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bloodibambiidoll · 8 months ago

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Butterfly Fantasies (Older!Rafe Cameron x Reader)

Summary: You’ve been teasing Rafe for months and when he sees you flirting with another man, it’s his final straw. Wk: 3.4k

This is a prompt from me & @babygorewhore’s writing game!! Feel free to click the link and come play with us✨

Warnings: Rafe is your dad’s best friend, age gap (Rafe is late 30s Reader is early 20s), daddy kink, choking, spanking, pussy slapping, breeding kink, hair pulling, degradation 18+MDNI!!

You know it’s wrong, parading yourself around like this for your dad’s best friend. You had just finished your final year of college so you were home staying with your dad for the summer. But every single time you saw Rafe it was like your body was on fire. Him and your dad have been friends and business partners for years now. But you had only ever met Rafe once before, a few years ago at your dad’s wedding. You thought he was sexy then and somehow he’s even sexier now. He’s always coming over for drinks, or to go out on the boat, sometimes he and your dad talk business in his office.

But it felt like he was just always around. Wearing those expensive business suits with his hair slicked back perfectly. On days when he and your dad went out on the boat he would come over in shorts that were just a tad bit too short and those tight t-shirts or button ups, his thick biceps on display. When you’d run into him at the country club he always looked so fucking delicious in his golf outfit. That tight polo taunt against his shoulders, the way his large hands dwarfed the handles of the clubs. His hair was messier on those days, the ends of it sticking out from the cap on his head. You wanted to tear it off, lace your fingers through his hair and tug on it when it was void of its usual product.

It didn’t help that he was always looking at you. His eyes roaming your figure with a smug smirk on his face for just a little too long. The way he would send you little winks when your dad wasn’t looking. Resting his hand on the small of your back when he walks past you in the kitchen or in the hall. He was always calling you little nicknames like “doll” and “sweetheart. He even called you “princess” once and you thought you were going to cum untouched. You wanted to be his little princess so bad. So you started playing dirty.

Whenever you saw him you made sure to walk around in your skimpiest outfits. You’d lounge by the pool in your tiniest little micro bikinis, rubbing sunscreen on your skin causing it to glisten. You would wear your shortest dresses with thongs so small they might as well not even be there, bending over under the guise of “grabbing something out of the fridge” when he was standing behind you in the kitchen. Once you learned that he went to the country club every Sunday for brunch and golf, you signed up for Sunday tennis lessons.

Those days just might be your favorite. Your tennis outfit consisted of a tiny little white tennis skirt that barely covered your ass and an even tinier white sports bra that showed off your cleavage perfectly. It was just a bonus that your tennis instructor was hot and your age. It also didn’t hurt that Rafe could see the tennis court perfectly from the brunch table he always sat at. You’d make eye contact with him over your instructor's shoulder from afar while you grasped onto his bicep and giggled. If you weren’t mistaken you could just make out a slight switch in his jaw. He might be nineteen years older than you but you aren’t stupid, you can tell when a man wants you.

Rafe wants you bad. He’s been trying really fucking hard to restrain himself but it’s almost impossible when you’re constantly walking around in those little fucking outfits. Giving him that little smirk with that glint in your eye like you know you’re torturing him. He can’t stop thinking about you. When he’s working, when he’s golfing, when his hand is wrapped around his thick cock at night. Even when he’s buried balls deep in some bored housewife. All he can think about is you.

The way those little bikinis hardly cover anything but your nipples, and bottoms sitting so high on your ass they’re practically being swallowed. Those tiny little sun dresses that you seemed to always be bending over in, flashing him those pretty barely there panties that show the outline of your pussy. That fucking tennis outfit and that little douche bag tennis instructor whose hands he wants to cut off each time he has to watch him touch you.

But there’s one specific instance that won’t leave his mind, playing like a movie on repeat in his head. You were wearing these tiny little jean shorts with a little tiny crop top. You were sitting at the bar in the kitchen, eating a fucking banana of all things. But the way you were bent over to rest your elbows on the counter made your shorts ride down just enough to show off your thong and the little butterfly tramp stamp you had right above your ass. He stood there with his mouth agape for what could’ve been minutes or hours, he doesn’t know. He was stuck, completely enthralled by the sight of you. He felt himself starting to get hard when you looked over your shoulder at him, a smug smile painted across your glossed lips.

“Why don’t you take a picture? It’ll last longer.” You held eye contact with him while you finished off the last of your banana before standing up, winking at him, and walking away without another word. Leaving him so fucking hard and incredibly frustrated.

His final straw though? Your dad was throwing a celebration party for the company because they closed a huge deal and you were parading around in yet another barely there dress with all his coworkers and their sons ogling you. Currently Rafe was watching you with his jaw clenched so hard he feels like his teeth might break and he’s surprised the thin glass in his hand is still intact with the grip he has on it. You’re standing across the yard from him, that little white backless dress hugging every inch of your body so perfectly, showing off the expanse of your back and ending right at the top of your ass, flashing that little tiny tattoo to every single person here. When he’s the only one that should know about it.

The son of one of his employees rests his hands on your hips, leaning in to whisper something in your ear all while you maintain eye contact with him from across the yard, he has to physically stop himself from going over there and slamming the guy’s head into the bar. When you smirk at him, sending him a little wink before dragging the guy inside the house? He’s absolutely had it.

You had Rafe right where you wanted him, there was no doubting it now. The way he was staring daggers at every man that even glanced your way and the way his eyes hungrily drank you in as they followed your every move said it all. You wanted to know how far you could push him, if he would really snap and finally make a move. So you took it upon yourself to flirt with the cutest guy your age there. You really laid it on thick, giggling at all his jokes, running your hands down his chest, letting him grip your hips and whisper in your ear. All while Rafe watched with a death glare. You didn’t have to keep your eyes on him to know he was looking, but sending him little smirks and glances over the guy's shoulder was just too good to resist. Especially when you decided to drag the guy into the house with you, making sure Rafe watched you walk away.

“Do you want a drink? My dad keeps all the best shit in here.” You smile at him, you don’t even remember his name, it doesn’t matter anyways, he’s nothing but a means to an end.

“Yeah, I’ll take a drink, but I think I’d like to taste you more.” You internally gag at his cheesy line but still offer him a suggestive smile as you jump up on the counter with your legs spread just enough for him to get a glance at your panties.

“Come here then.” You beckon him with your finger and he comes to stand between your legs, resting his hands on your hips again.

“You’re really hot, you know that?” You snort, thanking him for his base level fuck boy compliment as he leans in for a kiss. Before his lips can even graze yours he’s being pulled backwards back the collar of his dress shirt. An extremely pissed looking Rafe glaring down at the smaller man.

“Get lost.” He practically growls, shoving the guy backwards by the grip he had on his collar.

“Hey man, what’s your fucking problem?”

“I said to get fuckin’ lost, fuck off before I break your fuckin’ legs.” The dude scoffs and rolls his eyes as he walks off. The minute you and Rafe are alone his hands are resting on the counter on either side of your hips, his face inches from yours. “You think this is funny, little girl? You wanna play games? I suggest you don’t start something you can’t fuckin’ finish.”

