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TWO STEP TRAP | SMOKE STACK TWINS X F!READER |

You are one of the best dancers at the Midnight Blues joint in Chicago; it was only a matter of time before you encountered the Smoke Stack Twins. Their names linger in the club like perfume and cigars. If you are in the scene, you know them… and of course, they knew you.

contains: 18+ mdni, prequel to sinners, dancer!reader, porn with plot, smut, oral (Stack is a eater), threesome, p in v, pet names, man handling, body worshipping?? talking you through it, fingering, fucking two bad bitches at the same damn time.

You picked up your pace as you looked down at the watch on your wrist. It was nearly ten pm, and Marcus would threaten to lock your ass out if you didn’t arrive on time. He knew better though, you were the one that everyone came to see. Word spread quickly in the streets of Chicago, but there’s a place folks whisper about but rarely name out loud for fear of the White man hearing. It ain’t on any map called The Last Two Step, but if you know the right knock and carry enough heartbreak in your shoes, it’ll guide you behind an unmarked door at the edge of South Parkway Boulevard. In the joint, velvet smoke curls through the air, and every note from Ambrose’s piano drips slow and sticky, like honey off a blade. The Last Two Step is where time forgets itself in the sway of hips and the clink of glasses filled with bourbon. Nobody stumbles in by accident. If you find yourself there, something or someone wanted you to. And once you cross that threshold, baby, the night decides what happens next.

At the corner of your eye, you could see a slightly older, light-skinned woman shimmying her body down the alley to the hidden doorway of the club. “Miss Felicity! Wait up & hold the door, will you?” You hollered. Her head whipped to look behind her in alarm, but her glare softened once she saw you quickly following after her. She laughed at you as you tried to steady your breath.

“When will you learn your lesson and stop rushing at the last minute?” Felicity shook her head as you hurried inside and double-checked to see if anyone followed after y'all.

You flashed her a grin and said, “Probably right after you stop pretending you don’t love the thrill. Chaos builds character. Have you ever heard that?”

“Girl, you’re practically asking for trouble,” she muttered. Ambrose and the boys were still setting up the stage and tuning their instruments when you passed the wooden dance floor towards the changerooms in the back. Their eyes tracked the way you walked and paused to sneak a peek at your backside when they thought you wouldn’t notice. They were never slick enough to avoid getting caught. “Y’all are no better than little boys!” Felicity swatted at them as she climbed onto the stage and straightened her skirt. Felicity’s voice carried throughout the establishment even when she wasn’t singing and harmonizing with the band.

“Can’t blame us for admiring!” one of them defended.

Rolling your eyes, you pushed into the changeroom, more like a storage closet the dancers used to store their things and prepare for the night. Soon enough, the floor out there would be packed with sweaty bodies, hungry eyes, and a swanky beat that was hard to resist. And you? You’d be right in the middle, moving like a snake, soaking up the spotlight like it was poured just for you. Showing off your sultry moves, enticing the eyes of whoever looked upon you.

You weren’t just entertainment. You were a magnet. Marcus, the owner, knew it too. He would give you some of the shares to keep the crowd thick and thirsty, which is why he called you “eye candy.” A walking advertisement, you were good publicity for his juke joint. The three other girls in the room with you, Jacqueline, Deborah, and Ann, had the same deal. They didn’t care for me much, never had been. You drew too much attention, and it didn’t help that you didn’t come from the same background as them. You were the daughter of sharecroppers or “cotton pickers,” they say. Your skin was dark and smooth, shimmering in the light and under sweat. Your full lips, tantalizing gaze, and body that bloomed too fast for your age made you all the more unforgettable. Slim, sultry, and curved just right were the words used to describe her.

Looking into the handheld mirror as you finished the last touches to your makeup, you could see Marcus in the corner of your eye. “Baby, I ain’t paying you to doll yourself up and hide away!” His tone was playful, but there was an edge to his voice, and you knew that if you said the wrong thing, Marcus’ temper would appear. That is probably why he still ain’t been able to keep a woman. He’s only truly satisfied when he's drunk.

“Geez, what’s the hurry?” you whined as you hiked up your skirt higher to show more of your bare legs and patted down any stray hairs on your head from the finger curls.

“I gotta handle some business with the twins. Show ’em this is the kinda spot they wanna put their money in,” Marcus said, smoothing down his vest with a wink. The mention of the twins made your ears perk up. Smoke & Stack weren’t just names; they were similar to legends, stitched into the underbelly of Chicago. You didn’t just meet the Smoke Stack twins, you survived an encounter with them. If they were sniffing around Marcus’s place, it meant money was about to flow, and trouble wasn’t too far behind.

The music thrummed through your body and travelled to your chest as you allowed yourself to get lost in the rhythm and blues. All around you, a sea of Black bodies moved as one to the voice of Felicity and Ambrose’s band. In the night, they became a living and breathing entity under the heavy and melliferous air of the juke joint. The outside world slipped away in this moment, and all that mattered was the here and now. This is why you always answered the call of The Last Two Step, chasing the high of being free and being a person who is looked up to and not down upon. So far, there were no signs of the twins, and Marcus was growing more antsy by the minute. He’s resorted to pouring you more alcohol than he could offer, anything to make the party look wild and enticing to anyone who came inside.

Anticipation is the sweetest form of torture, and when the identical twins strolled through the entrance, it seemed as though the room truly came alive. Your eyes met with one of them. It wasn’t easy to tell them apart. He flashed a crooked smile, revealing a set of grills over his canines and front teeth. You twirled lightly, letting your waist roll slowly and deliberately. A glance over your shoulder caught the twins approaching Marcus at the bar, who suddenly looked boyish beside their commanding, muscular forms. Marcus was tall, handsome, and fit, but the twins had a figure that only one could have achieved by working hard in the fields.

Jacqueline broke you out of your thoughts when she walked beside you, “If one of those twins so much as smiled my way, I'd be slippin' outta my panties without a second thought.” She looked at the group of men with hungry eyes, drinking them in. You couldn’t blame her, but you’d be damned if any of the other dancers got a taste of the twins before you did. If the rumours were true, the twins were hung like a horse and knew how to eat a girl out so well that she could start humming in colours she had never seen before.

You watched as Deborah and Jacqueline positioned themselves near the twins and got brutally ignored. Better them than you. It’s better that you learn what not to do through them than make a fool of yourself. Moments passed as you danced amongst the crowd, and the music began to slow into a two-step dance, and people began to couple off. Scanning the crowd, you could see a man making his way to you. He’s been ogling you for most of the night and didn’t look too rough. Shit, one dance won’t hurt, right? It’s not like it’ll be your first or last.

Mid-stride, one of the twins drawled, “Ease up, kid,” bumpin’ his shoulder with a grin. “I’ll take it from here, see?”

The young man screwed up his face, about to give the southern gentlemen a piece of his mind but thought better of it when he saw the twin flash him a crooked smile. Smoothing out his button-up shirt, the young man puffed out his chest and recovered quickly. “No worries, boss.” He gave me a once-over before nodding his head in dismissal. The unnamed twin didn’t even bother to turn his head to ensure he was gone before extending a hand in your direction.

“May I have this dance?” His smile revealed the notorious grill the twins were famous for, shining faintly in the dimly lit venue. You couldn’t recall whether it was Smoke or Stack who wore it. Ultimately, did it matter? You paused and accepted his hand. His warm, large, and calloused grip completely enveloped your hand. Aside from counting cash, your thoughts drifted to what else his fingers might be good at. He instantly pulled you in closer with ease. Your bodies were flush against each other, now chest to chest. You peered up at him.

“Well, I don’t have much of a choice, now do I?” You countered. The chuckle that left his throat vibrated throughout his whole body. It didn’t help that when you took a breath to calm your erratic heart, his cologne and natural fragrance evaded your senses. As the two of you fell into rhythm with the music, the thoughts running in your head were anything but holy. It was rare for a man to elicit such a response from you on the first encounter.

“A lady always has a choice,” he rebutted, voice like molasses slow drippin’ off a spoon.

“Who said I was a lady?” you challenged, chin tilted and your cheeks filled with heat. Once it slipped out of your mouth, there was no snatching it back. You've always been reckless with how words leapt past your lips without permission. He didn’t as much as blink at your question and didn’t smirk either. Just stepped in closer, real close, until the scent of smoke, cologne, and something else curled in your nose again. His thigh rose between your legs, stopping just shy of making contact with your center, enough to make your breath catch in your throat, dipping you down and pulling you back up in time with the strums of the guitar that played aloud.

“Then I reckon I ain’t gotta treat you like one,” he murmured, voice pitched low and dangerous, his eyes never leaving yours. “But I do like a woman who talks back.” You swore your knees might buckle right there. “S’wrong? Cat’s got your tongue?” he joked to lighten the obvious tension that grew quickly between you two. You could hear your heartbeat over the hum of the blues and chatter surrounding you. His thigh lingered, firm and deliberate, almost making you forget your damn name. But you weren’t going to let him have the upper hand. Not entirely.

Leaning in just a little, with parted lips and sharp eyes. “And what do they call you, stranger?” your voice came out strong and daring like you weren’t already trying to keep your head on straight.

He didn’t answer right away, dragging his gaze from your eyes to your lips, then down to the space between you that barely existed anymore. “They call me Stack,” he finally said, a slow smile began curling at the corner of his mouth. “But you can call me Elias Moore.” He said it like a promise as he lowered his deep red fedora hat, his eyes never leaving yours. His name hung in the air, impossible to ignore. The kind of name a woman didn’t forget, even if she wanted to. The Elias Stack Moore stood before you. Being his girl could open up more doors for you than you could count.

