Annabel

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[annabelinlove]

Masterlist

Started: 18/03/2024

Total Works: 4

The Marauders

How long has it been since you’ve slept? (Sirius Black x reader)

I am yours (poly!marauders x reader)

No Games (Wolfstar x reader)

pt. 2

Tattoo (wolfstar x reader)

[evansbby]

“𝙣𝙤 𝙤𝙣𝙚’𝙨 𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙝𝙖𝙙 𝙢𝙚, 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪…”

𝙋𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜: frat!Rafe Cameron x innocent Pogue!reader

𝙒𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: dark, dubcon, unhinged inner monolog from rafe, misogynistic rhetoric, classist rhetoric (in the context of kooks, pogues etc), daddy kink, innocence kink, loss of virginity, smut (oral + p in v), oral (female receiving, fingering, MAJORR size kink, spanking, daddy issues, condescension, babying, dirty talk, swearing, very unbalanced power dynamic, which rafe gets off on, slut-shaming, derogatory name calling, manipulation, college au, reader is a freshman and rafe is a senior, 18+ only, mdni

𝙎𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮: Rafe bets his friends he can fuck you in one week.

𝘼/𝙉: It's here! The full fic. Word count: 23k. Please let me know what you think - reblogs and feedback mean the world to me. Read the warnings before you read, and enjoy!

“Her.”

Rafe looks over at the Pogue girl Topper’s nodding at and smirks. “Been there, done that. Pick a different one.”

Topper scoffs, “She literally moved here last week.” 

“And?”

“OK… What about her?” He brazenly points at a leggy blonde that stands out in her group of Pogues.

“Last weekend at the beach party you threw. She gives good head.” 

“Jesus Christ dude, is there anyone left??” 

Rafe chuckles, leaning back and stretching his legs out while his friends stare at him in disbelief. He sometimes wonders if they know how stupid they look. Like followers. His followers. Hanging on to his every word, oohing and aahing at whatever he did. Making him feel like he was a God among men. Which he may as well be, considering that’s how most people at this college looked at him. 

That’s why he loved fucking the Pogue girls. Almost exclusively. There was something about the power imbalance. Most of them came from poor families, looked at Rafe like he was a God. It didn’t take much for them to spread their legs for him, impressed by his power, turned on by his wealth. Hell, even the Kook girls were the same. But Rafe hardly ever took them home. They were spoiled sluts who hung around the country club wasting their lives and spending their daddies” money. Yeah, they didn’t pique his interest at all. Not as much as the Pogue girls who worked at the country club. In their little housekeeping outfits, deliberately teasing him in the hopes he’d take one of them home.

Yeah. It was safe to say Rafe Cameron had a type.

“Well, what about that one?” 

Rafe rolls his eyes, about to say that yes, he had indeed fucked whatever girl Topper was pointing at this time. Because he’d fucked all of them. Because of who he was. Because of what he was capable of. Because of the family he came from. Because of what being a mere notch on Rafe Cameron’s bedpost meant to every single slut he’d ran through. 

Except he doesn’t. Because Topper is pointing at you. And he’s never seen you before in his life.

You look so out of place, despite the fact you’re with a group of Pogues. And he knows you’re a Pogue. Like a shark with blood and a predator with its prey, he can always tell. And yet you stand awkwardly on the outskirts of the group, smiling yet not quite participating in whatever conversation is going on. You push your glasses up, straighten your skirt, pretend to look for something in your book bag. You’re shy. Self-conscious. Insecure. Rafe smiles.

“Who is she?”

“Aha! You haven’t slept with her!” Topper cheers like he’s won the fucking lottery. Sometimes Rafe wonders why he’s friends with him.

“Who is she?” He repeats like he hasn’t even heard him.

“She’s the new chick,” Kelce says, “except she’s not exactly new in town.”

“I heard she was home-schooled,” Topper snickers, “That’s why she’s fucking weird and has no friends. Even the Pogues don’t want her.”

Rafe observes you some more. Watches the bright smile on your face, how you try to chime in to whatever conversation the girls around you are having. They nod at you politely yet dismissively. They’re not your friends. As Topper said, you don’t have any. 

Insecure. Weak. Vulnerable. 

He licks his lips.

“How long?”

“Huh?”

He runs a hand through his hair impatiently, “How long do you wanna bet it takes me to get her into bed?” He nods in your direction.

Topper raises an eyebrow.

“You can’t be serious, man. She looks like she doesn’t even know what sex means.”

Kelce laughs, “She looks like she can’t even say it. Like she spells it out every time, s-e-x.”

They’re right. You look very innocent, but all that does is incense him. Rafe’s used to easy sluts who spread their legs after one drink or a ride on his motorbike. But you. He can tell you’d be harder to crack. But there’s something so fucking hot about how naive you look. How shy and sweet you are. How ruined he could leave you. Splayed out on his bike, legs quivering, all sweaty limbs and shy pants after he’s done having his way with you—

“How long?” He repeats, not in the mood to waste time and already getting hard picturing innocent little you with your tiny skirt flipped up and his head buried between those soft thighs, your sweet little confused cries because no one’s ever touched you like that, and— 

“A week.” 

“Mm?”

“A week to fuck her. With proof.” 

Rafe stands up and stretches, licking his lips as he watches you retreat to a small bench, getting your little book out and burying your nose in it. 

“That’s too easy. What do I get when I do it?”

“If you do it, you can decide what you get then. But as I said before, we’d need proof.” Kelce says.

“Yeah, proof,” Topper echoes, a glint in his eye as he looks over at you, “Pictures.”

Rafe shrugs, already kind of bored, “Sure.” He’d taken plenty of pictures of his conquests in the past. Him and his boys had a group chat where they shared that kind of shit. And the idea of taking pictures of you in such a vulnerable position gets him harder than anything. Sweet little freshman baby fucked dumb by the big bad senior, posing for pictures afterwards all teary-eyed but submissive. They all got submissive for him, even after he was done using them.

You flip a page, completely engrossed in your book and looking every bit the naive baby he’s imagining you as. A little lamb who has no idea she was in the presence of a fucking lion. And he bets you’re a virgin. Homeschooled with no friends? Forget virgin, you probably haven’t even had your first kiss. And that gets him so fucking horny, right there in the middle of the campus courtyard. The idea that you’re so pure, so untouched. So happy, so unassuming. A little fucking baby.

He’d have fun ruining you.

***

“You sure do love reading, don’t you?” 

It’s the following day when Rafe finds you sitting by yourself in the corner of the library, with nothing but your book to keep you company.

You jump like a little mouse, pushing your glasses up your nose and gulping up at him, fear briefly flitting across your face before you force a small smile. And he likes his girls jumpy, he likes them slightly afraid of him. He knows he has that effect on people in general, but he wonders who’s told you about him.

“Sorry, were you — uh — were you talking to me?”

Rafe smirks, “Yes. Who else would I be talking to?”

“Oh, uh, I’m not sure…”

“It was a rhetorical question.”

“Oh, of course,” you look embarrassed, and he watches you squirm under his gaze for a good few seconds. “I… um…” 

“You find books more interesting than people?”

“Huh?”

He chuckles, pulling up a chair next to you, noting how your eyes widen as he takes a seat, “Why are you always reading?”

“I don’t know, I guess I just like to read,” you shrug. 

“You sure do.” He wonders if he could get you to read your precious book out loud while he went down on you, licked your virgin cunt while you cried because it felt too good. And then he’d spank you if you stopped or messed up a word, and like a stupid dumb fucking baby, you’d sniffle and wail through each paragraph, hold back your moans while he went to town on your little pussy till you wet yourself, and he’d suck your—

“Are you making fun of me?”

You pose the question so innocently— hell, you practically whisper it, and it knocks Rafe straight out of his daydream to find you blinking up at him with Bambi eyes. 

“What?”

You bite your lip, “I’m sorry, it’s just that I’m not so good at understanding if someone’s joking or not. I’m not… uh… I’m not used to being around so many people, and it makes me nervous and I can’t tell if someone’s being genuine or if they’re making fun of me.” 

“You were homeschooled, huh?” Rafe stares at you intently, noting how you play with your hair nervously, and your fingers tap against the hard cover of your book. How you can barely make eye contact with him for longer than a few seconds. 

“Yes. My mom taught me and my older brothers.”

Rafe nods, taking his time to answer. He looks at you some more, enjoying how it makes you uncomfortable. You fidget nervously, and it amuses him every time you peek up to meet his gaze before a look of alarm crosses your face and you divert your eyes down to your book once more. 

“You’re a shy little thing, aren’t you?” He says finally, chuckling at the embarrassed look on your face.

“I… I guess. I do want to make friends but it’s pretty overwhelming.”

“I’ll be your friend.” 

He does a good job of hiding his predatory, wolfish smile. And he wonders if you can see the glint in his eye as he mentally undresses you. You look so small and weak, especially compared to him. Gullible too. Too innocent for your own good, the way you gape up at him as if he’s offered you gold on a platter. It makes him want to stroke your soft cheek, pat it and tell you what a good little girl you are. For being so naive. 

You shake your head as if trying to straighten out your thoughts. He can tell, he has that effect on women too. 

“Oh, you don’t have to, I uh—”

“Rafe Cameron?! In the library?!” An annoying, high-pitched voice shrieks, making you jump as it cuts you off mid-sentence.

It’s a kook girl. A cheerleader. Rafe can’t be fucked to remember her name but he’s sure he’s hooked up with her. She’s one of those ones, the ones that hang out at the country club and try to catch his eye. One of the desperate sluts who thinks if she spreads her legs enough times for him, that he’ll make her his girlfriend or some stupid shit like that. 

“Rafe, what are you doing here?” The cheerleader sidles up to him, her hand on his chest and batting her lashes in his direction in some pathetic form of seduction. She ignores you, and you shrink into yourself, hastily burying your face in your book.

“What do you want?” He asks, not quite as interested in her answer as he is in continuing to stare at you. How you try to act like you don’t care, but he knows you’re hurt from being ignored, from being treated like you’re invisible.

“Nothing. Just wondering what you’re up to.” But she flashes him her fuck me eyes, her nails scraping suggestively against his chest. Rafe yawns, considering it. He has time before his next class (not that he could be fucked to turn up to class half the time) and his dick’s hard from talking to you. And since you probably don’t even know what the word blowjob means… 

“Go in there,” he nods at one of the private study rooms in the far end of the library, and the fucking slut nearly trips as she scrambles to obey him. Rafe takes his time, stretching his legs before slowly getting up.

You peek up from your book, “Are you guys gonna go study in there?” 

He could’ve bust a nut then and there from how fucking innocent you sound. Batting your little eyelashes at him like you’re trying to seduce him without even realising it. He knows he’ll be thinking about you, weepy and on your knees, while the kook girl blows him. Fuck, and if he plays his cards right, he’d have you by the end of the week. And he always plays his cards right. 

“You could call it studying.”

You nod, “OK, well, goodbye then.” You look back down at your book, but risk a glance up at him again, which he finds very amusing. 

“What’s your name, homeschool?” 

You tell him.

He sounds it out, before shooting you one last smile, “Well, I’ll see you soon. Won’t I?”

You give him a puzzled look, but it’s replaced by your usual wide-eyed Bambi stare when he pats your hand, his thumb lingering, stroking your skin. He wonders if you’ve ever even touched someone of the opposite sex before. Judging by how your breath hitches softly, he doubts it. 

Fuck. He can’t wait to ruin you. Play the slow game and enjoy that sweet virgin snatch before any other man ever could. 

That’s what he’s thinking of when he’s got the cheerleader on her knees in front of him. That sweet little look on your face, the look of curiosity mixed with shyness and that little hint of indignation. Fuck, he wants to ruin you. And he would. With proof.

***

Day two. Rafe finds you walking down the hallway, your books clutched to your chest and eyes trained to the floor. Cutest little skirt making your perky ass pop, winking at him enticingly with every step as if you’re deliberately seducing him. Makes him want to slap your cute little ass, reprimand you for teasing him and half the men on campus without even realising it. He wonders what you’d say if he just did it. Spanked you in front of everyone. You’d probably start blubbering like a little baby. He has to forcibly stop picturing it before he gets uncomfortably hard.

You’re alone. As usual.

“Hey, homeschool,” he falls into step beside you, eyebrow raising in amusement when you don’t slow down nor look at him.

“Oh, h-hello, Rafe.” 

“What’re you up to today?” 

“Nothing, just going to my next lecture.”

He grabs your wrist, watching as your breath hitches, and yet you still don’t look at him. Damn, what had gotten Bambi so scared?

“You’ve got time to talk to me, don’t you?” He asks, but it’s not really a question. And you know it, judging by how you swallow harshly.

“I’m so sorry, I don’t want to be late—” You attempt to tug your little hand out of his grasp but you’re so small and weak that it barely has any effect. 

“C’mon, homeschool. That’s no way to treat your one and only friend.”

He’s walks you into a corner, and he likes how you gape at the wall before turning and looking up at him. He’s so much taller than you, bigger than you in every single way. 

“Rafe, I…” you sigh, shifting from one foot to the other, “My friends said some things…”

“Friends?” You don’t have any.

“Some of the girls I know. They saw us talking yesterday at the library and they…” you sigh, “They said you were probably just playing a joke on me.”

Fuckin’ jealous pogue bitches. 

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes. They said there’s no way you’d talk to me for any other reason apart from as a joke. And they…” you bite your lip, looking so cutely distraught and it goes straight to his dick. “They said some other things… about you.” 

Of course they fuckin’ did. Always talking behind his back, but never to his goddamned face. Nothing but a bunch of jealous, gold-digging whores.

He doesn’t say anything, just merely looks at you as if he expects you to tell him. And he knows you will. You’re too innocent to keep secrets.

“They said that you… that you’re scary sometimes.”

Rafe remains impassive, waiting for you to continue. 

“That you… that you pick on a lot of us Pogues. E-Especially the boys. That you and your friends bully them.”

He snorts. Bully. What a juvenile word. Sure, he pushed the dipshit Pogues around here and there. They deserved it for all the trouble they ran around town causing, disrupting the natural order of shit. And he could fuck their girls better than they ever could. Especially that fuckin’ idiot JJ Maybank…

“They also said that… never mind.” Again, you try to tug away from him but to no avail.

“Tell me.” He likes how you struggle under his scrutinising gaze.

“It’s… it’s not appropriate.”

“Say it. Now.” 

You lower your voice, “They said you like to use the girls. The pogue girls. Th-That you have a kink for them.” 

The scandalous words have hardly left your mouth before you duck your head down as if embarrassed. God, you were so fucking innocent. Rafe wonders how he should play this. 

“Huh. Is that so?”

“Y-Yeah. One of the girls I talk to… She said that you…” you swallow, biting your lip, “that you’ve been with her and all her friends too. That you tell them all the same thing but it’s always a lie and you just end up using them.”

Rafe nods, “Hmm.”

“I’m sorry, Rafe, but I don’t think we should—“

“That’s funny. I thought you were smart. You know, with all your books and the glasses and shit.”

You blink, “What?”

He shrugs, “I didn’t think you’d go ahead and pass judgement on someone without even getting to know them first.”

“It’s not that–”

“I mean, here I am, wanting to be friends with you. And I’ve been nothin’ but nice, haven’t I?”

He’s still got you backed into a corner, and he watches as you flinch when he emphasises his words. He knows people get intimidated by his intensity, but there’s nothing he hates more than people talking shit behind his back. Especially low-life Pogues. And he likes how scared you look right now, pouty lips all downturned and alarm in your eyes.

“I asked you a question, homeschool.”

“Yes, you’ve been nothing but nice! It’s just, I heard all these things, and–”

“And you chose to believe them.” He steps back abruptly, “I’ll see you around, I guess.”

He walks away, about to count to three in his head but you beat the count before he can even begin.

“Rafe, wait! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to judge you.”

He stops, allows you to catch up.

“You’re right, I…I shouldn’t listen to other people.”

“You shouldn’t.” Rafe agrees, easily taking your heavy textbooks from where you’ve been balancing them in your arms. You gape, but he just continues smoothly: “Where’s your next class?”

You tell him, “But you don’t have to walk with me or anything–”

“I’m your friend, homeschool. That’s what friends do.”

*

Day 3. You’re eating your lunch on a bench outside all by yourself. Rafe’s heading to his car with his friends. They usually cut classes most days to hit the beach or the country club. Rafe doesn’t see the point of college anyways, not when he was poised to inherit all of his father’s businesses, money and property. And with the ideas he had, he’d expand tenfold on whatever Ward was doing now, make a shit ton more money than his old man ever did. That would show him…

 ”How’s the bet coming along, Rafe?” Topper asks.

“Wait till the end of the week.” Is all Rafe says. He doesn’t need to give progress reports to his dumb fuck ass follower friends.

“That means he’s nowhere near cracking that virgin pussy.” Kelce chuckles. “No worries, brother. She looks like she’s got a stick up her ass anyways. Not loose like the rest of the Pogue whores.”

He ignores them as they laugh. But they’re right. You’re not like the rest of the Pogue girls. They’d grown up wild, promiscuous, loose. Trained to catch the attention of a rich Kook like himself, filled with self-serving motivations to marry into money. But he can already tell you’re different. With your cute little outfits and respectful, quiet demeanour. You look like you’d fit in where he was from.

Too bad he was only going to fuck you before discarding you like he did the rest of them.

“I’ll catch you guys later.” He says, making a beeline for you.

“Hey,” he chucks you under the chin, smirking when you jump.

“Oh, hey Rafe.” You look beyond his shoulder, “Your friends are all leaving.”

“Yeah. The waves are good this time of day.”

You gape, “But don’t you have classes?”

He takes a seat next to you, making sure to stretch out while you shrink into yourself. Still so nervous around him. He snickers, “You gonna tell on us?”

You look aghast, “No! I would never–”

“I’m just kidding, homeschool.”

“Oh,” you look embarrassed, “Sorry. Sometimes I–”

“Can’t tell if someone’s joking or not,” Rafe completes, “I remember. I’ll be more straight up with you.”

You nod, and he can tell you’re trying to think of something else to say. But you’re too nervous, too awkward. And so you just bury your head in your book again, all while he watches you. You’ve got a bottle of apple juice and a half-eaten sandwich of some kind on the table next to you. Cut up into little triangles. He bets you’ve done it yourself. Fuckin’ cute.

“You dress cute.” He says, and again, widened Bambi eyes stare up at him. He chuckles, “You know, the little skirts and plaid and shit. It’s cute.”

“Thank you.”

“You do it on purpose?” He can’t help but ask, because he wonders if a part of you knows what you’re doing. Knows you’re dressing like a sexy little angel out of his wettest dreams. All little and cute and innocent, so much smaller than him. Weak. All pastel and pretty, like you’d look so fucking sexy on the back of his bike. On his arm. On his dick.

“I don’t know what you mean by that,” you say, sounding every bit as innocent as you look. Damn, homeschool must’ve done a number on you. But he likes how sheltered you sound. It gets him so fucking hard, and a part of him almost feels sorry for how primed you are to be taken advantage of. “I wear my mom’s old clothes, or stuff I find in the charity shops.”

He’d had maids and housekeepers who shopped in places like that. He remembers him and his siblings giving them their old clothes once they’d grown out of them.

He nods, “You look pretty.”

Your breath hitches, and you really don’t know how to respond to that, because you slam your book shut and stand up, “I, uh, I have to go. I don’t want to be late for my next class.”

He watches you leave, distracted by your ass again but not enough to miss the little smile that quirks on your lips as you bid him farewell and walk away.

*

On day 4, Rafe walks up behind you in the busy hallway, pressing his huge hand on your lower back and pushing you into another secluded corner. He smirks when you squeak, but he likes how easily he can push you around because of how weak and small you are.

“Hey.” He told himself he’d take it slow (well, as slow as he could take it in the span of one week) and yet he can’t help but press into you a little bit. It’s innocuous enough, but your eyes widen as per usual, and the feel of your hot little body against his much larger one is enough to give him a boner. It’s how he could easily push you into an empty lecture hall and have his way with you if he so wanted to. Sure, you’d cry and resist at first, but they all gave in in the end. And if someone caught them, he’d pay them off.

Rafe Cameron owned the world. Nothing could stop him.

“Hello, Rafe.” You breathe, and he loves how his name sounds when you say it. He imagines you moaning it when he has you on his lap, pressing you down on his dick while you cry and whimper because it’s too much, it’s too big. But your greedy little virgin pussy would take every inch of his fat dick, and he’d do all the work, of course. You’d be too busy crying, and he’d bounce you up and down on his dick while you grabbed at his arms, his hair, his face. He’d tell you to scrape your nails down his back, leave a fucking mark or two so daddy could remember you.

“Come for a drive with me? I’ll buy you lunch.”

Despite your shyness, a fire flashes in your eyes, “I can buy my own lunch!”

He raises an eyebrow. As if on cue, you lower your gaze.

“Sorry, I mean… thank you for your offer, Rafe. But I can buy my own lunch.”

Surprisingly though, you agree to the drive. And he still has his hand pressed against your back, guiding you out to where his car’s parked. You ogle at it, probably never having seen anything as expensive. He wonders if your family even owns a car, or if you even know how to drive. It would be hot if you didn’t, it made you look even more helpless. In need of someone like him to protect you, take care of you. Someone powerful and wealthy like himself.

“Wow, I’ve never been on this side of the island before!” You say, oohing and aahing as you stare out the window. Rafe’s never seen anyone so easily excited by the neighbourhood he’d grown so used to. But he supposes the mansions, sports cars, country clubs and private beaches would be impressive to anyone who hadn’t grown up with easy access to all of that.

“No?”

“No, but my brother’s friend works there, I think.” You point to the vast golf course at the back end of one of the clubs. “He says the tips are really good.”

Rafe frowns. You were talking to other men? No, not you. You were too sweet, too innocent. He was sure he was the only man you spoke to. Or even if you were speaking to others, he doubts a golf caddy pathetically running after balls would be much competition. And yet, he bristles, wanting to change the subject.

“Do you have a job?” Rafe asks.

You shake your head, “No. I sometimes tutor some kids in the neighbourhood but nothing permanent. I’d love to have a part-time job with proper wages like the country club or library or something, but my family’s kind of protective of me.”

“Mm?” He’s deliberately being quiet, wanting to hear you talk, wanting to learn more about you.

“Yeah. That’s why I was homeschooled. My mom’s scared someone’s gonna take advantage of me.” You pause, before giggling, “It took a lot to convince her to let me apply for colleges, but I think she’s finally starting to see me as an adult who can make my own decisions and protect myself.”

The irony isn’t lost on Rafe, but he finds himself leaning closer. You have this way of talking, so soft and breathy, yet energetic and full of life at the same time. Like you’re a storybook character, like you’re someone out of this world. Like an angel dropped down from heaven and sent just for him. You’re his type to a tee. God, he wants to fuck you so bad.

“What would your mom say if she knew you were out with me?” His hand creeps up to rest on your knee. You’re wearing jeans, which he doesn’t approve of but he decides to give you a pass since it’s windy today.

You don’t notice his touch anyways; you’re too busy pondering over his question. But there’s a glint in your eye, “Sh-She wouldn’t approve. But that’s only ‘cause she doesn’t know you.”

The corner of his mouth twitches, his thumb rubbing circles against the denim of your jeans. “And you do?”

You swallow, finally realising he’s got his hand on you. Surprisingly, you don’t move. It’s almost like you’re frozen, those big fuck me Bambi eyes making a comeback, “Uh…I…We’re friends, aren’t we?”

He smirks, “Yeah. Friends.” His hand creeps up higher, stroking your thigh softly, wishing you were wearing one of your little skirts so he could feel your bare skin. But it’s thrilling anyways, touching your quivering body while you’re defenceless inside his car. He could lock the doors and have his way with you right now. Hell, people outside would get quite the show but it wouldn’t be the first time he’s fucked in public.

Poor little you. Losing your virginity in the front seat of his car. He’d drag you into his lap, bounce you up and down on his cock. But not before making you beg for it first. And you’d cry so fucking bad, because it would hurt. Because he’d promise he’d be gentle but he knows himself, he knows he’d lose control like he always did. Fuck you so goddamned hard, he’d have to lay you down in the backseat afterwards because you wouldn’t be able to stop shaking. Then drive you back to his house, carry you into his bed and have his way with you again. And again. And again.

“Rafe?”

“Yes?”

“You’re not hanging out with me because you feel sorry for me, are you?”

That grabs his attention, “Why would you think that?”

You shrug, “No reason. I just… Well, you have so many friends. I guess I don’t quite understand why you’re hanging out with me.”

“I like you.” He shifts even closer, his hand steadily stroking your leg while you remain stiff, “Do you like me?”

“H-Huh?”

“You heard me, homeschool.” And yet he knows you’re distracted by his fingers tracing shapes on your thigh. Not random shapes, though. It’s his initials. Over and over again. R.C., he wonders if you can tell.

“I, uh, y-ye–” You’re having trouble getting your words out, and it amuses him. He can see you visibly shaking, and he wonders if it’s out of fear or anticipation. Or both. He leans down, bringing his face close to yours.

“I didn’t quite get that.” He licks his lips at how weak and intimidated you look. “Say it again.”

It’s an order, and you clear your throat, shake your head as if to clear your thoughts.

“Yes,” you whisper, as if it’s something scandalous, “Y-Yes, I like you.”

He pulls back abruptly, leaving you gaping at him.

“Let’s get something to eat. I’m starving.”

He buys you a panini from a little artisan bakery, with a strawberry iced tea and a packet of chocolate hearts with a cherry cream filling. You protest at first, unzipping your bag to pay for yourself, but he’d sooner roll over and die than let a woman pay for anything.

“Toss me one,” he says, and you throw a little cherry-filled truffle at him. He catches it between his teeth, and your eyes light up, clearly impressed.

“Wow, that was cool!”

“C’mere, you’ve got a little something…” He grabs your chin gently, pulling you forward before rubbing his thumb against the side of your lip, wiping away a bit of chocolate. “Messy girl.”

Your breath hitches, but you stay still for him like a good little girl. His thumb lingers, and he wants to press it into your mouth, make you suck the chocolate off it. Then tell you he had something else for you to suck on. Push you down and make you warm his cock with your mouth while he drove you back to campus. One hand on the steering wheel, the other pressing your head down, making you take his big cock despite you whimpering and panicking because you can’t breathe.

