint what looked like a possessed duck. You’d both laughed until you literally started crying.
You were turned off immediately when he started talking about cryptocurrency and how the rest of the date. Your interest packed its bags and you’d texted a friend to say something bad enough for you to leave.
So..
Greasy food it is. Watch some YouTube. Then go to bed. Perfect. You’d ordered your usual. Crunchwrap, soft taco, nacho fries, and a large Baja blast. You could resume your healthy choices tomorrow.
While waiting, your eyes wandered to the tables. There weren’t many people. A worker wiping a table down, a group of people eating, and a mom with her kid and a suitcase.
Then him. He’d occupied an entire corner table like he’d bought it himself.
Massive. That’s what you thought immediately. You couldn’t tell how tall he was but he was huge. Broad shoulders stretching an old gray hoodie. Heavy forearms and hands covered in faded and newer tattoos. He had a buzzcut. A medium large scar through his left eyebrow, it was mostly faded. Fresh brushing across his knuckles. Another yellowing bruise disappearing beneath the sleeves of his hoodie. His sweatpants looked high quality. But the way he ate, gosh. It was like a man preparing for winter in the forest. Three burritos. Two tacos. Something with chicken. Large water, a Red Bull he’d brought himself. His phone wasn’t visible. No one near him. His duffle bag on the chair across from him.
You glanced once before looking away. Your mother raised you better than to stare. You still felt it. A pair of eyes, watching.
But every time you looked up —
He’d already looked away. Interesting.
Then your order was done.
You smiled,”Thank youuuu.”
You gathered some sauce and napkins and went to the farthest table you could find which was somehow next to the man.
You settled down. Did the sign of the cross. A quick prayer.
Amen.
Then you ate one fry. Yummy. You propped your phone up against your drink and put your headphones on. It was something random you found on your feed. It was silly and comforting.
When you were about halfway through your fries, the feeling returned. Someone looking. You paused. Lifted your eyes.
Him. Staring.
You held the eye contact. No emotion between the two of you. Just two seconds of quiet and unemotional eye contact. Then you calmly returned to your food and video. You’d been told by your mother, never give strange men reactions.
That was rule number one.
By the time you’d finished your Crunchwrap. He stood. Gathered his trash and his bag. Walked past you to the trash can. You noticed a slight limp.
His hoodie brushed the edge of another chair. He didn’t look at you. That gave you the perfect amount of time to observe him better. The veins on his hand. His eye color. How defined his jaw was. And the ruby ring on your his middle finger.
About twenty minutes later, you packed everything away and tossed it in the trash.
Outside…
The air had turned cooler. You unlocked your car, about to get in. Then you saw him. He was smoking beside a black pickup truck. One hand shoved in his pocket. His hood up. He wasn’t looking at you. You kind of wished he was. Maybe he was appreciating your style.
You slipped into your car and locked the door, you locked it then put on some music. You sighed and drove off.
—
Rafe saw you drive off.
He let out a long exhale while he tossed his cigarette on the floor and put it out. You were beautiful. Unlike any woman he’d ever seen. Gosh. I mean he’d dated good looking women before, but damn you were different.
He drove home. The radio buzzing, npr. He hated npr news but he’d always find himself listening to it. It reminded him of his dad. He wasn’t on good terms with his dad. He didn’t know why he listened to it.
Once he got to his apartment, he chucked his shoes off by the shoe rack he’d set up but rarely uses. His massive golden retriever, Moose, ran up to him and placed his front paws on his shirt, Rafe crouched down and scratched behind his ears and kissed the top of his head. Moose panted, Rafe smirked a little. He got some food from the fridge specifically for Moose, poured it in his bowl and then did his water bowl. He gobbled it up immediately.
Rafe washed his hands and got his ground beef and rice out of the fridge and threw it in the microwave. His mind kept drifting to you. Your hair, your face, your clothes.
Gosh. He’d tried to think respectfully. He did at first. His mind kept wandering to not so sweet things. Not weird things. He’s not like that. He doesn’t even know you. What’s wrong with him. He shook his head and took his food out of the microwave. He cut up an avocado, and got the Berry Cherry limeade buzzball he’d been saving all week just for this Friday. He sat down in his living room. Turned on Ocean’s Eleven, he was halfway through already. He ate his food, watched tv, and then drank his buzzball in two chugs. He sighed in relief. That hit the spot alright. He’d started yawing and felt about ready to hit the hay.
