♡ JONATHAN DAVISS Men's Health

Dublin in ecstasy // wanted to write something silly for st patrick’s day so here’s this (two days late...)

paring: artrick x fem!reader

word count: 3.5k

warnings: oral m and f receiving, spitroasting, drunk sex, hastily proofread lol

a/n: this is highkey all over the place so keep in mind i am NOT claiming this to be my best work by any means lol... just something silly for the holiday (I say that and then I somehow ended up writing 3.5k words but that's besides the point)

The circumstances couldn’t have been more perfect. Art had decided to do a semester abroad in Ireland while Patrick conveniently was playing tournament in Dublin. And better yet, it all lined up over St. Patrick’s Day.

“C’mon man, it’s my fucking day after all,” Patrick insisted as he stretched out his arms as if basking in his own glory. The two men were holed up in Art’s dorm, a single, of course, since the Europeans always seemed to have more class when it came to university living situations.

“You’re playing the day after tomorrow and I’ve got a mountain of assignments I’m behind on. We’re not getting drunk tonight,” Art retorted quickly, shooting Patrick a stern glance. This hard front, though, swiftly melted when Patrick brought his hands to Art’s shoulders, leaning down so he was at eye level as Art sat at his desk.

“You don’t wanna help me celebrate my day?” He gave him a puppy dog stare, really trying to break down his best friend’s cool exterior. And he knew deep down that Art could be like putty in his hands if he played his cards right. Art’s eyes scanned Patrick’s dramatized expression, leaving him sighing in resignation.

“Fine,” Art groaned, rolling his eyes. “Can we just take it easy though?”

“Yeah man, sure. Whatever you want.”

Art should’ve trusted his gut when he had even an inkling that they wouldn’t be taking it easy. It was St. Patrick’s Day in Dublin for fucks sake. Patrick had outfitted them both with hastily made (sharpied on) “kiss me I’m Irish” shirts much to Art’s protest.

“It’s gonna be a let down when girls see me in this shirt and then hear my American accent,” Art huffs, tugging at the ends of the shirt.

“Nah man, it’s a conversation starter. You just have to be a conversation continuer. Plus, it’s straightforward. It’s a holiday. Girls will kiss you if your shirt says so.” Patrick seemed very confident about that.

“I’m like one-sixteenth Irish man, this feels like false advertising.”

“Forget about it, it’s not like I’m Darby O’Gill or anything, it’s just a t-shirt.”

Art sighed yet again, feeling more and more like this was a bad idea. His mind changed, however, when he and Patrick saw you from across the pub.

They’d been there for about an hour now, standing off to the side, pints of Guinness in hand, trying to feel out what kind of night it’d be. Of course, Patrick was eyeing nearly every girl in the place, most of them with their strong Irish boyfriends, though, but he wasn’t really interested until he noticed you.

You were notably without a boyfriend, currently arguing with the bartender about the pour on your Guinness. Both Art and Patrick were awestruck. The way you were so passionate was admirable, and it definitely helped that, to the both of them, you were the most beautiful girl in the place.

“I’ll be back, don’t wait up too long,” Patrick murmured, slipping away from Art and towards you.

Art stammered, trying to think of a way to stop Patrick, but Patrick just turned around, reminding him how he wanted to “take it easy” tonight. Damnit. Art was eating his own words.

“You seem like you know your beer,” Patrick mused, trying to seem nonchalant from behind you. You turned and he had to physically restrain himself from letting his jaw go slack. From a distance you were already something else, but up close, even a ladies man like Patrick would be flustered.

“Not really. I just know when they’ve screwed me giving me more air than actual drink,” you joked, taking the handsome stranger in as you turned around.

“I like a girl who knows what she wants.” It was excessively bold, but Patrick had already downed two pints, quickly going on three, and was feeling ballsy.

He watched as your eyes flitted down then, reading the messily written words on his shirt. You giggled. “Are you really Irish? You don’t have an accent,” you asked then, an eyebrow quirking up as you looked up at him.

“As Irish as you want me to be,” he chuckled before shaking his head. “No, really, I’m like 10% Irish. It hardly counts.”

A smirk flashed across your lips as you shot him a devious look through your lashes. “So I shouldn’t kiss you then?” That left him grasping for words, unsure where to take this. Of course, he wanted to kiss you. But his desperation (and slight drunkenness) was getting in the way of his sarcastic, charming banter.

Just in time, though, Art swooped in, much to Patrick’s dismay. “Hi, uh… I saw you from across the room, I just wanted to come say you’re, uh, really beautiful.” Smooth.

Patrick stifled a chuckle, giving Art a skeptical glance from behind you. Art’s eyes narrowed briefly as he glanced at Patrick, a subtle sign that the game was on, but you didn’t miss it.

“Do you two know each other?” You looked between the two of them, brows furrowing as you took a sip of your drink.

They had to give in, of course. The pair formally introduced themselves, gave you the whole spiel about how they go way back and they both play tennis, and Art was sure to mention that he was there for school (selfishly hoping that would impress you).

“So what are you doing in Ireland,” Art asked, ever the gentleman.