“Come on,” he drawled, his hand brushing the small of your back. “Dance floor’s gettin’ too damn crowded for what I got in mind.” You felt him guide you, firm but unhurried, through the sea of moving bodies, past the haze of cigar smoke and spilled bourbon. Nobody paid y’all any mind. Juke joints were built on secrets and sideway glances anyway.

The changeroom door creaked as he pushed it open with his shoulder. The low bulb above our heads flickered like it knew what was coming. Inside, it smelled like lavender powder and dust. The old velvet curtains were draped over crates, hiding booze and our valuables. The crooked mirror watched us from their respective corners. He closed the door behind you with a click that felt louder than it was.

He leaned against it for a beat, arms crossed, watching you like he was still deciding whether to kiss you or ruin you slowly. “Now,” Stack’s voice dropped to a sinful hush, “where were we?”

You didn’t move. Didn’t speak. This boy must’ve lost his goddamn mind if he thought the two of you were going to get hot and heavy in this sorry excuse of a change room. You weren’t a lady, but you had class and respect, very little of it, but it was there nonetheless. The two of you stood in the quiet room, and the silence stretched thick with possibility. Stack pushed off the door and lazily strolled toward you like he had all the time in the world. His boots barely made a sound on the old wooden floors. Every inch he closed made your skin feel tighter.

“You always this quiet when you want something?” he asked. Stack stopped shy of touching you, his hands at his sides like he dared you to lean in first. The nerves in your body buzzed like a live wire. You were all too aware of how your desires practically had you ready to drop to your knees. But you kept your face unreadable, and it was your best defence. You’d been raised to survive men like Elias Stack Moore. The smooth talkers with heat behind their eyes and a storm tucked inside their smiles.

“Depends on what I want,” you finally said. “And whether it’s worth the noise.”

“Oh, I’m worth it,” he replied. Stack threw his hat on the dressing room counter to reveal his face. But I ain’t cheap.” You gave him a steady look up and down. His shirt was unbuttoned just enough to show a sliver of his skin. Everything he wore appeared nicely tailored to his physique, too.

“Neither am I,” you shot back.

Stack was now an inch away from your face, his warmth wrapped around you like steam off a kettle. His hand reached out, not to grasp nor to grope, but to tuck a stray curl behind your ear, rough fingers grazing your cheek like an invitation.

“Trust me, sugar, you keep carryin’ on as you do, and Chicago gon’ be hollerin’ your name louder than they ever did mine or my brother’s.”

“Well then,” you said, sliding your hand up his chest, fingers trailing the buttons of his shirt like you were counting sins, “guess it's a damn good thing I don't mind how my name sounds in another’s mouth.”

Shifting your hips just enough to make your intentions loud and clear without a single word more. Stack’s breath hitches just a little, but you caught it. You always did. You knew that taking it further would be a reckless mistake, but Lord, it’d feel like salvation. The end of a prolonged drought, giving in, would feel like the first rainfall. Wet, overwhelming, and too damn good to stop. Stack’s eyes told you he was ready to drown in it, and hell, you might just let him.

She didn't have to speak, just the slow roll of her hips were enough to knock the wind out of him. She knew how deep she could cut without drawing blood. His breath caught in his throat, bare and ragged. God help him. He wanted to ruin you in a way that leaves a mark and memory.

Stack knew better. He knew this would get messy. With a glance at your slicked thighs, Stack knew you'd provide no mercy.

Leaning in close, lips just shy of his ear. “Still quiet, Stack?” you whispered in a sweet and teasing voice. “I figured by now you'd know how to beg.” You loved turning his words and spinning them against him. His raw reactions were entertaining to see.

Stack’s jaw tightened, but his eyes didn't waver. “I don't beg, sugar,” his tone changed to a quiet and threatening one. “I take.”

You flashed him a wicked smile and hooked a finger around his belt buckle. “Then come take it.”

He didn't wait, with his hands on your waist, before you could exhale. His rough palms and fingers dug in as if he meant to claim something, or he already had.

“You sure about this?” He muttered against your neck, voice hoarse. Hot breath dragging over your skin. “Cause once I get started, I ain't stopping till I’ve wrung every drop outta yah.”

“Make good on allat talk,” you replied. That was all it took. Stack kissed you like he was desperate. Teeth and tongue felt like a little too much and not nearly enough. You moaned into his mouth as he pressed you up against the old brick wall, grinding against you with slow, punishing friction. His hands found the hem of your skirt, bunching it up, and slid a hand underneath with practiced ease.

“Fuck,” Stack groaned when he felt how soaked you already were. Two fingers slipped along your folds. “You tryna kill me, baby?”

“I ain't even started yet.”

He dropped to his knees like he'd been praying for the chance. Pulling your thighs apart and pushing your back against the cool wall. With a tongue hot and desperate, he licked up your pussy, groaning like you were his last meal. Your hand shot to his head, gripping tight, guiding him just as you liked it. He didn't need much. He was already lost in you. Every moan sounded like praise.

“That’s it,” you hissed, rocking yourself into his mouth. “Don’t fucking stop now.”

“I won’t,” Stack promised. Not until your legs were shaking, and his jaw was slick with you. Not until your pretty moans turned into curses and your body tried to escape, then pleasure only could chase you.

When he finally stood, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he looked at you, a man completely undone. Stack spun you around like it was second nature, pressing you into the wall with one hand, pinning your wrists above your head. His belt clinked open behind you, the soft grating of his zipper loud in the stillness.

"You sure you can take it, girl?" he muttered. Looking back, you could see Stack grip his thick length in his hand, pumping it up and down before lining his dick against your soaked entrance, teasing but firm. "Ain't no holding back tonight."

“Give it to me like you mean it,” you snapped.

Stack slammed into you in one cunning and possessive thrust. You gasped when your forehead hit the brick. He didn't give you a second to adjust, just wrapped an arm around your waist and started working his hips in a relentless tempo. The room echoed with sounds of skin meeting skin, moans, and his low curses. His other hand found your clit, and began rubbing small circles to make you fall apart all over again.

“You feel that?” he panted in your ear with pride. “This pussy is mine.”

You cried out, eyes fluttering shut from ecstasy. “Stack… fuck—” was all you managed to get out before he began grinding himself deeper inside.

Your orgasm was intense and all-consuming, tearing a high pitched outcry to escape your lips as you clenched your walls around him. Stack’s thrusts began to be uneven and passionate as he chased his own high. And just when he was on the edge, body trembling, and his muscles taut against yours…

“Well, goddam!”

Both of your heads snapped to the door. Stack froze inside of you, jaw clenched, with wide eyes at the sight of his twin brother.

Smoke stood there, curtly closing the door behind him and leaning against the doorframe like he walked in on a business deal instead of his brother balls deep in another’s soul.

“I come lookin’ for Stack and come to find this.” He gestured between the two of you with an amused look. “Y’all ain't even had the decency to lock the door?”

“Get the fuck out, Smoke,” Stack sounded feral.

Smoke smirked in return, kissing his teeth. “Don’t let me interrupt,” his fingers slipped behind him to turn the lock on the door. “Finish where you left off.”

Stack didn’t pull out. He didn’t even make a move as Smoke’s laughter faded. His grip on your hips tightened like he was claiming you harder now that he’d been seen. He was practically primal, yet there was a hesitation, a shift between the three of you.

“Good. Thought I might stick around this time.”

“You got one fuckin’ second to turn around,” Stack growled, still buried inside you, his chest rising and falling against your back.

“Relax,” Smoke said, voice smooth as whiskey and twice as dangerous. “Ain’t here to fight. I just figured if you were gonna fuck her like you mean it. You’d also let her choose who she wants.”

You turned your head slowly, pulse thrumming like a drum. Smoke leaned in the doorway again, one brow raised, hunger in his eyes like he already knew the answer. Stack’s jaw flexed. His hands never left your skin.

“This ain’t a game, Smoke.”

“Never said it was.” His gaze dropped to where your bodies were still joined. “But I seen the way she looks at me, too. Don’t play like you didn’t notice.”

It was the truth, they were identical twins after all. The thought had crossed your mind if they were also the same down there. Smoke had always been the smoother one. The devil that smiled back at you when you flirted with danger. And now, with Stack buried deep and your body still trembling from the last orgasm, part of you wanted to see what it’d be like to be stretched between both of them.

It’s up to her,” Smoke said, you could hear the smile in his voice. “Ain’t it?” Stack didn’t speak. His silence was a storm ready to break.

You turned to face them both, hips still pushed back. You looked at Smoke through your eyelashes, and said, “You better double check that the door is locked this time.”

Smoke jiggled the door handle before focusing his sights on you, bent forward as if committing the sight to memory.

“ Such a pretty little thing,” he murmured. “Didn’t expect you to be so generous.”

Stack remained silent. He just thrust into you once, hard enough to make you gasp and grip the wall again.

“She ain’t yours,” Stack burst, but his voice lacked conviction. He knew what this was. I knew it wasn’t just about possession.

“Ain’t tryin’ to take her,” Smoke replied, stepping near.

His hands were on you before you could think, one sliding up the nape of your neck, the other tilting your chin to face him. He kissed you softly at first until you deepened the kiss. You moaned into his mouth, feeling Stack start to move again behind you, his speed staggering with every second.

“And you’re just lettin’ him have all the fun?” he mumbled against your mouth.

Stack growled low in his throat. “You want a turn, Smoke? Take her mouth. But you better be sure she can handle both of us.”

