☕️Cam’s Fic diner — order 139
🍒 thank you: to the sweet angel who asked for softness, safety, and a first time that feels like home. this one is for the girls who needed to hear “you’re perfect” and believe it.
💬 “You still look better in it.”
prompt: a slow, sleepy morning in his kitchen — you’re wearing only his jersey
type: first time, romantic smut, soft praise, body worship
The kitchen smells like coffee and cinnamon. The light is soft, golden. The hem of Luke’s jersey brushes the tops of your thighs as you stand barefoot on the tile, half-asleep, fingers curled around your favorite mug.
You’re trying not to fidget.
You told yourself you’d be fine. It’s just a shirt. His shirt. You’ve stayed over a dozen times now — cuddled up on his couch, wrapped in his arms, falling asleep to his heartbeat. It shouldn’t feel different today.
Because you’re not wearing anything underneath it.
And because when he walks in — sleepy, hair messy, shirtless in just a pair of grey sweats — he stops cold in the doorway.
And then his voice goes soft.
You look up. Your heart stumbles.
“Too much?” you ask, voice tight.
He shakes his head, walking forward like he’s seeing you for the first time.
“You look good in my jersey,” he murmurs. “Like… way too good.”
You feel your cheeks flush. “It barely fits me right.”
His brow furrows immediately.
You hesitate. Shrug, eyes flicking down. “It’s tight. I don’t know. It’s not like those girls you hang out with. It’s— it’s a lot.”
He stops in front of you. Gently sets the coffee out of your hands.
“Hey,” he says softly. “Look at me.”
He steps closer, hands brushing the hem of his jersey, skimming over your thighs.
“This? On you?” he says, breath catching. “I’ve never wanted to ruin something so slowly in my life.”
You laugh — a breathy, shaky sound.
“I mean it,” he says. “You’re… fuck. You’re beautiful. You always are. But right now? I’m trying really hard not to drop to my knees.”
“I’ve never done this before,” you whisper. “Any of it.”
He exhales like he’s been holding that breath the whole time.
“I know,” he murmurs. “You told me. And that’s okay. I’m not going anywhere.”
His fingers trace your wrist.
“I just want to love you,” he says. “The way you deserve.”
“Even like this?” you ask, voice cracking. “Even with… everything?”
He kisses you softly — slow, warm, unrushed — and when he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours.
“You let me take care of you,” he whispers. “We’ll go slow. I’ll talk you through everything. You don’t have to hide from me.”
“I’ll hold you through every second of it,” he promises. “Okay?”
He leads you to the bedroom slowly, like he’s afraid if he moves too fast, you’ll disappear.
The jersey still hangs off you — soft fabric and bare thighs — and when you sit down on the edge of the bed, Luke kneels in front of you like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“We’ll stop anytime you want,” he says. “Even if it’s halfway. Even if it’s right before. I just want this to feel good. Safe.”
His expression breaks a little — like those three words meant more than anything else.
“Can I take it off?” he asks quietly, fingers brushing the edge of the jersey.
“Yeah,” you whisper. “I want you to see me.”
Your voice shakes. You’re not even sure if you mean it — but you do. You want him to see you. All of you.
He lifts the jersey slowly. Kisses every inch he uncovers.
Stomach. Ribs. Stretch marks. Soft skin. Worships all of it.
“You’re so beautiful,” he says, breathless. “God, you’re beautiful.”
You feel like you could cry.
He lays you back, lets you settle into the pillows. His hands are soft on your waist, your thighs, his mouth tracing every place you’ve ever hated about yourself.
“I love your tummy,” he whispers against it. “I love how soft you are. I love everything.”
“You don’t have to say that.”
“I’m not,” he says. “I get to say that. Because it’s true.”
He kisses between your thighs next — just once, gently — and crawls up beside you.
“Yeah,” you say, voice small. “Just… nervous.”
“Me too,” he says with a smile. “But I think we’re gonna be really good at this.”
He touches you first — slow, careful fingers, learning you. He kisses you while he does it, swallowing every gasp, every moan. He takes his time, watches your face, memorizes it.
You’re already shaking when he pulls back just enough to ask:
“You want me to keep going?”
He lines himself up — and pauses again.
“Breathe with me,” he whispers. “Okay? Deep.”
And when he pushes in — so slowly, so gently — you exhale like you’ve been holding that breath your whole life.
“That’s it,” he murmurs. “You’re doing so good. I’ve got you.”
You grip his arms. He’s barely moving, giving you time, whispering praise the entire time.
“I’m so lucky you’re mine.”
When he finally starts to move — slow, careful thrusts — your eyes flutter shut and your body melts under him.
“I love you,” he says, right into your neck. “So much. You feel that?”
You nod, tears spilling. Not from pain. From everything.
“I love you too,” you whisper.
He kisses you again and again, rocking into you, telling you how beautiful you are until the only thing you can say is his name.
You come with him whispering “that’s my girl”, holding you through every second of it.
The world feels different now.
Your body is still trembling, warm and spent, curled into Luke’s side with your cheek against his bare chest. He hasn’t let go — hasn’t even tried. One hand stays tangled in your hair, the other smoothing lazy, endless circles over your back.
“Still okay?” he murmurs into your hair.
“Mmhm,” you hum. “Better than okay.”
He presses a kiss to your temple. Then your cheek. Then your jaw.
You flush, duck your head. He tilts your chin back up.
“Hey,” he says gently. “Don’t hide from me. Not now. You’re everything. You hear me?”
“Say it,” he whispers. “Say you’re mine.”
You smile, a little teary. “I’m yours.”
“Fuck,” he breathes. “You wreck me when you say shit like that.”
He reaches over the edge of the bed, grabs his jersey off the floor, and tugs it gently back over your head.
“Still looks better on you,” he says, eyes soft and shining.
You bury your face in his neck. He laughs — tired, happy.
“You wanna sleep a little?”
“Only if you stay like this.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