“I’ve taken a semester off of school to travel. I guess I’m sort of seeking new experiences; new opportunities, y’know.” You couldn’t help but notice that as you spoke both of them seemed to be hanging off of every word.

“New experiences, huh,” Patrick repeated, smirking before taking a heavy swig from his drink. He didn’t miss the wink you gave him from over the rim of his glass, but he decided to keep any more comments to himself for the time being.

Art kept the conversation going, mostly because he was drunk too at this point and he didn’t want you to leave. You talked for a while, the pub slowly getting more and more crowded (it was St. Patrick’s Day after all), until you were abruptly run into, causing you to spill your drink all over yourself.

“Fuck,” you cursed, the cold of the drink running down your body and soaking right through (and staining) your now see-through white shirt.

Neither Art nor Patrick knew exactly what to do, but Patrick ran to your rescue immediately, shouting at the guy who had run into you. Art had, more passively, made a break for the bathroom, getting paper towels. It was all no use, though. You were soaked; cold, wet, and uncomfortable. And it was looking like Patrick was on his way to a bar fight.

That’s how the three of you ended up stood outside the bar, you clutching your jacket around your body, Patrick pouting about getting you guys kicked out, and Art feeling sorry that he couldn’t help either of you more.

Patrick moved for his pocket, pulling out his pack of cigarettes and holding it in your direction. Though you didn’t typically smoke, you took one. It had been a night. As Patrick held his lighter up to the end of the cigarette, you two exchanged glances, still lust filled despite the unsavory events that got you here.

All of you sat in silence, taking steady drags off the cigarettes until you laughed, a dry, sarcastic little laugh. “Y’know what’s great?” You looked in their direction. “I don’t even live around here. I came cause I’ve got some friends here, but they all ditched me for their boyfriends and now I’ve got to take the bus home like this,” you spoke frustratedly, looking down at your state. That’s when a sneaky little idea came to Patrick.

“Well, my hotel’s only a 5 minute walk from here. Come shower there, you can dry off and then you can take the bus back to wherever it is,” he nearly insisted. Art shot him a look that you couldn’t quite discern, but Patrick didn’t seem moved by it. “What do ‘ya say? It’s not a bad idea…” he gave you those same puppy dog eyes he had given Art before, and damnit, they really did work. Patrick Zweig could convince the Pope to convert if he wanted to.

“Sure. Yeah, ok, lead the way.” Obviously, you knew deep down that this would not just be some sort of act of convenience and kindness, but hey, you weren't really opposed to that.

On the walk over, Art huddled up close to Patrick, whispering endless questions and concerns. "Dude, what am I supposed to do? Walk of shame back to my place while you get to fuck her?" He snuck a glance back at you trying to make sure you hadn't heard him. Patrick slung an arm around him, though, pulling him in closer.

"Don't you worry, Artie," his tone was mocking, but still somehow reassuring. "Let St. Patrick handle it. I have a feeling both of us will be getting lucky tonight." Art rolled his eyes, absolutely sick of the holiday related talk, but he took it in stride, trusting his friend (against his better judgement). It's not like they hadn't talked about sharing girls before. Maybe it really was that Irish luck that had sent you their way.

Back at Patrick's hotel, which was much nicer than you had expected (it was on his parents' dime, after all), you made a break for the shower, dying to free yourself from the confines of your drenched shirt. While you showered, the guys were talking strategy.

"So if it turns out she is only into one of us, then what," Art asked from the armchair in the corner.

"Then one of us gets to fuck her, obviously. If it comes to it, I'd get out of here for you." Art shakes his head at Patrick's crude words. "But like I said earlier, I think we could both luck out tonight. I mean, she did say she was looking for new experiences after all..."

"Right," Art quipped sarcastically. Both of them in their drunkenness had failed to realize that the water had stopped running, though.

"Imagine the noises she'd make...fuck man. And the way she'd probably give you the best head of your life. You saw her lips, right?"

"Jesus, Patrick, you've gotta stop,” Art sighed, a light laugh escaping though.

"But I'm right, right?" A silence lingered between the two before Art looked to Patrick, a goofy smile painted across his features.

"Yeah. Yeah, you are. I wouldn't make her do that, though. I mean, she seems like she'd be more into receiving than giving anyways, y'know..." And Patrick nodded. He knew exactly what Art meant.

Just then, the bathroom door clicked, making the boys' heads snap back in your direction. Now in only Patrick's t-shirt, which he had promptly stripped off and offered you when you got to the hotel, you padded out of the bathroom.

“Shit, did you hear that,” Art asked, embarrassed. Clearly, he couldn’t have been that embarrassed though, his eyes raking down your bare legs hungrily. Patrick, similarly, took no discretion in ogling you, leaning back and smiling like a cat who got the cream.

“You look good in my shirt, babe.” The nickname was maybe a bit much, but then again, when was Patrick ever afraid of too much?

Taking a seat on the bed, you smiled, looking down at the shirt again, chuckling lightly to yourself.

“You’d look better with it off, though…” he mutters under his breath, loud enough so you could hear it.

One thing led to another and now you, Art, and Patrick were all on the bed, Art kissing your neck and along your jaw while Patrick had lifted up your shirt and was paying close attention to your tits. It was unfamiliar, feeling two sets of lips on you at once, but there was something so euphoric about it too.