Once he was in the shower. He thought. And thought. Anything other than you.
Before he went into the shower he found your instagram. Well your boutique instagram. He saw the sticker on your car when he went out to smoke. You’re very committed to the vintage thing.
He spent all his self control to not follow you. He did, but he took down your name in his mind.
“Y/n”
It felt good coming out of his mouth. Then he found your personal account. You’d posted a story. Your cat. Then your dinner, yes more food after the Taco Bell. You’d tagged your friend in a picture with a vodka bottle.
He closed his eyes, turned the water back on cold. He needs to stop. But his body said ‘No keep thinking of her’. He felt his dick throb once.
He groaned,”Fuck.”
He hit his temple with the bottom of his hand gently. He started thinking of his last match. He won. He felt good. Y/n. He found this protein drink he liked. Y/n.
His body got the better of him, his hand slipped down there. He touched his tip lightly with his thumb. He winced. It’s been so long since he’d had sex, or even touched himself. He needed to focus on boxing. Ladies were an after thought.
He stroked once, sighed. Then he kept stroking, slowly. His breathing was laborious and his eyes squeezed shut, his jaw slacked. He looked down for one second. He was egregiously hard to the point it was almost embarrassing. He rubbed his tip again and let out a moan. His mind wandered again. To you. The idea of you. Your voice, he’d heard it in a video on your boutique page with you were talking about your Vinted and depop finds. He stroked faster, his noises of pleasure becoming louder at every pass of his hand.
Gosh he felt disgusting. Literally three minutes later he spurted all over his shower wall, he’d been using his other hand to stabilize himself against the other shower wall.
He whispered to himself, ”What the hell is wrong with me.” He finished his shower and got his Clorox shower cleaner and washed the cum off feeling fully ashamed. Dried himself off, put on sleep clothes, and did his skincare which sister recommended he do.
He played with Moose before he went to bed. Well he didn’t close his eyes until he looked at your instagram again. You’d posted another story about Love Islabd and how much you hated Sincere.
He had no clue who that was. But whatever you said, at this point, he’d agree. That’s a weird thing for him. He’s never felt like this in a while. He’s been through 3 relationships since he started boxing and they’d all been the same, or that’s what he thought. He almost went red-pilled. Thank God he didn’t. But feeling like he could trust whatever someone said without knowing them fully. Yeah no that’s weird.
His eyes fluttered shut and he let sleep overcome him.
—
You’d been up all night. It was only 3 am. Your best friend Vivienne had gone home at 12 am. You’d tried to sleep but you couldn’t. So you got up to see what you had in your fridge. Your cat was asleep on his bed for once in his life. You grabbed your phone and checked some notifications. DMs from a few companies on your boutique page, friends liking your stories on your personal instagram, emails, blah blah blah bl-
Wait.
rafe.c liked your story.
You checked your notifications, maybe he followed you or your boutique page. Nothing. Huh?
You checked his page and you froze. Taco Bell guy. You’d spent twenty minutes telling Vivi about how hot he was and how big his hands were.
His profile picture was him in a gym lightroom, flexing his muscles. You smirked, gosh he looked good. He didn’t have a bio, well he had his boxing gym name and his boxing achievements put down.
—
Rafe Cameron.
Pro boxer
34–2 • 29 KOs
WBC Cruiserweight Champion
@ApexBoxingClub
—
So he’s a boxer. Professional one. Wow.
You got a Celsius out of the fridge, a horrible idea ,yes, but whatever. You sat at your kitchen island, scrolling through his page. He didn’t have much posted. Just a few pictures with trophies. The pinned post was him and his boxing club. He was smiling. That’s the only picture he had where he was smiling, well he had one other one where he was smirking because he’d won a championship. He had a picture of his dog. A picture of his family, it was a birthday post for his mom. That’s where the posts ended.
You finished your Celsius while you scrolled through your emails. But you kept thinking of Rafe. It was freeing to know his name. He didn’t post as much as you so you probably don’t know as much as he does about you. Then your phone buzzed again.
rafe.c started following you.