He rubs your lower lip with his thumb for a moment before pulling away. You clear your throat, snapping out of whatever reverie you’ve been in, straighten up against the seat and put your seatbelt on. You still look like you’re in a daze, however, and he wonders if you’re wet from him wiping your face clean.

“I-uh-we should head back please, if that’s okay?” you say, voice slightly shaky as you avoid eye contact with him. “I don’t want to miss my afternoon class.”

He grins, “You a teacher’s pet?”

That makes you smile, and you shrug shyly. It almost enamours him.

He gets you back to campus on time, and you give him a little wave before you jump out of his car and walk inside. And god, it’s insane how hot you are. Even in your jeans, which have cute little embroidered flowers on the butt. Makes your ass look insane. Like it’s begging to be grabbed, smacked, fucked.

He breathes out heavily through his nose, slumping back against his seat. His dick is uncomfortably hard. God, you didn’t even realise how much you’d teased him tonight. Sitting tight and pretty in the passenger seat of his car, so quiet and pretty. So innocently impressed by Figure 8, and by him. How shy you’d been when you’d admitted that you liked him…

He gets his phone out, blindly texting one of the desperate girls on his phone. He needs a release. And he’d be thinking of you the whole time.

*

On day 5, Rafe tells you to give him your number. From his peripheral, he can see a bunch of Pogues whispering and watching while he takes your phone and puts his number in.

“Have your little friends been talking more shit about me?”

You flinch. He can’t help the intensity of his tone sometimes, and he’s noticed you never swear and, like a jumpy little mouse, probably feel intimidated when he does.

“No, I haven’t really spoken to them in a while.”

Rafe grins, “Yeah?”

“Yes. I’ve been busy with schoolwork.”

He saves his number on your phone before pressing it into your back pocket for you. You gape, eyes darting around to see if anyone saw. He wonders just how prim and proper you are, and how quickly he could get you to come undone once he got you comfortable and behind closed doors.

“You’re not too busy to text me, right?”

You smile, looking down and fidgeting with your binder. He notices you’ve got little stickers on it, like cupcakes and hearts and shit. What a fuckin’ baby.

“Text you? I don’t really– I have to a test tomorrow that I need to study for.”

But he knows you’ll text him. They always did. You weren’t any different.

“What are you smiling at?” Kelce asks, pulling up beside him as Rafe watches you head into your next class.

Immediately, he straightens his face, “Nothing man.”

“You falling for that homeschool freak Pogue?”

He snorts, “You wish. I have standards.”

“You sure about that?”

He whips his head sharply to stare down at his friend, “You want me to repeat myself?”

Rafe doesn’t miss the flicker of fear in Kelce’s eyes. They’d never admit it, but he knows his friends are afraid of him. Of his mood swings, his unpredictability. He doesn’t care. In fact, he prefers it this way. They weren’t like him, they were weak-minded, beneath him. He kept them around because of semantics, because of who their parents were and who his dad was. And because they proved to be minorly useful sometimes when he needed help to get shit done.

All the girls he’d been with had been afraid of him too. When he fucked them, he often lost control. But it turned him on, how they’d swallow their fear in case they offended him, or set him off. Once, he’d fucked a girl who just wouldn’t stop shaking. Sure, he’d showed her his gun right before he’d bent her over, but it was her problem if she was frightened by something as mundane as that.

You weren’t scared of him. Yet. Intimidated, sure. But he’d kept that side of him well under wraps when it came to you. You were too sweet, too pure. And you were a good girl, incapable of crossing him in any form. He didn’t have to scare you to get what he wanted from you. No, you’d give it to him, like the good little girl you were. Naïve, innocent little girl.

*

Rafe: Hey.

Y/N: Hi, Rafe. How are you?

He finds himself smiling at his screen. There’s a party going on downstairs, but Rafe couldn’t care less. It’s the same thing every other night. His friends showing up at his house and bringing along a whole entourage of people he doesn’t give a fuck about. Sarah used to do it a lot before she moved out, invite her fuck ass Pogue friend group into his house as if they were ever welcome there.

Rafe didn’t want any Pogues inside his house. Unless they were girls that he intended to sleep with. But he appreciated it when they showed themselves out once he was done using them.

Rafe: What are you up to?

A minute passes by, then another one. Fuck, he hates that you’re making him wait. What a fuckin’ tease. He wonders for the hundredth time if you’re doing it on purpose. No, not you. You’re too innocent.

Y/N: Nothing, I just finished cleaning my room. Wbu?

It’s insane how the visual of that gets his dick hard in less than a second. The thought of you doing something as domestic as cleaning. The good little college girl, who went home straight after school and spent her evenings dusting and vacuuming or whatever it was that cleaning entailed. Unlike the Kook sluts his friends were probably fucking downstairs. They were pathetic party girls who’d easily spread their legs for a line or two.

He calls you, losing patience with this texting bullshit. He runs a hand through his hair impatiently when you don’t immediately pick up, huffing and gulping down the remaining whiskey in his glass. Slamming it down on his desk when you still don’t pick up. Fucking tease. He grabs a baggie from one of the drawers, prepares a neat line; despite promising himself he wouldn’t do it tonight. Fuck that. Ten seconds have passed; you still haven’t picked up. He snorts it quickly, about to throw his phone out the fucking window, except you choose that moment to pick up.

“H-Hello?”

“Hi,” he sounds slightly breathless, but who the fuck cared. He refills his glass with more whiskey, taking a sip to calm himself down. “Took your time to pick up, huh?”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” you say hastily, “I got distracted.”

He feels a sudden surge of jealousy so violent, he doesn’t know how to act for a moment. Distracted by fucking what?

“The lights went out, so I had to go reset them,” you explain, and he barks out a laugh. Jesus fucking Christ.

“Y-You sound kinda breathless, Rafe,” you say, “Is everything okay?”

“Why wouldn’t it be okay?” He downs his drink and sets it aside before his hand slips down. God, you sound so hot. All breathy and innocent, even just over the phone. “Tell me what you were doing.”

A pause, and then you force out a chuckle, “I told you, I just finished cleaning.”

“What like vacuuming and shit?”

“Yes.”

Over the years, Rafe had slept with a number of maids Ward had hired on multiple occasions. He’d fucked Wheezie’s babysitter a few years ago, the housekeeper too. His father had a knack for hiring hot Pogue girls, and maybe that’s where Rafe’s kink for them started.

He could imagine you working for him – he’d make you wear the sexiest little barely-there maid outfit. You wouldn’t question it because you were too innocent. With your little feather duster, trying to clean except you’d be too small to reach certain areas. Fuck, he wouldn’t last five seconds in the same room as you. And he wouldn’t have to because you’d be his hired help, his property. He’d have you bent over his desk, fuck you so hard till you couldn’t stop shaking, till you were crying like a baby and apologising for not focusing on cleaning all while he carried you up to his bedroom. Locked you up in there so nobody else could see you. His girl. All his.

“Uh, Rafe?”

“I wanted to talk to you,” he says.

A pause.

“Really?” You clear your throat, “Where are you? I can hear music.”

“Shit, yeah. Like, there’s a party or whatever going on downstairs. My friends came over unannounced.”

“Oh.” He can sense a level of dejection in your tone. He bets you’re thinking about it, thinking how it’s just a reminder that he has his own group of Kook friends. And you’d never be one of them. You’d never truly fit in. You were either one or the other. Hell, Sarah had proven that when she’d transitioned into the slums. But maybe there was a way to bring you into his world, a way that would stick.

He has to forcibly shake his head to remind himself you’re just part of a stupid bet.

“I’d rather speak to you than them.”

 “That’s not true, Rafe.”

“I like how you say my name.” He’s palming his dick now, knowing he’s treading over the line and could easily scare you off now if he’s not careful. But fuck being careful. He’s never really been careful before in his life. He hasn’t had to be. “An’ I’m serious. I told you, I like you.”

“Rafe, I… I just can’t shake the feeling that–”

“That what?” He spits into his palm before resuming touching himself. And shit, he doesn’t know if it’s the drugs or if it’s really just the sound of your voice that’s got him so goddamned horny. He wonders if you’ve ever touched yourself before. If you even knew how to.

“That you’re just playing a big joke on me. I mean, even the people from the Cut think I’m this weird, homeschooled freak.” You laugh, but he can tell you don’t find it funny, “It’s just hard to believe that you’d want to be my friend.”

“They think I’m a freak too,” he says, being honest for once. “Only difference is they don’t talk shit about me because they know I’d kill them.”

“You’re funny, Rafe.”

You’re too innocent to realise he’s not kidding. Not in the least.

“And if anyone says anything about you, I’ll kill them too. I’m serious.” Fuck, he feels like his dick’s gonna goddamn explode. The thought of protecting you like that, like he was responsible for you. Like you were all cute and helpless and he was the one taking care of shit, the one protecting you. That’s all he’s done his whole life, take care of shit and get shit done. And nobody’s ever fucking appreciated him for it.

“Well, thank you, Rafe. I’ve never had anyone stick up for me like that.”

He likes how you keep saying his name now that he’s told you he likes it when you say it. Means you’d be real good at taking instructions. He can imagine telling you what to do when he finally has you in his bed. Order you to get on your hands and knees. Then he’d spread your cute little ass, eat you from the back while you moaned his name over and over, thanking him for taking care of you, weeping how much you appreciate him, how much he means to you. How much you need him.

“A-Are you still there?”

“Shit, yeah. Yeah, I am.” His dick’s red and painfully hard, and he’s still trying to pump it steadily but now he’s imagining your tight little virgin cunt wrapped around it. Soft like velvet, warm and wet. Pulsating around him. Never had even a finger up there but you’d take his big dick, because he owned you, because he was your protector, because you were too weak and helpless without him, and–

“Could you, uh, fuck, say my name again,” he orders you, not caring in the least if he scares you off.

“Rafe?”

He cums into his fist like a goddamned teenage boy, biting down to keep from making any noise. God fucking dammit, you’d listened again. What a good fucking girl. He wants to tell you that, tell you how good you were for him just now, how obedient and submissive you were without even realising it.

“If you’re busy, it’s okay and you can go,” you say softly.

“No, wait…” he clears this throat, grabbing a bunch of tissues from his desk. He can’t believe you hadn’t caught on to him jacking off. “I wanted to ask you something.”

“Yes?”

“Do you want to come over tomorrow? To hang out?”

“Like, uh, at your house?”

“Yeah.” He needs you in private, needs you on his turf where he can control just about everything. God, was it even about the bet anymore? Or just this newfound fucking irrevocable need to fuck you just for his own personal satisfaction? Maybe both.

“I don’t know, I’ve never been to a guy’s house before.”

That just makes him even more determined to be your first.

“C’mon, it’ll be fun. We can go after your classes finish or whatever, and I’ll drive you home afterwards.”

“Rafe…”

He shuts his eyes for a moment, savouring the sound of your voice. He wonders if he can get you to call him daddy. God fucking dammit, just the idea of that was getting him hard again.

“Look, we’ll order some food, watch TV. Whatever you want. It’ll be fun. And it’s what friends do.”

That last part gets to you. He can tell. He knows how badly you want to have friends. He knows you’ve never had any. Not good, permanent ones like you saw in movies and TV shows. Hell, Rafe’s not sure he himself has real friends. But he doesn’t care. The idea of friendship means nothing to him. He’s best when he’s on his own because nobody else could be trusted. But what is important is having a girl like you in his bed. A girl like you who looks up to him with shining eyes, like he’s your goddamned entire world. A girl he plucked up from poverty and saved, and you’d appreciate him more than anyone in his dumb fucking family ever did.

“Say yes,” he all but orders you, but he already knows the answer before you say it.

“O-Okay, yeah. Yes, that sounds like fun. I’d love to come.”

*

“What do you mean you’re not coming?” Topper frowns, crossing his arms over his chest, “You were supposed to bring the, you know…”

Rafe rolls his eyes, wondering why he’s friends with a fucking loser who can’t even say the word coke. That’s why nobody on the goddamned island wanted to sell to Topper. Hell, even Barry refused to.

“I have plans.” Rafe answers, checking his watch for the tenth time. Your final class of the day was due to end any minute now, and he couldn’t wait to get you into his house.

“What plans? You were gonna help me with Sarah tonight.” Topper was a whiny fucking bitch, but even Rafe had to admit he was a better fit for his sister than that lowlife John B.

“I’m not helping you with shit, man.” He mutters disinterestedly, although he had promised a few nights ago that he’d help him. He’d been high as a fucking kite, though. So it didn’t exactly count. “Look, she’ll get bored eventually when she realises his broke ass can’t provide shit for her. Then she’ll come crawling back.”

Topper shakes his head, “No, Sarah’s not materialistic like that.”

Rafe smirks, “You don’t know her.”

“Well, speaking of broke, how’s it going with that homeschool girl? You guys sure seem to be hanging out a lot.”

“Do you have brain damage, Topper?”

“What?”

Rafe corners his friend against a wall, relishing the immediate fear in his eyes, “I seem to remember you placing a bet a week ago.”

“Well, yeah, but –”

“So why the fuck,” he hits the locker lightly behind Topper’s head, “are you asking me about hanging out with her a lot?”

“Chill, dude. It’s just,” he looks hesitant, scared as he’s barely able to make eye contact, “It’s okay if you like her, you know?”

Rafe feels a wave of emotion, something he can’t quite pinpoint. And that makes him mad, because what the fuck was he feeling? He has to clench his fists by his side to stop from slapping the taste out of Topper’s mouth. Why did him bringing you up irritate him so much? Jesus, reign it the fuck in.

He takes a deep breath and steps back, forcing a chuckle, “You think I’m gonna slum it like that?”

Topper grins nervously, as if Rafe hadn’t had him pinned against a locker like a little bitch just a second ago. He straightens up, “I mean, it’s not exactly a secret what your type is.”

Rafe laughs, and Topper relaxes and joins in after a moment or two. That’s when Rafe slams him against the locker again.

“Get it through your thick fucking skull, Topper. I may fuck a Pogue but I’d never date one. Got that?”

“Yes, okay, Jesus Christ, man.” Topper pushes Rafe off him and backs off, “Do whatever the fuck you want.”

That’s when Rafe starts laughing again. “I will, pussy.”               

Topper fucks off after that. Sometimes, Rafe wonders what his deal is. He acted up in front of the rest of the group, then tried to act all sensitive and understanding in private. Like Rafe had time for that shit. And how dare Topper insinuate that Rafe had feelings for you? Hell would freeze over before he ever caught feelings for a Pogue.

He realises a bunch of people are staring at him. Goddamit. Fuck all of them. When he was younger, Ward had sent him to see a therapist once a week. He’d quit going once he’d realised it was everyone else who was the problem, and not him. But one thing the shrink had taught him that had stuck was to breathe slowly and count to ten whenever he felt angry or overwhelmed.

That’s what he’s doing when you arrive.

“Hey, Rafe. I’m sorry I’m late. The professor held me back.”

“Why?” He barks out before he can contain himself. He’s already on edge, and now some dumbass professor is keeping you back in class because you undoubtedly get his old, shrivelled dick hard and you’re too innocent to even realise it.

You blink, “He really liked the essay I submitted last week. He even said he wants to use it as an example for his other classes!”

“That’s great,” Rafe plasters a smile on his face but he’s only half listening, “Let’s go.”

He calms down some as he guides you out of the hallway and toward the parking lot. He almost grabs your hand when it gets a bit too crowded, but remembers himself just in time. He couldn’t be caught holding hands with a Pogue. It was too intimate, and like he’d said to Topper, he’d never let it get to that point with a Pogue. Instead, he places his hand on your lower back and pushes you forward. You smile at him, and it goes straight to his… well, not his dick, surprisingly. But it goes somewhere within him, and he feels it again. Something he doesn’t really recognise or know how to deal with. So he forcibly pushes it back inside himself.

“You look cute,” he says once he’s got you outside and there’s more room to breathe. You look like an angel in the afternoon sunlight, dressed in the cutest little sundress he’s ever seen. It’s this pinkish-orange, like the colour of the sunset, and you’ve got matching ribbons in your hair. Like you’ve really made an effort to get all dressed up just to go to his house.

“Thanks,” you look down as if you’re embarrassed, like you don’t know how to take a compliment, “It’s my mom’s dress.”

“It’s really pretty,” he says softly, before clearing his throat and looking away.

He gets you to his car, lifting you up by your waist and helping you into it. And that turns him on so much, how small and sweet you look. Like a little fairy in his arms. None of the other girls were like you. Not at all. He wonders what you’re wearing underneath, and feels his cock thicken in his slacks with anticipation when he realises he was probably going to find out today.

You don’t say anything when he pulls up into the driveway of his house. Ward had fucked off on some business trip and taken Wheezie and Rose with him so he had the place to himself. That’s how he liked it best, it gave him space to think and breathe without the constant noise of his family. Well, Wheezie was an exception. He didn’t mind her too much.

“Wait here,” he says, getting out the car and walking around to open the door for you. You allow him to lift you out again, this time your hands landing on his shoulders. And it’s fucking insane how that tiny, voluntary touch does things to him that no other girl has ever done before.

Now, he doesn’t think twice before grabbing your hand and pulling you down to the large, ornate wooden double doors. You’re distracted anyways, eyes wide as saucers as you ogle the mansion that Rafe’s never thought twice about. But he reckons it’s a step or two above whatever shacks the people from the Cut lived in, so he allows you to remain silent and let it sink in.

Finally, you exhale slowly, “This is… uh… wow. I can’t believe there’s people in this world who live like this.”

Rafe smirks, squeezing your hand, “Yeah. Do you want a drink?”

He leads you to the bar in the corner of the living room, again lifting you up and placing you on one of the stools. You giggle, “I can climb on myself, you know.”

“Yeah? You seem to like it when I pick you up, though.”

He winks, and notes how you duck your head and smile shyly, your hands wringing together on your lap like you’re nervous. God, you were so fucking cute.

“What’s your usual drink of choice?” He asks, going behind the island to inspect the liquor. His friends had gone through a lot of it at the party the night before, but the house help had restocked everything this morning.

You blink, “Um, water?”

He stifles a laugh, pouring himself his usual whiskey with ice, “You’re a good girl, huh?”

“I tried some of my mom’s wine once but it tasted horrible,” you shrug, “I don’t know why people like it so much.”

“Try this.” He pours you a Peach Schnapps with lemonade and ice, “It’s sweet like you.”

You hesitate, but end up taking it. And he watches as you take a tentative sip, and he knows you like it because you take another one. And then another. He can’t help but feel proud for introducing you to your first alcoholic drink.

“You’re not as bad as people say you are,” you say out of nowhere, and his expression immediately sours.

“People have been talking about me to you?”

“No, it’s just the stuff I’ve heard. Like what I told you before. But it can’t be true, because you’re so nice to me so it just doesn’t add up.”

He grips his glass tight, about to lose it because yet again people were talking shit about him behind his back and never to his fucking face. Because they were all a bunch of pussies who knew he’d beat the shit out of them or kill them if they said anything to his face. But then you speak again.

“Do you always drink after school?”

“Huh?”

“Like, alcohol. Do you drink a lot? Like every day?”

“No.” He lies. “Only sometimes.”

He takes you out to the patio, where the sun is shining and you look so fucking pretty in your little sundress. Like you fit right into his world, next to the pool with a drink in your hand, sat next to him and looking at him with sparkling eyes as if he was your god. He wonders if you’ve naturally grown more comfortable with him through the course of the week, or if it’s just the alcohol. Probably the alcohol, since no one was ever really comfortable around him.

Either way, he puts his hand on your leg just like he had a few days ago in his car. Your breath hitches, but you don’t make a move to stop him. Instead, you opt to take another sip of your drink, and he wonders if he can get you drunk tonight. Shit, did he even want to? It was no fun fucking a drunk girl.

“Tell me more about you,” he strokes the soft skin of your bare thigh, feeling your goosebumps underneath the pads of his fingers. “You ever had a boyfriend or anything?”

Your eyes widen, “No. I, uh, you don’t tend to meet any guys when you’re homeschooled.” Embarrassed, you giggle before looking away. He reaches out, grabbing your chin lightly and making you look at him again. Fuck, your lips were so sexy. So pouty and perfect, begging to be kissed. “What about…what about you? Have you had any girlfriends?”

He shrugs, “A few.”

You nod, “Of course you have. That was a stupid question. Sorry, I forget not everyone’s as far behind in life as I am.”

“You’re not far behind.” He says, although you are and he prefers it that way.

“I am. Every other girl my age has had all the experiences you’re supposed to have. Drinking, partying, boys, all of it.” You sigh, “Sometimes I feel like I’m so far behind that I’ll never catch up.”

Rafe inches his hand upwards, till he reaches the hem of your dress halfway up your thigh. He plays with the fabric, and he can tell you’re acutely aware of what he’s doing. You don’t make a move to stop him, but you do press your legs together.

“There’s still plenty of time to catch up,” he says softly, “I can help you.”

You smile up at him, holding up your drink, “You already have. I’d never drank with friends before now.”

“Congratulations,” he says, clinking his glass with yours, “To one of many firsts.”

He downs his drink and so do you, and he’s quick to get a refill for both of you. He’s guessing you’re a lightweight, and again the thought of getting you drunk crosses his mind. But that would be way too easy.

“I’m capping you after this one,” he says, handing you your second Peach Schnapps.

You giggle, “Are you gonna cap yourself too?”

“No.” He chucks you under the chin again, “But, see, I’m not a baby.”

“Hey!”

He kisses you. And shit, he hadn’t planned on catching you so off-guard. Hell, he’s caught himself off-guard. But he couldn’t help it. Couldn’t help how kissable your lips looked, all pouty and bitten. And you taste like cherry lip gloss mixed with peaches and lemonade, and you’re so pliant underneath him, and he’s kissed a shit ton of girls but it’s never felt like this.

You pull away with a start, shocked as you stare up at him. Breathing hard and biting your goddamned lips before they turn into the shape of an o.

“I’m sorry,” Rafe says, although he’s not, “I’ve been wanting to do that since the day I first saw you.”

Your breathing is shallow, and with a shaky hand you put your glass down on the crystal table in front of you. “I’ve never, uh, I’ve never kissed anyone before.”

“Well, it’s easy. I could show you.”

You swallow, “I don’t want this to be like, a pity thing.”

Rafe exhales slowly, “You’re here in front of me in this tiny fuckin” dress, acting all cute and innocent and you think I want to kiss you out of pity?”

Your jaw drops, “Hey, it’s not tiny!”

He kisses you again. And sure, maybe he should’ve asked permission since it’s, well, your first kiss. But frankly he’s never had to ask permission to do anything in his entire life, and he wasn’t about to start now. The way he sees it, you wouldn’t have worn a slutty dress and agreed to come to his house if you didn’t want him to make a move on you.

Again, you pull away, “Rafe, I– don’t… I don’t know how to kiss, I’m sorry–”

He cups your face in his hands, pulling you closer and pressing his lips against yours again. Just to feel your soft, quivering lips against his confident ones. He kisses you once, twice, three times. Coaxing you to open your mouth, to let him in. Fuck, a part of him just wants to shove his tongue down your fucking throat, show you what it means to really be kissed. But he’s already pushing his luck right now.

“I’ll teach you,” he says, “But you need to do exactly what I say, okay?”

He can’t believe his goddamned luck when you nod. God, you were just so fucking hot, prancing around his house in your little dress, all impressed by his riches and shit, drinking your drink he made you like a good little girl, and now here you were, agreeing to whatever he said.

He taps his leg, “Get on my lap.”

Your eyes nearly bug out of your head, “Wh-What?”

Rafe smirks, “Didn’t you just agree to do exactly what I say?”

He’s surprised with the amount of patience he has with you. If you were another girl, he’d have thrown your ass out to the curb for asking too many annoying questions. Or bent you over, shoved your face into a pillow to shut you up and had his way with you. God knew he’d done that more times than he could count over the years. He was aware of how much bigger and stronger he was than you and every other girl, and that fact turned him on more than anything. The fact that he could, if he wanted to, completely take advantage of you however he wanted. And all you’d be able to do is cry and beg him to stop, which would just turn him on more.

“I did, I’m sorry, but I don’t–”

Easily, he grabs your hips and lifts you up onto his lap, makes you straddle him with one leg on either side of him. Your dress is just about long enough to still cover your modesty, but now he’s acutely aware of your panty-covered pussy just inches away from reach. Fuck, he wonders what kind of panties you’re wearing, and if you’d let him look…

“There. Comfy?”

“Well, I guess, but…”

He pulls you into another kiss, this time catching you mid-sentence so he’s able to slip his tongue into your mouth. And you’re so fucking shy, just rigid while he explores your mouth. But he doesn’t mind. You taste so fucking sweet, and it’s getting him so hard, knowing he’s the first man you’ve let touch you like this, kiss you like this.

He can feel your breath hitch as he strokes your face, his thumbs running across your cheeks before his hand tangles into your hair. He yanks you closer, grazing his teeth against your plump bottom lip. You gasp, and he chuckles into your open mouth. His tongue plays with yours, coaxing you to kiss him back, but not really caring too much if you don’t.

And god, he wants to thrust up into you so bad. You’re sitting right on top of his fucking hard dick, and you don’t even seem to realise it. In fact, you shift around, that cute little peachy ass rubbing against his boner, and he wonders if you even know what a boner is.

When you pull away this time, your eyes are bright and excited. And he loves how he’s kissed the gloss off your lips, and how he can still taste you on his tongue.

“Wow, that was…” you giggle, breathless yet excited from finally having your first kiss, “I don’t have anything to compare it to, but that was good!”

Rafe has to crack a smile at your innocence, and his hand lands on your bare thigh, tracing his initials on it again, “Yeah? You like kissing me?”

“I…um… yeah I do,” you say shyly, before closing your eyes for a moment and taking a deep breath, “Could we uh, could we try again? Could I try?”

Well, shit. He’s never devoted this much time and energy into just kissing a girl, but his dick grows even harder at how you’ve plucked up the courage to ask him that. And so he simply nods and sits back, lets you figure out what it is you want to do.

Your cute little hands hold on to his broad shoulders shyly. And you lean up, fluttering your eyes closed like it’s some kind of fairytale for you and you’re the little princess kissing her prince charming. It’s part enamouring, part pathetic. But Rafe feels it again, that unfamiliar feeling bubbling up in his chest. He shakes out of it, focusing on your plump lips that hesitantly press against yours.