“Games? What games? I’m not play any games. I think I was being pretty straight forward with that guy.” Rafe exhales through his nose, grabbing onto your jaw with his large hand, squeezing your cheeks together.

“That guy?” He scoffs, shaking your head back and forth. “You know I’m not fuckin’ talking about him, doll. Don’t play dumb with me. Get up.”

“I’m not a dog, I don’t bark on command.” He laughs at that, actually laughs.

“Oh, baby, we’ll fuckin’ see about that. Up.” He releases his grip on your jaw and backs up as he looks at you expectantly. You mull over your options for about two seconds before sliding off the counter. The minute the heels of your boots hit the expensive linoleum, Rafe's large ringed hand grasps onto your forearm, pulling you into the nearest room. He shuts the door behind you, pushing you up against it and trapping you between him and the wood. “You’ve been driving me crazy, you know that?”

“Yeah? That’s exactly what I was hoping for…” You smirk at him, looking up at him through your lashes.

“You really think this is a fuckin’ joke, huh?” Rafe chuckles darkly, his tongue poking the inside of his cheek. He grabs onto your throat, squeezing just enough to cut off your airflow. “You trying to get me in trouble? You know how fucking pissed your dad would be if he found out about this?”

“Mmm… I figure if he disowns me you could just be my daddy instead.” He groans, using his grip on your throat to manhandle you over to the desk. Your dad’s desk to be exact. You were so worked up you didn’t even process that he pulled you into his office.

“You’re a fuckin’ brat. Looks like someone needs to teach you some manners, little girl.” Rafe presses your face against the desk, using his other hand to pull your hips up so your ass is in the air. The same hand hikes your dress above your ass before landing a harsh smack on it. The sound echoes through the room, accompanied by the loud moan that rips through you. “Bet your spoiled ass has never been spanked a day in your life. Bet you get whatever you want, whenever you want. But not with me, daddy’s gonna make you beg for it.”

He lands another smack on your bare ass, your tiny thong covering absolutely nothing. Then another. And another. He keeps you in place by his hand pressing onto the side of your head causing your cheek to press against the cold wood of the desk. Little whimpers and moans fall from your lips as

your writhe underneath him.

“Gonna leave this ass covered in my hand prints, then when you walk around in those tiny little bikinis you’ll either think twice about teasing me or you’ll have to explain it to anyone who sees.” Both of his large hands come down on your cheeks at once before one comes from below, landing a harsh smack on your cunt.

“Oh fuck, daddy.” Your eyes roll back and drool starts to drip down your chin when he smacks your pussy again before pulling your panties to the side, the cool air of the room hitting your wet folds.

“Yeah, that’s right, slut, I’m your fucking daddy. Look at this pussy, you’re so wet. Just from this? You like getting treated like a whore?” Rafe smacks your bare pussy, the metal of his rings adding a delicious sting. “You sure as hell like acting like one. Parading around in those skimpy little outfits, trying to seduce a man twice your age.”

“I fucking love it daddy, want you so bad, just wanted your attention.” You whine, wiggling your hips. “Please touch me.”

“Please touch me.” He mocks you as he smacks your clit three times in succession. “I am touching you, doll. You’re gonna have to do a lot better than that.”

“Please daddy, please, I’ll do anything you want. You can fuck my pussy till it’s sore, fuck my ass, cum inside me, breed me, anything. Just please.”

The next thing you feel is two thick fingers being inserted knuckle deep in your pussy. Rafe curls them against your sweet spot before thrusting them in and out of you at a quick pace.

“Fuckin’ listen to that shit, you’re so wet for me. You’re dirty. You want me to fuck your ass and breed you? That what you sit around thinking about all day?” You’re about to respond but the feeling of his thumb on your clit has you moaning and pushing back against his hand. He grabs onto your hair, pulling your head back so he can lean over you with his lips pressed to your ear. “Answer the fuckin’ question, princess. Know you can’t be fucked dumb from just my fingers.”

“Yes! Yes, I think about you fucking me on every inch of this house. I think about you filling me with your cum until I’m knocked up. About being your little barefoot and pregnant wife. Want to shove the fact that I’m the one that gets you in all those old country club bitches faces.” Well he wasn’t expecting all of that, but he’s not complaining. Now that he’s thinking about it, it doesn’t sound so bad. He picks up the speed of his fingers, applying harder pressure to your clit just as he yanks on your hair, exposing your neck so he can lick across the expanse of it, sending you over the edge.

“That’s it, baby girl, cum for me, cum for daddy.” He pulls his fingers out and you can’t see but you hear the sound of him sucking them clean, accompanied by a groan. “Look at you, you don’t have any idea what you do to me, do you?”

He runs his large hand down your back, stopping just above your ass to trace his fingertips across your tattoo.

“What do I do to you daddy? Tell me.” He spanks your ass again, earning a little yelp from you.

“Don’t start getting sassy on me again. I’m calling the shots. But you drive me insane. Prancing around in those little bikinis, flashing me your slutty panties, this god damn tattoo.”

Rafe leans down, placing a kiss on it before licking across it. He hooks his fingers in the bands of your thong, pushing it down your legs. You try to kick your boots off to get it off your ankles but Rafe stops you, pulling them off himself.

“Keep the boots on.” Rafe grabs onto your ass, spreading you open for him before leaning down to spit on your asshole, watching it drip down onto your already soaked cunt. You feel his thumb rub down your slit right before he shoves his tongue as deep as it can go inside your pussy.

“Oh fuuuuuck, daddy that’s so good, thank you thank you.” Rafe eats you out like a man starved, nearly drunk off the sound of your moans and the taste of your sweet cunt. He leans down to suck your clit between his plump lips and you feel yourself getting close, clenching around nothing. And it’s like he reads your mind because seconds later he’s thrusting his fingers inside you, rubbing them up against your g-spot and sending you into an orgasm that makes your entire body shake. “Shit daddy, yesyesyes, I’m cumming, I’m cumming.”

He leans up, grips onto your hips, and flips you over with ease, propping you up on the desk. He grabs onto your face and connects your lips in a filthy kiss. His tongue intangles with yours, flooding your mouth with the taste of yourself mixed with him and it makes your head spin.

“Take this fuckin’ dress off.” He grabs onto the straps, pushing them off your shoulders so he can yank it down your legs. “No bra? God damn, princess, look at these perfect tits, shit.” He yanks off his shirt before undoing his pants, pushing them down his hips. Your eyes nearly pop out of your head at the sight of his cock. “Yeah baby, this isn’t some twenty something loser cock, this is what a real man’s dick looks like. Beg for it.”

“Daddy, please fuck me, please, I want you to fill me up. Put a baby in me so everyone on the island knows you I belong to.” You push your hips forward, spreading your legs further. Rafe decides that’s enough for him, roughly grabbing onto your hip with one hand and using the other to line his cock up with your entrance. He pushes inside you with one thrust, your tight wet pussy practically sucking him in.