“Have you guys done this before-,” a slight gasp escaped your lips, cutting you off. “Shared the same girl?” Art hummed a quick ‘no’ against your skin, but Patrick didn’t even move to speak, only shaking his head ‘no’ as he continued to mouth at your hard nipples.

Patrick pulled away, taking a second to watch the way his best friend sucked at your neck, sure to leave a spot. Call him a cuck, but he felt harder than he’d ever been.

Nestling in behind you, he pulled you in away from Art so you were leaning against his bare chest. He dragged his hands up your waist to your tits, massaging them while placing little kisses along your shoulders. “C’mere Art…” he beckoned. Patrick’s big hands reached down, spreading your legs and holding them open.

Art practically scrambled up to you, a hopeless look in his heavily lidded eyes. You’d lost your shirt long ago, now only in a pair of lacy (soaked) panties.

He pulled them to the side, running a finger through your folds. His fingers were cold causing you to inhale a sharp breath. “Fuck…” he sighed, looking over your shoulder at Patrick. “She’s perfect.” Art slipped your panties down your legs, you helping a bit to kick them off your ankles, and pocketed them, not missing Patrick’s look of impressed approval. He leaned down, then, his fingers returning to your slick heat. He prodded at your hole, pushing one, then two fingers in, the feeling of you tightening around him sending a rush to his cock. He pumped in and out at a rapid pace, making your chest heave and your eyes flutter shut.

He leaned in closer to you, tonguing at your clit, absolutely obsessed with the way you were moaning with your head settled back against Patrick’s shoulder. He licked thick stripes along your pussy, fingers so deep inside you that it was hard to keep your legs spread, squirming and whimpering like a mess. “Fuck, Art… t- too much. M’ gonna… fuck, gonna cum.” That only encouraged him, pressing his face into you with so much dedication. You could feel his nose rub against you as he tongued around your hole, still filled by his fingers. Your hands tangled in his hair while Patrick kissed your neck feverishly, still holding your legs open for Art.

When you came, it was ecstasy. You felt like you were melting into Patrick as you leaned back into him, hips bucking up against Art’s face. Your legs were shaking as Art pulled his fingers out, still sloppily licking into you.

“Okay man, don’t get greedy,” Patrick murmured, pushing Art’s head away boyishly and pulling you up to sit up a little more. You giggled, still a little blissed out but wanting more, wanting to impress them.

“Here,” you started, moving onto all fours. “Let me return the favor.” Art was now in front of you, hard as a rock, while Patrick was left behind you, staring at your glistening pussy. You arched your back a little, ass in the air as you looked back at Patrick. “Well don’t just stand there…”

Patrick found his place behind you, the sound of his zipper coming down music to your ears as you worked on ridding Art of his pants. When you looked up at him, he was blushing, and you couldn’t tell if it was from the alcohol doing it to him or the situation at hand. He let out a shuttered breath when you slid his boxers down, his length slapping up against his stomach.

You bit you lip, eyeing his cock and noting the way his tip was pink and leaking precum. "Artie," you say, looking up at him doe eyed as if you weren't about to get spitroasted by two best friends.

"Y- yeah..." he replied, looking down at you pathetically, mouth hanging open as he waited for your reply.

"It's really pretty," you lilt before licking from the base to the tip. His eyes screw shut immediately and he makes a sound unlike any you'd heard before.

Patrick, clearly over the praise for Art, though, thrusts into you with no warning, bottoming out quickly and leaving you gasping for air. "Fuck, warn a girl next time..." you sigh as he stills, the feeling of being completely full overwhelming, but exciting.

"I'm so good I need a warning? I haven't even started moving, babe." Patrick speaks with a mocking tone, but you eat it up. Art, feeling left out then, reaches for your jaw, guiding your lips to his cock again. Everything he does, he does with a gentle, polite sort of touch, and you can admire that, especially when it's so starkly contrasted by Patrick.

When you finally take Art into your mouth, it's hard to miss the way his abs ripple while his cock twitches. You could tell he was long when you looked at it, but you realize just how long when his tip is forcing itself against your throat.

Unbeknownst to you, the two boys exchange looks, Patrick mouthing a '3...2....1' before they both started moving in tandem. Patrick's pace was quick and you could feel just how big he was by the stretch. Art, as if he wanted to outdo his friend, was now uncharacteristically bullying his cock down your throat. Though in true Art fashion, he combed a hand through your hair slowly, sweetly, as if he wasn't practically defiling you.

You couldn't help but gag, the sound only encouraging the two men. "She's so tight, man. You've gotta feel her pussy," Patrick huffed.

"You...were...right..." Art panted, lost in the feeling of your lips wrapped around him. "It's like she was made for this..." He almost felt guilty for being so crass... almost. But he was nothing if not easily influenced by his friend.

"Oh- she definitely liked that," Patrick slurs. "She's squeezing me so tight man -fuck." His hands were firmly holding your hips in place as the sound of skin slapping filled the room, his pace unrelenting.