He sits still; lets you explore his mouth. Your tongue pokes out, swipes against his. And the feeling goes straight to his dick. And then he’s kissing you back, because he doesn’t have the goddamned willpower to just sit there and do nothing. There’s an animal inside of him and you’ve awoken it, more than any drug or alcohol ever could.

And he gets rougher, biting your lip till you gasp into his mouth. His hands slip up and down your bare arms before he takes your hand, squeezes it before pressing it down on his chest, wanting you to touch him, feel how much bigger he is than you.

“Good girl,” he mutters when you don’t move your hand, and then he fingers the hem of your dress. “Gonna let me touch you a little bit?”

“Rafe, maybe not too much–”

“C’mon, princess, you have to touch while you’re making out, right? That’s lesson number two.” He distracts you with another rough kiss, grabbing your jaw and squeezing while he brings you closer to his mouth. Kissing down your jaw and neck before returning to your lips, smirking when you squeak out a little involuntary moan. That’s when he slips his hand up your dress and cups your ass. Perfect little handful of your bubble butt, and he gives it a little squeeze to test the waters. You’re too distracted with kissing him, and so he squeezes harder. God, so fuckin’ soft and pliable, just like how he’d imagined.

“Nice ass,” he murmurs against your lips, and that’s what jolts you out of it. He curses inwardly when you pull away, pushing against his chest when he doesn’t immediately stop. And a part of him knows how easy it would be to just pin you down on this fucking sofa and have his way with you. Tell you how it’s your fault for wearing this fucking dress, your fault for seducing him in his own home, acting so sexy and innocent and getting him so riled up. Teasing him with your shy little kisses and squeaks till he had no choice but to hold you down and fuck you.

“I’m sorry,” you say as you slide off his lap, straightening your dress, “I just… I got overwhelmed.”

He blinks, and he’s this close to pulling you back on top of him, telling you he didn’t give you permission to stop, that you had to listen to him because this was his house and he’d been kind enough to invite you over. And he could make you feel so good, if you just stopped being a goddamned little prude.

Instead, he forces a smile, “You’re a pretty good kisser for someone who claims she’s never done it before.”

You beam, relaxing immediately, “Oh, you’re just saying that. I bet I was really bad.”

“My memory’s kinda foggy, I think you’re gonna have to remind me,” he pulls you back into him, and you giggle as he presses light kisses on your lips, his arm going around your shoulders while your hands tangle into his hair.

It doesn’t go any further than that, though. You stop him when he tries to touch you again, and a part of him wants to slam his fist down on the glass patio table in frustration. And yet, something stops him from just overpowering you and taking what he wants. No, that would be too easy. He’s about to crack you, he can tell from the way you look at him with those big eyes, now full of trust and comfort. He just needs more time.

Too bad he only had one day left to complete the goddamned bet.

“You should come over again,” he says when he’s done up your seatbelt for you in his car. He finds he likes doing all that shit – opening the door for you, lifting you into your seat, clicking your seatbelt into place, all of it. A stark difference from other girls, where often he’s tossed their clothes at them and motioned for them to leave after he’s done hooking up with them.

“That sounds nice,” you say, waiting for him to come round and get into the driver’s seat, “And I told you; you don’t have to drive me all the way home. I could’ve just got the bus.”

He blinks. He didn’t realise buses even functioned in Figure 8, but either way, he can’t have you on a public bus. Especially not in that dress, where every man would be leering at you and you’d be none the wiser about it. The control freak in him is itching to be let out, to tell you exactly what you were and weren’t allowed to wear in public, tell you how you weren’t allowed to speak to any men except him. And you weren’t allowed to argue or contest any of this, because he was in charge of you now, and–

“No buses,” he says firmly, his hand resting comfortably on your thigh as he drives, “Anyways, come over again tomorrow. We can go in the pool or whatever.”

He feels you go rigid, “Th-The pool?”

He glances at you, “Yeah. It’ll be fun.”

You laugh nervously, “Uh, I’m not too great with water. I don’t really swim or anything.”

Rafe has to do a double-take, “You realise you live on an island?”

Even he knew that every child born in Kildare could swim before they could even walk. It’s just the way it was. They were surrounded by water. Rafe doesn’t even remember learning how to swim; it was almost like he knew how to do it by default.

“I know how to swim, I just don’t like water,” you say, and there’s something off about your tone. Something he can’t pinpoint, but you turn to the side and look out the window. Silent for the rest of the drive. Rafe doesn’t push it, although your odd behaviour has piqued his curiosity.

It’s only when he’s pulling up into the pitiful dirt road of a street where your house is situated that you clear your throat.

“Look, Rafe, you’re my friend now. And I don’t really like keeping secrets from you. I’m sorry I was so quiet just now.”

Cute. He likes how much you apologise to him. It shows how respectful you are, how much you respected him as an authority figure.

“That’s okay,” he says.

You take a deep breath, “I used to go out in the water a lot when I was younger. With my dad. He had a boat, and I would help him. But…”

Your voice trails off for a moment. Rafe thinks he knows where this is going, and a part of him is touched you’d share something like this with him. A tiny, obscure part of him, that is. He can’t help but squeeze your leg reassuringly, and you clear your throat again and blink several times. Like you’re trying not to cry. And Rafe’s never had the patience for emotional chicks, but it’s different with you.

You force out a little laugh, “I don’t want to go into details. But one time we were out pretty far, and the weather was bad. Like, really bad. The waves were rough and…” You swallow, looking down into your lap and wringing your hands together, your chest rising and falling rapidly, “And… Well, I was fine but… my dad…”

Shaking your head, you don’t say anymore. You don’t have to. Your eyes are wet and glistening, the muscles in your face working overtime to stop the tears from coming out. He parks the car in front of your house, turning to face you. He’s never been in a situation like this before, and he’s not sure how to act.

Fiercely, you wipe away the one or two rogue tears that have escaped down your cheeks, “It happened so long ago, I barely remember it. But I’ve been scared of the water ever since.”

He nods, “It’s just you and your mom now?”

“Yes. And my brothers. But they’re always working, so it’s just me and her. That’s why she’s so protective of me… I, uh, I don’t have a dad anymore.”

Rafe knows what it’s like to lose a parent, but he can’t fathom ever talking about it or voicing his feelings on it or some shit like that. His loser therapist had tried to get him to talk about his mother, but he hadn’t. He couldn’t. It was just muscle memory at this point, to force any thoughts of her straight out of his mind. It was easier that way. And now, it was like he could barely remember her. And he hated it, but it made it easier too.

He’s never been good at comforting anyone else. And a part of him is glad you’re not sobbing your eyes out right now, because he’s not sure how he’d handle that. So he’s happy when you clear your throat again and smile up at him.

“I’m not sure why I told you that, I’ve never had a friend to tell that to before. I guess I just feel comfortable with you, Rafe.”

What the hell had he done to make you so trusting of him in the span of less than a week? God, you were like an innocent little angel, sitting in his car all tiny and vulnerable. Making him feel like a goddamned fucking monster for the thoughts he had towards you, what he planned to do with you. Suddenly, the bet feels so stupid and insignificant. God, this was why Rafe didn’t speak to the women he fucked. They went all emotional on him, and now he wasn’t sure how to act.

“I feel comfortable around you too,” he says carefully. He’s never been great with his words, but he grabs your hands that continue to wring nervously together. His big, warm hand dwarfing your tiny ones, and he realises you’re shaking. And there’s a part of him that wants to protect you against everything. Take you back to his place, lock you up in his room so he could keep an eye on you and keep you away from anything and anyone who could ever hurt you and make you cry.

Even if the only person who could hurt you the most right now is Rafe himself.

You leave after that, thanking him again and again for giving you a lift home. He wants to walk you to your door, but you run off quickly, and his mind’s too distracted to follow you. He drives off once he sees you’ve safely closed your front door behind you, his mind moving a million miles per minute.

Jesus Christ, why’d you have to go and open up to him like that? This would be so much fucking easier if you hadn’t done that. He hates that he should know better, that he knows that he should leave you alone. You were too innocent, too vulnerable for his bullshit; to be caught in the middle of some dumbass bet he’d made with his friends. God dammit, he hates himself for agreeing to that stupid bet, seems so fucking juvenile looking back. Wished he’d picked a different girl at the very least, someone not as lovely a you.

Most of all, he hates himself because he knows that despite everything he’s just found out about you, he still has every intention of fucking you. Daddy issues and a phobia of water. It was almost like fate was handing you to him on a silver platter. He had to fuck you. He’d figure out the rest later.

*

Kelce: One day left, loverboy.

Topper: Can’t wait to see the pictures.

Rafe mutes the groupchat before throwing his phone aside. He’d goddamn throttle his friends if they were in front of him right now. Sometimes, he gets these violent tendencies. He doesn’t really know what to make of them except it feels good to have some kind of release. Usually that comes in the form of pushing around a sorry ass Pogue, but that option’s not really available right now.

Instead, he searches blindly for the coke he’s stashed in his bedside drawer. Again, he’d promised himself he’d cut down, but this was just to take the edge off. It didn’t count. Not really.

He wonders what you’d think if you knew how often he took drugs. Well, you wouldn’t because he’d keep you well away from that part of his life. Even when he made you his girlfriend, he’d keep you separate from all the partying. And he’d never allow you to even look at any type of Class A drug. And who knows, maybe he’d become better for you, maybe he’d go stone cold sober if you wanted him to.

That makes him laugh. Going sober for a Pogue. It was insane of him to even consider it.

Again, he has to remind himself to take his emotions out of it. All you were was a stupid Pogue, and a part of a bet he was going to goddamned fulfil. And he wouldn’t allow himself to think anything more of it. He may have had a momentary lapse of judgement yesterday, but today was a new day, the last day of the week he had to fuck you.

How? He wasn’t too sure. Reports of a storm meant you couldn’t come to his house again like how he’d planned. Even now, Rafe could hear the harrowing winds outside. Like a goddamned cyclone. And the rain pelting down unforgivingly, and the distant roar of the sea, waves crashing like they’d taken on a life of their own.

The weather on the island was usually all sunshine, but once in a blue moon a storm would hit like now. Residents were always told to wait it out and stay inside. For Rafe, that meant copious amounts of drugs and alcohol. Sometimes a girl or two to keep him company. But the idea of fucking anyone that isn’t you right now makes him sick.

He thinks about texting you, but what would be the goddamned point? If he couldn’t physically be with you today? He knows the weak, pussy part of his mind just wants to talk to you in whatever form he can. But he needs to bury that bullshit down deep inside him and never back, and–

His phone vibrates. It’s you. And he hates how he feels his heart jump to his fucking throat. You’ve called him all on your own, which means you were thinking about him like how he was thinking about you.

“Rafe?” You sound sexy like you always do, all breathy and weak and needy. A bit panicked too.

“Hey,” he says, trying to sound nonchalant, “What’s up?”

“I’m sorry I called you, I just… How are you?”

He raises an eyebrow, “I’m fine. You wanna talk?”

“No. I mean, yes. Oh, I… Rafe, I’m sorry. You’re probably busy.”

“Hey, calm down.” Rafe barely recognises the gentle quality of his voice as he straightens up, “What’s wrong, princess?”

“I’m scared.”

You say it so softly, with an air of embarrassment and shame, that at first he doesn’t quite get what you’re saying. But then he does, and something kicks in inside him. This innate need to protect you. You sound so small and needy on the phone, and you called him. You need him.

“What happened? Did someone hurt you?”

“No, no. Oh, Rafe, it’s the storm. It keeps getting worse.”

He chuckles in relief that you weren’t in any immediate danger, “Well, shit. Yeah. Looks pretty wild, huh?”

“I hate it,” you whimper softly, “and I’m sorry I called. But my mom’s stuck at work, and my brothers are crashing somewhere else. So it’s just me, and, and…”

“Hey, calm down. It’s okay, you’ll be okay.” He’s never had to comfort anyone before, but it comes naturally with you. “As long as you stay inside, the storm should pass. Just watch TV or something.”

“The lights are gonna go off any second,” you sniffle, “They always do when the weather gets bad.”

They did? Rafe never noticed shit like that. Then again, he doubts you had the luxury of backup generators where you lived. He pauses.

“Gimme twenty minutes. I’ll come over.”

“No!” You say quickly, “Rafe, it’s too dangerous.”

He snorts. He’d been in far more dangerous situations than a little bad weather. But the less you knew about that, the better. “I think I’ll be okay, princess.”

“B-But we’re not allowed out. You’ll get a fine.”

Rafe can’t count on one hand how many times he’d been fined by the dumbass police on this goddamned island over some petty bullshit reason or another. A fine meant nothing to someone with money. He was above the law, and most people on this island knew it.

“Stay put. I’ll see you soon.”

Rafe actually enjoys driving in the storm. The roads are deserted, and he can speed without worrying about anything else. And he does speed, and he runs more than one red light too. Gets to your house quicker than he thought he would. Past all the other tiny shacks all boarded up because they weren’t built well enough to withstand the storm.

“Rafe! You came!”

You sound like a fucking needy little baby, but something pulls at his heart when you hug him harder than you ever have before. And you’re so small, on your tippy toes so your arms reach around his neck. Automatically, his arms wind around your waist and he holds you close, and he can feel you trembling, your face buried in his chest as you hold on to him tightly.

“Yeah. Roads were empty. Didn’t take long.” He mutters, looking around the inside of your house. Pitiful. And pitch black, because you were right, the power had gone out. He hates that you live here. You’d fit in so much better at Tannyhill, in a pretty pink silk dressing gown and dripping with diamonds he’d buy for you. And you’d be so thankful for him, tell everyone that he saved you, how well he took care of you. How he gave you everything you could ever want, and how much you appreciated him.

At that moment, a clap of thunder makes you jump and squeal. Quickly, you pull him inside and shut the door. That’s when he notices that you’re crying.

“Hey, it’s okay. C’mere.” He pulls you into another hug, and he’s never seen another human being look so scared, so vulnerable. It makes him feel so powerful, like the man he knew you needed. “You’re safe now, I’m here.”

It feels natural, his lips pressing a kiss into your hairline. Like you’re his little baby, like he’s been trusted with something so precious and now he has to protect you. And you’re too scared to be your usual jumpy self, and you just snuggle closer into him. A flash of lightning lights up the whole room, the storm relentless against the weak confines of this sorry excuse of a house.

“Maybe we should head back to mine.” He suggests, but you whimper again.

“No, no, we can’t go out there. It’s not safe. Rafe, please.”

He doesn’t think he’s ever seen another human being so scared before. Not even when he was fucking that one girl after he’d showed her his gun. Even now, he consciously tucks his gun further down the waistband of his chinos. Of course he’d brought it with him, he wasn’t going to enter the Cut without a piece on him.

“Okay, okay. We’ll stay here. When’s your mom coming home?”

“Not till tomorrow once the storm’s died down.”

He licks his lips. It was too good to be true.

You’re still holding on to him as you lead him into your bedroom. He wonders why you’d take him straight there, but he guesses it’s your safe place. And you’ve got candles lit up, and they brighten the room enough for him to notice how small it is. The size of a shoebox, with a single bed covered in pink sheets and a bunch of stuffed animals.

Despite everything, his dick hardens.

“You’re a really good friend, Rafe.” You say honestly, “Nobody else would’ve come over like this.”

He shrugs, sitting on the edge of your bed and patting the mattress next to him. It’s not even his house and yet he feels like he needs to take control. And you obey, taking a seat next to him. But you’re preoccupied with your own fear, doing that thing where you fidget with your hands in your lap.

“I wouldn’t do it for anyone else.”

You look up at him with wide eyes, biting your lip like you can’t quite believe what he’s said, “I-I’m not special, Rafe, I–”

You’re cut off by another clap of thunder, this one so loud it makes the whole house shake. You scream bloody murder, and honestly, if you were anyone else Rafe would’ve laughed. But it’s you, and so he just watches. It’s fascinating, the way you clutch onto him like he’s your saviour, and he wonders just how this opportunity had basically just fallen into his lap.

He pulls you into his lap, knowing you won’t protest. Not in the state you’re in. You’re wearing a pair of black leggings and a little white tank top. No bra, because he can feel your nipples, hard and poking out from the fabric of your top. He can feel them against his chest as he hugs you again, and he can also feel you shifting on top of him. Your peachy little ass rubbing against his dick like you’re a fucking tease except he knows you’re none the wiser, that you have no idea the effect you have on him.

He’s so turned on, it feels like he might explode.

“I’m sorry,” you apologise for the umpteenth time, “It’s just so scary. Wh-What if the storm gets worse, Rafe?”

“It probably will,” he says, feeling slightly wicked. He holds you tighter against him, wanting to feel the brush of your breasts against his chest again. Fuck, he wants to cop a feel so bad. “They were saying something about a severe weather warning on the news. Not like anything we’ve ever seen before.”

“Noooo,” you moan like a goddamned baby, cuddling into him even more.

“It’s okay,” he says, running his hand up and down your back, “You ever, uh, you ever think of distracting yourself from the storm?”

You hiccup and blink up at him with wet eyes, “Nothing works, Rafe.”

He smirks, “I could distract you.”

“H-How?”

He runs his thumb over your lips. They’re wet with your salty tears, and yet like muscle memory, you part them for him. You watch him in wonder, your breathing shallow as he pushes his thumb into your mouth, his other hand holding you in place by your hip.

“Suck.” He instructs gently, and your eyes are as big as saucers. But in your frightened, vulnerable state, you obey immediately. And it feels like he’ll bust a nut right there, watching as you suck his thumb on command like a little fucking baby. Like he’s your daddy.

“Good girl,” he says, stroking your hair out of your face so he can watch you better. “Now listen to me, I can help you. I can distract you so that you forget all about the storm. Do you want that?”

You nod slowly, almost like you’re entranced by him. Not that he needs the green light from you, but it’s hot to see you agree so easily to whatever he’s saying. Fuck, you really were just like an angel fallen straight from heaven and into his lap. Perfect for him in every single way. So soft, so impressionable. Completely untouched. Ready to be ruined.

“That’s good,” he mutters vaguely, thinking of everything he was going to do to you. He takes his thumb out of your mouth, noticing how you pout involuntarily, like you’d gotten used to the feeling of sucking on it. Fuck, he could give you something else to suck on. “Give me a kiss.”

“H-Huh–”

“Do it. Just like how I taught you yesterday. You remember our lesson, don’t you?”

You nod, “Yeah, but will that really work? I mean–”

It’s like God himself is on Rafe’s side because there’s a loud boom of thunder at that exact moment. And you jump in his lap, tears welling in your eyes. Your chest rises up and down, and you bite your lip again, your gaze zeroing in on his mouth. Slowly, you lean up, shyly pressing your lips on his. But there’s a desperation to it, and Rafe’s returning kiss completely envelopes you whole.

He makes out with you for a while, smirking through your little pants and moans mixed with a whimper every time the weather gets especially brutal outside. He’s never been with such a goddamned scaredy cat baby before in his entire life, and it turns him on beyond belief. In the state you’re in, he could get you to do anything.

Rafe’s hands slip up to grab your little top, tugging it upwards. And this time, he almost loses it in frustration when again, you stop him.

“Rafe, Rafe no stop.” You push his hands off, straightening your top back over your midriff. “Couldn’t we just… just kiss?”

He presses his lips together in a thin line, “You trust me?”

“Of course, I just don’t know if I want to–”

“Look, didn’t I say I would distract you? I mean, shit, I could just leave.”

Your jaw drops, a flash of fear glimmering in your eyes. Instinctively, you grab onto his bicep with your tiny hands, a pleading look on your face, “No, don’t!”

He smirks, “I won’t leave. But you need to trust me to do what I need to do to distract you. Because the storm’s just gonna get worse.” He grabs your chin when you avert your gaze, forcing you to look at him, “Hey, c’mon. Who has more experience with this shit, you or me?”

“Y-You.”

“Yeah. And who’s older?”

“You are.”

“That’s right. Which means you need to trust me to make these kinds of decisions, because I know what’s best for you. That’s why you called me over, right?”

You don’t say anything, but this time when he tries to take your top off, you don’t protest. And Jesus fucking Christ, he was right. You’re not even wearing a bra, almost like you were deliberately trying to seduce him. Acting like a whiny little damsel in distress, pulling him into your pitiful little pink room, all candlelit and shit, on your little bed with your stuffed fucking animals.

Your nipples are hard, and he can’t help but cup your breasts. They’re so tender, so soft just like you. He’d imagined this exact moment many times over the course of the week whilst he’d jacked off to you, but nothing could compare to now. The way you tremble beneath his touch, knowing no one’s ever touched you like this before. He squeezes gently, watching how your breath hitches.

He’s overcome with animalistic instinct in just a second, and leans down to take your breast into his mouth. Sucks your nipple sweetly, before biting down. You cry out, arching your back so prettily, feeding him more of your nipple as you push it into his mouth. He bets you probably don’t even understand why it feels so good, having never been touched like this ever before.

He pinches your other nipple and you gasp. He smirks and does it again, looking up at you to see you gazing imploringly down at him.

“Th-That hurts,” you say pitifully.

“Yeah, but you like it, don’t you?” He takes your hands in his, bringing them up to his hair. Like a good little girl, you get the message. Your hands fist into his hair as he continues to play with your tits, licking and sucking all over them, pushing them together, biting your nipples and sucking the sensitive skin around them, wanting to leave his mark everywhere.

“Rafe, I, that… oh… oh my–”

“Stand up, baby.”

You squeak at the pet-name that falls so naturally from his lips, and he can tell you like being called that. It’s from the way your eyes widen, and how you scramble to obey. God, you were a little tease but you took instructions so fucking well.

You stand between his legs, and it gets him so fucking hard that you’re still barely eye level with him even when he’s sat down.

“Take your leggings off.”

You open your mouth to argue, but this time he just flashes you a look and you’re quick to shut the fuck up. That, and he distracts you with his hands running up and down your sides, squeezing your waist, then your hip. Finally landing on your ass with a light slap as if to tell you not to keep him waiting.

You push your leggings down and step out of them, till you’re standing between his legs in just your pink flowery panties and nothing else. And he feels a hunger he’s never ever felt before, looking down at you ravenously as if you’re a piece of meat and he’s a goddamned starved lion. A part of him just wants to grab you and stick his cock inside you while you scream and thrash and beg him to stop while you secretly enjoy it and cum again and again.

“Turn around,” Rafe says slowly, because despite his animalistic thoughts, he wants to savour this. And you do, letting him see your sexy butt adorned in just your panties. He hooks his thumb under the elastic, snapping it against your skin and laughing crudely when you yelp. “God, you’ve got such a perfect ass. I knew that since the moment I saw you.”

“Wh-What?”

“You heard me. You’re always wearing the cutest little outfits, like you were showing it off just for me.” He grabs your left ass cheek, squeezing it hard while you moan in pain or pleasure, right now he doesn’t really give much of a fuck. His other hand palms his cock through his pants at the sight.

“I wasn’t!” You say indignantly, as if he’s accused you of the absolute worst. “I wasn’t showing off, Rafe!”

“Sure you weren’t,” he snorts, “Now bend over, lemme see it better.”

He can’t believe it when you don’t hesitate this time, almost like you’re seeking his approval. Like you’re under some kind of submissive spell now, making everything even easier for him. You bend over, and your cute little ass is directly in his face. He pushes your panties to the side, gives the soft flesh a feather-light kiss before spanking you again. You yelp all cutely, but stay in position for him. What a good fucking girl.

“Stand up straight, look at me again.”

You turn back around, biting your lip as you look at him anxiously. Around you, the whole room seems to vibrate as another boom of thunder strikes. You make a noise in your throat, before grabbing onto his bicep again. You keep doing that, and it makes him feel strong, big, important. Like you’re a little baby seeking protection from her daddy.

“I’m gonna take your panties off now, okay?” He doesn’t know why he tells you before he does it, but he watches as you relax. There’s a war going on behind your eyes, he can tell. He knows part of you is liking how he’s making you feel, and part of you is desperate to distract yourself from the storm, and it’s battling the part of you that wants to keep your modesty, the part that knows this is a bad idea, that itching fear that he’s not a good guy, that he’s taking advantage of you.

Slowly, he slips your panties down your shaking legs, and you keep holding on to his arm like you’re scared to let go. Like the storm would come and get you the moment you stopped holding him like a little baby. He lets you, liking how weak you feel against him.

And then you’re completely naked in front of him, stepping shyly out of your panties that are left on the floor in a heap along with the rest of your clothes. And he’s still fully dressed, and that juxtaposition turns him on beyond belief. He can smell your pussy, and it’s driving him crazy. Makes him want to just pin you down and have his way with you. It incenses him in a way he’s never really experiences before.

His hands grab your hips, yanking you closer. He feels a wave of impatience, pushing you down till you’re sitting on the bed. He gets up, pushing your legs apart with one of his own. You gasp, and he sinks down to his knees, pressing a soft kiss to the skin just below your belly button.

“It’s time for lesson number three, baby,” Rafe murmurs softly, “this is how I’m gonna distract you, okay? Shit, I’m gonna make you feel so good, you’ll forget all about the storm. You gonna let me do that?”

You swallow, “H-How, Rafe?”

God, you were absolutely clueless. Made him feel like a fucking monster for taking advantage of you like this. But he liked it, liked how good and sweet and innocent you were, even now when he had you naked on your pretty princess bed with your legs spread for him.

“I’m gonna kiss you down here for a while, alright baby?”

“Down there?” You suck in your breath prettily, as if the very idea of that sounds so insane to you. God fucking dammit, just how much had your mother sheltered you?

Instead of explaining further, Rafe spreads your folds with two of his fingers, smirking when he sees you glistening and wet. And God, what a pretty and perfect pussy you had, all slippery and wet, like it was begging to be fucked. And even now, as you sit there breathing heavily, your pussy seems to get wetter just by him spreading it. You’re leaking down onto your pretty pink sheets, and it’s all because he’s merely touched you there.

You’ve gone silent, the storm seemingly already forgotten as you just watch him. Your chest rises up and down, and it’s like every other part of you is frozen in place. In awe, until he notices a slight movement in your pelvis. Involuntarily, you hump the air, like your poor pussy is begging for some type of contact or friction. He smirks.

“You have an accident, princess?”

You look absolutely aghast, “No!”

Rafe leans forward, inhaling deeply. And you smell so goddamned sweet, and he can’t wait any longer. He lays his tongue flat against your virgin cunt, and he can feel you throbbing with anticipation. He licks upwards, and you grab onto his hair, tugging hard as you yelp.