“Ah, shit, you’re so fucking tight.” Rafe grabs onto your ankles, throwing them over his shoulders so he can fuck you even deeper. “Been dreaming about this pussy for months. Been dreaming about this sexy little body. Look at these perfect tits. Perfect legs. So fucking soft. Such a good little slut for daddy.”

He grabs onto your throat as he continues to split you open on his cock, his other hand finds your clit and it has you clenching around him. The desk is slamming against the ground and you’re both moaning so loud you wouldn’t be surprised if the entire party heard you outside through the music and all the walls. But you didn’t care, especially not as you gushed around Rafe’s cock.

“Yeah that’s right, fuckin’ give it to me, cum all over my cock. Gonna fill you up, gonna give you a baby just like you want, don’t even give a fuck what anybody thinks. I’m not ever quitting this pussy.” Rafe lets go of your throat to so he can wrap your legs around his hips, grabbing onto your ass as he fucks into you at a brutal pace, chasing his own high.

“Yeah daddy, fucking give it to me, fill me up, want it so bad.” You run your perfectly manicured nails down his back and it does him in. He presses his hips flush against yours as his cock twitches inside of you, filling you with ropes of his cum. The moans leaving him are your never favorite song that you want to listen to on repeat for the rest of your life. When he comes down from his high he lets his cock slip out of you before gathering the bit of cum that leaked out on his fingers, shoving it back inside.

“Can’t waste any, can we?” He brings his slick fingers to your lips and you happily suck them clean. He pulls them from your mouth before leaning in to place a much gentler kiss on your lips.

“I’m sorry about all that stuff I said I totally understand if you wanna forget this ever happened I-“ he shushes you, kissing you again.

“I’m not forgetting shit, princess. You’re mine now. Gonna fuck you full until it takes and then make you my pretty little housewife. I don’t give a damn what anyone thinks.”

Your dad was going to be so fucking pissed, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. Not when you finally got exactly what you wanted.

Taglist: @voyeurmunson @oceandriveab @munson-mjstan @rafesthroatbaby 🖤

#rafe Cameron #rafe #rafe obx #rafe outer banks #rafe x reader #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron x you #outerbanks rafe #older!Rafe Cameron #rafe Cameron smut #Dolly writes #divider by me

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hypnogold · 17 days ago

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The Ridgewood Golf Club - Part 1

The sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm, golden glow over Ridgewood Golf Club. The club was nestled in rolling hills, with manicured greens that looked too pristine to touch. It was the kind of place you’d expect to see people in pastel polos and pleated khakis sipping iced teas on the patio.

But Tyler, Zach, Chris, and Ben—a close-knit group of guys in their early twenties—weren’t exactly the preppy type. They were more into basketball shorts and hoodies, and none of them had ever set foot on a golf course. That was Zach’s idea.

“Dude, I got us a deal,” Zach had said earlier that week. “Ridgewood’s running this promo for new players. We get the gear, a free lesson, and a round for like fifty bucks. How hard can golf even be?”

So there they were, standing awkwardly in the clubhouse parking lot, feeling out of place as men in crisp white pants and pastel shirts strolled by with polished clubs slung over their shoulders.

“I feel underdressed already,” Tyler muttered, tugging at his faded band T-shirt. He glanced at Ben, who was scrolling through his phone. “You sure this is a good idea?”

Ben shrugged. “It’s one round, Ty. What’s the worst that could happen? We embarrass ourselves and leave. Big deal.”

Chris, the loudest of the group, threw an arm around Tyler. “Come on, man. Maybe we’ll go viral as the worst golfers in history. Now let’s get in there.”

The clubhouse was immaculate—marble floors, leather armchairs, and framed photos of serious-looking golfers lining the walls. The boys were directed to a side room where they were greeted by a sharply dressed man in a pastel yellow sweater draped over his shoulders. His name tag read “Trevor - Member Coordinator.”

“Welcome to Ridgewood,” Trevor said with a wide smile, his voice smooth and almost hypnotic. “We’re so thrilled to have you gentlemen join us today. First-timers, I assume?”

Chris grinned. “Yeah, but don’t expect much. I’m better at sinking beers than putts.”

Trevor chuckled politely, but his sharp eyes seemed to linger on each of them for a second too long. “Don’t worry. By the time you’re finished here, you’ll feel like you’ve belonged all along.”

The words hung in the air, almost cryptic. Trevor motioned to a rack of golf gear along the wall.

“As part of our promotion, we provide everything you’ll need—clubs, balls, and even attire. Feel free to pick out a polo, slacks, and a cap. It’s important to look the part, gentlemen.”

Chris eagerly rummaged through the rack, holding up a baby-blue polo. “Check me out. Classy, right?”

The others hesitated. Tyler in particular felt uneasy. Something about Trevor’s smile, his tone, seemed… off.

Each guy picked a polo and slacks, joking about who looked the most ridiculous. Tyler lingered behind, still clutching his folded clothes.

“Hurry up, man,” Zach called from inside the changing room. “We’re all gonna look dumb together. Embrace it.”

Tyler sighed and stepped into a stall, but as he unfolded the cream-colored polo, a strange shiver ran down his spine. The fabric felt unusually cool to the touch, almost alive. He shook off the feeling, chalking it up to nerves, and pulled it over his head.

As soon as the shirt settled on his shoulders, he froze. For a moment, it felt like the room spun. His reflection in the mirror seemed to flicker, like static on a TV screen. He blinked, and the sensation passed. The shirt fit perfectly—too perfectly. It was snug in all the right places, making him look sharper, more put-together than he’d ever been.

“Ty, you good in there?” Zach called, snapping him out of his daze.

“Yeah, yeah,” Tyler muttered, stepping out. The others hooted and laughed, posing in their new preppy outfits.

The group was led to the driving range, where an older man in a crisp shirt introduced himself as Coach Malcolm. He spoke with the confidence of someone who’d been born holding a golf club.

“Alright, gents,” Malcolm said, his eyes twinkling. “Let’s see what you’ve got. One by one.”

Chris went first, his swing wild and awkward. Zach followed, smacking the ball off-course. Ben was the best of the bunch, managing a decent shot down the range. Tyler was last.

As he approached, Malcolm placed a hand on his shoulder. “Relax, son. Let the club guide you.”

Tyler swung, and to his surprise, the ball soared straight and true. The others cheered, but Malcolm’s expression was unreadable.

“Well done,” the coach said softly, his grip tightening briefly on Tyler’s shoulder. “You’ve got potential.”

As the group moved through the lesson, Tyler began to feel… different. His focus sharpened. His movements felt smoother, more deliberate. He caught himself standing straighter, adjusting his posture without thinking. The banter between his friends started to fade into background noise. The only thing that seemed to matter was the game.

“Dude, you okay?” Ben asked, noticing Tyler’s silence.

“Yeah, just… really into it, I guess,” Tyler replied, though even he didn’t fully believe it.

By the time they finished their first round, the sun had dipped lower, and the group headed back toward the clubhouse. But as they neared the entrance, they realized someone was missing.