And with each thrust from Patrick, you only pushed further down onto Art, now a drooling, gagging mess beneath him. You could hardly tell now, unable to focus in light of the mess being made of you, but Art kept a hand holding your jaw, caressing it even, as if to silently say 'good girl'.

Noticing your squirming, Patrick knew you were close. He reached a hand around to your clit, thumbing at it in swift circles and grunting like a mad man when you tightened around him. "Fuck, you like that baby? I know you're close... shit- I can feel it."

With Art still stuffing your mouth, all you could do was nod rapidly, pushing back onto Patrick now. Feeling him hit that spot over and over again, you lost yourself a bit, legs getting shaky as you moaned and whined around Art's cock. And then it snapped, that tight feeling in your stomach released as you came hard around Patrick's cock.

Patrick, reveling in the feeling, kept thrusting in and out, each thrust getting sloppier and more shallow. "Shit, don't worry babe," he breathed out heavily. "I'll -fuck- I'll pull out." But right as he moved to do so, you pulled off of Art abruptly, turning to face Patrick shaking your head. Your lips were swollen and glimmering as you shook your head desperately at Patrick.

"I'm on the pill," is all you said, turning back to Art then. You kissed at his tip before taking him back, deep down into your throat. When Patrick pushed back in, it was like the first time again. In pulling out for even a few seconds, he'd forgotten how good you felt, how tight and warm and wet you were.

And when Patrick's hips began to stutter, the feeling of him completely overstimulating you, he made sure to look Art right in the eyes. "Fuck," he gasped, staring right at his flushed, sweating friend as he came inside you, filling you up.

The image of Patrick, jaw slack and making eye contact, drove Art over the edge. Without any sort of warning, you could suddenly feel hot ropes of cum shooting down your throat. He pulled out a bit prematurely, some of his cum spurting onto your lips too, but you made sure to look up at him and lick it up like a champ.

"Holy shit..." he mumbled.

"Holy indeed..." Patrick hummed, pulling out and settling on the bed behind you.

Once you were cleaned up, the three of you nestled into bed, you drifting off in their arms quickly, completely spent from the night's activities. Before either boy could fall asleep, though, Patrick startled Art by ruffling a hand through his hair.

"What's that for," Art asked, bewildered.

"I told you St. Patrick would deliver."

art 100% has crashed out over something like this

God bless houseofblve

𝙨𝙚𝙭𝙮 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙞 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝙞𝙩

𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘶

𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝖽𝗈𝗇𝖺𝗅𝖽𝗌𝗈𝗇 𝗑 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 (𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗌𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗉𝖺𝗍𝗋𝗂𝖼𝗄 𝗓𝗐𝖾𝗂𝗀)

a/n: and then they all lowkey probably kiss 🤞🏻

GIRL OF THE SEA | Rafe Cameron

MASTERLIST (Blurb)

Pairing – Rafe x Mermaid!Female Reader

Summary — After leaving the Island Club, Rafe hadn't expected to find a mermaid on the beach.

Word Count — 1.0K

Content — fluff, mentions of nakedness.

Dedication — to @erwinsvow whom I talked about this concept months ago, and to The Little Mermaid (2023) movie that's currently playing at the corner of my screen as I write this.

Rafe hadn’t expect to find you.

Half-past eleven, he was leaving the Island Club and found intrigue in the distance. A glimmer against the harsh currents, banging against the coastline. He hadn’t given it much thought—until it looked like the sea was glowing like stardusts had fallen into the ocean.

Drunk, he trekked down the valleys of the beach, slipped against the coarse sand, and made his way to the shoreline. He hadn’t expected much—perhaps it was a mirage, a trick of his sight—but what he found was completely out of his realm of predictions.

It was you.

Naked.

Your legs stretched across the wet sand, your body bare of any fabric, saved for seashells covering your breasts. Your hair was damp, freshly pulled from the ocean, and your fingers traced the skin of your thighs, mesmerized, as if you had never seen such a thing.

Because you hadn’t.

You were a mermaid, sworn to keep away from the surface world, to stay off humans. But you were fascinated—you saw the Island Club’s fireworks, the twinkles in the sky, and the bare beach, voided of humans, voided of predators, that you just wanted a taste for it yourself.

Somehow, you pulled to the coast, dragged your tail against the sand, pulled your weight till it found dry land. Afterward, with permission of a secret potion, you digested the ingredients and shifted into legs. Human legs. You gasped at the fascination of it being attached to your own, that they were yours to control.

Rafe followed the trail. He saw the thick tail outlined against the sodden sand, before being transformed into a pair of legs. It looked odd, but he wasn’t going to assume mermaids; he always thought they were a myth, a folktale.

He just thought you were crazy.

“Hello?” Rafe asks with a slur of his words, blinking in surprise at your lack of modesty. You look up, eyes twinkling, and a smile curves at your lips. You don’t have a sense of danger, a sense of fear for the humans everyone warned you about.

Instead, you were intrigued, your eyes trailing down the length of Rafe’s body, the way he held the bottle of beer in his hands. You don’t have that back in the ocean.

“Legs,” you point at him, and for a second, Rafe grows self-conscious.

“What?” He gapes.

“You have legs,” you repeat, a grin broadening your face with childlike wonder. Your fingers shifts, pointing at yourself. “Me too! Isn’t it wonderful?”