“Oh my God–”

He looks up, “Not God, baby. Just me.” Absentmindedly, he flicks your clit with his thumb and your entire body jerks. He chuckles, “And there’s another thing I’m going to need you to do.”

“What?”

“You’re going to call me daddy while I eat your cunt, okay?”

For the fifth time this evening, your jaw drops, and you gaze down at him in indignance, “What? But Rafe, you’re not my–”

“Your daddy? I mean, you do want me to take care of you, don’t you?” He smiles when you don’t immediately respond, “That’s why you called me today. Because you felt unsafe, like how you’ve felt your whole life ever since you lost your real daddy, isn’t that right?”

He half expects you to shove him off you, scream, lose it, slap him, kick him out of your house for going there, for trying to take advantage of your obvious daddy issues. But it’s like you’re in a trance, and he keeps going, “You want someone to take control, to reassure you that everything’s gonna be okay. That’s why you’ve let me take care of you this whole week, right? Because you need me, you like how I make you feel.”

He softly strokes your bare thighs, noticing that you’re shaking under his touch. And you look like you’re about to cry, in your most vulnerable state in front of him. And yet he keeps going, his voice like a calm lull, almost hypnotic with how you look at him with your huge, unblinking eyes.

“I can be your new daddy, princess. You’re gonna let me, aren’t you?”

Rafe doesn’t wait for your response. Instead, he grips your thighs harder, spreading them as far as they’ll go. He spits on your mound, watching his saliva drip down to your pussy. You’re watching too, with stricken, hooded eyes. Like you’re frozen in time and space, and he’s the only constant.

Leaning forward, he envelopes your clit between his lips, giving it a harsh suck. Your entire body convulses, and you moan the loudest he’s ever heard you. Thunder claps at the same time, but you’re louder than it, and your hands grab on to his hair, and you press your cunt into his face, practically smothering him but he fucking loves it.

“Tell daddy to lick your cunt,” he orders, his voice deeper and lower than it’s ever been, and a slight threat in his tone, “say it, or else I’ll stop everything.”

“L-Lick it, please,” you beg so prettily, keeping your voice barely above a whisper. Rafe sits back, looking at you expectantly till you make the prettiest little noise of impatience. You shoot him a pleading look of desperation, but he doesn’t let up. You cry out, gripping his hair harder before ducking your head in shame, “P-Please, okay? Please lick my cunt, daddy.”

Rafe could’ve orgasmed right there at the sound of your sweet, delicate voice pleading with him, finally addressing him as daddy. Instead, he sucks hard on your sensitive, engorged clit, and you scream bloody murder. He snickers against your soaking folds, grabbing your thrashing hips, stilling them slightly but allowing you to rock them against his face till it’s shining with your wetness.

“Messy little girl,” he mutters, “excited, aren’t you? Never had this virgin pussy eaten, huh?” he grows sloppy, messy with his licks. Tonguing your sensitive nub till you’re a writhing mess above him, incoherent little gasps and moans tumbling out of your mouth as you continue to hump against his face because you’re a goddamned virgin who doesn’t know how to act because you’re feeling so good.

Rafe’s practically making out with your pussy, and he’s never enjoyed going down on a girl as much as he is right now. It’s how responsive you are, it’s how this is all so new to you so you don’t even know nor care to hold anything back. You’re rubbing your pussy on his face like all you can think of is how good he’s making you feel. And he fucks you with his tongue, unable to quite believe how sweet you taste. Like an angel, his angel. All his.

“It’s…It’s too much, Rafe!” you cry out, and yet you’re rolling your hips with abandon, riding his tongue while he sucks and licks you out like he’s starved.

“You can take it,” his voice is muffled, and you try to wrap your thighs around his head except his grip on them is too strong. It’ll leave bruises in the shape of his fingers all over your soft skin, but he likes that. He wants to bruise you, mark you, make you his in every way possible. So next time when you wore a slutty little sundress, every goddamned man on this island would know you’re taken. Fuck, he’d get his name tattooed on your goddamned pussy, and–

You cum, squeaking so prettily he wants to bottle up the sound and keep it safe in his memories forever. Your first orgasm, and all it took was a couple of minutes of him eating your cunt. And your muscles squeeze around his tongue, and you cry and moan like you don’t even know what’s happening. Your grab at his hair, pulling so hard because you’ve probably never felt like this before.

And Rafe doesn’t stop, his tongue swirling circles while you hump and grind against his mouth, riding out your orgasm, moaning his name over and over again. Outside, the weather gets worse, and at one point he notes the whole room shakes as if the goddamned roof’s about to blow off. You don’t give a fuck though, and he doesn’t either.

“Oh, Rafe, oh, oh oh, it’s too much!”

Now, you’re trying to push him off you, but selfishly he keeps tongue-fucking you. His thumb rubs your engorged, sensitive clit. He knows it’s too much for you, but he’s too fucking turned on to stop.

“C’mon, baby. Don’t be like that. Lemme give you another one.”

“No, I-I can’t, I, oh fuck!”

He slaps your clit, and a squelching sound fills the room. You gasp, and he just snickers, having entirely too much fun with you. And again, you twitch your hips, inadvertently pushing your cunt into his face again. You’re out of breath and sensitive from your first orgasm, and yet your greedy little pussy wants to give him another one.

“You like it when your daddy slaps your cunt?”

You’re such a shy little thing, gaping at him as if he’s said the most insidious thing on earth. And yet, your cunt squeezes around his tongue, and he you up as you continue to leak into his mouth. He looks up at you, “Tell me you like it.”

“I, uh, I like it, uh… daddy, oh gosh!”

It takes just one more spank and you come undone, cumming all over his face and he licks you throughout. Long, languid stripes of his tongue flat against your wet folds, then he switches to fucking you with it, and your fuckhole’s so goddamned tight, his tongue barely even fits a little bit, but it doesn’t stop him. He’s got one hand slipped down his pants, jacking off because this is the hottest thing in the world he’s ever witnessed. Innocent little baby crying after orgasming from getting her pussy spanked by her daddy.

He feels like a lion closing in on the fucking lamb, forgetting himself for a second as he gets up. Aggressively pushing you down till you’re lying flat on the bed, surrounded by your stupid stuffed animals. In a second, he’s on top of you, breathing hard like a man possessed. God fuck, all he had to do was shove it inside you, hold you down and tell you to take it. Maybe press his hand over your mouth to keep you from screaming too loud. Not that it mattered. Nobody could save you from him tonight.

But you blink up at him so prettily, so unaware of his intentions, your eyelashes wet with tears. Your lips bitten and pouty, face shiny with sweat. Your hands grab his arms again, squeezing like you’ve grown used to doing.

“R-Rafe, that was… wow.” You say breathlessly, so blissfully innocent, not realising at all that he’s moments away from holding you down and fucking you, that he’s planning how he’ll do it in his head this very moment. “I never… I never thought it could feel that good.”

Rafe finds himself feeling that again, that weird feeling that kept bubbling up inside his chest from time to time whenever he was with you. He still doesn’t have a name for it; he can’t even properly describe it. But looking down at you now, watching you stare up at him with those shining eyes of yours. All he can do is push a piece of your hair out of your face, and smile slowly down at you.

“What do you even know about sex, baby?” He breathes, his face so close to yours.

“Oh, well, uh… Not that much. I mean obviously I know how it works. I just… I didn’t know you could call someone da– that.”

He smirks, tapping your cheek condescendingly, “You mean daddy?”

You look embarrassed, “Yeah.”

“I need you to keep calling me that, okay?” Rafe says gently, “It’s completely normal and I told you I’d take care of you from now on. You want that, don’t you?”

Again, he nudges at your lips with his thumb, making you suck it. Which you do, and the feeling goes straight to his dick. He wants to fuck you while you suck his thumb, gently rock his hips into you, your tight pussy squeezing his huge cock while you whimper around his thumb, sucking it while you cried and just took it, took whatever he gave you and then said thank you, daddy like the good little girl you were.

He starts kissing you again, unable to help it. And your response is so enthusiastic, he feels like he might explode. You’re getting more confident with all the kissing stuff, and Rafe likes that it’s all because of him.

“You ready for the next lesson, baby?” He asks between kisses, his hands everywhere all over your naked body. Squeezing your breasts, playing with your ass. Loving that you’re naked beneath him and so willingly too.

You swallow harshly, “I don’t think I’m ready–Oh!”

He takes your hand, pressing it inside his slacks. Right on his hard, throbbing dick. And fuck, it feels so small, so weak against his pulsating cock. He bites his lip hard to keep from thrusting into your hand.

“Take it out.”

“N-No!”

He exhales loudly through his nose, holding your hand tight against him when you try to snatch it away. “Baby, what did I tell you about doing what I say?”

“I-I know but… but I’m scared.”

“It’s okay to be scared,” he says, “but you need to do this, alright? Didn’t I make you feel good just now?”

“Well, yes, but–”

“So just trust me. I’ll make you feel good again, okay baby?” He kisses you lightly once, twice, three times till you smile, “You’ve been such a good girl tonight. So brave for me....”

You hiccup, looking up at him with those goddamned saucer-like eyes again, “R-Really?”

He strokes your cheek, innately aware of your hand relaxing against his cock, “Yes. Such a brave, good girl. You forgot all about the storm outside, didn’t you?”

As if on cue, you whimper and cuddle into him more. He smiles like a goddamned wolf, feeling evil yet desperate at the same time, “Call me daddy again, princess.”

You don’t even fucking hesitate, “d-daddy, I–”

“Take daddy’s cock out, baby. It’ll distract you, I promise.”

You do exactly what he says, and he helps you. He can’t help but hiss when you free his dick from the confines of his slacks, and you gasp too, dropping it immediately when you see it.

“Shit, gimme your hand,” he murmurs, and he doesn’t wait this time. Snatching your hand in his, he spits down into your palm before pressing it on his dick. “Stroke it.”

You pull back, “I don’t know how, I don’t–”

“Do it or I’ll leave right the fuck now.”

 In your helpless daze, you whimper before placing your hand back on his dick. And it’s so red, about ready to explode the moment you touch him. He exhales slowly, and it feels so fucking good, and he covers your hand with his, guiding it, making you stroke him up and down.

“That’s so good, baby. You’re so good.”

“I am?”

“Shit, yeah, just keep doing that. You’re such a good girl for me, aren’t you?” He notes how you grow more confident, rubbing his dick and jacking him off like a good little girl. His hand leaves yours, instead cupping your face as he pulls you in for another kiss. He can’t help kissing you, you taste so fucking sweet and it’s insane because he’s never particularly enjoyed kissing anyone this much before. But he loves kissing you, leading you through it, guiding you. Loves how responsive you are, loves how you listen to him even when you feel all scared and hesitant. As if you know that at the end of the day, he was the one with all the power, the one in charge. The only one who knew how to take care of you.

“You ever seen a cock before this, princess?” He asks crudely between kisses.

Your eyes widen, “N-No, Rafe– I mean, uh, daddy.”

“No? Good girl. That’s so fuckin’ hot.” He bites your pouty bottom lip, and you gasp, squeezing his dick in your hand and it makes him moan straight into your fucking mouth. What a naughty girl.

“It’s, uh, it’s so big,” you say quietly, so quietly that Rafe almost doesn’t catch it. But he does, and he smiles, pulling back slightly.

“Yeah?”

Shyly, you duck your head, “Yeah, daddy.”

God, you were so fucking irresistible. He couldn’t take it anymore. He takes your hand, which was still steadily pumping his dick, and holds it tightly. Holds both your hands by your sides as he nudges your legs apart again, and watches as you take a deep breath, as if you know what’s coming.

Lowly, he whistles at how wet you are, your juices having leaked down to stain your pink sheets again. Rafe’s never had a virgin before but he knows how eager they are, how easily turned on they get. He can imagine how slippery wet and snug your snatch would be around his dick. Now, he swipes a finger down your slit, gathering your wetness while you squirm under him.

“Aww, look how excited your pussy is, princess.” He snickers, bringing his finger up to your lips, smearing them with your wetness, getting it all over your face too till it shines and you’re all messy. “Tell me, what’s got her so wet?”

‘I don’t know.”

SMACK.

Rafe finds he quite enjoys slapping your cunt, especially when it’s so wet and throbbing. You cry out, quivering and shaking underneath him. He flashes you a look, “Answer the question.”

“You,” you breathe, blinking up at him, “You, daddy.”

“Yeah? I get your pussy wet?” He’s working himself up, his dick nudging against your folds and he doesn’t know why he doesn’t just shove it in there. “Tell me why.”

You moan pleadingly, “R-Rafe, please!”

“When I ask you a question, I expect you to answer it properly,” he says, enjoying himself a bit too much. It was payback for all the times you’d teased him without even realising it this past week. Flaunting your sexy little body, blinking up at him with those fuck me eyes, as if you were just begging for it in your own little innocent way.

You swallow harshly, and despite everything he can see you thinking carefully, as if you want to give him a real proper answer to impress him. Cute.

“I, uh, I like how big you are,” you stutter slowly, “you-you’re a lot bigger than me.”

He grins wolfishly, pushing his hair out of his face before pressing a greedy kiss to your lips, which you respond to fervently. But he pulls away all too quickly, looking down at you as if he expects you to continue.

“I like how strong you are,” you’re looking anywhere but at his face, he guesses because you’re too shy. He sponges kisses down your jaw, your neck, down to your chest. Kisses all over your tits, presses them together and licks them, bites at your nipples while you moan between your words. “You make me feel safe, daddy.”

Rafe pauses, and it’s there again. That stupid fucking feeling that he doesn’t understand, nor does he care to understand it right now. Nobody’s ever felt safe with him before. Everyone’s always been afraid of him or hated him or screwed him over because they didn’t trust him. No one’s ever looked at him how you’re looking at him and it makes him feel things he’s never felt before.

But he shoves those feelings straight back down, clears his throat before pressing his finger down between your folds. You shiver and moan, hips bucking up before he pins them in place. He tries pushing his pointer finger inside you, but is met with resistance despite how soaking wet you are. Fuck.

“Tightest pussy I ever had,” he mutters, “but she’ll take daddy’s dick, won’t she?”

It’s more of a statement than a question, and he ignores your soft cries as he forces his finger up your cunt. Till it’s finally knuckle-deep, and he bets you can feel the cool silver of his ring against your warmth. And your pussy’s so fucking snug, gripping his finger like a vice, and even he has to wonder how he’d possibly fit his big dick inside you.

“So full,” you breathe, your chest rising and falling rapidly with each breath. But he shuts you up soon enough when he starts fingering you. One singular finger, because that’s all that fits. But he moves it in and out, curving upwards till you moan, thrusting your hips in rhythm like you can’t even help it.

“Gonna add another one, okay baby?”

‘W-Won’t fit, daddy.”

“Shh, yes it will. Daddy’s gonna make it fit.”

Rafe makes it fit. He has to hold you down while you cry like a baby, but soon he’s got his index and middle finger shoved inside you, finger-fucking your tight, virgin cunt while his hard dick slaps against his stomach, and he’s so fucking turned on. More than he’s ever been in his whole life.

“How’s that feel, baby?” He murmurs into your ear, nibbling at it, licking inside it and making you jump. And fuck, you’re so jumpy, and he has to keep you pinned down while he fingers you, and a sick part of him wonders if he’s drawn blood already.

“H-Hurts,” you whimper like the goddamned little cry-baby you are. “R-Rafe please slow down.”

“Come on, don’t tell me to slow down,” he continues pumping his thick fingers up your slippery wetness, feeling like you’re swallowing them up whole every time, “Not when you’re drippin’ all over your sheets like a little–”

“But it hurts!”

“That’s okay, it’s supposed to hurt,” he explains slowly, like you’re dumb, “it’s because you’ve never done this before, so that’s why I gotta stretch you out like this first, okay?”

A lone tear meanders down your cheek, “I-I don’t think it’s gonna fit, Rafe.”

“I made ‘em fit, didn’t I?”

“Nooo, you’re, uh, I mean your…” You sniffle helplessly, a wild look in your eye that looks half scared, half confused as he bets your body’s starting to betray you.

Rafe feels a smile creep up on his face, “You already thinkin’ about my cock, sweetheart? How it’s gonna feel when it’s up your virgin cunt?”

You shake your head vehemently, but you’re a little angel slut because your hips are bucking up to meet his fingers. “Rafe, no. Your f-fingers, they’re already too much, I don’t think I can take…”

“Didn’t I just tell you I’d make it fit?”

You grip his arm tightly, pleadingly “Y-You’re too big, I-I don’t think I can handle anymore…Oh fuck!”

He knows he’s hit that spot inside you because your whole back arches, and you let out the hottest moan he’s ever fucking heard in his life. Complete abandon, head thrown back, digging your nails so hard into his arm that he’s sure you’ve broken through his skin.

“That’s right, baby girl. Just fuckin’ take it,” he mutters, increasing his pace, wondering if he can fit a third finger in. “Fuck, you’re so good, baby. Taking your daddy’s fingers like a champ. God, look at your little virgin cunt, swallowing ‘em up like a greedy little slut. Didn’t think you’d turn out to be so fuckin’ slutty, baby.”

You clench around him, moaning his name and he can’t believe how much his dirty talk is having an effect on you. His thumb rubs at your clit while he continues to finger fuck you, wanting to draw another orgasm out of you because you’re so fucking gorgeous when you cum, and he wants you to make a mess all over his fingers before he finally takes you with his cock.

“Too much, too much, oh, oh, oh,” you’re half delirious, humping against his fingers, letting him fuck you with them, and he knows you must feel so full. And it feels like heaven for him, being inside you (even if it is just with his fingers). You feel so soft, so wet, so warm. Your muscles tensing and relaxing around him as he builds you up.

“Take it,” Rafe repeats, “bet it’s never felt this good huh? You ever finger yourself, baby girl? Touch yourself late at night when you think everyone else’s asleep?”

You gasp at his words, but he feels you clench around his digits.

“Mmm, not such a good little girl after all, huh? Fingering yourself when you think your mommy’s asleep,” he grins wickedly at the horrified look on your face, increasing pace, “but it’s never enough, is it? Your fingers aren’t as big as mine, so you could never make yourself cum.” He laughs, “this whole time, all you needed was a man like me to take care of you. Say it, say you need me. Say it.”

“N-Need you!” You cry out, delicious tears streaking your face, “I need you, daddy. I-I…Oh fuck, please! Please, I don’t… I just… I–“

You squirt all over his hand. And it’s insane; Rafe’s never seen anything like it before. He gazes in wonder, caught off-guard for once. You completely come undone, crying and panting his name, rocking your hips against his hand as you ride out your third orgasm of the night. And who knew it would take just a little bit of dirty talk to get you to squirt? God, you were so fucking hot, so full of surprises. So perfect for him, it was unbelievable.

“Good girl,” he strokes your head like you’re his little pet, taking his wet fingers and pressing them into your mouth, and you’re so hot when you automatically suck on them. “Such a good girl, baby. That was so fuckin’ sexy.”

All you do is clutch at him and cry, so spent and overstimulated from your orgasm. Rafe licks his lips, feeling both protective yet predatory at the same time. You’re at your weakest, most vulnerable state. Outside, thunder and lightning strike over and over again as if they were paid to do so, and the room lights up and goes dark, it shakes and shudders, and the winds howl like a pack of possessed wolves. And yet you look so pretty in the dim glow of the candlelight.

It's the perfect night for you to get ruined. His perfect little baby. Pristine and innocent and at his mercy.

Rafe’s cock is so hard it hurts, throbbing as he grabs it by the base, pumps it as he hovers over you. On his knees while you lie beneath him, looking so deliciously scared. He presses his whole length against your stomach, and watches your eyes almost bulge out of your head. He knows he’s big, but compared to your tiny frame, he’s massive. And he gets off on that, gets off on how much bigger he is than you. He smears his precum against your stomach, smirking as he watches you swallow and try to be brave.

“Listen to me,” he grabs your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes, “You like my cock, baby? You like looking at it, huh?”

The way you lick your lips gives it away, and he laughs cruelly, tapping your cheek like you’re his little pet. “Say it, then. Say you like it. Beg me to put it inside you. C’mon, baby, look at your pussy, she’s crying for it. Beg me.”

He knows you’re at war with yourself, and you shake your head tearfully, opening your mouth to speak. But a clap of thunder sounds just then, so loud it makes the whole room shake. You cry out so pitifully, it makes his heart throb a little. You grab at him, and he falls down on top of you, kissing you, kissing your salty sweet lips and your tears. Kissing you all over while your desperate hands tangle into his hair.

That’s when he nudges the tip of his dick against your folds. And it already feels like fucking heaven, your wet warmth practically begging him to shove it inside you. He presses his tip on your puffy, sensitive clit and you jump, your eyes widening and then you push at his chest.

“R-Rafe, please, I don’t think–”

“Shh, c’mon, baby. Let daddy fuck you,” Rafe urges softly against your lips, “gonna make you feel so good again, mhm?”

“Nooo…”

He tries to ignore your soft cries, the way your palms press weakly against his chest.

“Shit, just relax,” he coaxes, knowing he could just hold you down and force it in, and yet…

He kisses you, tasting salt on your lips. You try to kiss him back, but he can feel you gulping for breath. He can feel your heart hammering against your chest. He can feel your limbs pushing at his body, but he’s just so much fucking bigger than you that it doesn’t even make a difference, and yet…

“Rafe, I… please…”

“Baby…”

His dick feels like it’s going to explode, and he runs it up and down your soaking slit, and you moan. And your face looks turned on beyond belief, and yet scared at the same time. Nervous, frightened, vulnerable. It’s a heady mix, and he doesn’t know what to do, and–

“Please, Rafe. I’m not ready, I-I can’t, Rafe. Please…”

“Fuck.”

Something comes over him, and Rafe feels it again. That bubbling, intense feeling inside his chest. Like a rush of an emotion he doesn’t know if he’ll ever understand. All he knows is he can’t, he fucking can’t. You’re so sweet, so kind, pure like a flower and he just can’t bring himself to pluck it. Tear it apart. Ruin it like how he ruined everything else he touched.

He rolls over, lying beside you while you quiver next to him. Both breathing hard. And outside, the wind howls and howls almost like it’s mocking him. Laughing at him for being a goddamned pussy. And there’s another clap of thunder, and he hears you crying softly.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Rafe finds himself gathering you in his arms, holding you against his chest, “Hey, look, don’t worry about it. It’s okay.”

“I-I thought I could but…” you hiccup between your tears, and your eyes look like there are a thousand stars shining wetly inside them, and he knows he’s never seen anything so beautiful. “I’m sorry, I thought I could do it, I thought–”

“It’s okay,” he repeats, cupping your face and making you look at him, his thumbs swiping away your tears, “Don’t cry, okay? Shit, it’s okay, baby. It’s okay.”

“Y-You’re not mad?”

He strokes up and down your back, soothing you while he wonders whether he is. But the only thing he feels right now is this strange, innate need to protect you. To reassure you. Hold your quivering body close till you stopped shaking. It’s insane, because he doesn’t feel like himself, because he’s never felt this before. It’s alien. Completely, utterly fucking alien.

“No,” he answers quietly, pressing a kiss to your hairline, “No, I’m not mad.”

“You pr-promise?”

“I promise.”

He feels like a different person as he tucks his dick back into his slacks. Like someone else, like someone he doesn’t recognise. But it feels so natural, holding you so close that your heartbeat feels like his. And the storm outside feels like a million miles away. Like it’s just you and him on a different planet and nothing else exists, nothing else means anything except you.

You fall asleep in his arms, spent after everything. And Rafe doesn’t even feel frustrated in that moment, because all he can focus on is how peaceful you look. Your tears dried on your cheeks, your chest rising and falling rhythmically. You trusted him with everything. And it made him feel like someone important.

The wind laughs and laughs all night.

*

The morning is calm, tranquil. Almost like the storm never even was. And Rafe wakes up well rested, with you cuddled on his chest, his arm around you and his thumb in your mouth. The room dappled in sunlight, the candles all blown out or melted away.

Slowly, he detangles from you, making sure not to wake you up. You look so peaceful, so innocent. So soft and pretty, in your little shack of a house on the Cut. He frowns as he looks around. In the morning light, your room looks even more pitiful. It’s clean, and you’ve made it pretty with notes and posters and fairy lights. But he can see the paint peeling off the walls, the fact it’s smaller than his closet back home.

Rafe can’t believe he’s woken up on this side of the island.

He has the sudden urge to leave. To run. Hastily, he types out a text to you.

Rafe: Hey. I thought I’d leave in case your mom came home and saw us. Didn’t want to wake you. Talk to you later.

He has to get home. Gather his thoughts. Recalibrate. Think about what the fuck came over him last night, when he’d had you right where he fucking wanted you. And then he’d pussied out of it. Rafe Cameron never pussied out of anything.

What the fuck did that mean?

His gaze shifts to you again, so pretty and sound asleep. Naked because you’d so willingly shed your clothes for him, spread your legs for him. And he could have had you. Hell, he could have you right now. Force himself into you while you were still asleep, and you’d wake up crying and sobbing, all confused and sleepy while he held you down and ordered you to just take it.

That’s what he should’ve done last night. So then what the fuck had stopped him?

Now, he lightly runs his fingers over your bare thigh, humming lightly at how smooth you feel. So soft, like an angel. A powerful, almost all-consuming feeling overtakes him. A wave of possessiveness coursing through him like a tidal wave of dark poison. You were his. All his. He could do what he pleased with you. Your body was his. You’d all but served it to him on a silver platter last night, in your pathetic little room with the candles.

Rafe feels like he’s having an out of body experience. He gets his phone out, ignoring any small, decent part of him that was sending warning signals to his brain. You were his. He had every right to do this.

Silently, he takes the pictures. And a sick part of him gets off on it, gets off on the fact you’re asleep and none the wiser to what’s happening. But this was the least you could do, you’d left him hanging last night. After he’d been so patient, so understanding. Fuck that. Why had he been like that? Like he was weak?

“You make me feel safe, daddy.”

Your words from last night ring in his ears, bouncing around in his brain till it gets too much, till they start to echo and get louder and louder. Till he feels the urge to punch the shit out of your bedroom wall. It was all too much. He had to get out of here.

He tucks his phone into his pocket, pushes the cotton covers up till your chin, and then leaves without looking back.