“Where’s Chris?” Zach asked, spinning around.

They retraced their steps, calling his name, but there was no sign of him. Finally, they spotted Trevor standing by the patio, sipping iced tea.

“Looking for someone?” Trevor asked, his polite smile never faltering.

“Yeah, our friend—he was with us all day,” Ben said, a note of panic in his voice.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Trevor replied smoothly. “He’s just finishing up some paperwork. Happens all the time with new members.”

The group exchanged uneasy glances. “New members?” Tyler echoed.

Trevor’s smile widened. “Of course. Ridgewood has a way of making an impression.”

As he spoke, Tyler felt a strange pull to the building. Something was calling to him, tugging at the edges of his mind. And as they waited, the sinking feeling in his chest grew. Something wasn’t right at Ridgewood.

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Nick and Elliot had been working at Ridgewood Golf Club for almost six months. It wasn’t glamorous, but the tips were decent, and the job was easy enough—polishing clubs, setting up carts, and occasionally helping pretentious members find their balls in the rough. The two were inseparable, often passing time by making sarcastic comments about the clientele.

The Friday shift had been quiet so far, and Nick was leaning against the clubhouse counter, staring out at the pristine greens through the window.

“Do you ever feel like this place is too perfect?” Nick asked, breaking the silence. “Like, it’s almost creepy.”

Elliot snorted, wiping down a rack of golf balls. “What’s creepy is the members. Did you see that guy in the purple sweater yesterday? Looked like a mannequin at a yacht store.”

Nick laughed. “I bet he had boat shoes glued to his feet.”

Their banter was interrupted when a group of four walked through the main doors. They were younger, more casual than the usual crowd. Hoodies, sneakers, and an overall air of “we don’t belong here.” Nick raised an eyebrow.

“Well, well,” he said, nudging Elliot. “Fresh meat. Bet they got suckered into that first-timer deal.”

Elliot smirked. “I love seeing guys like that here. All loose and clueless. They’ll hate it, and we’ll get some entertainment.”

As they watched, Trevor—the club’s overly polished member coordinator—stepped forward to greet the group. His exaggerated charm was in full force, and even from a distance, Nick could see the slight unease on the newcomers’ faces.

“Trevor’s gonna eat them alive,” Elliot said. “Five bucks says one of them chickens out before the lesson.”

“You’re on,” Nick replied.

Nick and Elliot busied themselves with their usual tasks, occasionally glancing toward the changing rooms where the group had been directed. They chuckled as the guys emerged one by one, awkwardly adjusting their borrowed polos and slacks.

“Look at that guy,” Nick whispered, pointing at Chris, who was flexing dramatically in front of his friends. “Thinks he’s a model now.”

Elliot laughed. “Bet he’s never worn anything that didn’t have a logo bigger than his head.”

They watched as the group headed to the driving range, led by Coach Malcolm. The friends were a mess—wild swings, laughter, and plenty of missed shots. Chris, however, seemed to be settling in faster than the others.

“Dude’s getting into it,” Elliot noted, watching as Chris lined up another shot. “Kinda weird. He was the loudest one when they walked in.”

Nick shrugged. “Maybe he’s one of those guys who gets obsessive about random stuff. Let him have his moment.”

They turned their attention back to their work, but every so often, Nick found himself glancing at the group. Something about the way Chris was standing, the way his posture changed, was… unsettling.

By the time Nick and Elliot finished their shift, the sun was setting, and the clubhouse was winding down. They grabbed their things and headed toward the employee exit but paused when they saw something through the glass office window.

“Is that…” Nick started, squinting.

“It’s Chris,” Elliot finished, stepping closer.

Inside the office, Trevor sat at a polished mahogany desk, his signature smug smile plastered on his face. Across from him sat Chris, his once casual demeanor completely gone. His cream polo was perfectly tucked into freshly pressed khakis, and his hair, once messy and unkempt, was now neatly combed. He leaned forward, pen in hand, signing a stack of papers.

“What the hell?” Nick whispered. “Why’s he in there?”

Elliot tapped the glass, but neither Trevor nor Chris reacted. Trevor was speaking, his gestures animated, while Chris nodded along, a faint smile on his lips. The younger man looked… content. Relaxed. Almost like he belonged there.

“I don’t get it,” Nick said, his voice rising. “He was goofing around all day. Why’s he acting like a member now? Why is he wearing the same polo as us?”

“Dude,” Elliot said slowly, his face pale. “He’s not acting like a member. Look at the paperwork. He’s signing on as an employee.”

Nick froze, staring at the Ridgewood logo on the top of the papers. “You think he… volunteered for this?”

“No way,” Elliot muttered. “Something’s not right. He wouldn’t just—”

Before they could finish, the office door opened, and Trevor stepped out, his sharp eyes landing on the two of them. His smile widened.

“Ah, Nick, Elliot,” he said smoothly. “I was just about to call you in.”

“What’s going on?” Nick demanded, his voice wavering. “Why’s he in there?”

“Chris has decided to join the Ridgewood family,” Trevor replied, his tone sickeningly pleasant. “We’re always looking for fresh faces to represent our club, and he fits perfectly, don’t you think?”

Elliot took a step back. “But he’s… he’s not—”

“He is now,” Trevor interrupted, his gaze sharp. “Perhaps you two should take note. Ridgewood has a way of bringing out the best in people.”

Chris emerged from the office then, his expression eerily calm. He adjusted red blazer and tie and smiled at Nick and Elliot.

“Hey, guys,” he said, his voice steady but almost… hollow. “Guess I’ll be seeing you around more.”

Nick opened his mouth to respond, but the words wouldn’t come. He could only stare as Chris walked past them, his polished shoes clicking against the marble floor. Trevor followed close behind, leaving Nick and Elliot frozen in place.

“What the hell is happening here?” Nick finally whispered. "Why was Coach expecting us too? Why a dark red blazer?"

Elliot didn’t answer. He was too busy staring at the stack of Ridgewood blazers and ties sitting neatly on the counter—one in Nick’s size, one in Elliot’s.

#male transformation #preppystyle #preppy #golf #mind control #mindless #brainwashing #suit and tie #suit tf

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p1zzaparty · 2 months ago

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a very small, tiny, itty bitty detail i love to see in other peoples drawings of the Losers, especially as adults or young adults even, is what kind of fashion is given to them

like its almost a given that everyones Richie has some weird collection of shitty t-shirts with some nerd thing attached to it. Or brightly colored button ups with polka dots and stripes.