Rafe assumes you’re high. That you’ve taken something from the Pogues, and you’re here, in the middle of the beach, alone, naked, with no consideration other than the fact that you had legs. Whatever you took, he wants a taste of it himself.

But it’s also odd. Because you didn’t look intoxicated. Your eyes are a little wild, but that’s from enthusiasm, from curiosity, not from narcotics. They’re clear, they’re wide, and they’re wrinkled with this spark of joy Rafe had never seen in a human before.

“Yeah,” Rafe drawls slowly, “Yeah, they’re good.”

You beam, your hands propping your upper body on the sand as you attempt to pull yourself up. On the first try, you fell miserably, landing harshly against the coarse grains, and an oomph leaves your throat. Rafe winces at the sight, at the pain you must endure, but all you do is laugh.

You’re laughing because you never done this before.

You try again, but your knees buckle under your weight. Gravity, it seems, is against you. But you’re resilient. You pull yourself up, several times if necessary, so you can finally use the opportunity to walk on land as you always dreamed of.

You fall again.

“Alright, alright,” Rafe steps forward, and wraps his arm around your waist, helping to your feet. “Come on, Bambi, it ain’t that hard,” he says in a light tone, and you smile.

“It’s new,” you confess in a soft, sirened whisper.

“Yeah?” He asks, turning to you, your face centimeters from his. The glow of your expression is enchanting, like all the right proportions, all the right features that Rafe had always seen in a woman. It steals his breath away. “This your first time walkin’?”

You grin, “Isn’t it amazing?”

“Yeah, yeah, amazing,” he shakes his head, holding you upright, as you slowly find your footing. Your feet touch the sand, and it sinks under your weight, grains trickling between your toes. Toes, things you’ve never had before, and you wiggle them. Oh, it feels glorious.

“Good?” Rafe asks, recognizing now that it’s not going to be easy helping you out of this beach. He isn’t sure if you’re not drunk, if you’re not doped up, but he is sure that there’s absolutely no way you’re in the right state of mind to tell him which direction is your home.

He has to take you back to Tannyhill.

But he can’t if you’re completely naked, hidden modesty behind two shells that look like they were strung together from a costume.

He has to help.

He doesn’t know why he wants to.

Shrugging off his jacket, Rafe steadily lets you go to cover you up. Thankfully, the jacket falls mid-thigh, covering up the essentials so that you won’t get arrested for public indecency.

You feel the weight of the fabrics on your shoulders, unfamiliar, but not unwelcome. It’s a luxury to receive items like these, to cover yourself up, and it’s only done in the case of mating.

You turn to him, loose strands of hair falling over your face, delicately dancing over your eyes, in a way that makes you have this innocence, natural beauty. “Where I come from, this is considered a marriage proposal,” you declare, using your arms to wrap around his bicep, using Rafe as a walking crunch.

The corner of his mouth lips, amused. “Yeah?”

You nod. “Yes.”

“Let’s get you covered up first, and we can talk about that later.”

You nod, agreeing, and as you plant a small kiss on his cheek, Rafe pulls you inland, across his beach, to his car, and back to Tannyhill.

He’ll figure out everything later.

IMPORTANT INFO ABOUT TAGLIST AND UPDATES: if you want to be notified about all my fics and updates, follow @zyafics-library and turn on notifications!

RAFE AND HIS WEIRD FUGGLER OBSESSED!GF!!

Rafe always knew his girlfriend was weird, but the day she bought the most vile, weird, grotesque stuffed animal was the day he knew she was superrr weird, but he loved her, nonetheless.

YOUR POV:

you were at the store with your boyfriend's sister, Sarah Cameron. she was the complete opposite of him, but that was good. she was a super sweet girl who loved you like you were her own.

as you two walked down the aisles you came across a green stuffed animal with squinted eyes and... human teeth??

"Sarah, look at this!" you said before turning to face Sarah with the interesting stuffed animal in your hands. she looked at you with a face of horror and mock disgust.

"y/n, what is that?!" she asked before taking it from your hands, inspecting it in all its creepy glory. "I do not know, but I want it...!" you said with a grin on your face

you grab the stuffed animal back from Sarah and begin walking to the cash register to begin checking out.

as you and Sarah get into the car, you pull out the stuffed animal and grab one of the protein bars Sarah bought and slide it in his arms, so it looks like he's holding it. you slide your phone out of your pocket and open the camera app and take a picture of it. you then decide to send it to rafe with the title, 'look what i bought'

——————————————————————————

RAFES POV-ISH:

rafe was lying down in his bed, wishing he could spend time with you on his day off, but sarah had gotten to you first.

he was about to drift off to sleep until he felt his phone buzz under his pillow. he grabbed it, turned it on, and smiled when he saw it was from you, your name marked with a heart in his notification center.

but his smile quickly fades when he sees the most vile, sickening, and disgusting creature on his screen. his face scrunches up as he types a reply.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT” he frowns when he sees your reply. “it’s your kid don’t be mean??” he then scoffs to himself before typing, “that thing is NOT my kid.” he’s loving this playful banter between you two.