“Oh, I can,” you whispered, drunk on the moment.

Smoke stepped out of his clothes, his dick already thick and ready. He guided you down to your knees with his hand. You opened your mouth, lips wrapping around him just as Stack banged back into you from behind.

The stretch of both was overwhelming, one in your mouth and one buried deep. Stack fucked you harder now, his hold bruising on your hips, while Smoke let you control the pace with your tongue until he lost his patience and started to thrust into your mouth.

“Look at you,” Smoke groaned. “Takin’ us both like it’s what you were made for.”

Tears pricked at your eyes, but you moaned around him, the vibrations making Smoke’s jaw clench. Stack was close, you could feel it in the way his rhythm stuttered and his breathing picked up.

“She’s squeezin’ me so fuckin’ tight,” Stack gasped. “She’s gonna make me—fuck—” He pulled out just in time to spill across your back, thick ropes of cum marking your skin while Smoke slid out of your mouth and lifted your chin again.

“Don’t think I’m done with you yet,” Smoke growled, hauling you into his arms like you weighed nothing. He laid you down flat on the velvet covered crates nearby, pushing your knees back and plunging into you with a groan. The angle was brutal and somehow filthier. His eyes locked on yours the whole time, making it impossible for you to look away.

Stack leaned nearby, watching, still catching his breath, chest slick with sweat.

“Don’t think she’s ever been full till tonight.” Smoke said between thrusts.

You cried out, the pressure building fast and hot, your nails scraping down Smoke’s back. He fucked you through it, didn’t stop even as your body shook and your thighs tried to close. You came again loudly and broken open for Smoke to finally bury himself and release inside you.

For a long moment, the only sound was your breath and heartbeat, all three of you covered in sweat and something that felt dangerously close to obsession. Then Stack muttered lowly, “This doesn't change shit.”

“Oh, it changes everything, brother.” Smoke chuckled, pulling out slowly, the evidence of what you had just done dripping down your thighs.

taglist: @marley1773 @iheartamora @childishgambinaax

➴ feel free to send me more thots

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[minxwrld]

𝐉𝐮𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐧’

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - Modern AU | Elias ‘Stack’ Moore x Black!OC & Elijah ‘Smoke’ Moore | Modern AU

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 - In which two twin gangsters return home after years in Chicago, to 2003 Jackson, Mississippi. Only to find that the chubby, brace-faced tomboy from across the street has grown into a woman they can’t ignore.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - drug use, swearing

𝐉𝐚𝐳𝐳𝐢𝐞’𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 - something short because I literally have five other Smoke and Stack fics cooking in my drafts

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 - 2,178+

𝐉𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐨𝐧, 𝐌𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐢

It always started with noise. Summer in Mississippi wasn’t just heat and humidity—it was loud. Between the swatting screen doors, the bugs flying, kids playing double dutch with mismatched ropes, and the rickety hum of box fans, it was hard to hear yourself think. But for young Juicy, the noise was a comfort… until it wasn’t.

Back in ‘95, Juicy was about eleven, braces still fresh, glasses sliding down her nose every five minutes, and dressed in a floral pattered dress that matches her sisters, though hers fit her more boxier than it did on the older girl. But she didn’t care much about appearances, and it didn’t help that her mama always compared her to her older sister, Sinclair, thin and pretty like the girls in those Jet beauty ads or the ones on the perm boxes. “If only you laid off them pork chops,” was her mama’s idea of encouragement. Her daddy didn’t say much at all.

Juicy found her peace elsewhere—mainly across the street.

The Moore twins, Elias and Elijah—known as Smoke and Stack to others—were about six years older, fast-mouthed, sharp-eyed boys sly grins and problems they never spoke too loudly about. Their father was known around the neighborhood for being the kind of man who left bruises instead of blessings, and their mother was long gone. But the Hall’s took to them like family. Martin, Juicy’s older brother, clicked with them right away over cassette tapes and corner store hustles. Sinclair even crushed on Stack for a while, though he never acted on it.

But it was Juicy—a little awkward, big-bodied, and always scribbling in her notebook—who lingered in the background. She wasn’t really friends with the boys, not like her siblings were. But some days, when things were too loud at her house and Mary, her only friend, couldn’t come out, Smoke would let her sit on the porch with them, passing her a freeze cup and tossing her lazy jokes that made her laugh until her gums showed. Or when Stack would let her old onto him as she rode on back of his bike as he made stops around the neighborhood.

Those little moments were enough. They made her feel seen.

And then, they were gone. Moved up to Chicago when she was fifteen, chasing something bigger—money, maybe, or just a way out. Life moved on. And the city was still as loud as ever.

But in 2003, the block got loud again in their return.

They came back in a long black Lincoln, rolling slow like they owned the pavement. Elias drove, toothpick between his teeth, silver chains glinting in the sun as she rubbed down his waves. Elijah was in the passenger seat, shades low on his nose, hair in tight cornrows. They’d filled out—solid, broad-shouldered men now, still dressed in dark clothes with just enough shine to show they had money. Word spread fast.

Smoke and Stack were home.

First stop was the gas station—for fuel and the liquor store next to it, then the old park where half the benches were gone and the other half were tagged up in Sharpie and knife scratches, looking for their homeboy in his usual spot. A few heads turned, so they dapped up old friends, nodded at familiar faces.

But the real reunion happened on Vernon Street.

Martin Hall was leaned up against his Impala, blunt behind his ear, gold ring glinting. He caught sight of the car before it even parked at the house across the street, and when he caught sight of the men in the car, he instantly grinned.

“Nahhh, I know this ain’t who I think it is.” He shouted, arms already wide open.

Stack stepped out first, grinning, and then Smoke followed. The three embraced like no time had passed at all, Martin falling the men up. Loud laughs, back slaps, the kind of reunion that made neighbors peek through blinds.

“Man, what the hell are yall doing back? And ain’t told a nigga?” Marin asked as he leaned backed against his hood, taking the blunt his girlfriend passed him from her place in his serving seat.

“It was quick to us too, man.” Smoke said, shaking his head a bit. “Them Chiraq niggas different, too much shit going on up there.” He said, placing his hands in the pockets of his black hoodie, his baggy white tee hanging from underneath a bit.

“Money was good, though.” Stack smirked, moving his gaze away from the woman in the car that was eyeing him with a lustful glint in her, to look at the against the hood.

“I bet.” Martin smirked. “I could only imagine what you niggas got up to up there. Especially to come back as fly as that.” He said, nodding over to the cars in front of the boys old home as he blew away the smoke from the blunt.

“Shit, us?” Stack questioned. “Look at you. The jewelry, new whip. Seems money down here moving smooth.”

“Mmm…it’s aight.” Martin shrugged, causing the twins to chuckle with a shake of their heads.

“You know we gotta celebrate.”Martin said, standing from the car a bit as he handed the blunt to his shorty in the car. “Whole block been a bit dry without y’all. Let me throw something together for tonight.” He suggested. “Plus, I gotta clean some paper anyway.” He shrugged, trying to ease the blow of an unexpected gathering upon the men.

Smoke and Stack exchanged a glance before both men looked back at their old friend and shrugged Martin clapped his hands with a smirk. “Aight.” He nodded. “Tracy, go call yo homegirls and shit, tell ‘em to come through while I get shit situated.” He said to the girl in his drivers seat. Tracy didn’t even say anything, she simply got out the car and made her at into the house, bit before making a bit of a show of pulling down her booty shorts. Stack and Smoke exchanged another look at that, but nothing was said further.

Plans were made fast. A block party. Speakers, coolers, grills were pulled out faster than the men could think. Now they just had to get everything jumpin’.

The men sat around Martin’s car catching up, reminiscing on old scams, and laughing at things they never got caught for. Smoke lit a cigarette while Stack leaned back, tapping his fingers on the dashboard.

That’s when they saw her.

Juicy.

She came walking up the sidewalk with Mary next to her, both of them laughing at something too far to hear. Juicy was still thick, but this time, she wore it like armor. Curves hugged up in a baby pink Juicy Couture set, midriff peeking under the hoodie. Her wedged flip flops clicked against the concrete with purpose. Her acrylics—French tips—glinted when she lifted her lollipop to her lips. Lips lined and glossy, brown skin smooth and glowing, gold hoops in her ears catching sun. Her sunglasses were perched on her head, the blonde highlighted tresses in a bun, looking like it just came out of a fresh roller set. It was only when she got closer that they could see that she still had the tiniest gap when she smiled, but now it looked like part of the charm.

Mary had her own vibe—low-rise jeans, rhinestone tank and a high pony—but no one was looking at her. Not the twins at least.

It was Juicy who had the street paused.

Smoke sat up a little straighter. Stack cocked his head. “Lil’ Juicy?” He mumbled.

And just like that, the heat of Mississippi summer wasn’t the loudest thing on the block anymore.

The heat clung to the air, and the bass from someone’s backyard radio pulsed low in the distance. Juicy walked like she owned the sidewalk, hips swaying in perfect rhythm with the click of her heels. She was curvy in all the right places—thicker than the girls on TV, but built with softness and strength that couldn’t be ignored.

Smoke and Stack hadn’t said a word yet. They’d gone still the second they saw her. Not obviously—nothing as sloppy as ogling—but they noticed everything. The gloss, the tips, the squinting, whenever from the sun or her needing her prescription. They both could remember how they used to slide down her nose every few seconds.

She no longer looked like the quiet girl who used to sit on the porch with a notebook. She looked like a woman now. A whole one.