Eddie seems to stump everyone because i've seen him from everything to sweaters, to expensive formal wear, to neon rainbow tank tops. Personally i always saw that guy, with his bright pink and blue polo shirts and simple plain tees, as just a mixed bag of beans. He still dresses like mommy picked out clothes that she thinks would look super handsome on him, with his little stiff gelled combed hair to match. But he rarely, probably has anything that has actual words or icons on his shirts. Maybe a national park sweater here and there, that guy probably loooves gift shops. I think now with his big boy money he'll stray away from his usual get up, splurge a little, buy something branded, something new and expensive. Also something stupid, like shoes that are way too expensive. He's a fake sneakerhead, only really investing in brands he THINKS are cool or trendy. Not that he cares too much about being trendy and cool, like Richie probably does. Just...gets an ear worm sometimes, whispering to him about how they aren't that bad looking, and that he's buying it for himself, not because some jackass on tv wore them. Maybe a shiny new watch too, and maybe even a band shirt for pj-only purposes. Otherwise he's pretty strict on his expenses and just buys what fits and works as a shirt, pants, etc. Comfort over design, squarish in appearance, boxy and casually professional. I don't see him wearing a suit outside of work or waltzing into his nearest cheap café with a confident blazer and matching ironed pants. I doubt that guy even owns an iron, probably forgot to even buy one after mummy-kins passed. Even after she screeched and raved about it too, and he just ignored her tangents, assuming it wasn't even that important, all while his shirts became crinklier and sadder much like him. Sometimes i see people make him almost tooooo strict and formal and buttoned up, to y'know match Richies more casual and stoner-dork like style that's sometimes assigned to him. But Eddie, to me, is always a business casual kinda guy. Like, paid business trip to a golf course casual. Throwing on what's comfortable, giving a healthy amount of thought to what people might think of you. You will NOT find this man dressed to the nines at home, but he does, in fact, have a little pocket protector on his stupid shirt. With a pen or pencil thrown in just to make use of it, an old candy wrapper he forgot about and WILL get washed with it, or a few crumbs from his earlier microwaved breakfast burrito he had to scarf down before Myra had something to say about its ""toxic"" ingredients.

His clothes probably vary in size by a very small margin. Knowing a ball park guess of his pants and shirt sizes, always forgetting to add in it going through the washer, or how a size 30 is a size 31 in Canada or whatever. Probably because he was so used to mummy buying everything for him, even into his early 20s in college. Now he's free from her suffocating grasp, he still copies her sense of fashion and rarely does anything outlandish or fashionable. I think later down the line, in the cannon he survives and goes off to live a happily ever after with Richie, that he'd begin to explore a bit more. Getting that sugar baby money helps, and he'd have to try and buck up with Richie, trying to copy him slightly in terms of fashion.

He's a bland man Sarah, a BLAND man!

#i loooove thinking about stupid little details about them #i feel like 90s eddie and book eddie had more of aaa #sense #more distinguishable style even #modest and dolled up #but 2019 eddie is bland in a loveable way #i love him so fucking much GOD #hes so painfully awkward at being alive and breathing #i want to lock him in a petri dish and study him under a microscope #i could talk about this mans brain for hours #next long post is just me going on about their toothpaste brands #it #rambling #it stephen king #eddie kaspbrak #richie tozier #it chapter 2 #it 2019

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paranoia0612 · 8 months ago

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country club lookbook with Anna

look 1: dress | bottom | glasses | golf stick

look 2: sweater | skirt | ball and racket

look 3: t-shirt | skirt | chanel tennis set

look 4: polo shirt & tied sweater | pants

credits: @kurimas, @gorillax3-cc, @platinumaspiration, @astya96cc, @lindasims2, @pralinesims, @lantsovsims, @strawberrikhunnie-deactivated20, @nikaonishko, @mel-bennett, @serenity-cc, @mmsims, @edra, @4w25-cc, @dream-girl, @trishasimma, @platinumluxesims, @boonstoww, @kestrelteens, @serenity-cc

#ts2 #simblr #ts2 lookbook #dl cc

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marketing2011 · 3 months ago

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Buy Stylish Men's Golf T-Shirts | 3BELOW

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obxone · 2 years ago

Text

Assumptions (Part 4)

Rewritten/Edited. ~2.3k words

Master Page

The Island Club is your destination for the day as you fill in for a friend that is out sick with strep throat, likely caught by one of the kids you are overseeing on the beach. Shading the sun from your eyes with your hand, you giggle as the preteen boys play a fierce game of volleyball, nearly taking each other out while trying to show off for the cluster of girls watching them.

“Well, look who it is,” Rafe��s voice calls from behind you, and you turn to see him walking toward you. Kelce and Topper stand on the golf course a few meters back. Both smirking at you as Rafe gets closer and closer. You look him over, white and blue striped polo, pressed khaki shorts, white cap, and golf shoes that probably cost more than your car. His golf club rests up against his shoulder as he strolls toward you.

“I’m working,” you respond once he is close enough, and you turn back to watch the kids. “Something you might try.”

“Right,” he scoffs before looking at you. His gaze drags over you in your Island Club summer camp uniform that consists of tempo shorts and a t-shirt that reads Summer Haven. His eyebrows scrunch together. “Working?”

You crack a smile before looking at the sand beneath your feet. “Summer Haven.”

“You work at Summer Haven too?”

“As a fill-in when they are short-staffed.”

He chuckles. “Didn’t see that coming.”

You shrug. “I like kids, and it lets me hang out in air conditioning or on the beach while getting paid.” You turn your face to look at him. “You should join the staff.”

“Right,” he snorts. “I don’t like kids.”

“Not surprised in the least.”

He shakes his head at you while trying to hide his smile. “That is an insult I know it.”

“Oh, it is,” you agree. “You probably barely tolerated Wheezie when she was younger.”

He shakes his head before knocking his elbow against yours. “Why are you being mean to me?”

“You started it,” you mutter, crossing your arms over your waist.

“How?”

“By existing.”

“You are so funny,” he mocks before his hand is on your waist, guiding you closer. Your shoulder brushes his chest as he stares down at you. His expensive cologne masks the scent of sunscreen that still lingers on you. The heat of his touch burns through the cotton of your t-shirt, and you are aware of how this could look. You open your mouth, but he beats you to it. “When we were kids, they said when someone was mean to you it meant they had a crush on you.”

You roll your eyes. “So you crush on all the pogues?”

“Touché,” he mutters, a smile toying at his lips. His fingers squeeze against you like you are his lifeline.

“Is that your boyfriend?!” One of the twelve old girls asks loudly, smirking at you and Rafe.

“Breezy has a boyfriend!” Her companion cheers.

You laugh, shaking your head and pressing your hand against Rafe’s chest to create space between you.

“Who the hell is Breezy?” Rafe questions.

You laugh more, resting your hand on his arm as you try to calm yourself. He shakes his head, fighting a smile at your amusement.

“I’m Breezy, it is my summer camp name,” you offer before squeezing his arm. “Because I make their days easy breezy.”

“Jesus Christ,” he mumbles, shaking his head as he looks down at his shoes. “You are so corny.”

You sigh before shoving him away from you playfully. “I didn’t pick it, Mr. Cameron. They did.” You gesture to your group of kids, all gaping at you and Rafe now. A few make kissing motions and noises while some stare. “You should go before they start posting us on Instagram.”

“All right,” he says, his hand skimming your back. “Find you later?”

“Maybe,” you tease. “Bye, Rafe.”

“Bye, Baby.”