he wears a smile on his face as he sets down his phone once again, letting himself drift off to sleep.

god, he loves you.

sorry this was short :((

tags: @maybanksprincess

✰ 𝐭𝐞𝐱𝐭𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝!𝐣𝐣

— silly texts between you and your best friend, jj maybank

rating: sfw — cw: none — links: part one • part two

 personapeters 2024 — all rights reserved • masterlist

𝐒𝐌𝐀𝐔: 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫

context: waking up alone in Rafe’s bed after hooking up the night before (female pogue reader)

warnings: a little nsfw so minors dni

character: Rafe Cameron from outer banks

m.list

taglist: @evelynffics

my show is awnnn you guys😋😋

ᴏɴᴇ- ʙᴏᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡʜᴏʀᴇ

𝘢𝘭𝘭-𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘣𝘪𝘵𝘤𝘩

𝗍𝖺𝗀𝗌: @anacamofficial @sqfewrd @bambigirl10 @sweetstrawberrianne @countryclubwhore @luzstarkey @lanasangelsz @jjasmiineee @tqd4455

@folklorefy @drewrry @bloodofadoll @my-name-is-baby @stelleduarte

a/n: aaaand here we go!

Forbidden

Synopsis ˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪

The new teaching assistant is too hot for his own good, distracting most of the girls in your class.You're not too bothered by him, he's just another pretty face- until you get pulled by him for failing the class. It's every girls wet dream, getting taught by the hot new teacher- and you find yourself slowly falling into a sickly sweet situation.

Warnings ˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪

Age gap, inappropriate touching, arguments, angst, eventual smut, obsession, hidden relationship, public sex.

Word count ˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪

3.0k

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I II III IV V

Tobey Brown is not a gentleman. You learn this more than once, all reasons congregating into one big fat turn off. Firstly, he’s late. By an hour. You’re sat waiting in your living room, no text, no call- and you think you’ve been stood up. You’re about to get changed again when your phone buzzes on your dresser, a text from the man of the hour saying here here. Secondly, he doesn’t apologise. For anything. For being late, for not texting. Thirdly, he eats like a pig.

The restaurant you’re in is fancy, flowers in a vase and candles lit on the table. You’ve opted for a glass of red wine, as well as a salmon plate that Tobey promised he’d pay for. He chose the greasiest burger on the menu, two sides of fries and a beer you’ve never heard of- and he did not hold back on eating like a famished child.

Despite all the above- you had to give it to him. He was very good at conversation and had a charming smile. You take a bite of your salmon, relishing in the flavour as you observe Tobey stuff his face before his eyes meet your own, and he smiles.

“How’s your food?” He asks and you nod, picking up some asparagus with your fork. “It’s really good, very flavourful. Yours?”

“Fucking wonderful, you should try some,” he holds the burger in your direction and you shake your head, picking at some more food on your own plate.

“Your loss,” he shrugs, taking another bite. You fall into silence, finishing your food before Tobey pays for the both of you, throwing his arm around your shoulder as you walk out of the restaurant and towards his car.

He opens the door for you, allowing you to slide in and shut the door behind you. He clambers into the drivers side and starts the car, back towards your apartment.

“So, what’s up with you and Rafe?” The question shocks you, snapping your head towards Tobey. He looks between you and the road every few seconds, face stoic as if he’s done nothing wrong.

“Nothing- why would you even think that?” He shrugs, taking a left onto a busier road. It’s dark in the car but you can still see the question lingering on his facial features.

“You two just look at each other with fuck me eyes,” he says, looking over again. You scoff under your breath, looking out of the window. Reason number four: he has no filter.

“I don’t know about him but I certainly do not give our teacher fuck me eyes.” You respond, grabbing your purse as he pulls up outside your estate. You know he’s going to ask you if you’ve had fun, and you’re really going to struggle holding your tongue.

This was a mistake. Tobey would make a great friend, or maybe a friends boyfriend that you speak to occasionally- but you did not want to see him again. Ever, really.

He puts the car in park and turns towards you, clearing his throat. “I uh, had fun tonight.”

You give him a tight lipped smile, nodding your head. “Me too,” it comes out more forced than you would like, and you wince, gripping your purse tighter.

“Okay, goodnight!” He says, leaning over and kissing you on the cheek. It leaves a little wet patch where his lips were and you cringe internally, wishing him goodnight too before getting out of his car. You scan your card and open the sidewalk gate, glancing over your shoulder to see him already turning around on the other side of the gate.

Such a gentleman.

It takes you five minutes to reach your apartment, and when you do, there’s a figure sat on your front step. Broad shoulders, buzzed head.

Fucking Rafe Cameron. He’s holding both his hands in his lap, staring down at them until he hears the click of your heels on the sidewalk and he looks up, quickly standing as you walk up the path to your door.

You don’t address him, shoving your key in the lock and opening your door. You go to close it, until his hand stops it, leaning down to look at you.

“Can I talk to you, please?” He all but begs, leaving in the doorway so you can’t shut it. You want to roll your eyes, pressing your lips together.

“No. Go away,” you go to close the door again but he’s just too strong, barely budging as you try your hardest. You see a glimmer of a smirk etch on his lips before it disappears again, scratching the back of his head.