Well, you followed back immediately. Liked his pinned post. Then you thought. More like your brain blurted out:
‘What would it be like if he threw you on the bed and ate you out? His hands are so big and he’s strong so he wouldn’t leg you move?’
You felt heat rush to your face at the thought. You clenched your thighs together. Goodness gracious. You felt gross.
You muttered,”I don’t even know this guy. What’s wrong with me?” You shook your head and threw the can away. You went your bathroom to redo your skincare and head to bed. You dragged out rubbing in your serum and putting on your lip balm as if that would distract you. You turned on your TV, put on Jersey Shore. You weren’t paying attention because you kept looking at Rafes instagram. You put your phone down after you realized you needed to pull yourself together.
Then another thought came back. This one was was even more explicit. It was just a flash. Rafe bending you over your kitchen counter and taking you from behind. You were both sweaty and he was grunting in your ear, and you were moaning out his name, and his huge hands were tracing his back. You imagined he had more tattoos on his chest and torso. You remembered the smile he had in that picture. Fuck.
You snapped back to reality and felt how wet you were, how you clenching around nothing. You’d been so busy with work that you hadn’t had the time to even worry about being horny. You slipped your hands into your sleep shorts, just to see.
Your shorts were absolutely soaked. Wow. And you accidentally touched your clit and you let out a whine, your hips bucked once. You traced your pointer finger down to your slit, dripping wet. You slid your finger in a little. You whined again.
You reached over to your nightstand, your show absolutely forgotten now, and grabbed your g-spot vibrator. You usually used lube but this time you definitely didn’t need it.
You threw your covers off you, took off your shorts, pulled up your shirt. You spread your legs as wide as you could and started teasing your slit with the vibrator, you slid it in a little and you moaned out and your eyes closed. And all you could think of was Rafe. What he’d do to you, and how he’d do it.
You started teasing your tits with your free hand, pulling at them, squeezing the flesh. Then you put the vibrator in to the hilt and felt a sharp wave of pleasure right where you needed it, making your back arch off your bed, your toes curling. You moved it in and out continuously, causing you to get even wetter and you to moan and whine even louder.
You thought of rafe fingering you, with his long fingers. Hell, he’d probably be even better than this vibrator. Your hips bucked and your thighs twitched. It was so overstimulating. You couldn’t stay still. Your cunt kept pulsing and clenching on the vibrator, making you let out a guttural groan.
After a few minutes of the vibrator hitting your spot. You finally came. You were panting. You rolled over on your side, holding the vibrator in as you shook as you felt your pleasure.
You laid there for a few minutes before getting up to pee, wash your vibrator and your hands. You went out to check on your cat, hoping he was still asleep despite all the noise you made. He was fast asleep. You kissed his head and walked back into your room.
As soon as you got cozy under the covers you fell asleep.
—
Two days later.
Whole Foods.
Sunday morning.
You wandered straight to the bakery like a woman on a mission.
“Cinnamon Coffee cake, where art thou?” You muttered under your breath.
There it was. Only one left. You felt victorious. You out it in your basket immediately along side the strawberries, heavy cream, butter, lemons, rosemary, and the tulips you’d gotten for the boutique. Perfect. Your list was complete.
You liked shopping. It was nice to finally be in control of what you bought. Also you liked putting together outfits for running errands.
You wandered to the bread aisle. Maybe you could get cinnamon bread—
A hand came into your peripheral view. You looked at where it came from. Rafe Cameron. In broad daylight. Looking sexier than two nights ago.
Oh God. You remembered. You’d literally touched yourself to him. omigosh omigosh omigosh. You panicked and just forgot about the cinnamon bread and walked away.
—
Rafe saw you walk away. That’s when his face went redder than a tomato. Did he do something? Maybe she magically found out he’d…uh well…jerked off to the idea of you? Maybe he looked scary?
He just shook his head and went to check out.
He saw you leaving. He smiled a little at self checkout. He wondered what the tulips were for.
“Please put scanned items in the bagging area.” The monotone self checkout voice brought him back to the real world. He finished scanning his stuff and went out to the parking lot.