Martin lifted a hand. “Juice! Come say what’s up.” He called out, waving the girl over.

Juicy raised a brow as she stopped at the curb, Mary lingering just behind her. “You actin’ like I don’t live here.”he caused, causing Martin to smack his lips. “You know what I mean.”

Juicy clocked the twins as soon as she approached. But her eyes didn’t widen, she didn’t blink. She just popped that lollipop out her mouth slow, head tilted, and said—

“Well, well. Look who finally came home.” All soft like.

Smoke stepped forward, arms crossed, head tilted just slightly. “Ain’t seen you in years, Juicy.” He said, voice a little lower than usual.

Stack nodded. “You done grown all up now.” He said, his eyes subconsciously giving the girl before him a quick once over, one that had him wanting to trace his eyes over her body again.

Juicy didn’t blush—she never did. She just looked between them, slow and deliberate, then popped the lollipop from her mouth and smiled, tiny gap and all. “Y’all look the same.” She said, though they really didn’t. “Maybe taller. Maybe.” She shrugged, not hiding the way she analyzed the men from head to toe, taking in their otherwise plain street wear, which she knew had to still be a decent penny for.

Martin chuckled. “They back for good. Figured I’d throw a little somethin’ tonight. Let the block know.”

Juicy nodded, barely glancing back at the twins. “That’s cute. I’ll see what’s up.” Then to Mary, “Come on.”

She turned without another word, strutting toward the house, and the two men made it their mission to not look at the rhinestones bedazzled on her booty, reading ‘Juicy’ across the span of the area. Mary, however, lingered just a second longer. Her eyes locked on Stack like she was sizing him up for dessert. No shame at all. She flashed a grin that was all teeth and trouble before jogging up the steps behind Juicy.

When they were gone, Martin lit his blunt, shaking his head. “Y’all look like you saw a ghost.” He said as he blew the smoke out. “Was it Mary? Yeah, I know, still freaks me out a bit to see her down here.” He added, not even waiting for an explanation from them.

Smoke leaned against the hood, eyes still on the porch. “Nah.” He muttered, voice tight. “Yeah, you right. Just didn’t expect that.” He said, though he was simply agreeing to save face.

A few minutes later, it seemed as though this party was about to take off as people began to show up, their drinks of chose and blunts in their clutches. This made Martin head inside to grab more beers while the twins stayed posted at the car, quiet now that the noise of the street settled down.

It was silent between them for a bit before Stack spoke up, not even looking at his brother. “Juicy is far from the girl we left them heard back.” Stack said, rubbing the back of his neck, internally questioning himself over the quick flashes of ‘not so pure’ thoughts he had about the girl he grew up with.

“Yeah.” Smoke replied. “She is.”

They didn’t say anything else for a moment, both thinking the same thing—how time had a funny way of flipping the script. How the girl who used to scribble doodles on everything and watch them from the corner of the porch now walked like she didn’t owe anybody her attention.

Smoke remembered the way she used to listen when he talked—really listen—without judgment or noise. How he used to feel stupid for sharing some of his serpent moments with someone so young. How at first he just needed her for an ear, and she levered that, and when he needed some answers, she was quick to help as well. And she had those same eyes. Soft but knowing. That hadn’t changed.

Stack was still thinking about her walk. The way she didn’t give them a second glance, like she’d seen men like them a thousand times. It didn’t bruise his ego—it just made him curious.

“And I peep she’s got a smart mouth on her now.” He finally said, half a smile on his lips.

Smoke nodded, but his gaze didn’t leave the front door. “Yeah.” He muttered, and that’s all he seemed to be able to say, as if she had rendered him speechless.

Stack’s smirked widen, longing his lips as a thought crossed his mind.

“Wonder who she’s lettin’ have it.”

[minxwrld]

sinners was full of fine people, and yet i’m only seeing remmick fics…i see what’s going on!

[minxwrld]

DOMINIK MYSTERIO WWE WrestleMania 41, April 20th, 2025

[minxwrld]

"AMERICAN WEDDING!" ᝰ rafe cameron

♬.ᐟ now playing: american wedding. - frank ocean

synopsis: after getting wrapped up in a drug quandary, rafe has two options: accepting defeat and inevitable exilement, or screwing up the life of the first pretty woman he sees amidst the chaos. having the choice, rafe picked the painfully obvious superior...

⊹₊⋆ pairing: drug dealer!rafe x stripper!female!reader

⊹₊⋆ word count: 5.3k

⊹₊⋆ contents: drug usage, mention of drugs, kidnapping, sexual implications, violence, slight sadism, gun usage, marriage, slight stockholm syndrome, loosely inspired by buffalo 66

“fuckin’ probation, man. can you believe that shit?” rafe takes a sharp drag of the sparked blunt tucked between his fingers. topper and kelce couldn’t hear the low mutter of his voice, but the blonde’s suppressed belligerence spoke volumes that they didn’t wish to provoke.

the music in the club was booming, so much so that rafe could barely hear his own thoughts. that seemed to be working in his favour currently, because those were the last things that he wanted to pay attention to. he had come for an escape but as the itchy craving for the sweet euphoric release became ever-present in the man’s mind, he realized had dug his own grave deeper than he thought.

the boy thought he could escape karma, dealing drugs in every nook and cranny in figure eight. it was a messy industry, in which he found himself staring down the muzzle of a steel black gun every other week. the deeds he committed were fueled by unethicality and dripped with immorality. he would never admit it out loud, but he enjoyed it. he lived for the thrill of having rich, coke-addicted bastards right at his mercy just because he was the only dealer that could give them their fix for miles. and nothing got his adrenaline pumping more than sticking a bullet in the skull of any one of them that tried him. he wanted them to test him wrongly, to give him a reason to show them all just who they were fucking with.

he was on top of the world, running an underground empire that would only flourish more with time. but as long as he was under daddy cameron’s thumb, it would soon be nothing but a bittersweet memory. ward had found out about his son’s little “shitshow” just 4 days ago, having stumbled across the debaucherous amount of hard drugs and cash stored right under his roof. the last thing the cameron’s needed in their family was another addition to the ever-growing rapsheet they had accumulated. this was the final straw. 

rafe’s fist slams down on the bar’s marble counter. his head was beginning to pound, the foreshadowing migraine accumulating between his brows making him all the more triggering. his fuse was sparked. he needed something, anything to get his mind off or fix the current mess he’s gotten himself into.

“...goddamnit. i need to get the hell outta here… gotta come up with a plan or something to get myself unfucked.” 

his statement went heard by his “friends”, to which the brunette to his left asked him what the point of plotting any further was. at this point, the best thing would just be to lay low until the whole probation thing blew over. rafe wasn’t having that. not a damned bit. and he was well near to cussing out everyone in the establishment just for the hell of it.

“the point is, dipshit, that i need any kind of reprieve i can get. c’mon, man. think about it.” his tone carried the amplitude of his growing distress, his shaking hand carrying the joint to his lips before he took a hasty hit. “if i don’t get myself out of this shit pronto, my dad’s gonna bust my ass and cut me loose, a’ight? he says i need to grow up, show him that i’m not gonna fuck around anymore. and, shit… if i don’t he’s gonna go to the police or somethin’, kick me out of the house. then i’m off to the fuckin’ cut with all the pogues n’ shit.”

rafe’s voice dropped an octave at the mention of that. despite how low the blonde had stooped in many aspects of his life, there was a line he would never cross. they might as well have been the scum of the earth. it was ironic and he knew it, considering his history and all. he couldn’t bring himself to care, not even a little bit.

“you goons are useless. fucking hopeless. i need another smoke.” he mutters lowly under his breath. he slips out of his barstool, running a hand over his buzzed head as he exhaled a deep breath. the stress was beginning to get to him, and he knew it. he could feel the remaining shreds of his sanity slowly slipping out of his feeble grasp like sand. 

a storm was brewing within him, and he so badly wanted it to break free. he wanted to unleash its wrath in a way that would force everything to be okay again. but then again, that was exactly what got him into this disaster in the first place, letting his damn temper cloud his conscience. but he wasn’t ready to let go of that anger just yet. no, not by a long shot.

his heavy footsteps thump against the club’s floor as he storms out of the establishment, pushing the door open with an ample forearm. his feet hit the pavement with quick steps, only slowing down once he reached an alley. dark. concealed. with a shit-ton of trash around to make him feel less shitty about himself. perfect.

rafe leans back against the cold bricked wall, concealed by the night’s darkness as he dug into his pocket, retrieving his half-empty box of pre-rolls and lighter. he tucks the weed’s end between his lips, flicking on the lighter with practiced efficiency and wasting no time taking a long drag. he plucked it from his lips and exhaled a thick ribbon of smoke, muttering lowly to himself. “...fuck.”

he recollected his father’s words. he made no mistake in realizing their severity. as if the older cameron had ever cracked a joke in his life. rafe had no more than three days to prove himself. to demonstrate an act that displayed him as more than the volatile bastard he had painted himself to be. to put on a facade and show that he wasn’t exactly that.

his thoughts grew stormy once again almost instantly. he huffed out a bitter laugh, shaking his head slowly as he took another hit of his blunt. “...’grow up’. what a fucking joke.” he speaks the words out loud into the crisp coldness, the air having just enough bite to it to rationalize his thoughts, even if only slightly.

if running a drug empire all on his own for months on end without a thread of suspicious from anyone wasn’t him “growing up”, then he didn’t know what the hell would be. he had done things that men twice his age would dream of and get sick to their stomachs. he was as grown as they came. that was the problem.