“Please, five minutes. Then I’m gone,” he whispers, and you contemplate it. You don’t know how long he’s been sat there, or how he even got in- like when he left the flowers the other day. Five minutes of your time with Rafe seemed a lot more promising than whatever you had just had with Tobey, and you sigh. You couldn’t think of what he could possibly tell you that would make the situation any better.

“Five minutes and then you go back where you came from,” you announce, opening the door to let him inside. He nods and steps into your home, taking his shoes off at the door as you shut it. You let him follow you into the kitchen, standing at the sink as you fill up a glass of water. He drums his hands on the other side of the island, keeping his distance.

“You’ve got a nice apartment,” he mumbles, and you turn, eyebrow raised. “Four minutes.”

You lean against the island, waiting for him to say anything. He doesn’t. He looks down at you, eyes trying to find your soul, you’re sure.

It makes you shiver, but you refuse to fall under his spell again.

“Three minutes,” you say, checking your phone.

“Whatever you saw wasn’t what you saw,” he begins. “She came to the classroom with a letter from her father about her grades and I was laughing because she tried to buy grades from me,” he huffs, spitting out the words so fast you’re surprised you understood them.

“When she pushed my shoulder I told her to leave but she wasn’t having it. Nothing happened, I promise.” You take a sip of water, letting the information sink in. You nod, slowly. That doesn’t surprise you, considering it’s Kendra that he’s on about.

“Okay. Still doesn’t change what I said,” you respond, placing your glass on the side. He groans, and you can feel the exasperation in his tone.

“Look- I didn’t want her to be there okay, she just wouldn’t leave.”

Rafe’s knuckles are turning white where he’s gripping the counter top. “But that doesn’t matter, Rafe, because I’m not your girlfriend or anything along those lines. She can come and go as she pleases.”

He runs a hand down his face, eyes meeting your own again. “I don’t want her to come and go, I want you.”

Silence. You’re not sure what to say, throat closing. He rounds the island, closer than ever, and you can feel your resolve crumbling. You’re quickly losing a fight with yourself. He’s doing it again, being so- Him, turning you mushy and stupid and not able to form a thought.

His hands come up to your shoulders, closing the distance between you. “I’ve not been able to stop thinking about you since that kiss,” his hand grasps your chin, forcing you to look at him.

“I know what it looked like, but it wasn’t that. She doesn’t matter to me.” The way he’s speaking to you sounds like he’s in love with you, and it’s so overwhelming. Your head is spinning and you pull out of his grasp, stumbling away. Your legs carry you to your bedroom door, opening it and taking a seat on your bed.

You can hear Rafe’s footsteps padding towards the door. Your mind is jumbled, not quite understanding what’s happening. You can’t wrap your brain around any thoughts. All you’d done is kiss the man. He couldn’t be this serious.

Rafe kneels in front of you. “You okay?” He asks, placing his hands on your knees. The touch burns, contrasting against the icy thickness everywhere else on your body.

You reach up a hand, rubbing your eye. “I’m not sure. Confused.” He nods, taking a seat next to you. It’s silent, giving you time to rearrange your head, when Rafe speaks again.

“Why were you at campus that night?” You’re staring at the wall, trying to find the best answer. I was coming to fuck you doesnt sound so great, you think- but then neither does anything else you try.

“I uh- I was coming to see you,” he laughs, shaking the bed beneath you slightly. “Yeah? What for?” There’s no more seriousness or heaviness in his tone and you’re thankful.

“Uni work,” you lie, hoping he believes it. He scoffs, folding his hands down in his lap. “And what about today? Where were you?”

You skim your eyes over to him, his gaze heavy down on you. “I was on a date,” he stiffens. You can feel it, through the bed, the way his body almost freezes.

“That’s- cool. Who with?” He asks. You can’t quite believe the audacity of the way he’s asking questions, like you owe him your entire life. You’ve kissed him once.

Once.

“Tobey, if you must know,” his jaw clenches, you can see from the corner of your eye. He stands, walking over to your dresser, picking up a picture of you and Molly. It’s like he’s trying to distract himself, the silence lingering over the both of you as you think of something to say.

Do you tell him to leave? Tell him that you’re not into whatever’s going on? You know you don’t want either.

“Was it good?” He asks, suddenly. You observe as he drums his fingers on the top of the dresser, turning to look at you. He looks angry.

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business, Rafe.” His jaw ticks.

“Yeah, you’re right. My bad,” his tone has changed, face stone like as he looks around your room. Your phone buzzes on the bed, a text from Tobey himself, asking if he can take you on another date. You can see Rafe also looking down at your phone.

“He’s not a good kid,” he says, clicking his tongue. You ponder about responding to Tobey to piss him off, but with the way Rafe is looking at you right now, he could murder you. You think. And it scares you.

“You’re not much better,” you bite back, huffing and standing. You want him to leave now. You walk over to the door, about to reach for the handle to open it, when you’re pushed up against the door.

Rafe’s lips are on your own, clashing against you as you fight desperately not to give in. There’s just a way that he gets you, within a matter of seconds, like the last time you kissed- where you wanted more. And you’re feeling that now. More than ever.