But of course. Your little baby blue beetle was parked around his truck. He paused. His shoulders falling as you two made eye contact. Neither of you knew what you’d both done that night. It felt like you did. Like he was watching you telepathically and you’d done the same to him. But no. It was just two awkward people who didn’t know what they signed up for.
—
Rafe had just finished sparring with one of his gym buddies. He was chewing on his mouth guard and looking through his notifications on his phone. He saw you posted something. So he checked.
It was a mirror selfie of you. In a new dress you’d found—a plum satin dress with white lace at the bottom. He noticed you had some Miss Z’s on. He closed his eyes and sighed. His last ex made him buy those for her. She was bad. She was there for sex and money. Oh and drugs back when he used to do coke and shit.
He remembered just how he’d broken up with her. She’s just finished giving him a whole sob story about how she didn’t mean to cheat on him.
—
“Rafe. I’m telling you. I swear I was drunk out of my mind. So was he. And I didn’t want kiss him!” She was crying.
Rafe looked at her. No expression in his eyes,”I’m not gonna be a fucking cuck! You knew what you’d done and you’ve done it before! Fool me once shame on you, fool me twice shame on me. I don’t want anything to do with you anymore.” Sure he could’ve been nicer but he was mad.
—
That was three years ago. Three whole years without romance.
His coach leaned over his shoulder and let out a low whistle. Rafe’s thumb had kept the story frozen.
“That your girlfriend or something?”
Rafe snorted.
“Hell no. You know I’m on hiatus from women.”
“You’re blushing a little Rafe? Or is that just from sweating?”
“I’m not, coach.”
“Oh you are, Cam.”
Rafe rubbed a hand over his head and then rubbed his face.
“It ain’t like that.”
His coach raised an eyebrow, took another look. Then nodded.
“Is this the girl from Taco Bell you said prayed before she ate?”
Rafe nodded,”Yeah.”
“Makes sense why you’ve been distracted since Thursday then. You’ve been cutting weight,” he started numbering on his fingers,”staring into space, smiling randomly, you know, puppy love shit.”
Rafe stood up and shook his head holding a finger up at him,”I said it ain’t like that, coach. There’s no puppy love going on here and I’ve not been cutting weight.”
His coach shook his head and clapped him on the back,”Yeah yeah whatever get back to work.”
this fic contains…a reader that’s described like someone from old Hollywood, no skin color or hair type or color descriptions, no body descriptions either!! Rafe’s a little bit uh weird but so is reader tbh. Cussing. Uhh a little smut, masturbation (fem. and male). A few religious themes. That’s alll enjoy!!
a/n: I’m very excited. Uh pls tell me if this is bad so I can rewrite it. I’m kind of shy since I haven’t written smut in a while.
Now you know there’s something strangely romantic about fast-food places after ten at night. There’s no crowds, no screaming kids, no teenagers making TikToks or vaping cherry slush air.
Just silence.
And the annoying hum of the appliances in the kitchen and maybe one couple arguing by the front doors. Otherwise than that, it felt like a world for people who couldn’t sleep.
Or just didn’t want to go home.
You fell right in the middle of those two extremities. Your heels clicked on the cracked sidewalk as you crossed the Taco Bell parking lot, your reflection catching briefly on the restaurant’s windows. You stopped, fixed your hair for a second.
You looked hilariously out of place—or hilariously out of decade. You’d worn a black vintage wool swing coat cinched neatly at the waist covered the ivory satin blouse tucked into high-waisted charcoal trousers that flared just enough to skim the tops of your pointed kitten heels. Antique gold earrings swung beneath carefully done hair that framed your face. Your lipstick was a deep wine red. Winged liner sharpened your eyes into something almost feline.
You’d been compared to old Hollywood before.
That’s what caught your date’s eye. He’d called you “ethereal” before asking you for your number about three days ago. That said date lasted forty-five minutes. He’d been sweet enough. He worked at the record store downtown. He liked jazz, collected vinyls, and liked vintage fashion like you.
He’d taken you to a paint-and-sip class where he’d somehow managed to paint what looked like a possessed duck. You’d both laughed until you literally started crying.