*

“There he is! The loverboy himself!”

His friends gather around him the next morning like he’s the second coming of Christ himself.

“How was she, Rafe?” one of them slaps him on the back, “That is, if you fucked her.”

“Yeah.” Kelce stands in front of him with his arms crossed over his chest, looking at Rafe expectantly. They all are. “Did you fuck her?”

Rafe scoffs, “Is that even a question.”

He’d waited all day yesterday for you to respond to his text. Like a pussy ass little bitch, he’d waited for you to say something. Growing angrier and more paranoid by the second when you didn’t. Staring at the pictures he’d taken of you like a man possessed, his thumb hovering over the delete button a handful of times before he’d thrown his phone angrily across the room. Hating how you were making him wait. Hating how his heart had leapt up to his fucking throat when you finally had replied: I’m so sorry for being such a scaredy cat yesterday. Thank you for coming over.

He'd discovered something then. He was obsessed with you. And he hated it.

“Pictures or it didn’t happen,” Kelce grins, cutting straight to the chase. Next to him, Rafe sees Topper’s eyes light with interest, as well as the others too. Fucking desperate losers, trying to catch a glimpse of something that belonged to him. Because they’d never get to see you like that, ever. No one else would. He’d make sure of that.

“It did happen.” Rafe says calmly, “Like I said it would.”

“Okay well, that’s great brother but we’re gonna need proof.” One of the clowns pipes up.

“You don’t need shit,” He shoots back.

“You didn’t take pictures?” Topper asks.

Rafe runs a hand through his hair in frustration. “I did.”

“Then show us. That was the deal.”

He wants to beat the shit out of all of them for daring to ask to see intimate pictures of you. As if you were anything like the other whores he’d fucked in the past, the type of stupid girls him and his friends used every week. You were different, and you were his, and they had no fucking business looking at what was his.

“Look. I don’t give a shit if you don’t believe me.” He mutters, completely over the dumb ass bet and over his friends too. They’d forget about it by tomorrow, ready to become his willing followers once more. They always did.

“C’mon man, you can’t bring our hopes up like that. Either you never fucked her or,” Kelce’s eyes glint when it registers, “Or you’ve gone soft for her. You’ve–”

Rafe grabs him roughly by the collar, a sudden anger coursing through him like he’s been electrocuted. “Listen, you fucking moron. Don’t ever insinuate I’ve gone soft for a goddamned Pogue.”

He spits that last word out like it’s venom, and yet he tried to ignore how hollow it feels. When he realises people are staring, he quietly lets go, smoothing Kelce’s shirt while his friends stare at him fearfully in that way he’s grown used to people looking at him.

“I fucked her,” Rafe says plainly, his tone switching from aggressive to calm in a split second, almost like he’s slipped on a mask, “I fucked her just like I’ve fucked every other Pogue bitch who’s thrown herself at me before her. And it wasn’t anything special. She acts all innocent, but it was easy to get her to spread her legs for me just like I told you it would be.”

He hears a thud, and then a little gasp behind him. So soft, it barely registers. Except it does, and he turns around.

And immediately locks eyes with you.

And then it feels like it’s just him and you. And nobody else is there. And there’s no sound, like both of you have stopped breathing. You stand there, frozen, stricken. Your books on the ground in front of you. Only a few steps behind him, well within earshot. And he sees something break in your expression, porcelain features twisting in hurt, shock, dismay, disbelief.

“Oh shit,” Topper mutters from somewhere behind him. A few of his friends snicker, but Rafe can’t hear them. No, he’s frozen, staring at you as if he can’t quite believe it. And he sees the tears welling in your eyes.

A little broken sob falls from your lips, and then you turn and run. And Rafe wants to chase after you but it’s like he’s frozen in time and space. Watching you run off while he just stands there.

Stands and watches as you run away from him, your hands reaching up blindly to wipe at your face. And that feeling returns tenfold. That feeling that Rafe can’t quite put his finger on, that feeling which he wants to push back down because it suffocates him, and he doesn’t understand it. The feeling consumes him from the inside out, till he feels like he can’t breathe.

And he just stands there and watches until you’re gone.

𝘼/𝙉: OOF. Okay, I finally posted it! Please let me know what your thoughts! Literally any reaction, predictions, favourite parts etc. All of it, ANY of it would be so appreciated! Also please forgive any spelling or grammatical errors. Here's some questions in case you want to answer them (you don't have to!! you can comment/reblog whatever you want, i just always post questions at the end of my fics)

Does Rafe genuinely care for reader?

Should reader forgive Rafe?

Favourite scene/part?

Anyways, that's it. Now I'll anxiously wait to see what you guys think. PLEASE PLEASE consider reblogging this fic if you plan on liking it and want me to continue it. Thanks so much for all your support when I posted the sneak peek. I hope this lived up to your expectations! <3

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

tell me again that you hate me

a/n: i kinda just poured all of the filth ever into this one fic... you're welcome.

summary: “you know, I could help you. Pop that little cherry for you,” he shrugged as if he didn’t seem out of his mind for what he was brashly uttering, “you desperately need it, that fucking stick up your ass makes you such a bitch to be around. But no one is gonna wanna bang you, I mean, maybe you could be kinda hot if you weren’t such a fucking loser, if you didn’t dress like a fucking pogue, but I don’t think anyone would commit social suicide like that. So, I’ll take care of it. Fix that problem for the good of everyone else.” 

warnings: bully!stepbro!rafe cameron x virgin!reader, smut, dark content, dubcon/noncon, enemies to lovers, rafe is in college while reader is still in high school (everyone is over 18), blackmail, alcohol consumption, allusion to drug use, drunk driving, hidden cameras, panty stealing, references to somno, possessiveness, kissing, loss of virginity, size kink, belly bulge, pain kink, dirty talk, impact play, oral, pussyjob, just the tip, squirting, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, cumplay, no aftercare and not really any foreplay, public sex, rafe is mean and pervy and dark but it's all fun because it's just a silly fantasy

word count: 5153

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Your life had turned into a living nightmare.

You thought that when your high school bully graduated, you’d finally get rid of him. But little did you know what the future held in store, just who your own mother would decide to marry and what particular family you’d be forced to fuse with. 

Rafe Cameron had been the bane of your existence for years. Sure, when you’d first met him, you admittedly had a bit of a crush on him, but that was until he noticed you and truly showed you the notorious bully that he was. And now that he, the very person who had turned your teenage years into literal hell, had become your stepbrother, you couldn’t wait to get out of there, move halfway across the globe just to never see his face again. 

It also didn’t help matters that you got situated in the room right next to his, even had to share a Jack and Jill bathroom with him. 

Now what you didn’t know was how Rafe’s feelings truly were towards you. How he only started bullying you because you made him feel some type of way that no other chick did, but you came from the wrong side of the island, so getting those feelings out in the form of cruelty only seemed natural to a guy such as him. You had no idea that it was actually you whom he thought about every time he jerked off on the other side of that incredibly thin wall you shared, or even that his wicked fascination with you only seemed to grow now that you were a part of the family. 

The impatient knocks were no use, so swiftly you swung the door to Rafe’s bedroom open. He was nowhere in sight, but before you could turn around to search for him in another place, the light that his computer monitor blared out into the space caught your eye.

Your vision however grew wide as soon as you saw the taboo tab that was open. It was porn, but not just any porn. The open page was littered with rows and rows of graphic videos that all fell under the stepsister search he had typed in. 

Frozen in your stance, you wanted to sprint out of there, though at the same time, some part of you wanted to inch closer and snoop further. 

“What the fuck are you doing in my room?” a voice blared from behind you and caused you to jump.

Skittering away from the desk, you spotted the familiar buzzcut standing in the doorway. 

“I–, uh,” you swallowed and recalled the reason for your hunt, “my mom’s forcing me to go to that party at Topper’s tonight.”

“Okay, and?” he scoffed. 

“And so, because I don’t really do that sort of thing–”

“Because you’re a fucking loser who never gets invited.”

“Because I have better things to spend my Friday nights doing, your father wanted you to keep an eye on me and to make sure I got home safe.”

The only way you were gonna get through the night was if you got as wasted as possible.

Which is exactly what you ended up doing. 

When the clock chimed two, the raging headache you were developing from the blaring music convinced you to finally call it a night. You’d given it enough of a chance, enough experience to go home and state that partying simply wasn’t for you. 

But if you didn’t find the literal demon of a stepbrother and let him complete his end of the bargain, then maybe your mom wouldn’t believe you alone and force you to go to another. 

However, locating him turned out to be a much more difficult task than you’d thought. As you stumbled around the massive house, supporting your wobbly weight on the walls as you peeked into each of the rooms where some partygoers had migrated to, you soon dug your phone out of your jeans and dialled up his number. 

It was on the third attempted call that you finally stumbled into him. Sitting with a random blonde on his lap and the remnants of a mysterious white powder dusting the coffee table separating you from him. 

“There you are,” you grumbled, “I’ve been trying to call you!”

His expression turned sour as he noticed your presence, swiftly flipping his phone around as it layed on the table, though the caller ID that lit up the screen wasn’t of your name as your phone still buzzed in your palm to get through to him. Instead, it spelt out fleshlight in big bold letters. 

“So, you have,” he exhaled, “what do you want?” 

“I wanna go home,” you shoved your phone back in your pocket. 

“So, go home. What do you want my fucking permission? Are you that obsessed with me?”

“You have to take me home,” you reminded him, though when he began to laugh in your face, you shot back, “or you can just deal with your dad yourself when you get home. Your choice if you wanna keep being in his good graces or not.” 

That managed to shut him up. Though as he reluctantly pushed the blonde aside and got up from the couch, he muttered just loud enough for you to hear, “fucking prude,” like a curse on the wind just before he marched passed you and grabbed a hold of your arm to drag you with him. 

“Ow, Rafe, you’re hurting me!” you tried to tear yourself free of his grip. 

“Oh, shut up you baby, no I’m not. You wanna feel what does hurt?” his long fingers then dug further into your flesh and caused it to actually ache, “this.”

As he pushed open the front door, you whined, “ow, please stop,” but when he finally did, he only traded the grasp out with a light shove to your shoulder, directing you further towards his parked car. 

When you were planted in the passenger seat with your gaze firmly fixed out the window as the dark streets rolled by, you crossed your arms and mumbled, “I hate you…” gaining enough courage from the dizzying alcohol ravaging your system to utter it out loud. 

“What was that?” Rafe cast a glance in your direction.

Twisting your neck to glare back at him, you hesitantly repeated, “I hate you,” though the faint flicker of bravery you’d acquired was snuffed out as swiftly as it ignited when you saw the smirk that bloomed on your stepbrother’s features. 

“Aw, don’t tell me that, princess,” he chuckled, “you’ll just make me hard.” 

Eyes widening, they briefly fluttered down to the crotch of his trousers before you blinked away, a reaction that was evidently satisfying enough for Rafe to cause him to keep going. 

“But you probably wouldn’t know what to do with it anyway.”

“I know what to do,” you said defensively, though regretted your humouring him as soon as the words slipped out past your lips. 

“Oh yeah? Just how would you know that? Everyone knows you’re a fucking virgin,” something he was to blame for, though that wasn’t a fact you ever had to know. You didn’t have to be aware of just how many times he had stopped guys from asking you out, just because he wanted you all to himself, “but are you secretly a perv, sis? Is that how you think you know what to do?”

“Don’t call me that,” you cringed lightly. 

“What? A perv? Or sis? Don’t you wanna be reminded that you’re my stepsister?”

“Not particularly...”

As the car curved into the driveway to Tanny Hill, an offer suddenly rolled off Rafe’s tongue. 

“You know, I could help you. Pop that little cherry for you,” he shrugged as if he didn’t seem out of his mind for what he was brashly uttering, “you desperately need it, that fucking stick up your ass makes you such a bitch to be around. But no one is gonna wanna bang you, I mean, maybe you could be kinda hot if you weren’t such a fucking loser, if you didn’t dress like a fucking pogue, but I don’t think anyone would commit social suicide like that. So, I’ll take care of it. Fix that problem for the good of everyone else.” 

Your mouth hung agape as the vehicle rolled to a stop, the sudden shift made you fear that your latest drink would come up again. 

Utterly stunned, you couldn’t form a single word as you stared back at him. 

“I mean, it’s what you want, isn’t it?” he went on, turning in his seat to gaze over at you, already undressing you with his eyes, “haven’t you always had the hots for me?”

“I–…” it felt as if the car was swaying around even though it stood completely still, “…I drank way too much tonight, and I think you might have as well.”

“You’re drunk?” darkness glinted in his eyes, “well, I honestly don’t know if I should be impressed or run inside and wake everyone up so you can get grounded for fucking ever,” he laughed. 

“No!” you gasped, “You can’t tell them, please! I–…” you felt tears begin to sting the corners of your eyes and blur up your already hazy vision, “fuck!” 

Leaning even further back in his seat, he cocked his head, “I mean, I could also keep it a secret…” the tip of his tongue mischievously slipped out to poke his lip, “for the right price, that is.”

“Seriously?” you glared back at him, “are you serious right now?”

Capturing your hand, he swiftly brought it to the palpable tent in his pants, “do I not seem serious?” his eyes narrowed ever so slightly to a squint. 

Your lips parted in shock, stare flickering away from his eyes to spot how he ever so slightly pressed your palm down against him. 

He was so hard that you could nearly feel his pulse through the fabric of his trousers. 

“I mean, really I’d be helping you out,” your gaze stayed glued to how his broad hand engulfed your own a moment longer before you glanced up to find his unwavering stare once more, “so you should really thank me for both keeping your secret and doing you such a massive favour…”

As a shaky breath escaped your lungs, you whispered once more, “I hate you…”

But the proclamation only conjured a smile to appear on his lips, “tell me again,” and he leaned in a bit closer.

“I hate y–,” but you didn’t get the last bit out as Rafe then crashed his lips against yours.

It took a second for you to react with anything other than a surprised whimper, but when you did, it was slow and cautious compared to his boldness. 

A string of saliva strung you together as he eventually parted from you. Offering himself a small caress, he pressed your palm down against him one last time before he let you go. His breathing was heavy as he momentarily let his thumb trace your bottom lip, briefly slipping it crudely in your mouth, before uttering, “get inside.”  

Why, after all of this time, after all of the pain and torture he alone made you go through, why did he still have to give you butterflies the way that he did?

It was your room that he led you to, a hand ever rooted on you as you made the journey. At first, you thought it was because he saw the way you occasionally stumbled over your own feet, but perhaps it was just in case you wanted to make a run for it, just a precaution, a safety net already halfway over you. 

“Take your clothes off,” he commanded in a cold tone as he shut the door behind you. 

“W-what?” you turned to look back at him.

Sitting down on the edge of your bed, he repeated, “take your clothes off,” though they came out sounding slightly impatient. 

He palmed himself through his pants as you slowly began to strip. Though as you’d shyly peeled your t-shirt off and dropped it to the floor, his voice halted you just as you began to undo your jeans. 

“Stop,” his voice cut the thick air like a knife, “turn around when you pull those down,” you twisted away from him as your thumbs sank into either side of the waistband, “and do it slowly,” he made you put on a show, ogling as you gradually revealed the curve of your ass, “that’s it…” he nearly moaned as your pants crumbles to the floor, “bra and panties too, princess. Unless of course, you’re backing out of our deal already.”

Clenching your jaw, you squeezed your eyes shut and shed the rest, ignoring his soft wolf whistles and crude comments as you exposed yourself. 

Slowly turning back around to face him, your hands were clasped before you out of sheer timidness and not knowing what to do with them. 

“You gonna stand over there all night?” he raised his chin slightly.

When your feet stood rooted right before his seated position on the bed, your hands began to fiddle as he pulled his shirt over his head and caused your pulse to somehow beat even harder than it already did. 

One of his palms then scooped up your stomach and briefly grabbed one of your tits before scooping you closer, “come here,” and utilised his leverage to toss you down on the bed beside him, “let me get a good look at you.” 

Grabbing for the bedsheets as the mattress momentarily bounced beneath your spine, you blinked up at Rafe as he sat next to you, twisting his form and craning down to near your core. 

You tried to clamber your legs shut, embarrassed for what his cruel reaction might be, but he was not only faster, but stronger than you, and grabbed a hold of your thighs. As he split you apart, his lips curled up into a grin. 

“Look at you… fuck,” he let out a short chuckle, “this is gonna be fun.” 

A gasp curled out of your frame as he then grazed his thumb over your folds, smearing some of the mortifying wetness that seeped out and made you feel even more intoxicated than you already were. He lightly spread you apart and studied intently your dripping pussy, how it looked, how it glistened and how your little hole twitched when he lightly circled your clit. 

“Oh, you like this, don’t you?” he rubbed your puffy pearl with a mean lightness that caused your hips to buck slightly, “you like it when your big stepbrother touches you like this?” but when you didn’t reply, he reached down and grabbed your jaw, angling it for you to meet his eye, “answer me.”

“I–… y-yes,” you quietly admitted, feeling as if you were in some strange dream. 

“Of course you do, you dirty little girl,” he bent down again to gaze at your pussy a little too close for your taste, “I knew you were a slut since the moment I met you.”

Letting go of your face, he then snaked his free hand down to give himself an ounce of relief. 

“You know, part of me doesn’t even wanna prep you with my fingers first,” he smirked and let his fingertips sweep down to tickle your entrance, “I like the idea of not stretching you out first and letting my cock do all the work, let it feel just how tiny and pure you are for me.” 

“But isn’t that gonna hurt?” your breath caught in your throat. Sure, you’d played with yourself nearly till your hands fell off, but that idea still managed to scare you. 

“God, I hope so,” he groaned and briefly leaned down to press a hot kiss to your clit, sucking it into his mouth and sloppily making out with it. 

When he then stood up and pulled his pants down, your jaw nearly hit the floor as well when you saw how thick his dick was. Fat and veiny, curving proudly up towards his abs. 

Seizing your hips, Rafe yanked you closer to where he stood, nearly letting your ass dangle over the edge of the mattress.

“Wait,” you suddenly reached out to touch his forearm as he gave himself a few lavish strokes, staring down at your cunt, comparing the obscene size of him to your puff, “what about a condom?” you squeaked as he flicked his leaking tip down to tap your core. 

Sucking in a fierce breath through his nose, he glared down at you and shot back, “what about you shut the fuck up and just be grateful,” before he sent his open palm down to smack your pussy. 

“Ah! I’m sorry, I just–, fuck!” you shuttered beneath him as he soothed the slap with the nudge of his length, rubbing it against you and teasing your cunt before he started sweeping it through your folds, nearly fucking your soppy slit, the tip of him kissing your little pearl on each silky advance.  

A dollop of spit dropped from his lips and joined the mess he already tickled at between your parted legs. 

“It’s too big…” you murmured as you stared down at how his fat girth parted your pretty petals, though the observation only conjured a smile on Rafe’s lips, “maybe you could just put the tip in?” you tried through your foggy mind, “that would still count.”

A rumbling chuckle bubbled out of him as he stared down at the two of you together, “just the tip…” his movements then grew more erratic as he slid through your folds, “is that all you think your little virgin cunt can handle?” shy gasps escaped you every time he deliberately let his cock catch at your opening, “just the tip?” 

As he slowly pressed just the flush head of his length in to breach your entrance, your brows crinkled up at the mind-numbing stretch. 

“Like that, baby?” he only moved ever so slightly, “is that all you think you can handle?” and you nodded foggily in return. But as you let your eyes flutter shut and breathed through the staggeringly wonderful sensation, Rafe’s voice once again washed over you, “nah,” like a splash of cold water while you were licking up warm sun rays, “that’s not good enough. This is,” and he then slammed the entirety of his length into you.

Your eyes instantly shot back open and your legs curled up even further on either side of you at the shock. 

“What?” he cooed at you mockingly as he slowly dragged his dick back out for just the memory to remain, “does it hurt?”

You were a blubbering and cursing mess, trembling beneath him as your pussy tried to accommodate him.

“Come on, princess,” he bent down over you and let his nose ghost against yours, “tell me that it hurts.”

“It h-hurts,” you whimpered as his hot breath fanned across your blazing cheeks. 

It did sting, a lot, but though you hated to admit it, a part of you loved it, a part of you sank even further into the pit of pleasure he so slowly dunked you into. 

“Tell me that it’s too big for you,” he nuzzled his nose against yours as he plugged you back up. 

Your body shook beneath his every time he moved as much as a millimetre inside you, “i-it’s too big.” 

Letting out a low moan of satisfaction, he then leaned down to press his lips to yours, stealing your breath away even further. 

You tried, but couldn’t really focus on kissing him back, not that he seemed to mind much as he moaned into your mouth, soon letting his sloppy kisses dance over your cheek and down your neck, letting hickeys bloom in his wake and mark up your skin like a brand.

As he sucked down on the spot where your pulse went wild beneath the skin, his hips drove against yours harder, causing them to collide in a sticky smack, as well as letting the tip of him bully the deepest part of you. He didn’t just do it once, but kept it up as he enjoyed the little squeaks you let out every time he bumped against your cervix. 

Kissing his way back up to your lips, he only offered them the briefest of pecks before raising himself off of you, just ever so slightly, and one by one, grabbed your already wide-spread legs and rested each one of them onto his broad shoulders, efficiently folding you in half. 

“H-holy shit,” you panted as the mattress rippled beneath you at every one of his rough thrusts, “Rafe–”

“Yeah?” he smirked down at your melted form, the vein in his forehead popping from the strain, “are you gonna cum? Are you gonna cum on your big bro’s dick?” one of his hands swept up to squeeze your tit, then gave it a swift tap before growling, “come on, princess. I can feel you squeezing me so fucking tight. Do it, I fucking dare you. Be a good girl and cum on my cock.”

You almost screamed as you tumbled over the edge, your head curling to the side to hide yourself in the crumbled duvet beneath you as your pussy gushed all over his fat girth. 

“Oh, fuck,” Rafe croaked as he straightened back up to get a good view. Pulling out of you, he briefly flicked his dick through your folds to urge more of your nectar to leak out, before he slid it back inside and asked in amazement, “you ever squirted before?” 

Trembling from the overstimulation, your eyes rolled in your skull as you shakily mumbled, “maybe twice, I think.”

“Such a good fucking slut,” he growled proudly, “squirting all over me like a proper whore. Just look at you,” his grip dented your thighs as he pressed them further down against the bed, “you’re already a pretty little cockdrunk mess.”

“I–, I–,” you blubbered as you felt drool begin to trickle down your cheek. 

“Oh, fuck,” he then groaned, glancing down at where he split you apart, “hold your legs back,” he requested, though had to help your sluggish hands find their way, “look at this, baby,” he scooped a palm behind your head and ushered you to spot what he had noticed. Splaying a wide hand over the lower part of your stomach, he traced the faint bulge that rhythmically appeared, “sure as fuck not a virgin anymore, are you? Fucking ruining that perfect little pussy of yours. Now that’s how you pop a fucking cherry. Aren’t you happy I was in such a charitable mood tonight?” he then pressed down on the imprint rudely, the overwhelming sensation causing your pussy to drizzle a little more around him, “aren’t you, sis?”

“Yes,” you mewled, feeling as if you were floating on a cloud and not getting your guts rearranged. 

“You’d let me do anything I’d fucking want, wouldn’t you?” he smirked down at your dazed form. 

“Y-yes,” the word flowed out of you, though you couldn’t quite comprehend all of his dirty talk any longer. 

“Hold on,” he briefly slowed down and stretched over to reach a small apprentice obscured and hidden in all of the cluttered decor on your nearby dresser. Turning it in his hand, he pointed the discrete camera down to film you, “say it again,” he picked his pace back up, “tell me that you’ll let me do anything I want to you.”

“Anything,” the words bubbled out through your moans, “anything you want.” 

“Say that you’re my little slut.”

“I’m yours–, I-I’m your s-slut.”

Tilting the hidden camera down to get a few close-ups, his voice then seeped into you once more, “now tell me again that you hate me.” 

One of your hands fluttered down and began to rub your puffy clit.

“I hate you.”

“Again,” he reached down to give your left nipple a harsh pinch.

“I hate you.”

“Keep going, princess.” 

And the more times the phrase flowed out past your lips, the more it began to lose its meaning and morph into just another sound, one that was almost akin to the complete opposite kind of proclamation. 

Just like you barely noticed when Rafe dug out the hidden camera, so too did you miss it when he put it back down, obscured somewhere among your things, possibly not even the only one. 

When you came once again, Rafe didn’t so much as pause when you creamed around his cock and drenched the sheets beneath you that much further.

“There you fucking go,” he sent a palm down to smack the sensitive skin on your inner thigh, “god, you’re so hot. I can’t believe you actually let me do this,” he grinned as your fingers stretched out to graze his wild hips, trying and failing to slow him down, “you’re such a little freak,” he glanced down at the ring of your essence that marked the base of his throbbing cock, “so fucking nasty for your stepbrother. I bet you’d even let me keep using you after you fall asleep. I mean, who’s to say I haven’t already,” he chuckled, “you’re so fucking cute when you sleep. No annoying remarks, no dumb comments… I think I might prefer you that way…” his slamming grew sloppy as he soon moaned, “fuck, I’m gonna fucking cum.”

“Pull out,” you begged through your hazy pants. 

And just when you thought he wouldn’t respect your wishes, he yanked out and furiously stroked himself before your winking and wrecked hole as it slowly retraced from the severe stretch. Moaning loudly, he swiftly painted your pussy with his load, getting it all over your puffy petals till he was panting above you. One hand rested on your thigh as he brushed the sensitive head of his cock over the cream, messily tapping the hefty weight of him against your aching clit and making you jump a few times as he smeared it in. 

Throwing himself down on the bed beside you, he let out a long sigh and said, “you’re welcome.”

You felt like you couldn’t move, like you might never be able to move again. Your breath still came in ragged as the only thing you could focus on was the sore throbbing centred at your core, that blossomed out through the rest of your nerves. 

“Well,” Rafe huffed as he soon lifted himself up to a sitting position, “night,” and without another word, slipped out through your shared bathroom into his own bedroom. 

“I can’t believe they made you take me,” you grumbled as you watched Rafe shadow you in the clothing store, “I could have just gone to the mall on my own.”

“You don’t have a car though–, also, why are you the one complaining? I’m the one being forced to go fucking shopping with you of all people.”