It’s so erotic, the way he’s pressing all into you, kissing you- and you finally kiss back. He smirks into the kiss, hand coming up to wrap around your neck as his lips ghost up to your ear.

“I’ll show you I’m better,” he kisses you again, hands working on pushing your leather jacket down your shoulders. You wrap your arms around his neck, sighing as he moves his kisses down your neck where he can reach further without the jacket in the way.

“Don’t need anybody else when I’ll do whatever you want,” he whispers, plucking a strap of your corset off your shoulder and letting it fall down your arm.

“Rafe,” you sigh. “This is wrong,” you’re slowly finding your conscience, grasping onto reality about how wrong the situation is again- but Rafe just laughs.

“Bit late for that, sweetheart. Should’ve thought about that before you turned up in these outfits to my classes,” his voice is gruff and he presses inbetween your legs, hands wrapping around the backs of your thighs. He taps and you don’t protest, jumping slightly to allow him to lift you up. You can feel all of him at once and you gasp, head lolling to the side.

He’s right, you think. You’re way past the realm of reason. There is truly no going back. Rafe is staring into your eyes, like he’s waiting for what you say next, lips swollen. You can tell he’s trying so hard not to grind into you- to do anything, and it makes you swell.

“Fuck it,” you say, leaning forward and knocking your lips to his own again. He groans, lifting you from the door as he no longer holds back. He drops you onto your bed, slotting inbetween your legs, wasting no time. You’re moaning as he grinds down on you, kissing down your neck, pushing your other corset strap down and freeing your boobs from the tight material.

One of his hands reaches up and grabs a handful as his lips wrap around the other and you whine out, arching into his thrusts. Rafe groans again, swapping sides on your chest. His other hand reaches down between you, bunching your skirt up your waist and grabbing at the edge of your tights, almost yanking them down your legs.

He breaks away from your boobs, grinning as he slides down the bed.

“Fuck me, all this for me?” He questions, looking down at your panties. They’re soft pink lace, currently soaked with your arousal. He traces the pad of his thumb over the top of you and you jolt, leaning up on your arms to watch him. He’s painfully grinding against the edge of the bed as his eyes meet your own.

“Please, can I?” He asks and you nod, faster than you think you ever have. He grins again, thumb reaching to the edge of your panties and pushing them to the side. It’s lewd as he uses two fingers to spread you open, observing everything.

“Please, Rafe- touch me,” you all but beg, desperate for him to do anything. You wonder if you’re dreaming, with his unreal this feels- but then he sinks a finger into your hole and you know you’re wide awake. So, so wide awake.

You moan, his pace slow as he watches his finger sink in and out of you. “You’re a fucking dream,” he mumbles, eyes glazed over. You push your hips forward, trying to make him move faster, his other hand coming up to hold your hips.

“Not so fast, I’m enjoying this,” he says, grinning as you still try move anyway. He sinks another finger in and you moan at the stretch, hips stuttering under his hand.

“Shit, please Rafe, please,” you moan out, his pace slowing to a stop. Rafe is smirking over at you, eyes hooded, knuckle deep in you. “What do you want?” He asks, humour in his tone.

You breathe deeply, trying to move your hips again. “Please Rafe, please,”

“I’m not quite understanding, what do you want?” He asks again and you groan. “Please fuck me rafe, please,”

He grins. “I love that you’re not cocky anymore, sweetheart. Begging looks good on you.” His fingers are moving faster now, faster than you’d expected, and it shocks you. He reaches so deep, curling his fingers at the right place to make you fall back onto the bed. You can hear him rutting his hips against the bed but you don’t care, chasing your own high on his fingers.

“Such a good girl, look at you.” You hear him say, but you’re too focused and far away to actually respond. You hear him chuckle, a third finger prodding at your entrance. “Let me in, cmon, relax,” he mumbles and you do, feeling the burn and stretch from a third finger.

You feel so full, so close to the edge. Your hands grasp your sheets, whimper after whimper slipping out of your mouth. He curls his fingers in a certain spot and you cry out. “I’m gonna cum,” it’s almost a scream as Rafe shushes you, speeding up his fingers.

You finally fall off the edge, gasping and moaning as Rafe stills his hips against the bed, fingers slowing to match your clenching around them.

You finally relax, clouds at the edge of your vision.

“Fuck me,” you whisper and you hear him chuckle again, pushing your panties back to the side. You eventually sit up, leaning back on your palms.

“You were right,” you say, watching as he shuffles his pants. You don’t mention the wet spot on them.

“Oh yeah, about what?”

“You’re better,” he smiles at you, opening the bedroom door. You wonder where he’s going, why he isn’t staying- but then you remember. You just got fingered by your teacher, and he probably didn’t want to be anywhere near you.

“I’ll uh- let you out,” you awkwardly skim around him, pulling your skirt back down the hallway to the front door. Rafe’s hand captures your shoulder and he spins you around, his lips meeting your own. He kisses you for a second, before pulling back and looking at you.

“I wanna see you again.”

Notes ˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪

Uhhhhhh hello it’s getting hot n heavy in here 🫣 more smut and more drama to come !!!

Tags ˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪

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