You were turned off immediately when he started talking about cryptocurrency and how the rest of the date. Your interest packed its bags and you’d texted a friend to say something bad enough for you to leave.
So..
Greasy food it is. Watch some YouTube. Then go to bed. Perfect. You’d ordered your usual. Crunchwrap, soft taco, nacho fries, and a large Baja blast. You could resume your healthy choices tomorrow.
While waiting, your eyes wandered to the tables. There weren’t many people. A worker wiping a table down, a group of people eating, and a mom with her kid and a suitcase.
Then him. He’d occupied an entire corner table like he’d bought it himself.
Massive. That’s what you thought immediately. You couldn’t tell how tall he was but he was huge. Broad shoulders stretching an old gray hoodie. Heavy forearms and hands covered in faded and newer tattoos. He had a buzzcut. A medium large scar through his left eyebrow, it was mostly faded. Fresh brushing across his knuckles. Another yellowing bruise disappearing beneath the sleeves of his hoodie. His sweatpants looked high quality. But the way he ate, gosh. It was like a man preparing for winter in the forest. Three burritos. Two tacos. Something with chicken. Large water, a Red Bull he’d brought himself. His phone wasn’t visible. No one near him. His duffle bag on the chair across from him.
You glanced once before looking away. Your mother raised you better than to stare. You still felt it. A pair of eyes, watching.
But every time you looked up —
He’d already looked away. Interesting.
Then your order was done.
You smiled,”Thank youuuu.”
You gathered some sauce and napkins and went to the farthest table you could find which was somehow next to the man.
You settled down. Did the sign of the cross. A quick prayer.
Amen.
Then you ate one fry. Yummy. You propped your phone up against your drink and put your headphones on. It was something random you found on your feed. It was silly and comforting.
When you were about halfway through your fries, the feeling returned. Someone looking. You paused. Lifted your eyes.
Him. Staring.
You held the eye contact. No emotion between the two of you. Just two seconds of quiet and unemotional eye contact. Then you calmly returned to your food and video. You’d been told by your mother, never give strange men reactions.
That was rule number one.
By the time you’d finished your Crunchwrap. He stood. Gathered his trash and his bag. Walked past you to the trash can. You noticed a slight limp.
His hoodie brushed the edge of another chair. He didn’t look at you. That gave you the perfect amount of time to observe him better. The veins on his hand. His eye color. How defined his jaw was. And the ruby ring on your his middle finger.
About twenty minutes later, you packed everything away and tossed it in the trash.
Outside…
The air had turned cooler. You unlocked your car, about to get in. Then you saw him. He was smoking beside a black pickup truck. One hand shoved in his pocket. His hood up. He wasn’t looking at you. You kind of wished he was. Maybe he was appreciating your style.
You slipped into your car and locked the door, you locked it then put on some music. You sighed and drove off.
—
Rafe saw you drive off.
He let out a long exhale while he tossed his cigarette on the floor and put it out. You were beautiful. Unlike any woman he’d ever seen. Gosh. I mean he’d dated good looking women before, but damn you were different.
He drove home. The radio buzzing, npr. He hated npr news but he’d always find himself listening to it. It reminded him of his dad. He wasn’t on good terms with his dad. He didn’t know why he listened to it.
Once he got to his apartment, he chucked his shoes off by the shoe rack he’d set up but rarely uses. His massive golden retriever, Moose, ran up to him and placed his front paws on his shirt, Rafe crouched down and scratched behind his ears and kissed the top of his head. Moose panted, Rafe smirked a little. He got some food from the fridge specifically for Moose, poured it in his bowl and then did his water bowl. He gobbled it up immediately.
Rafe washed his hands and got his ground beef and rice out of the fridge and threw it in the microwave. His mind kept drifting to you. Your hair, your face, your clothes.
Gosh. He’d tried to think respectfully. He did at first. His mind kept wandering to not so sweet things. Not weird things. He’s not like that. He doesn’t even know you. What’s wrong with him. He shook his head and took his food out of the microwave. He cut up an avocado, and got the Berry Cherry limeade buzzball he’d been saving all week just for this Friday. He sat down in his living room. Turned on Ocean’s Eleven, he was halfway through already. He ate his food, watched tv, and then drank his buzzball in two chugs. He sighed in relief. That hit the spot alright. He’d started yawing and felt about ready to hit the hay.