his blunt went out with a sheer sizzle, the slightest breath putting it out. that damn near did it for him. cursing with an impulsive punch to the wall’s exterior, he tossed the lifeless roll to the ground and stomped on it with his blackened boot. it was moments like this that made him feel like the entire world was against him, from his own family right down to the wind. he felt the thin fibres of self-control within him snapping away quickly. he didn’t know how much more he could take.

his lighter had given out, too. the last bit of fuel had been wasted on that joke of a pre-roll. and he still needed another smoke. grumbling sourly, rafe shoves his fists into his pocket, stomping intently out of the alley and onto the sidewalk.

the streets were cast with a deep blue as the moon shone from above. its beauty was not lost on the man, but it was hard to enjoy the little things in life when he hated every last thing about his. his steps grew quick and rash, the only ones treading down the blackened street. there was no reason at all to raise his head and look where he was going. 

it all happened in the blink of an eye. the man had crashed into you, eyes downcast and disposition sketchy enough for you to get that natural instinct to run in the other direction. you were walking up the street, clutching your skimpy disgrace of a jacket to your chest as you made a beeline for the club. it was shameful, the way you had to arrive at the place at 11pm sharp to strip on a pole for men with trust funds and ironed polos just to earn barely a buck per hour. but it was all you could get, and damn it all if the thought of a quick, cheap fuck didn’t seem appetizing right now. your head had been down, gaze glued to the ground to avoid showing your face. your steps were quick and soft, his were loud and bustling. no wonder he didn’t notice you.

his burly body tips you off your balance instantly. you hit the ground with a quiet “oof” your knees and palms grazing the rough sidewalk. rafe stumbles and nearly hits the ground right on top of you as he trips over your outstretched calf.

“fucking watch it!” his booms, hastily regaining his balance as he dusted himself off, as if he could smell the “slut-stains” right off of you. that quick glimpse he caught of you was all he needed to determine how you deserved to be treated: like all the others whores that roamed the streets freely when they really deserved to be… elsewhere. his already hardened expression darkens further as he glares at you beneath him, his demeaning gaze glued right to your ass, exposed by the thin fabric of your satin slip shifting away.

his words hit you like a tug to the hair, not necessarily painful but damn annoying in terms of basic courtesy. like all other men you encountered on a day-to-day basis, he just had a way of making you feel even more shitty when you thought you were already at your lowest.

you hiss softly, grimacing as you pick yourself up off of the ground. your knees were raw and scarped, but were nothing in comparison to the crime scene that laid right in your palms. the were scraped down to a red mess, little bits of pebbles and debris clinging to your exposed nerves. as if shit couldn’t get any worse for you.

you mutter a curse under your breath, your displeased gaze snapping up to meet the face of the man in front of you. “excuse me? watch your mouth and apologize. you bumped into me.” you tried your hardest to make your tone sound as authoritative as you felt, but the spreading pain in your hands and knees made your finicky confidence all the more fleeting.

rafe opened his mouth, a barrage of words more than ready to spill. but as much as he wanted to cuss you out, his sentence fell short as he did a double take, now truly looking at you. and, god, did he wish he had taken a moment to see you before opening his mouth the first time.

your expression was contorted into a pained snarl. your makeup looked like it was the remaining residue from the night before. your attire consisted of skimpy clothes and shoes that looked like they were lent to you from an ex-boyfriend. your erect nipples poked through the silken fabric of your satin slip. your stockings had little rips here and there, the largest ones now being in place of your bloodied knees. you looked like you hadn’t had a meal for a few days at minimum, surviving solely on whatever shitty scraps the pennies you made from stripping could get you.

you were a damn mess. you were perfect. the very thing, or rather woman, who could... 

rafe had to think quickly. the idea flowed into his head like a waterfall, the very thing that could get his ass out of this. how the hell hadn’t he thought of this sooner? it was a flawless plan, almost too perfect. and in the mind-clogging haze that he was in, he knew he had to act quickly.

his daze doesn’t get broken for a long moment, his gaze glued to you as if getting a read on your soul until you turned around. your pace returned as normal, if not a little quicker the second you realized the man was following you. your stealth steps turned to frantic strides as his presence behind you grew more evident instead of disappearing. 

you knew you were fucked by the time your walking turned to running, with him effortlessly gaining on you with his long strides.

“...w-wait..! hold on one second!” rafe called out, reaching out to grab you by your hood but just missing by a hair. you were hardly two feet out of his grasp. he could’ve caught you easily in any other situation, but that first encounter was still messing with him. “...shit. i… i’ve got some gauze and, uh, alcohol in my car! i can clean you up before you get infected or whatever!” 

your feet carried you wildly right into the alley that he came from, but then you stopped. your pathetic excuse of running gradually slows down as you hear his latter sentence. it barely took him a second to catch up to you, bumping into you slightly from behind. 

you felt your heart beating in your throat, the rapidness of it making your blood run cold as you slowly, hesitantly turned around to face the man. once you were face-to-face, you slowly began to regain your breathing. your eyes fell on his face, his slight panting causing his chest to rise and fall.

he looked rough, to say the least. but you knew that you were in no place to judge. he pulled off the homeless look quite naturally, though there was something about him that screamed “old money”. a pit formed in your stomach the second your eyes locked on him, and yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to look away.

before your system had time to react, he had taken your hand and was now inspecting it closely with what seemed to be the eye of an expert.

“...looks, uh… looks pretty bad… shit could get infected pretty fast if you don’t do somethin’. so, uh, how ‘bout i make this whole thing up to ya’, huh? got a first aid kit in my car ‘nd everything.”

his voice. it was grossly different than the one that had boomed at you barely a minute prior. the way he spoke, the way he so gingerly held your hand like you were a wounded fawn. like you were art…

your eyes remained wide, stunned by both the escalation of the situation and how quickly the man had flipped the switch. you opened your mouth to reject him, but a shooting sting snapped through your exposed veins as the slightest breeze grazed your eroded flesh. after a long moment of hesitation, you nodded slowly, gaze not leaving his moonlit face for even a second.

with that, he began to lead you out of the alley, back onto the street as he kept you close to him. a muscled arm came you wrap around your shoulders, the gestured unexpected and unwelcome in this circumstance. you glance up at his face as that sickening feeling in your gut only continued to blossom. you couldn’t tell exactly what graced his face at the moment he had begun walking you out of the alley, but it appeared to be the ghosting hint of a… smile..? 

not the kind of smile a friend would show a friend, or that a stranger would show another stranger during a regular act of compassion. no. this smile wasn’t compassionate or clean at all. a leer was what it was. incarnated malice right in the flesh.

no. your instincts were screaming at you. telling you that something was off. pleading with you to walk away and not look back. you could barely speak but when you did, your voice came out a meek murmur. “...a-actually, sir… i-i’ve got somewhere to be. i can just get patched up when i get there. thank you for the offer, truly.”

as quickly as the words left your mouth, you were off and walking in the other direction. you tried to keep your steps as controlled and normal-seeming as possible, but you just couldn’t shake the feeling that the state of your life had shifted. like nothing was ever going to be the same again.

your quick striding feet didn’t slow for a single second. but then they had to, halting at the exact moment an unmistakable sound clicked at the back of your head. the echoing click of a cocked gun.

you felt the colour drain from your face as the muzzle pressed against the back of your head, the same voice that had spoken to you so timidly sounding once again, nothing like what it had once seemed.

“it’s your move, bitch...” rafe had experienced madness before, it was practically a constant in his life considering his profession. but, damn, did this feel right. he felt you freeze up right in front of him, at the mercy of his bullet as your body began to tremble.

grow up. grow up, his father had said to him. rafe had had bitches lining up at his door for miles, begging for a taste of him and basking in the drops that he’d scatter among them. but if that wasn’t mature enough, he’d take it up a step. 

he was going to get married. he was going to get a goddamn wife and have a wedding as big and flashy as he wanted to show them all that he was as grown up at they came. it was a perfect plan, formulated in the most deranged part of his mind with every last detail planned. except for the fact that he was missing the most important thing of them all: his bride. but that problem had solved itself just as quickly as it had sprouted. rafe couldn’t help the twisted little grin that lit up his face as your bloodied legs quaked.

“...yeah… didn’t fuckin’ expect that, did you?” 

you couldn’t move. you were frozen on your feet, praying to whoever was up in the clouds to make sure that this wasn’t how you died. if it was, you were surely burning in hell the second your heart stopped beating.

“...p-please… please, i-i’ll do anything, okay?…” you stammer out, making that sick little thing inside of him that seemed to feed on despair spark with what could only be delight.

“damn right you will, bitch. and you can start by walking exactly where i tell you to. walk too fast, walk too slow, and go as fucking far as even thinking about screaming, i’ll blow your brains out and make sure no one even notices that you ain’t around anymore, do you understand?”

his face was buried in the crook of your neck as the hot breath of his slow words sent goosebumps pricking all over you. you weren’t the sharpest tool in the shed by any means, but you knew better than to test out if his words were just a threat. you did no more than nod slowly, his finger just itching to pull the trigger if you did anything wrong. but when you complied so simply, he hummed deeply, taking a minor step back from you.