The growing cluster of girls all share a high-pitched shriek, and you blush before shaking your head at him and mouthing asshole at him. He laughs, you smile a little before he goes back to playing golf, and you try to distract the others.

— — — —

Day camp ends, and you are ready to change into regular clothes after signing the last kid out. You close the now-empty event room where the staff and children camp out during pickup hours to see Rafe coming down the hall.

“Rafe Cameron,” you smile at him, leaning back against the door.

“Beautiful.”

“Oh my god,” you mutter, and he laughs before his hands rest against the door on either side of you, effectively caging you.

“Ready for our date?”

“Will you ever let that go?” You ask.

He shakes his head. “No.”

You frown at him before patting his chest. “I have to go.”

“The Wreck?”

“No. Meeting my mom for dinner.”

He lowers his arm to let you pass, but as soon as you try, he snags you by your waist, dragging you back. “Can I come, Breezy?”

“Rafe…”

He smirks before pressing his forehead to yours. “I’ll behave.”

“I bet you would,” you whisper while pushing your hands to his chest. “But no, I have not seen my mom all week, and she is not exactly your biggest fan with all the fighting and beating the crap out of my friends.”

He frowns. “Your mom knows about that?”

“Who do you think patches JJ up half the time?”

“Fuck,” he exhales, and you smile weakly.

“Thank you for offering,” you whisper before pressing your lips to his cheek. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

He lets you go, and you walk away, only glancing back once to see him observing you. His hand raked through his hair, a small smile on his face.

— — — —

It has been a week of no Rafe sighting. Part of you wishes he has gotten the message and moved on to some pretty kook girl, but another part of you is disappointed at the thought of him being deterred so easily. That part of you causes you a little anxiety. You could not possibly be falling for Rafe Cameron's charm. There is no possibility of it happening.

Tonight is a pogue night at the Boneyard. Another kegger. You laugh as Peeler tells you a story about another pogue and a fishing net incident at the docks. She animates his face, and you can not help but laugh a little louder. However, that fades out when her face shifts to one of annoyance after her gaze drifts to something over your shoulder.

You turn to see the Death Squad together, solo cups in hand and near the fire. Kelce and Topper’s attention is elsewhere, but Rafe is staring at you. His gaze flickers to Peeler and then back to you. Your heart races a little, and your hand tightens around your cup. He is here, and his attention is still on you. Good or bad? You are not sure yet.

“What does the Kook Prince want?” She asks.

“No clue,” you respond before touching her arm. “I should find the others. Thanks for the story. That was great.”

“Anytime.” She grins before giving you a hug. “I miss hanging out with you.”

“We’ll do it again soon,” you promise before leaving her to go in the opposite direction of Rafe. You spot Kie and Pope in the distance, along with JJ and a tourist making out by the water. John B is nowhere in sight.

“Hey,” Rafe calls, you stop and turn to look at him as he advances through the clusters of people to get to you. His free hand locates yours. His touch is a whisper across your wrist and forearm. “I’ve missed you. How are you?”

“I’m good,” you respond, looking around to see if anyone has noticed the kook and pogue together. “You?”

He shrugs. “I’m glad I came. It’s been a week since Summer Haven.”

“I know.”

He purses his lips. “Why?”

“I told you I was busy.”

He frowns, shifting on his feet a little. “Are you avoiding me again?”

“No.” You whisper before meeting his gaze again. “I worked a few extra shifts at The Wreck to cover my car repair, and then I found a new book series.”

Humor lights up his eyes, his bottom lip caught between his teeth for a moment before exhaling. “Can we go talk somewhere?”

“I don’t think so, Rafe.”

“Why not?”

You frown. The desire to touch Rafe consumes you, but you reframe even though he has not stopped touching you. His fingers brush over your wrist and forearm consistently.

“You know why.”

The annoyance surfaces on his face before he leans in. His lips are next to your ear. “Is this because of your friends?”

You inhale sharply when his lips brush against your jaw before going back to your ear. Your mind clouds from his touch and cologne as it seems to wrap around you like a blanket.

“Because I can keep a secret.”

“Rafe,” your voice quivers, and your hand presses to his chest, trying to push him back a few inches so you can think. “That…”

“Please.”

Your eyes flutter close as his hand moves from your arm to your waist. His touch burns through the linen dress you are wearing. You tip your face towards his. Your body betrays you as it attempts to give in to him.

“I can’t,” you hear yourself say before you pull away from him and take a step back. His touch falls away, and he groans. “Sorry, Rafe.”

You leave him where he stands before pushing through the crowd towards the parking lot after you hand your still half-full beer to an already tipsy tourist who takes it with glee. You do not notice that he has followed. His legs are longer than yours as he closes the distance between you within seconds. He pulls you to a stop with his hand on your wrist, and you turn to look at him. Eyes wide in surprise.

“What are you-?”

But your words are silenced by him and his soft lips on yours. His hands cup your face as he kisses you. You stand frozen for a moment, your brain short-circuiting before you snap to attention and kiss him back. Your hands trail up his arms and down to his abdomen. Your fingers tangle in the cotton material when his tongue brushes against your lip. The kiss deepens, and he groans, his fingers intertwining through your hair, and the other hand remains on your face. His thumb brushes back and forth over your cheek, and it sends sparks of heat across your face.

Once the kiss ends, you step back, your chest rising and falling rapidly for air, and from the electricity in the kiss. Rafe's eyes cloud with desire as he stares at you. His arms are down by his side as he waits for a verbal reprimand or a request for more.

You shake your head, trying to clear your mind as you brace your hands against your stomach to quiet the butterflies from within.

“Please tell me this is some sick joke!”

You turn to see Kie, Pope, and JJ all gawking at you. Kie looks on in anger, but the other two watch with eyes wide from shock. Your swollen lips part in surprise before you turn back to Rafe, whose demeanor has pivoted to the one you know all too well.

“He kissed me.”

“She kissed me back,” he says simply. “She was not exactly pushing me away was she?”

“Rafe!” You scold, and he chuckles.

“What Baby?”

“Baby?!” JJ asks, his face screwing up in disdain. “What the hell is that?”

“Nothing,” you say as you shift closer to them. The awareness of how this looks sets in. They had seen you on the beach with him, they saw you walk away, and Rafe had followed, and now you are in a dimly lit parking lot, hidden amongst the vehicles kissing. “Kie, he followed me out here, and he kissed me.”

“I saw him follow you, which is why we came after you,” she says glancing at Pope and JJ, who both nod in unison. "We were worried."

“She asked me to kiss her,” Rafe’s tone is casual, and you turn to glare at him. His hands are in his pockets as he leans back against an SUV. “I wanted to in front of everyone, but she asked me to meet her here to keep the secret.”

“He’s lying,” you whisper, turning back to your friends. “I swear.”

JJ looks at you as Pope and Kie seem to share a silent conversation.

“J,” you say. “Please believe me.”

“I do,” he responds, shifting to stand between you and Rafe. His blue eyes are like fire as he glares at Rafe, his jaw clenched in anger before his next words rock your world. “I heard him a few weeks ago at the Island Club, he made a bet with Kelce and Topper.”