Once he was in the shower. He thought. And thought. Anything other than you.
Before he went into the shower he found your instagram. Well your boutique instagram. He saw the sticker on your car when he went out to smoke. You’re very committed to the vintage thing.
He spent all his self control to not follow you. He did, but he took down your name in his mind.
“Y/n”
It felt good coming out of his mouth. Then he found your personal account. You’d posted a story. Your cat. Then your dinner, yes more food after the Taco Bell. You’d tagged your friend in a picture with a vodka bottle.
He closed his eyes, turned the water back on cold. He needs to stop. But his body said ‘No keep thinking of her’. He felt his dick throb once.
He groaned,”Fuck.”
He hit his temple with the bottom of his hand gently. He started thinking of his last match. He won. He felt good. Y/n. He found this protein drink he liked. Y/n.
His body got the better of him, his hand slipped down there. He touched his tip lightly with his thumb. He winced. It’s been so long since he’d had sex, or even touched himself. He needed to focus on boxing. Ladies were an after thought.
He stroked once, sighed. Then he kept stroking, slowly. His breathing was laborious and his eyes squeezed shut, his jaw slacked. He looked down for one second. He was egregiously hard to the point it was almost embarrassing. He rubbed his tip again and let out a moan. His mind wandered again. To you. The idea of you. Your voice, he’d heard it in a video on your boutique page with you were talking about your Vinted and depop finds. He stroked faster, his noises of pleasure becoming louder at every pass of his hand.
Gosh he felt disgusting. Literally three minutes later he spurted all over his shower wall, he’d been using his other hand to stabilize himself against the other shower wall.
He whispered to himself, ”What the hell is wrong with me.” He finished his shower and got his Clorox shower cleaner and washed the cum off feeling fully ashamed. Dried himself off, put on sleep clothes, and did his skincare which sister recommended he do.
He played with Moose before he went to bed. Well he didn’t close his eyes until he looked at your instagram again. You’d posted another story about Love Islabd and how much you hated Sincere.
He had no clue who that was. But whatever you said, at this point, he’d agree. That’s a weird thing for him. He’s never felt like this in a while. He’s been through 3 relationships since he started boxing and they’d all been the same, or that’s what he thought. He almost went red-pilled. Thank God he didn’t. But feeling like he could trust whatever someone said without knowing them fully. Yeah no that’s weird.
His eyes fluttered shut and he let sleep overcome him.
—
You’d been up all night. It was only 3 am. Your best friend Vivienne had gone home at 12 am. You’d tried to sleep but you couldn’t. So you got up to see what you had in your fridge. Your cat was asleep on his bed for once in his life. You grabbed your phone and checked some notifications. DMs from a few companies on your boutique page, friends liking your stories on your personal instagram, emails, blah blah blah bl-
Wait.
rafe.c liked your story.
You checked your notifications, maybe he followed you or your boutique page. Nothing. Huh?
You checked his page and you froze. Taco Bell guy. You’d spent twenty minutes telling Vivi about how hot he was and how big his hands were.
His profile picture was him in a gym lightroom, flexing his muscles. You smirked, gosh he looked good. He didn’t have a bio, well he had his boxing gym name and his boxing achievements put down.
—
Rafe Cameron.
Pro boxer
34–2 • 29 KOs
WBC Cruiserweight Champion
@ApexBoxingClub
—
So he’s a boxer. Professional one. Wow.
You got a Celsius out of the fridge, a horrible idea ,yes, but whatever. You sat at your kitchen island, scrolling through his page. He didn’t have much posted. Just a few pictures with trophies. The pinned post was him and his boxing club. He was smiling. That’s the only picture he had where he was smiling, well he had one other one where he was smirking because he’d won a championship. He had a picture of his dog. A picture of his family, it was a birthday post for his mom. That’s where the posts ended.
You finished your Celsius while you scrolled through your emails. But you kept thinking of Rafe. It was freeing to know his name. He didn’t post as much as you so you probably don’t know as much as he does about you. Then your phone buzzed again.
rafe.c started following you.