Somehow, for some mysterious reason, since you’d moved into Tanny Hill, your collection of underwear had shrivelled down till you barely had enough to get you through the week. Guess that was the price you had to pay for letting someone else do your laundry, though you’d always assumed it would more just be a single sock that commonly vanished in the wash…

When you dipped into the fitting room to try a few of the gathered options on, you only managed to test out two of them before the curtain slid back open and you swiftly scrambled to cover yourself.

“Rafe!” you let out a hushed screech, “what do you think you’re–”

“Try these on,” he handed you a wide stack of hangers. It wasn’t just underwear dangling from them, but also some clothing, though all of it way too revealing than you were used to. 

Glancing down at them, you refused to grasp the items and simply stated in a clear tone, “no.” 

Letting out a low sigh, he then turned to close the curtain back up before he twisted back to face you, “do you need me to have a little talk with your mom and my dad?” he took a few steps towards you, slowly pushing you into the corner by the tall mirror.

Glaring back at him through your pout, you huffed, “no…” 

You stayed in the corner as he then hung the clothing up on the hooks before taking a seat on the small stool where your purse was resting before he swept it to the floor. 

“Are you just gonna sit there and watch?”

“Yeah,” he scoffed, “it’s boring as shit out there. At least in here, I might get a moderate amount of entertainment.”

Rolling your eyes, you reluctantly began to try the attire on. 

“I hate thongs,” you muttered as you tugged a pair into place over your hip, trying not to catch your stepbrother’s stare as his gaze wandered from your reflection to the perfect view he had of your backside. 

“I recall you hate a lot of things you still don’t hesitate to jump on.”

“Whatever,” you sighed, “you have your fun, enjoy this little fashion show, but I’m sure as hell not getting any of these.”

“Well, good,” he uttered demeaningly, “because I’m buying them for you.”

Catching his eye in the mirror, you told him, “I’m still not wearing them. You can’t make me.” 

“Yeah,” he puffed out a smirk, “we’ll see about that,” and then tore his gaze away from you to gesture to one of the hangers, “try that dress on, but keep the pink thong on underneath, only the thong though.” 

You had to shut your eyes in annoyance a moment before you fulfilled his request, soon standing before him in a scantily cut, pastel mini dress, crafted in a fabric so thin that you could see the faint shadow of your nipples poking through them, especially after they’d turned all pebbly after Rafe had torn that privacy curtain to the side. 

“You happy now?” you turned to face him and propped your hands on either side of your hips. 

“Hm,” he cockily pursed his lips as his gaze studied you, “I was right…”

Your brows stayed furrowed till you watched his palm slide down to squeeze himself through his shorts. 

“What are you doing?” you hissed, eyes growing wide. 

“You do look hot in normal clothes.”

“I don’t think any of this is normal…”

“I think it’s time you learned how to suck a cock,” he suddenly announced, eyes still glued to the dress’ low neckline as he unzipped his slacks. 

“Rafe…” you breathed. 

His eyes flickered up to find yours, “get on your knees,” he tilted his head, “come on, princess. You’ll love it, trust me.” 

© 2024 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[moonstruckme]

hi! i just read your drabble with remus fixing the readers attitude and i was wondering if you could do the same with sirius? i really loved your other one and seen you were trying to take requests for sirius.

i hope you have a wonderful day!!

Thanks for requesting, hope you have a lovely day as well <3

cw: d/s dynamics, reader has hair troubles and uses products + tries running fingers through it so it's long enough for that

Sirius Black x fem!reader ♡ 991 words

Sirius can hear you fuming from outside the bathroom. Heavy breaths and drawers being shut too harshly and the occasional, frustrated grunt. If it wouldn’t be such a betrayal of you, he’d take a video so Remus can see what he’s like while he’s transforming during a full moon. 

“What’s going on in there, gorgeous?” he asks from the bed. 

Your reply is nearly a growl. “Nothing.” 

“Mm. Yeah, sounds like nothing.” Sirius gets up, going to the bathroom and nudging the door open. He leans against the doorframe as you scowl at yourself in the mirror, wringing product into your hair like you half hope it just tears off. “What’s got you so wound up?”

“Nothing.”

He tuts. “Not any more convincing the second time. Try again.” 

You’re pointedly not looking at him, but Sirius notices that your scowl intensifies. “My hair is being fucking unbearable.” 

Sirius opens his mouth, but you cut him off. 

“And I don’t want to hear that it always looks good, or that you think I look nice no matter what, or any of that bullshit, okay?” 

“That’s unfortunate. I’m sorry, sweetness, but I’m not going to start lying to you. Your hair is perfect, and you do always look—”

Your eyes bore into your own reflection, sharp and wrathful. “Don’t.” 

Sirius’ eyebrows lift. “I’m sorry, don’t? Don’t compliment my girlfriend, or don’t be honest?” 

“Either. I know you’re full of shit, because it looks insane right now, but even if you have miraculously gone blind since this morning, Lily and Alice will be there, and they know what hair should look like when it’s not being so—so—” 

“Alright.” Sirius is beginning to grow amused with you. You’re so ridiculous when you’re upset, brash and squinty-eyed and cute. “Save yourself the exertion of finishing that sentence, gorgeous. Take a breath.” 

“I don’t want to breathe!”

“And yet, we all have to anyway.” 

“God, Sirius, fuck off!” You finally lock eyes with him in the mirror, positively fuming. “I knew you wouldn’t get it. I’m trying to look nice for your friends, and you’re making fun of me! If my hair would just—fucking—” You appear to give up on the product, your attention returning to your hair as you begin dragging your fingers through it mercilessly. “—do what I tell it to, maybe then I’d fucking breathe, but instead it’s basically unsalvageable, and—”

“Oi.” Sirius’ humor at the situation has vanished. By the time you think to look at him he has both your hands in his, restrained from doing further damage to yourself. “No. If you’re going to be like this about going to Frank and Alice’s, we won’t go. So is that it, or can you be good?” 

Sirius uses the sharp tone he knows you’ll respond to, but really he isn’t angry. He only wants to give you pause. And oh, it’s so sweet to watch the brattiness leave your eyes. The terse pucker of your mouth softens to an almost imperceptible pout, your whole demeanor shifting in an instant. 

He takes both your wrists in one hand. With the other, Sirius cups the side of your throat, fingers curled around your nape and thumb rubbing against your erratic pulse. 

“I need an answer,” he says. 

“Yes,” you say, and your voice is soft, like the sharp edge from a minute ago has been bitten off. “I can.” 

“Good.” Sirius allows his tone to gentle some, though he keeps his firm grip on your wrists. “Then you have to relax, baby. Breathe.” 

This time, you do as you’re told. It works as he knew it would, your shoulders drooping after the long exhale like the last of the fight has finally gone out of you.

“Thank you.” He touches his lips briefly to the center of your forehead, pretending not to notice how you sway towards him for more. “Now, do you still want to go to Frank and Alice’s tonight?” 

You open your mouth, but this time it’s Sirius who stops you. 

“Wait. Really think about it. Are you going to enjoy yourself, or are you going to spend the whole time feeling weird about your hair?” 

You hesitate, rubbing your lips together. Sirius strokes his thumb down the line of your throat approvingly. 

“I still think I want to go,” you say after a few moments. 

“Okay.” Sirius nods. “Then you’re going to let me braid your hair for you. You’ll look just as lovely and perfect as you do now, but you won’t be able to mess with it any more. Does that sound alright to you?” 

Your relief is palpable. You let out a breath, eyes growing suspiciously bright. “Yeah. That would be great, thank you.” 

“Okay, come here.” Sirius releases your neck and wrists to wrap his arms around you. He presses his lips to your lovely, perfect hair while you curl your hands in his shirt as if to keep him from slipping away. Like Sirius would ever want to. “Shh. You’re fine, baby. Ease up.” 

“I’m sorry for snapping at you,” you mumble against his front. 

“Yeah, I’ll bet. You did it more than once, if I recall.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“I know.” He laughs a little, hugging you tighter. “It’s okay. You get a hair insanity pass, just this once. Let’s have a good night, okay?” 

You let out another sigh. Sirius rubs your back reflexively. “Yes, please.” 

“M’kay. Let’s go.” He starts ushering you towards the bed, grabbing a couple of hair ties on his way out of the bathroom. “We’re done with the mirror for today. And no yelling at me while I do your hair, got it?” 

You try on a coy smile; it’s small, but Sirius respects the effort. “I could never yell at you.” 

“Uh huh. I may forgive, but I don’t forget that easily, sweetness. Try it again and we’ll be staying home to deal with that attitude of yours.”

[cloudyluun]

Soft Spot

Summary: Harry Styles is the world’s most effortlessly cocky bastard in public. But behind closed doors? He’s soft for one person, her. Their love is private, sacred, the only thing that’s ever truly been his. But the internet is relentless, the rumors won’t stop, and she starts to wonder if she’ll ever fit into his world. Just when she’s about to pull away, Harry makes sure she never doubts it again. AKA: Soft (but also possessive) boyfriend Harry? Check. Jealous, protective, doesn’t-take-shit Harry? Also check. A public declaration, viral paparazzi moments, and one very necessary smut scene? You already know.

A/N: This fic is based on two requests (this one and this one from @dipmeinhoneyh) that fit so perfectly together I had no choice but to make it a full story. I hope you love it, I hope it makes you feral, and I hope you leave this feeling at least 10% more in love with Harry Styles than you already were. Also, if you ever see a man carrying all your bags through an airport while wearing your shirt?? Marry him immediately.

Word Count: 6k

Warnings: 

Smut (obviously)—possessive, praise-heavy, SOFT but also FILTHY

Harry being the most protective, doting, airport-sherpa boyfriend alive

Jealousy and minor confrontation (because someone was dumb enough to question her worth)

Public scrutiny and social media toxicity (but don’t worry, he shuts that shit down)

Excessive amounts of boyfriend fluff (back rubs, forehead kisses, and “mine” moments galore)

Did I mention the smut? Because THE SMUT.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Harry Styles was a menace.

Everyone knew it—especially the media. He wasn’t just the biggest name in music, he was also a nightmare to interview. He had little patience for industry bullshit, answered questions with nothing but a smirk or a sip of his drink, and rarely—if ever—gave the press what they wanted.

At this point, journalists had learned to come prepared when sitting across from him. They needed strategy, a solid game plan, and maybe even a shot of whiskey beforehand. Because Harry? Harry made it difficult.

And God, did he enjoy it.

The first clip that went viral was from a BBC interview.

The journalist was older, seasoned. She’d been in the game for decades and knew how to handle difficult personalities. Or at least, she thought she did.

The interview had been going fine—as fine as an interview with Harry Styles could be. He’d leaned back in his chair, one arm draped over the backrest, looking like he owned the place. Dressed in a half-unbuttoned silk shirt and tailored trousers, he was a picture of effortless arrogance.

Then she asked, “Do you think you’re difficult?”

Harry blinked. Didn’t move for a second. Then—slowly, deliberately—he picked up his drink, took a long sip, and held eye contact the entire time.

The silence stretched.

And stretched.

The journalist swallowed.

Finally, Harry licked his lips, tilted his head, and asked, “D’you think I care?”

The second clip was worse.

A different interview, a different day, same energy.

Harry was sitting in front of a panel of radio hosts, arms crossed, tattoos peeking out from under the loose sleeves of his sweater. The conversation had been moving along at a leisurely pace, touching on his tour, his latest album, the usual surface-level stuff.

Then one of the hosts leaned forward, smug, thinking he had the upper hand.

“So, tell us, Harry. What’s the song ‘Soft Spot’ about?”

Harry, who had been absentmindedly fiddling with one of his rings, paused. He exhaled through his nose, the barest hint of amusement curling at the corners of his mouth.

Then—without hesitation—he shrugged. “Dunno. Just a song.”

The hosts groaned in frustration.

The internet? Ate it up.

Edits of him smirking, of him dodging questions with effortless ease, flooded Twitter and TikTok. People captioned them with things like “This man is impossible” and “Certified menace behavior”.

The general consensus?

Harry Styles didn’t answer questions unless he wanted to.

Until someone asked about her.

It happened during a late-night talk show appearance.

The studio was dimly lit, the crowd buzzing with anticipation. Harry was perched on the couch, one leg crossed over the other, fingers playing absentmindedly with the chain around his neck. He was half-paying attention, answering questions with his usual brand of casual indifference.

Then the host, a sharp-eyed comedian known for catching celebrities off guard, grinned. “Alright, Harry. I have a question I think the people really want to know.”

Harry didn’t react much. Just arched a slow, lazy brow. “Yeah?”

“You’ve been seen with the same girl a lot lately…”

For the first time all night, something shifted.

Subtly. Almost imperceptibly.

But it was there, the way his fingers paused against the metal of his chain, the way his shoulders tensed, just slightly, the way his mouth twitched, like he was already biting back a smirk.

The audience leaned forward.

The internet, watching from their screens, held their breath.

Harry tilted his head, slowly. His lips parted, there it was. That signature smirk, the one that sent fans into a frenzy.

“Yeah?”

The host grinned, seeing the shift. “Care to comment?”

There was a beat of silence.

Then—Harry grinned. Not his usual mocking, I’m-so-over-this smirk. A real grin. The kind that made his dimples crease, the kind that softened his otherwise sharp edges.

His fingers tapped once, twice against his thigh.

Then, he looked directly into the camera, his voice dropping just a fraction.

“She’s great.”

The studio lost it.

The audience roared—cheers, gasps, the works. Twitter exploded before the show even finished airing. Within minutes, #ShesGreat was trending worldwide.

Fans analyzed the clip from every angle:

The way his face softened.

The way his body language changed.

The fact that he—HARRY STYLES, NOTORIOUS MENACE—HAD ACTUALLY ANSWERED.

He didn’t say her name. Didn’t confirm anything outright. But the shift in him? The softness in his voice?

That was all people needed.

It was real.

And the world wasn’t ready.

Y/N wasn’t famous.

She wasn’t an actress, a model, a singer, or an influencer. There was no glamorous past, no viral moment that put her on the map. No high-profile connections, no childhood dream of Hollywood stardom.

She was just a girl with a normal life—one that, up until a year ago, had been blissfully simple.

Her days had always followed a rhythm.

Morning coffee at her favorite little café, tucked into a corner booth with a book. Work, which she genuinely enjoyed—something steady, something real, something that felt like hers. Drinks with friends on Fridays, lazy Sundays spent in oversized sweaters, grocery shopping in peace without having to worry about cameras or strangers whispering her name.

She had a routine. A quiet, predictable world.

Then Harry Styles had walked into it.

And ruined everything.

She still didn’t know how it had happened.

It was easy to pinpoint the beginning—the first time their paths had crossed, the first time she’d realized that Harry fucking Styles wasn’t just a name on a magazine cover, but a person with thoughts and moods and an irritatingly sharp wit.

But she never expected it to go anywhere.

At first, he was just a guy who flirted too much.

Then he was a guy who made her laugh.

Then he was the guy she couldn’t stop thinking about.

And somehow—without her even noticing—he became hers.

It had been over a year now. Twelve whole months of him.

Twelve months of stolen moments, whispered conversations in the dark, secret rendezvous that always ended with his lips on her skin and his voice murmuring, “Just us, love. That’s all that matters.”

Twelve months of hiding.

Because Harry? Harry was obsessed with keeping her safe.

"It’s our life, not theirs," he told her once. "You don’t owe them shit."

She’d been curled up in his lap when he said it, her fingers tracing lazy patterns over the tattoos on his arm.

She had been scared that night—really, truly scared.

Her phone had blown up with messages from friends, all linking her to articles and Twitter threads dissecting her existence. Speculation had spread like wildfire after one blurry photo of them together made it online. Nothing too obvious—just a candid shot of her walking ahead of him, their fingers barely brushing.

But it was enough.

Enough for people to start digging.

Within hours, her social media had been flooded. Comments, theories, strangers demanding to know who the hell she was and why she thought she deserved him.

She had wanted to throw her phone into the ocean.

Instead, she had buried her face into the curve of Harry’s neck, inhaling the scent of him—warm skin and expensive cologne and something inherently his. Something safe.

“I don’t think I can do this,” she had admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

Harry’s grip on her had tightened immediately. Protective. Possessive.

“You don’t have to,” he’d murmured. “Not like that. Not the way they want.”

And that was how they lived. No red carpets. No public declarations. No letting the world in. Just them, in their little bubble—hidden away in hotel rooms and dimly lit apartments, in long drives with the windows down, in whispered confessions at three in the morning.

It was beautiful. It was safe.

But Y/N knew—deep down, in the quiet moments when she was alone with her thoughts—that the world wouldn’t stop trying to tear it apart.

Because it wasn’t just them anymore. It hadn’t been for a while.

And no matter how fiercely Harry tried to protect her from it, the outside world was still watching.

Still waiting.

Still hungry for cracks in the foundation.

They didn’t understand him.

The world saw one version of Harry Styles.

The public version. The one who didn’t give a single shit what anyone thought of him. The one who strolled into interviews with that lazy, half-lidded smirk, sprawled out in his chair like he had all the time in the world, deliberately giving them nothing just to piss them off.

“Harry, is it true you walked out of your last meeting with the label?”

He barely blinked. “Wouldn’t you?”

“Is it also true that you—”

A slow sip of his drink. A deliberate pause.

Then, just for fun, a cocked eyebrow. “Dunno. You tell me.”

Click. Click. Click. Cameras flashing. Headlines already writing themselves.

Harry Styles: Rock’s Most Arrogant Asshole.

Harry Styles—Too Famous To Care?

Harry Styles Gives Zero Fucks About Literally Everything.

It was a game. One he didn’t mind playing.

Because the more they focused on the persona, the less they looked too closely at what really mattered.

The less they dug into his real life.

The less they found her.

Because private Harry?

A completely different person.

Private Harry sent texts like, “be home in 5”, because he knew she worried. Because he knew she’d never say it out loud, but if he was running late, she’d start pacing the kitchen, chewing at her bottom lip, imagining the worst.

Private Harry stole her hand cream and chapstick just to smell like her when she wasn’t around.

Private Harry carried her bags through airports like they weighed nothing, insisting every time, “Not letting you lift a damn thing, love.”

Private Harry curled around her in his sleep, face buried against the curve of her neck, his fingers tracing absentminded patterns along her spine until he drifted off—breathing easier when she was there.

No one saw that Harry.

And he preferred it that way.

But every once in a while, the world got a glimpse.

And when they did, it fucking broke the internet.

One moment in particular had gone insanely viral.

It had been a bad day—one of those relentless, aggressive paparazzi swarms outside a studio in L.A.

Harry had already been in a foul mood—late for a meeting, running on three hours of sleep, coming off a night of back-to-back phone calls that had left him rubbing his temples in frustration.

The cameras had been waiting for him the second he stepped out the door.

“Harry! Over here!”

“Harry, how’s the new album?”

“Harry, what’s the deal with the tour delay?”

He ignored them. Didn’t even look up.

Then someone got too close—flashed a camera right in his face, nearly knocking into him.

And that was it.

He snapped.

“Fuck off, yeah?” Sharp, cutting, the words slicing through the air like a whip. His jaw locked, his body tense.

Paparazzi shuffled back, startled.

They knew his reputation.

They’d seen him do this before.

They thought that was the whole show.

Until Y/N appeared.

She had been standing a few feet behind him, waiting.

The second he turned and saw her, everything about him changed.

His scowl softened. His hands, which had been clenched into fists? Relaxed.

And in front of dozens of cameras, in front of the very people he’d just been spitting fire at, Harry immediately reached for her—a steadying touch to her back, a soft tilt of his head. “Y’alright, love?”

Quiet. Gentle. Intimate.

As if nothing else existed in that moment but her.

The paparazzi?

Fucking shook.

The clip blew up online within hours.

Side-by-side comparisons flooded Twitter:

🚨 Harry Styles telling the press to fuck off vs. Harry Styles turning into the softest human alive the second his girlfriend walks into frame. 🚨

Memes. Reactions. Fans dissecting the exact millisecond his demeanor changed.

WHO IS SHE?!

HOW DOES SHE HAVE HIM WRAPPED AROUND HER FINGER LIKE THAT?!

The discourse was endless.

And Harry?

Didn’t say a damn word about it.

Because as long as they were talking about that, they weren’t looking for more.

They weren’t digging deeper.

And that meant she was still safe.

For now.

But the internet was relentless.

Because the thing about secrets—especially ones that belong to someone as famous as Harry Styles—is that they don’t stay secrets for long.

And when people suspect even the smallest sliver of something?

They become obsessed.

It started with something small.

Something that, to anyone else, would have seemed like nothing at all.

Harry had been spotted leaving a café in London, his sleeves rolled up, sunglasses perched lazily on his nose, a coffee cup in one hand.

But that wasn’t what fans noticed.

No.

What they noticed was the bracelet on his wrist.

A thin, woven band. Nothing fancy, nothing designer.

And—most importantly—not his.

The theories exploded.

GUYS. HARRY’S WEARING A FRIENDSHIP BRACELET. HAS HE EVER WORN ONE BEFORE? NO. WHO MADE IT?!

Look at the colors. Do we think there’s a meaning?

I AM SO SERIOUS THIS IS A HANDMADE BRACELET SOMEONE IS IN LOVE WITH HIM AND IT IS NOT ME

WHO THE FUCK IS SHEEEE?

There was no confirmation.

No proof.

But that didn’t stop people from digging.

Because once the internet smelled a mystery, they wouldn’t let it go.

Then came the coffee shop photo.

Blurry. Grainy. Taken at just the right angle to be nearly useless—but not quite.

Because despite the bad quality, despite the distance, despite everything, one thing was clear.

He wasn’t alone.

There was a girl across from him.

A girl who wasn’t famous.

A girl who was sitting comfortably in his presence, laughing at something he said, one hand wrapped around her mug, the other resting—casually, easily—on the table between them.

Too close.

Too familiar.

Too real.

The internet lost its collective mind.

HARRY STYLES SPOTTED WITH THE MYSTERY GIRL IN LONDON—NEW GIRLFRIEND?!

HARRY DATING SOMEONE? WHO IS SHE?!

WHO IS SHE. WHO IS SHE. WHO IS SHE. WHO IS SHE. WHO IS SHE.

I KNOW WHO SHE IS @yourusername!!

The photo was picked apart frame by frame.

Theories flooded TikTok and Twitter.

Some people were excited—because Harry in love?! Soft domestic boyfriend Harry?! They’d been dreaming of this for years.

But not everyone was happy.

Because some people… some people wanted access.

Some people wanted control.

Some people wanted to destroy anything that felt too real.

It started small.

A few comments.

A few tweets.

A few people saying she wasn’t good enough.

That she was using him.

That she was just another clout chaser who would milk this for all it was worth.

Then the DMs started.

Vicious. Personal. Cruel.

You’ll never be good enough for him.

You’re ruining his career.

No one wants you here.

He’ll leave you just like he’s left all the others.

And she told herself that she wouldn’t let it get to her.

That it didn’t matter.

That these people didn’t know her.

That as long as Harry was with her—really with her—nothing else mattered.

But it wasn’t just online anymore.

Because now, when she stepped outside, she swore she could feel the eyes on her.

Now, when she walked into her favorite coffee shop, she hesitated—half-expecting someone to recognize her.

Now, when she reached for her phone, her hands shook.

She started pulling away. Just a little.

Stopped texting first.

Stopped answering right away.

Stopped leaning into his touch as freely as she had before.

And Harry—because of course Harry noticed—tilted his head at her one night when she turned away from his kiss, his brow furrowing, his thumb tracing soft circles against her wrist.

“Alright, love?”

Her chest ached.

Because he was looking at her like that.

Like he knew.

Like he could see right through her.

Like he was already worried.

She forced a smile. Pressed a quick, barely-there kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“Yeah,” she whispered.

And lied.

The industry party was a mistake.

Y/N had known it the second they walked in.

The air inside the private venue was thick with expensive perfume, whiskey, and the kind of arrogance that could only come from people who knew they were untouchable.

The laughter was too loud. The conversations too sharp, dripping with faux warmth and hidden daggers.

She felt out of place immediately.

It wasn’t her world.

It never had been.

And standing next to Harry—Harry, who fit into this world so effortlessly, who could command attention just by existing, who seemed to belong in a way she never could—only made it worse.

He hadn’t let go of her hand since they arrived.

Had kept her close, thumb brushing over the back of her knuckles, squeezing her fingers in silent reassurance every few minutes, as if he could feel the tension in her shoulders, sense the way she was holding her breath.

But no amount of grounding touches could change the fact that she didn’t belong here.

That much became even more obvious when the wrong person decided to open their mouth.

He was a producer.

Smarmy. Arrogant. The kind of man who loved the sound of his own voice and had been in the industry long enough to think he could get away with saying anything.

And for some reason—maybe it was the champagne, maybe it was just sheer audacity—he chose her as his next target.

“Didn’t think this was your type, Harry.”

Y/N froze.

Harry stiffened next to her.

The producer took a slow sip of his drink, eyes flickering over her like she was something to be inspected.

“Quiet little thing, huh? Thought rockstars liked more excitement.”

Her stomach dropped.

It wasn’t just the words.

It was the way he said them.

The smirk. The condescension. The absolute certainty that he was untouchable, that he could say whatever the fuck he wanted without consequence.

Y/N shrank back before she could stop herself.

And that was when Harry snapped.

He didn’t move right away.

Didn’t react instantly.

Just went completely, unnervingly still.

A muscle jumped in his jaw.

His fingers—still tangled with hers—tightened.

And then—slowly, deliberately—he turned.

And stepped right into the guy’s space.

Harry Styles didn’t have to raise his voice to be intimidating.

Didn’t have to yell, didn’t have to make a scene.

All he had to do was look at someone the right way.

And the producer? He knew.

He fucking knew.

Because suddenly, the confidence wavered.

The smirk faded.

The hand holding his drink trembled just slightly.

“She’s worth more than you ever will be,” Harry said, voice low, icy, laced with so much venom that Y/N shivered.

And then—as if to drive the point home—his hand found her waist, pulled her against him, shielded her from the world with nothing but the sheer force of his presence.

It was a warning.

A claim.

And everyone in the room fucking knew it.

He didn’t let go of her for the rest of the night.

Didn’t stop touching her.

Didn’t stop checking on her.

And when they finally left—when they were finally alone—he held her even closer.

She should have felt safe.

Should have felt protected.