“A bet?!” Kiara's attention snaps to the current conversation shift.

He looks away from you to Rafe. “He bet them that he could get her to fuck him by the end of the summer for $5k. $10k if she did before the Midsummer party."

“Holy shit,” Pope mumbles. Kiara's jaw drops in shock at JJ's confession.

“Are you kidding me?” You question, your voice hollow, and look at Rafe. His face is expressionless as he stares back at you. Your hands ball into fists so tight, your nails dig into the soft skin of your palms. “A fucking bet!”

He shrugs. Cold emotionless kook prince Rafe Cameron emerges and it makes your heart ache. “So?”

“Oh my god, I’m going to be sick.” You try to focus on your breathing as Kie touches your back in comfort. “Get me out of here, now, please?”

“Come on,” she urges you towards her car. “We’ll go to my house.”

You nod, closing your eyes for a moment. Rafe calls your name, but you ignore him knowing that JJ will not let him near you. You do not meet his gaze again or even have the urge to look at him as the butterflies that had previously fluttered in your stomach evaporate. Your stomach twists as you leave the Boneyard behind, and you try to concentrate on your surroundings instead of the turmoil raging inside you at the idea of being played by Rafe Cameron.

Part V

#outer banks #obx #rafe cameron #outer banks rafe cameron #obx rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader

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kiaracross1 · 9 months ago

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⛳ Primarily designed for playing golf, providing the players with comfort and breathability during the game, polo t-shirts are nowadays worn by fashion enthusiasts and all those men who like to look casual but sophisticated. 👕 It’s the essential piece of clothing that every stylish man has in his capsule wardrobe. 👖 And, since it’s one of the most versatile upper pieces of clothing it can be paired with almost everything and anything that comes to your mind. 🏌🏻

#Men #Polo #Shirt #T-Shirt #Golf #Style

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verdemoun · 6 months ago

Note

I have a few headcanons about the VDL gang’s fashion tastes in the modern era:

Kieran wears a lot of green, not only because he likes the colour but also because he felt scared to wear it back in 1899 because he felt that if he did, the gang would think he was still an O’Driscoll and kick him out or kill him.

Bill still wears pretty much the same thing and has plaid shirts in every colour except pink (because internalised homophobia). He yelled at someone in the street after they “looked at him funny” the first time he went out in public because he was wearing a leather duster coat.

Hosea rocks the classic suburban dad fit and looks great in it. Striped short-sleeve shirt, navy or beige slacks, brown loafers, the works. Also, he started wearing a string on his glasses because he kept losing them (they were on his head 90% of the time).

John wears those galaxy wolf t-shirts and everyone hates them. Once paired it with a leather jacket and Arthur laughed at him for at least 20 minutes.

Molly wears the most beautiful cottagecore outfits you’ve ever seen and Dutch cried himself to sleep when he saw her post a picture of it on social media.

Abigail wears pastel coloured knit sweaters over white button-ups with mom jeans and white trainers. She is the embodiment of “live laugh love”.

Ooooh i love these!!

Kieran would take ages to get used to the idea of wearing green and the color itself. He takes months for him to accept that the O'Driscolls are not in timewarp and strangers wearing green on the street are not a threat to his life. But especially once he starts exploring clothing that supports his sensory needs single favorite piece of clothing is a dark green festive blanket hoodie that says 'let's get baked'. The one day a month he isn't wearing it is when someone manages to wash it.

Bill's outfit is virtually unchanged except he relies on baseball caps to hide his bald spot because slouch hat is very distinct. Absolutely does not own pink but eventually graduates to a 'salmon' dress shirt for special occasions and will throw punches over anyone calling it pink.

Yes yes yes Hosea is either golf dad with the polos and loafers with dress socks or sweater weather old man he has the coziest ugly knit cardigans that make him look infinitely older.

This is rdr1 John so the whole wolf attack seems very far away and not something he thinks about often but someone absolutely bought him one as a joke (probably Arthur they are still children together) and he wears it unironically. But leather jacket Marston era!!

Molly makes everyone weep she is stunning. She also goes through a mid-life crisis and cuts her hair into the iconic bisexual bob Dutch very nearly becoming an incel in reinforcing gender roles 'that isn't very ladylike' to avoid admitting he very much fumbled a baddie.

Abigail looks like a studio ghibli mom like baggy pants the wearing plain soft tone generic t-shirts and looking so stunning doing it she breaks hearts everywhere. Sweetest supportive live laugh love mom but a shovel for hiding the bodies of her enemies would just as much in place as she merrily sweeps like a mother hen fussing over making sure the house is perfect now that she has her whole family back.

#rdr2 timewarp au

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grey-sides · 2 years ago

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bentgrass

~2K, explicit, bottom!Steve

Billy's finished his shift, as luck would have it- Steve Harrington is at the tiki bar.

Billy's cut-off jeans and sweaty t-shirt might not exactly be course approved, but he shows up to work on time and doesn't fuck up the greens so the super lets him get away with it. He smirks as a couple rich ladies look his way and flush under their fake tans. He doesn't give a shit that they're looking at him though, his hair pulled back from his face by an old ass baseball cap.

He does flick his sunglasses down and flips his toothpick around because it makes them look away. They titter amongst themselves, while he tracks sod and sand through the pool area. The lifeguard is gonna give him shit tomorrow, but he still doesn't give a shit.

On the other side of the pool, sitting at the outdoor bar there's someone he's after. His shift is long over and Billy could head home, but that would involve passing this opportunity up.

There's a couple of players here, some of the first to tee off before Billy had even finished the back nine. He gets it, warm day in May, better to take the day off from the office and crack out a round.

He licks the sweat from his upper lip and pulls a rag out of his back pocket, dragging it across his face. It probably only dirties him more, judging by the looks a couple more rich ladies give him. They're probably homemakers, here for the pool and the tennis courts. They probably only pick up a set of clubs when their husbands need a foursome.

He tucks the rag away and skirts around the edge of the pool. It would be nice to take a dip, but he's a man on a mission. So he nods to the kid working the snack stand and heads over the bank to the lower tiki bar.

There's some vague island mix playing, more than a few businessmen who decided to have a long weekend lingering around it. Tables off to the side, overlooking the eighth hole.

And there he is- bored probably. Baby blue polo, khaki shorts, golf cleats changed out for loafers. His hair is a mess, probably run through a hundred times to kill the hat hair look. He has a cocktail in a plastic cup beside him, ice half melted and almost completely drunk.

Billy's not a fool, he didn't come here just for him, but damn he looks good bored like this. There's some old guy talking to him, probably someone from work. Steve's dad pays their membership and Steve likes to play whenever he has the chance to. Billy knows he's been here since early in the morning, before Billy had even finished the back nine because the pro shop told him.

No one here knows why Billy gives a shit that Steve is here, just that he does. So they always tell him. And Billy makes sure to get as good and fucking dirty as he possibly can.