Well, you followed back immediately. Liked his pinned post. Then you thought. More like your brain blurted out:
‘What would it be like if he threw you on the bed and ate you out? His hands are so big and he’s strong so he wouldn’t leg you move?’
You felt heat rush to your face at the thought. You clenched your thighs together. Goodness gracious. You felt gross.
You muttered,”I don’t even know this guy. What’s wrong with me?” You shook your head and threw the can away. You went your bathroom to redo your skincare and head to bed. You dragged out rubbing in your serum and putting on your lip balm as if that would distract you. You turned on your TV, put on Jersey Shore. You weren’t paying attention because you kept looking at Rafes instagram. You put your phone down after you realized you needed to pull yourself together.
Then another thought came back. This one was was even more explicit. It was just a flash. Rafe bending you over your kitchen counter and taking you from behind. You were both sweaty and he was grunting in your ear, and you were moaning out his name, and his huge hands were tracing his back. You imagined he had more tattoos on his chest and torso. You remembered the smile he had in that picture. Fuck.
You snapped back to reality and felt how wet you were, how you clenching around nothing. You’d been so busy with work that you hadn’t had the time to even worry about being horny. You slipped your hands into your sleep shorts, just to see.
Your shorts were absolutely soaked. Wow. And you accidentally touched your clit and you let out a whine, your hips bucked once. You traced your pointer finger down to your slit, dripping wet. You slid your finger in a little. You whined again.
You reached over to your nightstand, your show absolutely forgotten now, and grabbed your g-spot vibrator. You usually used lube but this time you definitely didn’t need it.
You threw your covers off you, took off your shorts, pulled up your shirt. You spread your legs as wide as you could and started teasing your slit with the vibrator, you slid it in a little and you moaned out and your eyes closed. And all you could think of was Rafe. What he’d do to you, and how he’d do it.
You started teasing your tits with your free hand, pulling at them, squeezing the flesh. Then you put the vibrator in to the hilt and felt a sharp wave of pleasure right where you needed it, making your back arch off your bed, your toes curling. You moved it in and out continuously, causing you to get even wetter and you to moan and whine even louder.
You thought of rafe fingering you, with his long fingers. Hell, he’d probably be even better than this vibrator. Your hips bucked and your thighs twitched. It was so overstimulating. You couldn’t stay still. Your cunt kept pulsing and clenching on the vibrator, making you let out a guttural groan.
After a few minutes of the vibrator hitting your spot. You finally came. You were panting. You rolled over on your side, holding the vibrator in as you shook as you felt your pleasure.
You laid there for a few minutes before getting up to pee, wash your vibrator and your hands. You went out to check on your cat, hoping he was still asleep despite all the noise you made. He was fast asleep. You kissed his head and walked back into your room.
As soon as you got cozy under the covers you fell asleep.
—
Two days later.
Whole Foods.
Sunday morning.
You wandered straight to the bakery like a woman on a mission.
“Cinnamon Coffee cake, where art thou?” You muttered under your breath.
There it was. Only one left. You felt victorious. You out it in your basket immediately along side the strawberries, heavy cream, butter, lemons, rosemary, and the tulips you’d gotten for the boutique. Perfect. Your list was complete.
You liked shopping. It was nice to finally be in control of what you bought. Also you liked putting together outfits for running errands.
You wandered to the bread aisle. Maybe you could get cinnamon bread—
A hand came into your peripheral view. You looked at where it came from. Rafe Cameron. In broad daylight. Looking sexier than two nights ago.
Oh God. You remembered. You’d literally touched yourself to him. omigosh omigosh omigosh. You panicked and just forgot about the cinnamon bread and walked away.
—
Rafe saw you walk away. That’s when his face went redder than a tomato. Did he do something? Maybe she magically found out he’d…uh well…jerked off to the idea of you? Maybe he looked scary?
He just shook his head and went to check out.
He saw you leaving. He smiled a little at self checkout. He wondered what the tulips were for.
“Please put scanned items in the bagging area.” The monotone self checkout voice brought him back to the real world. He finished scanning his stuff and went out to the parking lot.