“...good girl.“

his instructions were flat and sardonic. you would walk to his truck parked in the specified area acting as if it were your own. then you were to get into the passenger’s seat and buckle yourself into it, sitting patiently until he arrived and hopped into the driver’s seat right next to you.

you followed his rules to the last letter. feeling like a shell of a human as he stuck his keys into the ignition and started the car. as he pulled out of the parking lot and sped off into the night, you wanted nothing more than to break into sobs right on the spot. but you didn’t. you sat there silently, forgetting to breathe as you stared blankly at the caked up blood on your hands and knees.

rafe had pulled up his hood, concealing his ice-cold stare and leaving only his angular nose and structured lips visible. you couldn’t lift your head to face him, but you could feel everything. you were seeing him in his true light now. and to keep things brief, it was terrifying.

rafe hands remained on the steering wheel, his disposition stone cold as the streets he drove on became less and less familiar to you. by no means did rafe believe in “higher powers”, especially not while his life was a shitshow playing on live. but as he looked at you, taking in your suppressed squirms and bound up limbs in the passenger seat, he knew that you were nothing short of a miracle.

“...i-i… i have a boyfriend.” you internally curse yourself for opening your mouth to speak. you continue anyway. “...he’ll pay you as much money as you want. j-just don’t hurt me. i’ll give you the address and you can drop me off there and yo–”

“god-fucking-damn. you just don’t shut up, do ya?” the snap of his demeanor makes you jump in your seat, instantly shutting up. hm. submissive. rafe thought to himself. already displaying a desired quality in a wife. 

an uncomfortable silence fell over you two, the only sound being the low whir of the vehicle on the road. though he didn’t seem bothered in the slightest. no, he was… relieved.

“that fuckin’ ‘boyfriend’ of yours,” he put drawled emphasis on the word. he had only just met you and he could already tell when you were lying. “isn’t gonna be too pleased when he hears what’s gonna happen to you in two days. but the fucker is more than welcome to come to the wedding if he wants to see how a real man treats his woman.”

your eyes widen at least twice your size. the second your open your mouth to stupidly ask what he means, the truck comes to an abrupt stop, halting on the side of a house larger than you’d ever seen.

rafe parks the car before grabbing the headrest of the passenger seat. he gaze landed down on you, taking in your apprehensive expression, your blood-crusted body, the shaky breaths that rattled your lungs ever so slightly, the slow rise and fall of your peeking tits…

“listen to me and listen good, y’hear me.” he speaks lowly, leaving not a second of room for response or confusion. “as of right now, you are my bitch. you’re goddamn my fiancee, and you’re completely fuckin’ in love with me. you do everything i say, you call me ‘baby’ ‘nd all that shit, and you act right and do everything i tell you. our wedding is in two days. i’m takin’ you out first thing in the morning to buy a dress. a white one, a clean one, one that i bet your whore-ass isn’t used to.” he pauses for a moment, wishing that he’d swallowed those last words. if he wanted this to go well, it probably wasn’t the best idea to screw this up with petty insults so quickly. shit. “you got a name or somethin’?” he asks flatly in a vain attempt to “break the ice”. you left his question unanswered, deeming it safer to stay silent for as long as you could.

he clears his throat, letting his stare slowly fall down to take in your… qualities. you were a pretty woman, no doubt about it. underneath all the blood and junk, you were nearly everything he looked for in a wife. and all he needed to get his slate cleaned.

“you can, uh, pick out any dress you want. i don’t give a damn how expensive or long or… poofy, or whatever. just… shit, don’t fuck this up for me, okay? i’m in deep shit right now and you could really help me out if you just cooperate. and i won’t hurt ya’ either.” he grabs the gun that he kept under his leg, shaking it loosely in the air before tossing it in the backseat. he was trying to prove that he wouldn’t hurt you. as fucked up as this entire night was, every word he said sunk in. as far as you were concerned, you were going to be a married woman.

slowly, hesitantly, rafe extends a bruised, calloused hand to you. a pathetic request for a handshake. a request for peace. your mind curses your body as i reluctantly extend your swollen hand to his, letting him take yours and trying to ignore the burning sensation that arose as he squeezed your raw skin. you assumed that you were imagining the slight flicker of pleasure that arose from him at that moment. but in the darkly lit atmosphere of the truck, it was hard to tell.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

you didn't think it was possible to plan a wedding as extravagant as this one within 48 hours, but here you were, standing right in front of the glittering chandeliers and flambouyant paraphernalia. two days had passed and came faster than you could process, and you could hardly recognize the man who stood in front of you, dressed to the nines in that pressed black tux. 

the church’s organ played grandly in the distance, the pews filled to the brim with kooks seated on the right and pogues expelled to the left. 

“do you take rafe cameron as your devoted husband from this day forward?”

the priest’s deep voice boomed through the glass walls of the dark church. you swallowed hard, the gazes of all those in the audience cloaking you in a cold blanket as the question rang out in your ears.

you didn’t miss the shit-eating grin that was plastered on rafe, your soon-to-be husband’s face as everything began to set in stone. just last night, after he had forcibly gotten you into bed with him in what was meant to be a romantic night between future husband and wife, he had told you everything as his calloused fingers stroked slow circles onto your bare hip. the tragic backstory, how he had fucked up life up royally, and why he had to do this. he said it all with such chilling monotony, like it was the most typical thing in the world, that you were trapped between hating the man’s guts and liking him just a twinge because of how… real he was.

rafe locked your bandaged hands with his, staring down at you with a gaze intense enough to freeze blood. there was little he could do to make himself presentable. but he just had to do something for his wedding. he let you pick out what champagne he sprayed on along with the black dress shoes he had on. he had even offered to let you select which boxer briefs he had on, though you weren’t too keen on the prospect of that just yet. in a matter of seconds, life had just become serious for you. his calloused fingers massaged slow circles onto your lightly trembling hands, the anticipation of your answer coming in palpable waves from all around. 

“i do.”

your voice broke through the thick tension, relieved sighs coming from a few. it wasn’t too late for you to run. you just make a dash for it and leave this man on the alter all alone, free to find a woman just as insane as him to fit his narrative instead. but as rafe nodded ever so slightly, tucking a stray lock of your hair into your neatly packed bun, you felt that lump that had been in your stomach since he abducted you dissolve, slowly but surely. 

the coolness in the room dissipated, your body being replaced with an overwhelming sense of heat, despite your arms and chest bones being exposed in your wedding dress. it was constructed of white velvet, with a train that slithered behind you with every step you took. it was studded with diamonds that made you shimmer under the beaming light that shone in from the window. 

it was a highly modest dress from the side but from where rafe was, it gave him just a sneak peek into paradise, your breasts being pressed up by the cinched corset at the waist. in the span of two days, he had already become obsessed with you. he wanted to know everything about you, contrasting how he had never cared enough to get to know anyone before. he wanted to look at your pretty face all the time, he wanted to touch your pretty body in ways that would confirm him as yours. and he would the second this ceremony came to a close.

your intestines felt as if they were knotted into tight strings as rafe eyed you, the priest’s ongoing proclamations turning to nothing but white noise. until he uttered the words that you had been dreading.

“...you may now kiss the bride.”

your blood ran cold. in a blink of an eye, rafe scooped you into his arms, his hands grabbing onto your ass as he wore your legs as a belt around his waist and kissed you hungrily on the lips. your shock was bone-chilling, but it seemed to disperse into nothing as you let your eyes flutter shut, accepting his greedy tongue into your mouth.

what the hell were you doing? accepting this absurdity in stride. he had kidnapped you for fuck’s sake. hurt you in ways you didn’t think were possible. the handsome devil did it all without a shred of remorse in those oceanic eyes. you didn’t know how a man could be so blatantly malevolent, but you couldn’t deny the euphoria you felt after he dubbed you “his woman” for the first time. 

you wrapped your arms around his neck, your dark eyelashes fluttering against his pale cheeks as he deepened the kiss significantly. he was so desperate to taste you, like a starved dog that had been deprived for years. he forced your mouth open with his tongue, your teeth clicking together as your tongues fought a silent battle. no one else existed right then. just you, and the man you were now bound to for eternity.

he kissed you like you were the woman he had been searching for all his life. like you were the real-life manifestation of his life-long desires. it was so incredibly lewd. the way his teeth tugged at your bottom lip, the way his hands dug into the plush flesh of your ass, nearly tearing your dress. he detached his lips from yours, your swollen mouth panting for air as he trailed a sloppy string of kisses down your neck, leaving a red stream of your smudged lipstick in its path.

the embrace was interrupted by the priest gently clearing his throat, your public display being far form appropriate. rafe held on to you for a second too long, as if daring you to walk away after he’s put you down. he’s got you hooked, and he damn well knows it. you had let him have you for an intense 30 seconds, but you wanted more. damn it all to hell, you found the last bits of your animosity numbing into nothing. you wanted to give yourself to him completely, to give him what he had been waiting for. and now, you finally could.

“i pronounce you, husband and wife.”

rafe basked in the sound of the applause that rang through the church. he was despicable and he damn well knew it, but it couldn't possibly have been a bad thing if he had executed such a plan so flawlessly. he glanced down at your face, the sight causing a sizzle of something to simmer below the belt. "...my woman." rafe drawled low enough to only be heard by you, his hand locked with yours as your expression began to shift. gone was the apprehension you had been feeling all along.

rafe thought he was bad, but he didn’t have the slightest idea what he was getting into with you.

[minxwrld]

no shame. jujuwatkins x reader.

after a argument, the two of you found yourself ignoring each other, but what happens when she catch you pleasuring yourself?

smut. edging. teasing.overstimulating.

You hated arguing with her.