But instead, something heavy settled in her chest.

Because the truth was, this wasn’t just about one asshole at a party.

It was about all of it.

The industry. The fans. The internet. The constant feeling of not being enough.

And maybe… maybe they were right.

Maybe she really wasn’t enough for him.

She wasn’t going to say it.

She wasn’t.

But then Harry—still holding her, still watching her like she was the only thing in the world that mattered—brushed his lips against her forehead, whispered, “You alright, love?”

And it just—it broke her.

Her breath hitched.

And suddenly, she was blurting it out before she could stop herself.

“Maybe they’re right,” she whispered, voice barely above a breath.

Harry froze.

“Maybe I’m not enough for you.”

His entire body tensed.

Like she had just physically hit him.

Like the words had physically hurt him.

“Don’t you ever say that again.”

It wasn’t a plea.

It wasn’t a request.

It was a command.

His hands framed her face, tilting her chin up, forcing her to meet his gaze.

And when she did—when she really looked at him—she almost couldn’t handle what she saw.

Because he was devastated.

Shattered.

“Don’t you ever—” His breath shuddered, his forehead pressing against hers. “—say that again.”

She swallowed. “Harry—”

“No.” His grip tightened, like he was afraid she’d slip away if he let go. “You belong with me. Here. Always.” His lips brushed hers, desperate, aching. “And I don’t care what anyone else says.”

She closed her eyes.

Breathed him in.

Let him hold her together, piece by piece.

Because if Harry Styles believed she belonged—

Maybe—just maybe—she could believe it, too.

The storm hadn’t passed.

Not really.

The world still had its claws in them, still watched their every move, still dissected every glance, every touch, every fleeting moment caught on camera.

But Harry… Harry never wavered.

Not once.

Not even when the headlines got uglier.

Not even when the whispers turned into full-blown speculation.

Not even when she started pulling back again, flinching at every flash of a camera, hesitating before reaching for his hand in public, terrified of giving them more fuel.

He noticed.

Of course he noticed.

But he didn’t push.

Didn’t force her to talk about it.

Didn’t tell her that she was still enough, still his, still the only thing in his life that mattered more than anything.

No.

Harry Styles didn’t waste his breath on words.

He showed her.

And the whole damn world saw it.

Madison Square Garden.

A sold-out crowd.

Phones up. Lights blinding.

It was a big night—bigger than most.

The kind of night that would be talked about for years, the kind of performance that would live forever in grainy fan videos, breathless social media posts, and blurry concert footage.

And she wasn’t supposed to be there.

Hadn’t planned on coming.

Had told Harry she’d stay home—avoid the cameras, avoid the crowd, avoid the possibility of being dragged into something she never wanted to be a part of.

But somehow—somehow—she found herself standing in the wings, heart in her throat, hands curled into fists at her sides as she watched him command the stage.

It was impossible not to be captivated.

Impossible not to watch the way he moved, the way he laughed into the mic between songs, the way he glowed under the stage lights.

He was in his element.

He belonged here.

And she—

Well.

She was just trying to stay invisible.

But then—

He turned.

Looked right at her.

And everything stopped.

Because suddenly—mid-show, mid-crowd, mid-fucking-Madison-Square-Garden—Harry Styles did something he never did.

He talked about her.

On stage.

For the world to hear.

“This one’s for someone who thinks she doesn’t belong in my world,” he said, voice steady, eyes never leaving hers.

The crowd screamed.

A roar—loud and deafening and completely unaware of what was actually happening.

“But she is my world.”

Her breath caught.

And then—before she could process what was happening—

He started playing.

A new song.

Unreleased.

Just for her.

And the lyrics—oh, the fucking lyrics.

They were filled with pieces of them.

Little inside jokes woven into verses, fragments of whispered late-night confessions hidden in melodies, the kind of details that only she would understand.

A love letter.

A declaration.

A warning to the world that she was his and he was hers, and that nothing—not the industry, not the headlines, not the relentless scrutiny of millions—could change that.

The internet lost its mind.

Clips went viral within minutes.

Fan theories exploded.

But none of it mattered.

Not really.

Because in that moment—in the middle of everything, in front of everyone, under the brightest damn spotlight possible—

It was just them.

And she belonged.

She didn’t hear the rest of the set.

Not really.

Not past the pounding of her heart, not past the static in her brain, not past the overwhelming realization that he had just done that.

For her.

For everyone to hear.

The screaming of the crowd blurred into white noise. The energy in the arena buzzed around her, the walls seeming to pulse with the sound of thousands of people still losing their minds.

But she couldn’t move.

Couldn’t think.

Couldn’t do anything except stare at the stage where he still stood, grinning like he hadn’t just shattered her entire world in the best possible way.

Because Harry Styles didn’t do things like this.

He dodged questions in interviews.

Shrugged off rumors.

Gave the media nothing to work with.

And yet, tonight—tonight, he had given them everything.

And she had no idea how to breathe through it.

Somewhere along the way, her fingers had curled into the fabric of her sweater, clutching at herself like it might help her stay grounded. Like she wasn’t seconds away from dissolving into nothing but feelings.

Because she knew what this meant.

Knew what it would cause.

Knew that by morning, headlines would be flooded with theories, and her name—or at least her existence—would be dragged into the light again.

But she couldn’t bring herself to care.

Because he’d said she was his world.

He’d said she belonged.

And maybe—just maybe—she believed him.

She was still in a daze when the show ended.

Still stuck in her own head when the lights in the arena dimmed, when the roaring of the crowd turned to scattered cheers and fading echoes of his name.

She barely noticed the way people moved around her.

Security, crew members, the distant hum of conversation—it all faded into the background.

Until—

“There you are.”

Her breath caught.

And then he was there.

Harry.

Still sweaty, still breathless from the high of performing, still looking at her like she was the only thing in the entire fucking world.

He didn’t say anything at first.

Didn’t ask if she’d liked the song.

Didn’t joke about how she’d better have been paying attention.

Didn’t do anything except close the space between them, hands gripping her face, lips pressing against her forehead, breath warm and shaky against her skin.

And she—

God.

She melted.

Because she could feel it—everything he wasn’t saying, everything he had already said on that stage.

The weight of it settled in her chest, so thick she thought she might break apart.

And then—so quietly she almost missed it—

“Tell me you’re staying.”

Her heart slammed against her ribs.

Because he knew.

Of course he fucking knew.

Knew how much she had struggled with this.

Knew how many times she had almost walked away.

Knew how much she loved him, but how terrified she was of all of this.

And yet—

His voice was steady.

Not desperate.

Not pleading.

Just… certain.

Like he already knew the answer.

Like he already knew her.

And maybe he did.

Because before she could second-guess herself—before she could let doubt creep in, before she could convince herself she wasn’t strong enough for this—

She nodded.

Just once.

And Harry fucking collapsed against her.

Exhaling like he’d been holding his breath for months.

Arms wrapping around her like he was afraid she might disappear.

Lips crashing against hers in a kiss that was anything but careful.

Because it wasn’t a question anymore.

Wasn’t a hesitation or a what if or an I don’t know.

It was real.

It was them.

And she was staying.

His hotel room was dark, save for the soft glow from the city outside.

But she barely noticed.

Because the only thing that mattered—the only thing that existed in this moment—was him.

Harry.

Pressed against her, warm and solid, breath still uneven from everything that had led to this.

His hands were everywhere.

Not rushed. Not desperate. Just certain.

Slow, teasing touches down her spine.

Fingertips tracing the dip of her waist.

Lips skimming along her throat, up to the shell of her ear, where his voice was low, husky, full of intent.

"Gonna remind you who you belong to, yeah?"

Her breath hitched.

Because fuck.

She’d heard that voice before—cocky, teasing, full of mischief when he was playing up his charm.

But this?

This was different.

This was a promise.

Her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, gripping, needing—but he wasn’t in any rush.

Because Harry didn’t just take.

He worshipped.

And she felt it.

In the way his hands moved over her skin—slow, deliberate.

In the way he kissed her—deep, devastating.

Like he had all the time in the world.

Like she was the only thing in it.

His mouth found the curve of her shoulder.

The dip between her ribs.

The inside of her wrist, where her pulse thrummed beneath his lips.

Every inch of her.

And with every kiss, every touch, came a whisper.

"You're everything, love."

"Perfect for me."

"Mine."

Her face burned, but he wouldn’t let her look away.

Wouldn’t let her shrink away from the way he saw her.

Because when she got shy—when she tried to hide—

He caught her chin, thumb tracing her jaw, forcing her to meet his gaze.

And fuck, that look.

Like she was something sacred.

Like she was something he could never get enough of.

"Look at you, taking me so well."

Her breath shuddered out of her.

And God, he knew what he was doing.

The filthy praise, the way he held her like she was precious, the possessiveness in his voice—

It was too much and not enough, all at once.

And he didn’t stop.

Didn’t stop until she was falling apart beneath him, gasping his name, hands tangled in his hair, nails raking down his back.

Didn’t stop until she was completely his.

And then—when the world had settled again, when their breathing was slow and tangled together, when she was half-asleep in his arms

Harry took care of her.

Of course he did.

Because he always did.

Pressed a kiss to her temple.

Murmured soft things against her skin as he cleaned her up, as he wrapped her up in him.

Strong arms pulling her close, keeping her warm, keeping her safe.

Only ever his.

And just before sleep pulled her under—

Just before her body fully relaxed against his—

She heard it.

Soft.

Low.

Meant just for her.

"Love you, you know that?"

And she did.

God, she did.

But what really got her—what really made her heart ache in the best, most devastating way—was that he never said it like he needed her to say it back.

Never said it like he was waiting for some kind of validation.

He said it like a fact.

Like the sun would rise tomorrow.

Like the sky was blue.

Like her being his was something permanent.

And maybe it was.

The airport was a nightmare.

The second they stepped inside, cameras started flashing, voices shouting—Harry! Over here! Is that your girlfriend?! Harry, can you confirm—

He ignored them.

Of course he did.

Didn’t even flinch.

Just kept walking, kept his hand firmly on the small of her back, kept her close.

And he was carrying everything.

Her suitcase.

Her tote bag.

Her carry-on.

Even the stupid travel pillow she’d nearly forgotten in the car.

Meanwhile, she was strolling beside him, completely unbothered, sipping her coffee like she didn’t have a single care in the world.

The contrast? Insane.

And the internet lost its mind.

The tweets came fast.

@stylesupdates: HARRY CARRYING EVERY SINGLE ONE OF HER BAGS WHILE SHE JUST DRINKS HER COFFEE??? SIR. YOU ARE WHIPPED.

@hslotlover: HE'S WEARING HER SHIRT (it’s posted on her Instagram @yourusername) AGAIN I CAN’T DO THIS TODAY.

Because, yeah.

He was.

It was an old, slightly oversized tee—hers.

The one she always stole from his drawer. The one she wore to bed whenever he wasn’t around.

And now?

Now he was wearing it in public.

On purpose.

Like some kind of quiet, undeniable statement.

Like a middle finger to the world.

But the real moment—the one that cemented it all—was the photo.

A blurry, candid shot someone snapped from across the terminal.

Harry, walking ahead, death glaring at the paparazzi.

Her, right behind him, looking effortlessly soft, untouchable.

And the caption?

"He’s still an asshole, and she’s still his soft spot."

And fuck.

If that wasn’t the truest thing anyone had ever said.

Because the world still didn’t get it.

But he didn’t care.

Because she was his.

And that was enough.

That had always been enough.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Thank you so much for reading, you’re a total angel! Don’t forget to like, comment, and reblog if you enjoyed! It means everything to me! 💖

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[moonstruckme]

Seeing Stars

summary: after a bump on the head, you wake with your head on the shoulder of a beautiful stranger (who isn't really a stranger)

cw: hospital setting, concussion, memory loss, mention of vomit

Sirius Black x fem!reader ♡ 1.1k words

You wish the drone of all these people would quiet down so you could sleep better. You’re so tired, and conditions are perfect for it otherwise, your body heavy and a warm pillow of ideal firmness beneath your head. There’s a gentle brush of something against your forehead every now and then which feels inherently comforting. It does it again now. 

“That’s nice,” you murmur. 

A low chuckle. “Happy you think so.” 

You tilt your head towards the voice, startled to see a rather breathtaking man looking back at you. He’s close enough for you to count the long, dark lashes fringing his grey eyes and to catch the little tick his mouth does, as though he’s pleased to be looked at by you. Your warm, ideally firm pillow seems to be his shoulder. 

You sit up. Flashes appear behind your eyes; you blink to dispel them. “Sorry,” you say. 

“Hey, it’s alright,” the man says. He’s frowning, suddenly, brows sewn together in apparent concern. Every movement of his face only serves to make him lovelier; it’s dizzying. “What’s the matter?” 

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you.” 

The brow situation worsens. “Don’t be sorry for that, lovely. I hardly mind. Come on, why don’t you come back?” He folds a hand around the side of your head very carefully, as though wary of hurting you, to guide you down again. “The nurse said it’ll be good for you to rest while we wait.” 

You don’t argue, because he seems to know things. You trust him. Maybe it’s foolish, but who wouldn’t trust someone treating them so kindly, who presses his lips to your forehead as you settle and covers your ear with a hand when the wail of a passing siren cuts through the room and you wince. 

“I know,” the angel-man murmurs, sounding woefully compassionate to your plight. “We shouldn’t have to be here much longer. Are you feeling okay?” 

You hum unsteadily. 

“Do you think you might be sick again?” You’re unsure. “You should tell me if you might be. I’ll have to get a bag.” 

“Have I been sick?” you ask, looking up at him. 

Something flickers over his expression at your question. He rubs his thumb over the space behind your ear soothingly. “You have,” he answers, “but that was before we came, so it was a bit different. I don’t think they’ll let me follow you into the toilets here.” 

You feel your eyes widen. “You were there?” 

The man grins. It’s worse than anything he’s done so far, so dazzling you feel you have to close your eyes. You’re seeing stars again. 

“I’m not so terribly squeamish as to leave my loveliest girl all alone when she needs me,” he says. “I’m not that awful.” 

“I don’t think you’re awful,” you tell him. 

“No.” He makes a humorous-looking pouty face at you, still stroking behind your ear. “No, you wouldn't. That’s why you’re my loveliest girl, you’re too good to me.” 

“What does that mean?” 

“What does what mean, gorgeous?” 

You shy a bit at the misnomer. Surely people this beautiful shouldn’t just be dolling out compliments like that. “Your girl.” 

His thumb doesn’t stop petting you, but it slows. He looks at you for a handful of moments. It’s rather a lot; you shift in your uncomfortable, plasticy chair, but don’t think once of lifting your head from his shoulder. 

“Do you know who I am?” he asks eventually. 

You worry your lip between your teeth. “Am I supposed to?”

“No.” He folds his hand over your head again, kissing your temple. “That’s okay. You’ve had a bump on the head, and it’s made you forget some things, but it won’t be forever. My name’s Sirius.” He says this all very patiently. You get the sense he’s done it more than once. “We’ve been seeing each other for a while now.” 

At this, you do lift your head. Sirius lets you, though he watches like he doesn’t intend to let you go far. “You and I have?” you ask.

The corner of his mouth ticks. “That’s right.” 

“How long is a while?” 

“You say two years.” He tilts his head from side to side, like really it’s up for debate. “I say two years and a few weeks, because I thought our first date was to the Ramones show but you thought we were hanging out as friends.” 

You gawp at him. Your mouth has actually dropped open. “Are you my boyfriend?” 

“Some have said that,” Sirius says, smiling. “I prefer exclusive live-in soulmate.” 

You don’t know how you know, but you sense he’s half joking about the last part. Not the first, though. 

“Really?” you ask. 

Sirius quirks a brow. “Is it so difficult to believe?”

“You’re just—you’re so pretty.” 

“Really?” His smile returns to knock the air from you. This one’s wide enough to make his lashes kiss at the corners. “You think so?” 

“Of course. You’re beautiful.” You shake your head, surprised when it hurts and then startled anew when Sirius cups your face to still you. You trace the length of his arm with your eyes, admiring the patchwork of tattoos that goes all the way up to disappear under the sleeve of his t-shirt. 

“Be careful with yourself,” Sirius murmurs. 

Your eyes flit back up to his face. “You have to know.” 

“Have to know what?” 

“That you’re beautiful.” 

Sirius looks absolutely delighted by you. “Well, it’s always nice to hear it,” he says. “Especially from someone so lovely as yourself.” 

You feel your features pinch with genuine dismay. “I don’t tell you?” 

“You say you don’t want to give me a bigger head than I already have. Something about throwing the earth out of its orbit or something.” He strokes your cheek while he talks, as though this sort of disparagement could inspire only fondness, but at your obvious distress Sirius softens. “I’m joking. You tell me, you just don’t usually look so surprised when you do. Come here, sweetheart.” 

He coaxes you under his arm, helping you snuggle up against his side where he can kiss your head as often as he pleases. It’s like Sirius knows exactly what you need; with your head against his chest, now the thing you hear most is the steady beat of his heart. His body works like a grounding point for you, calming your nerves and hushing your thoughts. The sweep of his thumb over your shoulder sends pleasant little shivers all down your arm. 

“You don’t have to be so shy, my love,” he murmurs into your hair. “It’s only me.” 

If you weren’t shy before, you are now. You hide your face in his chest. “Please don’t call me that.” 

Sirius chuckles. “No?” he asks, his voice slow and syrupy sweet with a heart-pittering quality that rings familiar. “You usually like it when I call you nice things.” 

“It’s too nice.” 

He hums amusedly. “Sorry,” he says, in a tone not sorry at all, “I think you might just have to get used to that, lovely.”

[baaby-honeyy]

YES RELEASE PT 2! and tag me pls 🙏🙏🫣🫣

Run (Ruin, pt 2)

A/N: hey… it’s genuinely been like a whole year. i know how much of you wanted Ruin part 2, but it’s better late than never!! i feel horrible, but i really did need the break. now that it’s summer, i should have a lot more free time on my hands. please enjoy, and beware of the dark themes. if you don’t like it, please click away, don’t report. thank you<3

TW: VERYdark/dom/POSSESSIVE/toxic!harry x sub/crybaby/innocent reader, dacryphilia, daddy kink, primal kink, SMUT WITH PLOT!, unprotected sex, spanking, forced orgasms, cunnilingis, oral (male receiving), overstimulation, breeding kink, spit kink, gaslighting. please let me know if there’s something missing.

SUMMARY: When a predator hunts its prey, they search, pursue, attack and consume. Even going so far as to mock, play, and taunt their prey before utterly destroying it. While the predator enjoys the delicious reward after the exhilarating chase, the hunt is what they live for.

Ruin, Pt 1

<><><><><><><>

It started out as a normal car ride. Harry was driving you back home from the park, his knuckles turning white from how hard he was gripping the wheel. He can’t help his anger, and he refuses to feel like this is his fault. It’s his mess, but he’s not the one who made it go this far. You were the one who disobeyed his every rule, to the point where his two friends thought they could take his place.

It started out as a normal car ride. Until one missed exit because two, and two became three. Harry doesn’t even know where he’s going, or what he’s thinking. He only knows that you’re sitting next to him, your favorite stuffed animal in hand, and smile on your face like you’re excited to go back to your life at home. Only, you don’t deserve it. Not after you forced him to punish you for being so terrible. Harry’s jaw clenches just at the thought of you sitting next to Drue or Jack. Before he misses the fourth exit, he quickly turns and exits the freeway.

He was hoping you would stay quiet. But, of course, there you go with your dense questions.

“Where we goin, Harry?” You peep, with that squeaky curious voice of yours. Harry nearly rolled his eyes.

“Be silent unless I call for you.” He responds, dull and quick, making a left turn. It obviously flew past your head— because your eyes grow big as you stare out the window, palms pressed against the cool glass. You watch as you seem to get farther and farther from the city, and into an endless roadway of tall trees. You're in a trance for a while, your fuzzy little brain- too focused on how tall the trees are- doesn't even realize how every car that passes becomes less and less as you drive. Until there were none left. No cars, no buildings, and barely any houses.

Staring mindlessly into oblivion, you wiggle your feet in boredom to pass time. Your favorite pair of shoes ever, your pink and white Mary Janes, have been exchanged for your earlier pink shoes. They were truly the cutest shoes you’ve ever seen, your favorite part being the little hearts scattered all over them. They just screamed you, and Harry thought the same. For this reason, you always carry them with you in case you decide to switch.

Turning around to look at Harry, whose eyes are squinted as he focuses on the road, you try to figure out for yourself where you're going. Harry has barely spoken to you the entire ride, despite all the curious questions you've asked throughout the trip. The only thing close to a response you've gotten out of him so far was a plain "Mhm," which made you wonder.

“Y/n.”

“Hm?” You respond perkily, excited to hear Harry calling your name. His eyes have a glimmer of despair and disappointment, rather than their typical blank appearance. You patiently wait for Harry to speak again.

“What were you thinking? That I was gone and they could take my place? That I wouldn’t come back for you? Tell me exactly what you thought.”Harry speaks, taking care to keep his tone steady and low so you can hear how serious he is.

But you can’t, and your little brain can’t understand what you’ve done wrong, no matter how hard you try. You’ve replayed the moments over and over in your head, and still, you can’t see what’s made Harry so upset with you. From the minute you woke up, to the new park Harry took you to, to your favorite park, the ice cream shop and the park again, you thought you’ve done everything right.

“I- I don’t understand, Harry. I did what you told me to, like a good girl..” You trail off. Only shaking his head, Harry reacts to your pitiful excuse for an explanation. He grips the steering wheel harder, making a few more turns.

You have no idea what Harry’s been through to keep you. The countless amount of times where you interrupt his meetings because you’re needy and want to held, the countless amount of times where you’d starve yourself because Harry wasn’t there to eat with you. The countless amount of times where people wonder. They wonder why you act the way you do, why you need Harry so much, just to breathe it seems like. They wonder where he found you and why you’ve remained attached to him ever since.

Harry’s answer is always the same.

“She’s my angel. What matters is that I found her, not how.” And it’s true. It seemed when you two first met, you needed each other to live and function. When Harry considers where it's all gone wrong, his heart can't help but ache.

Something has to happen with you. Something has to make you listen. Harry’s convinced that the guilt he’s feeling is his mind playing tricks on him, trying to let you get away with what you’ve done. So he pushes the thoughts away, and keeps on driving, and driving, and driving.

After a few more minutes of what felt like an endless road of trees, you feel the car come to a stop.

“Where are-”

“Get out.”

You unbuckle your seatbelt, going as fast as you can. Harry’s already out the car, and sees you struggling to move as quick as he’d like. He walks to your side and unbuckles the seatbelt quickly, yanking you out of the car and slamming the door behind you.

“Wha-“

“Don’t speak unless I call for you.”

Harry telling you to be silent- it wasn’t for his own benefit, it was for yours.

He guides you to a forest entrance, and before you know it, the enormous trees are swallowing you. You can only make out the grass and trees.

You’re lost in wonder when Harry suddenly stops, making you jerk to a stop as well. He gives you a long, hard look before removing his jacket and checking his pockets. He pulls out his wallet, sunglasses, and keys before setting them all on the floor. His attention shifts back to you once he covers everything with his jacket.

With a confused look in your eye, you look at Harry, who’s looking at you expectantly. He opens his mouth to speak, but quickly changed his mind and rushes to you. He takes off your sweater, and pauses. You squeak when he begins touching over you, feeling every inch of your body for anything you may be carrying. He removes your phone, and your bag, and throws it next to his things. He took everything he could off your body, skipping your bracelet.

“Harry, what are yo-“

“Are you holding anything? Give it to me.” Harry interrupts, holding out his palm. He impatiently eyes your teddy bear that’s hanging from your clenched hands, and brings his gaze back to you.

“Right now.”

You reluctantly give him your bear, and as soon as you watch Harry cruelly toss him on the forest floor, regret fills inside of you. He didn't even look at where he was being thrown; instead, he was fixated on you the entire time. Your poor bear lays on the ground face down into a dense, dirty pile of leaves. The sight makes you cringe horribly, because you love that bear, and you’ve taken such great care of him like you were told to, when Harry first gave him to you.

You stare in disbelief, and open your mouth to speak, but Harry cuts you off before you can start. He stalks toward you- and you unknowingly step back, his eyes narrowed, and his gaze piercing into your startled one. The crunch sound beneath his feet echo as he steps. He gets closer, having to lean down to get to you.

“Run.”

There’s a lengthy silence before you break it. You can’t stop the smile from spreading across you face, and the giggle from escaping your mouth. Harry looks dead serious, keeping silent with his eyes narrowed down at you. He has no amuse from watching you giggle.

“Harry, we can’t run in the woods! You’re so funny! We can get lo-”

“My God- Y/n, shut the fuck up! I swear to God if I hear even a little squeak come from your mouth..”Harry interrupts you, pinching his nose bridge as he always does when he’s frustrated.

“Don’t make a sound unless I call for you. Unless I call for you. Do you fucking hear me!?” He shouts, his voice strained and his veins popping out of his neck as he speaks.

Still, you can’t help the giggles coming from you. You didn’t even bring your running shoes. There’s no way you’d run in your MaryJanes and risk ruining your most favorite shoes! Harry’s jokes have gotten funnier than ever!

But he doesn’t laugh with you. He doesn’t smile. He doesn’t even blink. You become more and more aware of how drastically the atmosphere has changed with each passing second. Harry’s joke became less and less funny, and more dire.

“I said,” Harry starts, grabbing a fistful of your hair harshly and yanking your head back. You almost yelp at the feeling of your scalped being so harshly pulled. His eyes are full of a darkness you’ve never seen before, and his mouth formed into a snarl. It was enough to make you cry.

“Run.”

You waste no time, only looking back once to see Harry before sprinting down the forest path. You let out helpless, frightened whimpers out of fear that Harry’s right behind you. But he stays back, still in his place as he watches you scramble away like a helpless little mouse. Poor baby, so scared at the much bigger, scary man that was just your loving, protective partner. How quickly things can things can change.

Harry counted to 120. He waited until he couldn’t hear your rushed footsteps against the crunchy leaves of the forest floor. He waited until the sound of your frantic whimpers and pants faded away as you ran. He waited until there was silence. Nothing but him and the towering trees. For a moment, he ponders on why he’s even here- telling his girlfriend to run away from him, in the middle of the forest, like he’s a wild wolf. Then he remembers how horrible he felt when he saw you with Drue and Jack. How he wanted to take you right then and there, not caring about who he’d piss off.