"Harrington, heard you fucked up my second hole," he says, turning the heads of the businessmen. They're probably rich enough to buy Billy, but this is his turf. He's seeded it, treated it, evened it with precision. And Steve is the boss's son. So they turn away.

Steve shakes his head and picks up his cocktail as he gets up from his seat. "You didn't cut it straight."

"Not a chance, I spent hours perfecting that one," Billy replies, dangerous. He knows Steve put the divot back, but it's an in.

"How much do I owe you for seed then?" Steve replies, raising his brows. He pulls his nice leather wallet out and flicks it open.

Billy shakes his head and holds his hand up. "A drink'll do. No employee discount."

Steve snorts but he waves goodbye to his posse. They all nod back like they give a shit that he's leaving and tosses his cup into the nearest trashcan. He tucks his hands in his pockets as they head back up towards the pool.

"Nah, it was good today. I was only five short."

Billy looks surprised when he glances at Steve. "Really? Damn, you're getting good, Harrington!"

"Helps that I come here so damn often," Steve chuckles. He shakes his head and opens the gate that leads back to the hotel, holding it open for Billy. "You been here all day?"

"Course I have, grass doesn't mow itself," Billy scoffs.

Steve chuckles and looks over his shoulder to make sure no one is watching them when he turns to Billy. "You look like you've been. What did you do? Roll around in the sand trap?"

Billy shoves him and grabs for his wallet so he can pull out Steve's room card. "You're a fucking asshole. You're the one who likes this."

"And yet you keep doing it!" Steve laughs. He opens the door to the hotel and heads straight for the winding staircase. He has a permanent room here as part of the membership fee his dad pays. It always comes in handy, even though none of this is a secret anymore.

Steve grins at him when he slides the card against the handle, Billy takes the opportunity to crowd him up against the door. They're laughing as they stumble in together, cheeks flushed with delight.

"Mm, didn't think I'd get to see you today," Steve croons when he backs up, sliding his arms around Billy's shoulders. The door shuts behind them and all that's left is the whirr of the A/C.

"Nah, can't leave you high and dry after that good of a game," Billy replies. He slides his hands low, grabbing Steve's ass as he leans in to kiss him.

Steve tastes like whiskey when he slides his tongue into Billy's mouth, the expensive kind. He moans softly as Billy pushes him back towards the bed. It's fresh, far too clean for Billy to get into. He'll have to thank Gloria extra in the morning.

Steve falls back and pops the button on his shorts so they can be slid down past his ass. He huffs a laugh as Billy's t-shirt follows them and slides his hands up Billy's stomach and chest.

"Look at this man," Steve laughs, tugging on Billy's chest hair.

Billy dives his hands under Steve's shirt too to tug on his chest hair, laughing. "You're one to talk!"

It's easy, it's fun. It's so much different from how it used to be and Billy can't believe they found it on a golf course of all fucking places.

Billy works to get them both nude and reaches over for the bedside table where Steve has already set out lube and condoms. He stops to kiss Steve again on his way back, sliding his hands all over his body.

Steve hums into the kiss, smiling, giddy. They do this semi-frequently and go on real dates too, but sometimes it's just like the first time.

Billy does get off the bed after a moment to wash his hands, no matter how dirty Steve likes him, he's not giving him a fucking infection from shit like that.

"Billy!" Steve calls and Billy can hear the crack of the lube bottle from the bathroom.

"I'm cleaning up for you, princess! Giving you a nice man you can take home to Mom!"

"Don't make me think of my mom when I'm fingering myself, asshole!"

Billy laughs and dries his hands off. He wiggles his fingers when he walks back out, grinning at Steve. "Seems like you're still doing just fine to me."

Steve rolls his eyes, though they end up fluttering when he hits himself just right. He's three fingers deep, doing it just because he can and Billy loves to watch.

He busies himself with lubing up and rolling the condom on. He's heated, warm from the day and made warmer by watching Steve. He shivers a little and leans down to kiss Steve while he sees how far he can push himself.

"My turn," Billy breathes, steadying his hand so he can pull it out of Steve. He brushes their noses together and sighs softly.

Billy pins Steve's wrist above his head and uses his other hand to help him get into a good position. Face to face, but it's fine because Billy can kiss him this way.

"So fucking hot, even in your dumb little shorts," he murmurs. He lines himself up, lets Steve take his dick to guide him in.

"It's your fucking course's oh fuck rules!" Steve protests while Billy pushes himself in. He loves to watch Steve's mouth open and close a couple of times while he tries to center himself.

"No more work talk," Billy says and his voice is only a little strangled. Mostly. He bottoms out and leans over Steve to kiss him silly again.

Steve lifts his leg so he can hold Billy in place and stares back at him when they break apart. Then it's the push and pull. Billy moves at a somewhat slow pace, but hard like Steve likes it.

Steve does his best to move with him, though it can get a little awkward. He licks his lips and opens his mouth, panting out moans with each thrust.

"So fucking good," Billy praises, his hair hanging down around his cheeks.

"Yeah- right there," Steve begs. He arches his throat back and it's Billy's cue to lean in, to nip at the skin above his Adam's apple. He likes to leave it a little red, a little sore so Steve will fidget about it later and whine. Billy loves to listen to him whine.

Steve's other hand wiggles between their stomachs and he starts to stroke himself too. He almost always takes a little longer than Billy, which Billy absolutely does not mind.

"Shit," Billy breathes. His pace picks up a little while he chases that feeling. His balls keep slapping Steve's ass, but he swears they're tightening up against him. His eyes flutter shut and he moans, bending over Steve some more.

"That's it," Steve coaxes, voice wrecked. "Come on, give it to me."

Billy huffs through his lips, tightens his hold on Steve's wrist. He gets a little frantic, a little sloppy and then-

"Oh fuck, Steve," he grunts, fucking his hips hard as he cums. Right up to the point it becomes too much.

Steve laughs when Billy pulls out, half delirious as his hips come off the bed. His hand moves faster and Billy watches as he squirms until he cums too. He makes a mess across his chest and hand, but he smiles lazily when he catches Billy's eyes.

"Good?" Steve asks, reaching for a tissue to wipe his hand off.

Billy nods lazily, eyes slipping closed for a moment. It's been a long fucking day.

"Good." Steve rolls onto his side and leans up to kiss Billy's jaw. He needs a shave and something for dinner soon.

"I wanna take a shower and then we can order room service?"

"Can I have the fluffy towel?" Billy asks, yawning around the words.

Steve laughs as he sits up and pats Billy's chest. "Anything for you, tiger."

Billy listens to the bathtub start to run and forces himself to sit up. He hums as he makes his way to the bathroom, slapping Steve's skinny white ass when he passes him. He holds up the condom and drops it into the trashcan.

"Oh and by the way-?" Billy begins.

"Hm?" Steve asks, bent over to make sure the water is nice and warm for them.

"Seed's free of charge."

"Billy!" Steve whines, but he's laughing when he kisses Billy again.

#harringrove #stranger things #greye writes #fic #lemon #bottom!steve

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