It wasn’t even a big fight, just one of those dumb, late night disagreements that start with something small, something like forgetting to respond to a text, and somehow spiral into raised voices and bruised egos, you both said too much,or maybe not enough.

now the bedroom was silent, heavy with tension, the two of you lay back to back in the dark facing opposite walls, arms tucked in tight, not touching.

you stared at the ceiling for a while, eyes adjusting, heart still pounding with leftover emotion, you weren’t even sure if you were still mad or just hurt, or both.

juju’s breathing was steady, slow, she was either asleep or pretending to be, you didn’t want to be the first one to break the silence,not yet,but God… her scent is still lingering on your skin, from earlier when you hugged, before the argument, before everything went cold.

you shifted under the covers, suddenly hyper-aware of your body,your mind drifted whether out of spite or longing, you weren’t sure but your hand found its way between your thighs before you could stop it.

It started innocent, Just a small touch, like a way to calm your nerves, to distract yourself, but it didn’t stay that way, you moved slowly, biting your lip to stay quiet, your fingers slick with need before you'd even slipped beneath your waistband.

you thought about her,her mouth,her voice when she whispered your name against your neck, the way she always knew exactly how to touch you,you closed your eyes and let the memories blur together,sweet ones, messy ones, the ones that made your whole body ache.

you rolled your eyes back parting your mouth open as you start to move your fingers faster.

then you heard her shift,you froze, hand still, eyes wide in the dark.

juju rolled over slowly, her voice low, groggy,but sharp. “are you seriously touching yourself right now?” your breath caught, you didn’t answer.

you expected her to be mad,but instead, she reached over, fingers wrapping gently around your wrist.

“You couldn’t even wait till I forgave you?”

her voice was teasing and raspy, with that edge she always got when she was turned on but trying to hide it. she tugged your hand away, then slipped hers under the covers instead, replacing your touch with hers.

she rubbed your clit in circular motions “you thought i wouldn’t notice?” she whispered low lips brushing behind your ear. “you think i dont know the sound of you trying not to moan?”

her fingers moved with a kind of quiet urgency, like she was torn between punishing you for teasing her and making you feel everything you been holding back.

you lay on your side, legs tangled, your back pressed to her chest as her hand worked beneath your panties slow steady strokes that made your hips twitch and your breath hitch.

you whimpered, barely able to answer. “I just… needed you.” juju let out a hitched breath, equal parts exasperated and aroused. “you could just said that instead of getting me all worked up for not replying."

you almost laughed, but it caught in your throat as her fingers curled just right, sending sparks through your core, She slid one leg between yours, tilting your hips so she could reach deeper, press firmer.

“baby…” she breathed out, her lips now grazing your neck. “your soaking. you really were laying here this whole time, thinking about me touching you like this?”

you nodded, jaw clenched to keep from crying out “Let go,” she whispered. “Come for me.”

and just like that, her fingers curling again, her palm rubbing perfectly against your clit, her breath hot on your skin, you broke apart.

your whole body tightened, hips jerking as the climax hit hard, washing through you in waves. you gasped, face buried in the pillow, her name the only thing you could manage.

she held you close the whole time, letting you ride it out, whispering soft things like, “thats it." and “I got you." when it was over, she kissed the back of your shoulder, slow and sweet.

“still mad at me?” you asked, voice shaky, she chuckled softly, pulling you even closer. “im mad you didn’t wake me up sooner.” you turned in her arms to face her. “your awake now.” her eyes darkened, her lips brushing yours. “then I guess I’m not done with you yet.”

you are still catching your breath when juju pulled back slightly, brushing your hair from your face, her fingers were slick with your release, but she didn’t seem to care if anything, she looked proud.

you reached for her, still a little dazed but craving her touch again, this time with more purpose.

“you said you’re not done with me” you murmured, voice low and hoarse.

That was all it took.

juju kissed you hard, hand cupping your cheek, her body sliding over yours as she settled between your thighs.

the kiss was all tongue and heat, a little desperate, but soft in the way only someone who knows you that well can be.

when she pulled back, her lips were slightly swollen, eyes locked on yours “you need to say it” she whispered. you swallowed “i want you.”

“no." she said, her voice deeper now, sultry and commanding “say what you want.” you looked up at her, breath trembling “i want you inside me.”

that made her smile slow curve of her lips as she slid down your body, kissing a trail from your chest to your stomach “good girl”

her mouth found your clit easily, tongue parting you without hesitation, and your whole body arched toward her.

She knew you too well how to tease, how to build you back up from the edge you just fell off, how to make you beg with just a flick of her tongue on your clit.

she gripped your thighs and pulled you closer to her face, moaning softly into you like you were the best thing she’d ever tasted. you threaded your fingers into her hair, hips moving on instinct as she devoured you, steady and relentless.

“juju—” you gasped, legs trembling, she paused only to say, “im not stopping this time, your gonna come again, in my mouth.”

And you did.

the second orgasm hit even harder, your body too sensitive, too turned on from before,but you couldn’t stop it,she kept going, held you down, pushed you through it until you were squirming, crying out, barely able to take it.

when she finally pulled back, she kissed the inside of your thigh, then crawled back up and pulled you into her arms.

you were speechless, limp, wrecked and she looked way too smug about it.

“i love you,” she whispered suddenly, you blinked up at her, your heart twisting in the best way. “Even when we fight?”

“Especially when we make up.”

you smiled, pressing your forehead to hers. “Remind me to fight with you more often.” she laughed, hand sliding under the blanket to rest on your stomach. “Say that again and I’ll make you come a third time.”

your breath caught “…That a threat or a promise?” juju raised an eyebrow. “Keep talking and find out.”

masterlist.

🔖 — @addl0vee @tndaqlwifwy @mrsarnold @melpthatsme @bellaprintz25 @janaelalfysblunt @ellehoops @belsoulss @apbueckers @uwupaige @janaelalfysloml @paige05bby @azzisbueckers @paigeluvvr @giavonnii @taylynbueckers44 @jupitermoonbaby @shootingstarrrrr @dalilahissilly @luldejamleer @d7dream

[minxwrld]

MEM @ NOP. Mar 10 2025

[minxwrld]

this interaction is HUGE for me bye 🫠

[minxwrld]

꒦꒷ ﹏ destory me on camera ¡

pairing best friend!rafe x OF creator!reader

summary Rafe finger fucking you for you OF content, not because he's been dying to lay his hands on you, and carress every curve of your body, after only being able to admire such view through the screen. 

contains smut, fingering (obvi), cameras, squirting, spit as lube, dirty talk, praise & degradation, teasing, brief mention of rafe jerking off to your videos, perv rafe...? wc; 2k

a/n this had me insane i needed to do it omff i hope you enjoy as much as i did writing it!! bsf rafe is such a whore he needs his own appreciation :p

"Pretty please, Rafe?" Your lips jut into a pout, eyes innocently fluttering up at him. Your hand lightly trailed up his thigh, landing right around his crotch, where his cock was already leaking with pre-cum, desperare to be caressed by your pretty, delicate fingers. "C'mon, you don't want to be mean to your best friend, do you?" 

"You're insane, you know that?" He barely managed to stutter out a breath, arms haunched over the couch, where he was struggling to maintain his position, and hold back from pushing your head down on his cock. 

"Is that a yes?" You excitedly perked up, face mere inches away from Rafe's. You planted a small kiss to his cheek, moving away before he could process the gesture. "Thank you, I'll make sure you won't regret it." 

"Do something before I change my mind, then." He shot back, causing you to shove his arm. A breath knocked out of his chest at the lack of warmness when you moved away to stand to your feet. His gaze followed your figure, halting just around your cleavage, where your boobs laid exposed to the chilly air, barely covered by the sheer, see through top you were wearing.

Rafe's gaze furrowed upon landing on the hand you offered him, hesitating to accpet the touch till you further explained. "You don't think I'm gonna let you fuck me here, do you?" You questioned, sly grin plastering across your lips. Rafe's throat dried at the statement, failing to keep his compusure, and feign nonchalance over whatever the hell stunt you were pulling on him. "Let's go to the room, I already have the camera set up." 

"You do?" He mumbled, letting you drag him towards your room. You nodded, twisting the doorknob open, and revealing the set up you had going on, camera adjusted over the bed, the same view he was used to witnessing through the screen while he secretly got off to your videos. 

"I've got to be prepared," you giggled, letting go of his hand, and throwing yourself on the bed with a thud. You plopped your arms on the bed, crossing your legs seductively, as your skirt rid up your thighs, revealing the plump flesh hidden beneath the material. That alone had Rafe's cock stirring in his pants, desperate to explore your whole body, dive in your pussy till he no longer could coherent normal words out. "Knew you'd agree to this." 

"What made you sure I was gonna agree to this?" He cocked his head to the side, fingers finding your ankle, as he deliberately traced the soft skin, leading all the way to your thighs. You tilted your head back, groping your tits through the fabric, the action immediately earning a grunt out of Rafe. 

"I know my best friend," you shuddered out a breath, tugging the sheer of your top down, causing goosebumps to instantly break out across your chest. "You wouldn't say no to this." 

"Fuck, yeah I won't." He hissed, grasping one of your tits in his hold. He squeezed the fatty flesh, kneading and carressing your nipple in between his fingers, until it was hard and perky. His attention settled in between your thighs, admiring the wet mess he made out of you, a wet patch visible through your lace panties. "While you look fucking great in those, I need them off your body now." 

"Relax, Rafe, I'm not goin' anywhere." You teased, gliding your tongue over your teeth, as you leisurely tugged at the strings of your panties, merely to mess with Rafe, and get a reaction out of him. "Why don't you get the camera rolling first? Then I'll give you what you want." 