But of course. Your little baby blue beetle was parked around his truck. He paused. His shoulders falling as you two made eye contact. Neither of you knew what you’d both done that night. It felt like you did. Like he was watching you telepathically and you’d done the same to him. But no. It was just two awkward people who didn’t know what they signed up for.
—
Rafe had just finished sparring with one of his gym buddies. He was chewing on his mouth guard and looking through his notifications on his phone. He saw you posted something. So he checked.
It was a mirror selfie of you. In a new dress you’d found—a plum satin dress with white lace at the bottom. He noticed you had some Miss Z’s on. He closed his eyes and sighed. His last ex made him buy those for her. She was bad. She was there for sex and money. Oh and drugs back when he used to do coke and shit.
He remembered just how he’d broken up with her. She’s just finished giving him a whole sob story about how she didn’t mean to cheat on him.
—
“Rafe. I’m telling you. I swear I was drunk out of my mind. So was he. And I didn’t want kiss him!” She was crying.
Rafe looked at her. No expression in his eyes,”I’m not gonna be a fucking cuck! You knew what you’d done and you’ve done it before! Fool me once shame on you, fool me twice shame on me. I don’t want anything to do with you anymore.” Sure he could’ve been nicer but he was mad.
—
That was three years ago. Three whole years without romance.
His coach leaned over his shoulder and let out a low whistle. Rafe’s thumb had kept the story frozen.
“That your girlfriend or something?”
Rafe snorted.
“Hell no. You know I’m on hiatus from women.”
“You’re blushing a little Rafe? Or is that just from sweating?”
“I’m not, coach.”
“Oh you are, Cam.”
Rafe rubbed a hand over his head and then rubbed his face.
“It ain’t like that.”
His coach raised an eyebrow, took another look. Then nodded.
“Is this the girl from Taco Bell you said prayed before she ate?”
Rafe nodded,”Yeah.”
“Makes sense why you’ve been distracted since Thursday then. You’ve been cutting weight,” he started numbering on his fingers,”staring into space, smiling randomly, you know, puppy love shit.”
Rafe stood up and shook his head holding a finger up at him,”I said it ain’t like that, coach. There’s no puppy love going on here and I’ve not been cutting weight.”
His coach shook his head and clapped him on the back,”Yeah yeah whatever get back to work.”
Some people meet the love of their life in a more graceful and poised way. Some people meet theirs at a crowded bar. Some people meet theirs at work, or college.
Well..
You meet yours at a Taco Bell, at 11 pm.
You’re all vintage glamour and old Hollywood charm—crimson lipstick, poised, thrifted clothing, and a smile that could make a grown adult weak at the knees. Rafe’s a professional boxer built like a freight train, he’s covered in scars, tattoos, and enough distrust in the world to keep everyone at arms length.
You two never spoke. Not the night at Taco Bell. Not the day after at Whole Foods. Not even when he started following your boutique’s page on instagram.
The more you two ran into each other, the more you couldn’t stop thinking of the other. That turned into something very impossible to ignore. Two people who were from very different worlds begin rethinking every assumption you’ve both ever made about love, trust, and each other.
A/n: uhh so this is like a series but not a series kinda. Blurbs r kinda hard to think of rn. But I’ll defs come up with smth!!! Enjoy
Some people meet the love of their life in a more graceful and poised way. Some people meet theirs at a crowded bar. Some people meet theirs at work, or college.
Well..
You meet yours at a Taco Bell, at 11 pm.
You’re all vintage glamour and old Hollywood charm—crimson lipstick, poised, thrifted clothing, and a smile that could make a grown adult weak at the knees. Rafe’s a professional boxer built like a freight train, he’s covered in scars, tattoos, and enough distrust in the world to keep everyone at arms length.
You two never spoke. Not the night at Taco Bell. Not the day after at Whole Foods. Not even when he started following your boutique’s page on instagram.
The more you two ran into each other, the more you couldn’t stop thinking of the other. That turned into something very impossible to ignore. Two people who were from very different worlds begin rethinking every assumption you’ve both ever made about love, trust, and each other.
A/n: uhh so this is like a series but not a series kinda. Blurbs r kinda hard to think of rn. But I’ll defs come up with smth!!! Enjoy
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