"Fuck, how do I start this thing?" Rafe mumbled, pressing random buttons to get the camera started. His gaze fixed on the small lense, gulping at the sight of you practically half naked on the bed. Fuck, you looked surreal, out of world, he wished this wasn't just for content. "Is it on?" 

You nodded upon spotting the little red light, waving him over with your hand. "How are we doin' this?" You asked, shuffling around for Rafe to squeeze himself behind you, quickly relaxing in his arms after he adjusted his position. A yelp almost shrieks past your parted lips as Rafe's hardon brushes over your lower back, clearly as turned on as you were, probably ever more. "Comfortable?" 

"Don't worry about me," he hummed in your ear, bunching your hair to the side, where he could catch glimpse of your figure loose in his hold. He began by toying with the necklace hugging your neck, trailing his hand all the way down to your cleavage. From soothing circles turned into him groping you through the fabric, kneading the skin in his hand, the moans you mewled out like music to his ears. "Moaning like a fucking slut, huh, that feel' good?" 

His name threatened to leave your mouth, washed down by a gasp when his lips brushed over the blade of your shoulder, littering wet, open-mouthed kisses to it as his fingers continuously massaged your tits, immediately releasing them when he tugged the fabric down. You buried your face in the crook of his neck, teeth grazing over his throat, far overwhelmed by the pleasure from the touch. 

"You gonna let me fuck you in front of that camera?" Rafe whispered, mostly to you, dragging his hand down your lower stomach, past the waistband of your skirt. He pushed it up your waist, gaze settling on the camera lense as he fingered at your panties, sliding then beneath the fabric, as he toyed with it back and forth, the action teasing, causing you to arch your back. "Such a desperate slut, aren't you? Dying for my fingers to fuck your needy pussy." 

"Mhm," you nodded, lips pressing into a thin line to contain your whines from scooping out, not wanting to come off needy, though your body language spoke otherwise. "Fuck me, please, destroy me on camera for everyone to see, 'want your fingers inside me." 

Using the arm wrapped around your waist, Rafe pressed you down as he managed to slide the lace panties off, the action casual, yet deliberate, oblivious to your fucked-out state, and the mess he created out of you. 

He almost chuckled, amused by the ragged whine that escaped your throat, lips parting with awe, as Rafe glides his digits up and down your folds, fingering at your sensitive clit, making you squirm in his arms. It felt heavenly, most times, you had to fake your reaction for content, but with Rafe? It came flawlessly, his fingers worked magic. 

He traced your hole with the tip of his long digits, collecting your juices in the process of sliding his fingers up and down your hole, until your cunt was drenched with your arousal. 

Pride swelled his chest, knowing he was the cause of this, as well as the whines you kept letting out, far too gone to acknowledge the camera yet rolling. Rafe used your parted lips as an opportunity to slip his fingers inside, taking in the sensation of your hot spit gliding over the digits, desperately licking off your juices clean. 

A groan knocks out Rafe's mouth, as his fingers exit your mouth with a pop, the sound causing him to twitch in his pants. He was rock hard, it was starting to hurt, he could not wait to get off while remincing over your little moans that displayed how eager you were to have him, feeding into his sick fantasies. 

"So good with your fingers," you praised, encouraging him to continue rubbing circles to your clit, flicking the nub over and over again, till your cunt was slick with (your) spit. 

"Such a fucking whore." He murmurs, lips ghosting over the shell of your ear. His attention fixed on your cunt, hole gripping around nothing, and leaking with your juices. Turned on was underestimating how Rafe felt in the moment, heat pooling past his neck, until it settled on his face, tinting his cheeks a deep shade of red. 

"Fuckkk..." You trailed off, fluttering your lashes through hooded eyes. Your body jerked as Rafe spread your folds with his fingers, revealing your glistening nub, coated with a glossy layer. "You like playing with your best friend's pussy baby?" 

Rafe palmed your cunt at the statement, the gesture spiraling a wave of pleasure through your insides. Rafe's grunts were barely audible, though they were loud and clear like music to your ears, only for you to hear and enjoy. 

The latter eventually decided to quit teasing you and line his fingers with your entrance, tracing them up and down, only inserting the tip of his digits to test you. You whined in protest, wiggling for a fraction, anything to help with your pent up sexual frustration, one only Rafe, your best friend could relieve. 

He easily slid a finger inside, immediately engulfed with the warmness of your cunt, as you clenched around him, growing blinded by pleasure. He moved slowly; with a purpose, exploring each and every inch of you, afraid he'd miss out if he didn't pay you enough attention. 

"Such a pathetic doll, letting your best friend ruin your pussy with his fingers." He grunted, fastening his pace, and lining his other finger with your hole. 

"Yes yes yes yesss," you threw your head back,

as Rafe inserted another finger inside you, pumping them in and out of your hole, till you got used to his digits stretched you out. "Fuck me, please, 'wish it was your cock instead!" 

"Bet you do," he heaved out a breath, scissoring his fingers inside you to explore every corner. "You'd like that, huh? Wanna fuck you dumb like a pathetic lil slut." 

Rafe continued fucking you with his fingers, main focus on your face as it twisted with pleasure. His calloused digits repeatedly moved inside you, hitting your sweet spot in the process, and causing desire to spiral through your insides, coating every blood vessel and vein. 

"You like fuckin' me like this?" You questioned through a whine, littering kisses to the curve of Rafe's jaw. "Much better than jerking off to my videos, don't you think?" 

Fuck, you knew. 

You chuckled when you recieved no response from the latter, a mere whimper as he thrusted his fingers inside your hole, rather pleased with himself, hoping this was your actual reaction, and not just for content. 

"Come on my fingers," he demanded, request filthy,

something he fantasized about in the dim of the night. "I know you're close." 

He was right, in the span of seconds, your climax built up, indicating you were close everytime Rafe would apply pressure, or use his thumb to rub your clit, spiking more and more heat through your body. 

Your orgasm reached its peak, coming hard as you squirted all over Rafe's fingers, with Rafe riding his digits through your orgasm, not stopping even when your legs trembled as you came down from your high. 

Rafe's fingers dripped with your sweet arousal, liquid tracing along the veins kissing up his arms. The sight alone had him a fucking mess, you dare make it worse when you bring his fingers to your lips, and suck his fingers clean. 

The latter observed in awe, spit pooling in his mouth, as desire fogged his vision, eager to get a taste of your lips now glossed with your arousal. 

A grin formed on your lips, quickly closing the distance seperating you in a chaste kiss, one breaking the boundaies you built for your friendship. Rafe's lips moved desperately over yours, licking into your mouth for the mere purpose of tasting you. 

That didn't last long, interrupted when you inched back, just enough to whisper out your next words. "Pizza?" 

"What?" Rafe's caught off gaurd by the question, too sudden for him to process it. 

"Should we get pizza?" You asked, sitting up straight. "I'm hungry." 

"Did we not jus–" 

"That was for content!" You reasoned, face immediately growing hot. "It's done now, take care of your business and come on out, you drained me out, I'll help you out next time." 

"There's a next time?" He nearly choked on his own spit. 

"Only if you're up for it..." You shot back, searching for a reaction out of the latter. 

Up for it? Screw that, he'd fuck you right now if he could. 

[minxwrld]

[minxwrld]

Bucklebunny!reader who spends her days at the rodeo, the sound of hooves pounding the dirt and the scent of fresh leather filling the air, always keeping her cowboy boots scuffed from hours of excitement.

Bucklebunny!reader who always wears a dainty, heart-shaped necklace with a tiny gold cowboy boot tucked under her shirt, a gift from her favorite cowboy.

Bucklebunny!reader who never misses a rodeo, always in the crowd cheering for Rafe. She wears her signature white flowy skirt , Lacey white top , and boots with a white ribbon tied on them. Her eyes locked on him as he takes the ring. The moment the competition ends, she waits. As the crowd thins, Rafe approaches, adrenaline still rushing through him. Without a word, he pulls her close, crashing his lips into hers in a kiss that’s messy and full of heat, his hands gripping her waist.

Bucklebunny!reader whos always there for Rafe, whether he wins or loses. After every rodeo, she makes sure to bring him something special a small bouquet of wildflowers she picked herself. Its her quiet way of showing her support, a gesture that feels just as personal as it is sweet. The flowers are always wrapped in a simple piece of twine, the colors a soft blend of purples, yellows, and whites, like something straight from the fields near the rodeo grounds.

Bucklebunny!reader who, when shes not at the rodeo or spending time with Rafe, enjoys the quiet moments spent in nature. With her sketchbook tucked under one arm and a pencil in hand, she finds herself sitting by the lake or out in the fields, sketching the animals she comes across whether its a horse in the distance, a hawk soaring above, or the playful movement of a bunny rabbit through the tall grass. Her drawings are simple, yet full of life, capturing the wildness and beauty of the world around her.

Bucklebunny!reader who is the kind of person that brings out a softer, more calm side in Rafe. With her, he becomes less of the impulsive, cocky cowboy everyone knows and more of someone who appreciates the simpler, quieter moments in life. She has this grounding effect on him when he’s around her, he feels more at peace. Her presence slows him down, reminding him to take a step back from the chaos of the rodeo and his own issues.

Bucklebunny!reader who loves baking as much as she loves the rodeo. When shes not at the event cheering Rafe on or outside sketching shes in the kitchen, whipping up treats. Her baked goods aren’t just for herself she makes sure to share them with friends, family, or the neighbors.

Not sure if anyone else has used or created this idea before, but if so, credit goes to them !

[minxwrld]

Matthew Broome As Nick Leister | MY FAULT: LONDON (2025)

[minxwrld]