That’s when he starts to run. Green Adidas leave tracks in the mud as he darts through the damp forest. He runs, and he runs, the daunting thought of you cuddled up with his friends in the back of his mind. He’s set on catching you- letting out a growl of determination as he goes. The image of you cowering away- hiding from him in a bush sends blood rushing to his cock, and he picks up his speed.

<><><><><><><><><><><>

It feels like it’s been hours that you’ve been hiding from Harry.

Your hands rush to your mouth, concealing a startled squeal. If you heard correctly, a twig snapped not that far from you. You cower deeper in your bush and grab the massive leafy branch you laid in front of you. You position it to where you’re concealed completely, and once everything goes quiet, that’s when the realization sets in. You don’t even know why you’re running from your kind, loving Harry.

But the way he threw your bear makes you feel like you don’t want to find out. Tears threaten to spill from your waterline as you suddenly become very, very, homesick. You miss the rest of your stuffies at home. You long to be on the luxurious, soft mattress right now, holding your bear close to your chest. You miss Harry’s scent, and the cuddles he’s give you every single night before sleep time. How long are you going to be here? Harry made you leave your phone, your purse, everything.

Snap..

You make an effort to keep your composure as you consider all the potential causes of that sound. Any wild animal could be passing by. A common squirrel can be searching for acorns to bring home to its family. In the midst of all this terror, you smile at the idea of a squirrel packing its face with acorns. The thought of it just takes your mind, until you giggle unconsciously to yourself. Once more covering your lips with your palm, you briefly hold your breath.

Like the last few times, it seems like there is nothing there. But you suddenly hear whistling, followed by Harry's loud yet unsettlingly deep voice.

“Come out.. I know you’re there.. somewhere..” He wanders while cooing in a taunting manner.

“C’mon.. Won’t be mad at you, Baby. I’m the one who told you to run, aren’t I? Are you.. here?” Harry looks in a bush, nearing closer to yours. You watch him closely through the spaces in the bush.

Knowing that Harry won't be angry with you for running away makes you feel relieved. You want nothing more than to be in his arms again, in your warm bed under the covers. Your chest starts to ache at how badly you want it. Mindlessly, and completely lost in thought, you crawl from the bush— but stop and think about what Harry said.

“Don’t speak unless I call for you.” Your mind hears Harry's voice so clearly that you stop. He’s been shouting out things to ease you into thinking it’s okay to come out, but he never once called for you. You praise yourself silently for remembering before you could make a huge mistake.

“How long do you think you can hide before I find you? And trust me, when I do, M’ gonna fuck you dumb. Like the dumb little kitten you are..” Harry’s voice booms across the forest because of the silence.

“You’d like that though.. huh? You’d like me fucking you over, and over, and over… till you’re screaming, begging me to stop. Remember last week on the couch? ‘Oh, Daddy! Daddy! Stop it! T-too much, oh, Daddy! M’ gonna cum!’ “You couldn’t get away from me if you tried your hardest, baby.” He makes fun of you, jogging vivid memories of that day. You make an effort not to dwell on it too much, but you can already feel wetness in your panties, and you start to ache for Harry. How can you be so scared yet so turned on at the same time?

He continues with his little taunts, and searches for any sign of you. A tiny groan escapes him as a reflection of light strikes his eye. Following the reflection, he sees it bouncing off a nearby tree. As he searches for the source of the light, he follows it and fixes his gaze on a another bush. Your bush.

Your eyes fix on Harry's as you continue to observe through the bushes. He doesn’t notice you yet, and you try to see what exactly he noticed. The sun was just starting to set, and the bright sun made it hard for you to see. You shift carefully, and then realize just what he’s looking at— your bracelet. The one you swore to never take off when Harry gave it to you. Why didn’t that come across your mind? The sun was reflecting right on your arm, and when you try to take it off, you only made things worse. He continues searching for you, getting closer, and closer. You don’t make a sound, you don’t even breath.

“Do you think you can hide forever? Huh? Think you can run and escape from me? Well, there’s one thing you’re forgetting.” Harry taunts and teases, sounding more frustrated and desperate. A sudden silent falls upon you, and you wonder if he left another direction to search for you. When it’s clear he’s gone, you let go of your breath.

“I’ll always find you.”

Screaming at Harry’s voice in your ear, you try to escape, but his massive, strong hands grab you by your ankles and yank you back.

“N-no!” You screech. You kick your foot back at Harry, it was surprisingly easy, as if Harry let you go himself. You rose to your feet as quickly as you could and broke into a sprint; you knew that he was holding off on going after you on purpose because if he had wanted to, Harry could have immediately captured you in his arms and destroyed you.

The worst part of it was that, although knowing he'll catch you eventually, he still allowed you to exhaust yourself out of amusement. Instead of being grateful for the opportunity to escape, you were afraid of how much worse he would make things for you as punishment for not just giving up at the very start.

Dodging all the twigs and tree branches that have fallen off, you sprint faster than you ever have before. Although the mud was damp and heavy, you kept your pace. You run and run, and soon think you’ve lost him and you can stop. Before you can even slow down, though, you hear heavy, fast footsteps behind you. Turning around as you run, you see Harry gaining on you, an unnerving, malicious smile wide across his face. You give it all you’ve got, and pick up your speed.

“That’s right, Y/n.. Run, run!” Harry shouts behind you, an exasperated rasp in his voice. A helpless, scared whimper comes out of you as you try, you try so hard to run faster and faster. You can't help but bump into a few low-hanging branches, leaving small scrapes on your arms and a terrible tear in your pink sundress, which is now filthy. Your MaryJanes have unbuckled because of fast you’ve been going, and your feet start to slip. Your body aches so much. You want to stop and ask Harry why he’s doing this to you, but that eerie smile you saw just a few minutes ago keeps you moving.

Your eyes well up with tears. You can’t even see where you’re going, it seems almost pointless to run now. You almost stop. Your ears start to fill with the obnoxious noise of passing cars, and you cringe at the sensation. The last thing your little head needed was a headache, and you’re already prone to one from all of this exertion. But when you realize that is your ticket out of here, your eyes widen from adrenaline. Moving your legs faster, you head for the sound of the cars, which was luckily straight ahead. Harry notices where you’re headed, and attempts to catch you before you get there. He’s right on you. You know he is - because you can hear his condescending laughter coming closer and closer.

Another reminder that while for him it was fun game, for you it was almost life or death.

The more you run the more you can see your exit. It’s so, so perfect. You’d run out towards the street, towards civilization where people can see you in broad daylight. You take a look behind you, and notice Harry isn’t behind you anymore. It doesn’t bother you too much, the thought of being out of the forest takes all of your concentration.

You’re getting closer.. and closer.. you can almost feel the sunlight hit your face. Almost reaching the concrete, a smile of victory appears on your face, before completely disappearing. You rush into Harry's chest head-on, your eyes widening so much that you lose your balance and land on your ass. Before you can flee, he kneels down at your shaking body and grabs you by the hair.

“Gotcha.”

You gasp in terror as you stare up at him towering over you and it makes you realize just how manic Harry looks. His clothes are surprisingly in one piece, and as clean as they were before. His shaggy brown hair is all over the place, some clinging to his forehead from sweat. His eyes, beady and wide as they maliciously stare down into yours.

Although you're certain that you both appear the same, Harry has an unsettling stature about him that you’ve never seen so close before. He chuckles darkly, enjoying every second you have that horrified look on your face.

“You stupid, stupid baby. Stand up and take that pretty lil dress off— Daddy wants to see all of you.”

You cry. You can’t imagine how uncomfortable you’ll be once you take off your dress. The forest air was so humid, and you knew it wouldn’t be kind to your skin- especially your princess parts. Harry frowns at watching you hesitate at his orders, and smacks you lightly across the face. You let out a piercing yelp, and Harry only rolls his eyes in pity of you.

“Go on, then. I want the dress off. Shoes too.”

Completely sobbing again, you stand yourself up, and slowly pull your dress over your head. You cringe at the harsh humid air attacking your skin, making your nipples immediately harden. Harry remains looking down at you with a slight smirk. His eyes wander on every part of your body.

“What should I use first, hm?” Harry brings his hand to cup your cheek, rubbing his thumb over your chapped lips.

“Your pretty mouth? Or..” His eyes travel downwards, and you can feel his sharp gaze pierce through the skin of your thighs.

“That tight lil pussy of yours.. or..” He continues, making you cringe at what else he could possibly want from you. His hands trail downwards, down your chest and in between your thighs, stopping at the center of your panties. Using his index finger, he toys with you a little bit— sliding his finger over your clit and in your folds as best he could through the cloth. You can’t help your whimpering as you feel the moisture in between your legs worsen. When you feel Harry’s hands go downwards past your panties, you start to squirm away again. You and Harry have done it almost every way possible, but never down there; it has always been far too difficult for you, and the concept of it has terrified you to your core.

“No! Harry, stop!” The words come out in a jumble as you struggle to run around his tall, towering body. You manage to escape from his grasp, but of course Harry’s insanely strong arms keep you back. Instead of grabbing you this time, he throws you to the ground, where you helplessly crawled until he caught you by the ankles. He revels in the way you think you could ever escape him. He keeps you in that position for a bit- you being face flat on the ground, back already arched for him.

“Why’re you trying to hide from me so much, hm? Daddy’s not that scary, is he? Bet you loved it.. and your pussy—” Harry yanks your panties to the side in a split second, giving you no time to prepare for the forest humidity on the most sensitive part of you. A wide, cheshire like smile spreads across his face once he sees your soaked pussy, and whether you like it or not— it was begging to be touched.

“S’wet, isn’t it? Yeah, just like I knew you’d be. You’re crazy, just like Daddy.”

He flips you back over, taking you by the hair once again to make sure he has enough to be able to yank you if he wanted. You whine in protest. The harsh forest ground was already hurting your fraile little body.

“God, Y/n- you squeal so fuckin’ much.. Think I’ve decided, baby. M’ gonna use that lil mouth of yours.. shut you up for a bit.” Harry almost whines in annoyance, getting to his feet and unbuckling his belt. He does it in a rush, like he’s growing impatient of watching you beg, and lets his pants sag to his mid-thigh.

“On your knees, c’mon.” Sternly, Harry commands you, only giving you a split second to do it yourself before he does it for you.

“N-no.. Harry! Harry, no! Stop.. Daddy, Daddy, please!” You screech, using his name, his proper name— to get him to see how desperate you are.

Harry took his erection out of his boxers as you winced and tried to turn away, but he put a palm on your head to show you. Choking on your sobs, you swallow before giving him another look— begging once more. Harry couldn’t care less, and brings his tip to your chin. You did nothing; and Harry roughly shoves two fingers between your lips to get you to open.

“Don’t fret, kitty. It won’t be too rough,” Harry grumbles, contradicting himself though— not even warning you as he shoves his massive length down your throat. You gagged immediately, letting out a pathetic mewl which sent vibrations straight to his cock.

You only let his cock sit in your mouth, your eye already watering at how painful it is to keep your mouth wide enough for Harry’s length. He lets out an annoyed sound, thrusting his hips to gain some movement.

“Y/n, come on. You’re fucking dumb, but you’re not that dumb. Suck on it.”

Out of reluctance, but lacking other options, you pursed your lips and hollowed out your cheeks. He immediately lets out a groan, closing his eyes and leaning his head back on the tree behind him.

“Shit- knew that’s what I was missin’- your cute lil mouth. S’ all it’s good for, huh? Suckin me off and talking back- fuck- keep going, baby.”

You close your eyes in concentration, trying your hardest to ignore how your jaw feels like it’s going to fall off. It’s not like you’re not used to this though, or haven’t done this before. You love to please Harry, and you love to suck on him when you can— sometimes even begging him to let you have a taste. But this was different though, it felt as if he genuinely didn’t care if you felt bad, just as long as you were making him feel good.

You slide your head back, just enough to bring your lips right on his tip. You give his cock little kitten licks, your favorite thing to do— before swirling your tongue all around.

Harry moans, bending his knees a bit before steadying himself again. His eyes rolled back before he shuts them again completely.

“F-fuck, good girl! Don’t call you Kitten for no reason- that’s right, be a good girl and keep sucking for Daddy.” He says in a pant, using a hand to brush his hair back before bringing it back down to yours. He pulls your hair back slightly to guide you in the pace he wants. Swallowing harshly, he opens his mouth to speak again.

“Been thinking about this since the ice cream shop, babydoll. You act so innocent but you just love this, don’t you? My lil fuckin’ slut.”

Tears are filled to the brim of your eyes, but you keep on going. Taking your hand, you reach for Harry’s balls and squeeze them as you go.

“Mhm- yeah, should’ve done this in front of Drue and Jack, maybe they would’ve gotten a fuckin’ hint,” Harry says through grunts and moans. Looking down at you, you already look so worn and tired. Your knees are bruised already, your mascara’s running down your face, and your teary, red eyes droop down from exertion.

Harry almost cums from the sight of you crying over his cock.

He thinks about how horrible this all must look; you being completely naked, on your knees, shivering while sucking his cock. He’s still almost fully clothed, and completely comfortable. He loves it— you need to suffer. This is all your fault.

He thrusts his cock even deeper down your throat, but you move your head farther away. As soon as you do, Harry shoves your head down again, indulging in the sight of you so desperate for a break. You struggle and fight for air, pushing on Harry’s thighs desperately, but it only made him thrust his cock faster.

“Mm!” You try to tell him it’s too much, you can’t breath, but it’s no use. His thighs clench harshly, and let’s out a strained groan, which leaves his mouth open slightly. He uses you to edge himself just a bit more, before he decides he’s already become bored.

It felt like ages, but Harry did eventually let you go. You pulled back with a choking gasp and cough. He looks down at you pitifully, a hand slowly rubbing his aching cock. You wipe your dripping tears, feeling your heartbeat quicken when you feel Harry grab you up by the hair.

Whining, you find it difficult to move when he pulls your hair up, but you move rapidly when you notice Harry's angry expression. In one swift movement, he flips you around, your bare backside on his front. He groans when he feels your ass pressing against his still hard cock.

“Baby-baby, baby, baby…” He says in a whisper, so close to your ear, you almost whimper at how sensitive it feels on your skin. Harry holds you in a chokehold with one arm across your neck, and the other trails down your body. He moves so excruciatingly slow, almost tickling you. His hands stroked your stomach, glided down your thighs until he reached between your shaking legs.

All Harry had to do was flick your miserable clit once, and you almost died of pleasure. He knew you were cumming as soon as he felt your poor pussy throb against his fingers. Letting out a shriek of surprise, you almost fall to your knees before Harry’s strong arms catch you. You hadn’t even realized how riled up you were until you squirting all over Harry’s hand, your poor little body shaking tremendously against his.

Even Harry looked surprised for a second, watching how hard you’re cumming from one single flick. You ride out your unexpected orgasm, wailing and whimpering Daddy— over, and over as you came down from your high.

Once you’re done, Harry shoves you away from him, and turns you so you’re forced to face him once more.

“You’re having too much fun.” His tone is so velvety smooth, yet so heartless and demeaning— you can never understand how he does it.

“AH!” You wail, crying out as Harry shoves you harshly towards the ground for like the fourth time. It hurt a thousand times more because you had nothing on. The sticks and forest dirt scrape you vigorously, you have to bite your lip to keep from screaming again. The same sadistic look in Harry’s eyes teases you, watching as you wince in pain below him.

“Ow! Daddy, that hurt!” You whine, your voice wavering from holding in your tears. Harry gives you another “pout.”

“Aw, my baby. Did Daddy push you too hard? Hm? S’hurting you?” You mentally let out a sigh at Harry sympathizing with you for the first time today. It makes you want to forget about everything he’s said and just leap into his arms.

“I don’t fucking care. I don’t care that it hurts,” Harry goes on, the soft tone he used at the start of his sentence completely diminished, making you feel so, so, hopeless.

“You didn’t care how much it hurt to see you with those two bastards, did you? Should’ve known you were too fucking incompetent and dull to understand simple orders.” He begins to take his shoes and clothes off, eyes brutally locked onto yours. He brings his pants all the way down, and with a swift movement, he brings his shirt over his head. Coming to the ground, he climbs on top of you and brings your wrists all the way above your body.

Like the big bad wolf closing in on his victim, he beams at the thought that nothing—not even you—could stop him from torturing you in whatever way he chooses.

You whimper in fear immediately, squirming helplessly under him. You’re eyes go wide when you feel his strong fingers press on your sensitive, raw clit again. You cried out, “Too-too much, AH! Daddy, no.. mm!”

“Too much? I haven’t even begun with you, Kitten.”

He brings his hand to his throbbing cock, stroking it a few times before rubbing it slowly on your pussy. You don’t know why, but this time, looking at his massive length scares you more than any other. You’d be lying if you said his cock didn’t intimidate you every time you saw it. So huge, so thick and veiny— it was imposing, and it always, always hurt when Harry entered you. You knew your sensitive pussy couldn’t take him right now.

“Why, why?” You cry roughly, squirming away again, of course being stopped by Harry’s strong body. His muscles flex while trying to hold you still, and his front strands of hair fall onto his face again.

“Because.. I love to watch you squirm. You know your poor, tiny baby cunt can’t take me.” He pauses.

“But, I feel bad for you. So I’ll give you a count. Five seconds, okay? Go.”

You open your mouth to count, the words falling from your mouth so quietly. As you go, you feel Harry enter you slowly, and you wince at how tight you are, and how big he is. You’re on the fourth count, but you stop, squirming around so much that Harry’s cock falls out of you. It wasn’t in yet, you gratefully sigh— and continue your attempt to leave.

Harry’s bored now. In fact, he’s been bored for the last 10 minutes. He’s sick of hearing your pointless, pathetic begging. He’s sick of your moving around while he’s trying to fuck you. Maybe he could stuff some leaves in your mouth so he can finally make you silent while he has his way with you. Or, maybe he can leave you here all by yourself, with nothing but dirt on your body, while he leaves and enjoys the silent car ride he’ll have to himself. He decides both of those ideas aren’t good at all, because he won’t be able to hear your pretty chokes and gasps when he finally enters you.

Decisions, decisions.

“Look, Kitten— I’m going to fuck you now. Unless your moaning and begging for my dick, you better shut your fucking mouth.”

You cringe. How could Harry be so mean? You’ve tried to get away. You’ve tried to do what he wants, but it always came back to bite you.

“Fucking useless,” Harry mutters. “Count.”

You have no choice. There’s no way out, you’ve realized that now. You always have, but this time you’re finally admitting it to yourself. So, you count.

“One.. T-two..” Harry slowly enters you as you go. At least you’ll be able to prepare for him to be fully in your tight entrance.

“Thr- AH!!” You lunge forward in surprise, eyes rolling back in pain.

“AH! DADDY, MY- You scramble your words, screeching at Harry entering you in one hard, unforgiving thrust. He ignores your tight pussy trying to squeeze him out.

He doesn’t care at all if he’s being cruel, not when your sorry pussy was right there, just waiting to be taken advantage of.

“Oh, fuck.. yeah!” Harry groans out, laughing in the process. He laughs at how miserable and betrayed you look below him.

“Y-you said.. you said..” You choke on your sobs, looking at him through half shut, red teary eyes. Your tiny hands grip his shoulders for support.

“You said count till five!!”

He laughs at your hurt, broken voice.

“Mm, did I?” Harry says, a pondering look on his face, before a sarcastic, devilish one takes its place.

“Sorry, Kitten. Guess I lied.” He barely pays attention to you, pulling out and then thrusting deeper into your walls. He savors your tightness, squeezing him so hard he can barely move.

“How do you stay this fucking tight? Hm? S’like the first time I had you.” He says in groans, his eyes rolling back before staying on you.

“Why- why did you lie?” You can’t help but ask. This whole day has been lies, lies, lies.

Harry doesn’t bother to answer your dull question. He harshly grabs your thigh and pins it above his shoulder so he has a better angle at fucking you. In his head, he curses himself for not bringing a condom, but immediately smiles at the thought of what could happen next.

He’s not completely opposed to the idea of knocking you up, plus, your sweet, sweet pussy is too heavenly to have it be masked by a stupid condom.

You can only look up at Harry, who’s smiling— and you wonder what could be making him smile while you’re enduring such pain. Your chest heaves and your limbs flail around with each thrust. Harry’s so, so, unbelievably big. How does he manage to fit inside you every time? You can never describe how full you feel every time he enters you.

“God- my baby’s got the best pussy out there, yeah-” Harry grunts at how harsh your pussy’s gripping him. He glares down at you, seeing your droopy, shut eyes and the tears streaming down your cheeks. He leans down a little and kisses your tears, gathering the salty taste on his tongue.

“Open those pretty eyes, Babydoll.” He says softly against your skin.

“Open those eyes and cry harder f’me, Darlin’. Like a little baby.. Y’know Daddy loves that, right?”

The raw, filthy sound of you and Harry’s skin coming together fills your ears. His intruding length just rips through you again and again, making your eyes roll back from pain. A strained whine rises from within you.

“Harry.. Daddy.. Stop… hurts so much..”

Harry doesn’t hear you. He chooses not to. He continues to pound into you relentlessly, growling as he picks up his pace. Even with the dirt and scrapes covering them, he can't get over how soft and velvety your thighs always are. He’s in love with your small whimpers and your big eyes pleading for help. He’s in love with how in denial you are, and how perfect his cock fits inside you.

It makes him wonder; have you thought about being this intimate with them? When he punished you in the car, was that what made you confide in them? Did they say something to make you turn away from him? He’s not sure he wants to know. If he did, it would only lead to bad things.

You can’t help but follow Harry’s orders, and you cry harder and harder from the pain. Your mouth falls open, you look up to see Harry move his mouth in a way that’s all too familiar.

“Uh uh.. Daddy, no.. mmh!” Whining in protest, you attempt to turn your head away from Harry, who grabs your jaw roughly.

“Open, Baby. Open, Open..” He forces his fingers in between your lips, and gathers up some saliva from his mouth. He leans down closer, so close to your face that you can feel his breathing hit your face. You hold out your tongue in obedience, tears still constantly streaming down your face. Spit trails from Harry’s pursed lips, falling on your tongue before sliding down your throat. Harry slips his fingers in your mouth again, moaning at your now over-salivated tongue coating his fingers.

The way Harry’s fucking you has him on the verge of tears. He’s in control again. He’s the one who has you wailing from how good he fucks you. Nobody can do that but him. He watches your precious tears fall down your face, and he feels nothing but joy. You can almost feel your little brain struggle at trying to figure this out.

You, crying in a mixture of harsh, stinging pain and pleasure, and him, crying because of how good it feels to be back inside you. How good it feels to have you cry, kick and scream for him to stop because you can’t take anymore.

“Sh-shit! Look what you’ve done.. have me acting out like this..” Harry says in a strained groan while blinking his tears away. He’s appreciative that you shut your eyes, preventing you from witnessing his moment of weakness.

You yelp as you feel Harry continue deeper in you, hitting your spot. The familiar knot in your stomach begins to form, and you cry because, no matter how hard you try, you can’t help it. Your helpless, needy little pussy aches and aches, and it only aches for one thing. Subconsciously, you whimper out Harry’s name, over and over, biting your lip and clawing at his back. Your eyes roll back until you see nothing.

Harry sees how you’re holding back, you’re trying not to cum, and that makes him more than angry. Growling, he brings a hand to your neck, his big, veiny hand choking you slightly. You’re forced to stare at him right in the eyes, seeing the different glints of black, brown, and light green reflect in them.

“Do you seriously think that’s going to work? Hm?Answer me!” Harry shouts the last part, his hand gripping you tighter around the neck as he keeps his pace inside you.

“Do you really think your sad, pathetic pussy could ever not cum when I’m inside you? Look.” Harry exclaims, pulling out slightly, not all the way- just enough to be able to go deeper inside you. He thrusts deep until he reaches your spot again, watching at how distraught you look. Your body shakes and you whimper under him, and if that wasn’t proving his point, your poor pussy closes around Harry’s cock like a vice.

“Think you can deny me.. yeah? Think you can turn away, disobey me and there won’t be any consequences?” He speaks in your ear, making you whine at you sensitive it feels.

“Daddy’s gonna fill you up, Kitty. Gonna cum inside this pretty pussy.. I’m gonna breed you till that test says positive -ah, f-fuck!” He lets out a strained sound- like mixture of a groan and a whine. He feels his cock twitch repeatedly inside you. He’s close, and he knows you are too.

“You won’t be able to deny me then, huh, baby? Won’t be able to deny me when you’re carrying my offspring in this pretty lil body..” He says tauntingly, bringing his hand from your neck to pet your head slowly.

“Ah- oh my God!! Harry, don’t wanna-”

“Not God, you silly, dumb baby. Just me.” Harry interrupts, placing a soft kiss on your nose before moaning out. His thrust are becoming less stable and more erratic, you can feel it. You clench your pussy more in hopes you can hold on longer, but your body gives up, and your pussy starts to throb around Harry’s cock.

“Yeah.. C’mon! Give it to Daddy. Let Daddy have it, baby. That’s right!” Harry’s face contorts into that malicious smile you saw when he was chasing you earlier. Bringing a hand down to your clit, he rubs vigorously to make it extra hard for you to hold on. He watches your eyes widen as your body finally gives in.

“DADDY!” You screech before breaking into a complete sob, your legs giving out from being up so long.

You’re cumming. There’s nothing you can do to stop it. Your limbs flail around, and your eyes remain rolled to the back of your head. Your pussy throbs harsh and fast around Harry’s cock. You whimper, whine, groan- almost every kind of sound leaves your opened mouth as you shake harshly under Harry. He stares at every involuntary reaction your body has towards him, focusing hard on all the small twitches and movements. How your back is arched so high, how you always, always bite your lip.

Harry will never get tired of knowing that he’s caused that. You’re full of his veiny, fat dick - the only dick you've seen this close, the only dick that's ever been inside of you.

The edging, the messing around, it’s all caught up to him.

“Y-yeah, baby. Daddy’s gonna cum- fuck! Daddy’s gonna cum inside your pretty pussy, alright? Want Daddy to cum inside you? Hm?”

He grunts out, watching you frantically shake your head no. You know what he wants, he admitted it himself. He wants to breed you, make you his forever.

“No.. don’t do it, Daddy..” You begged beneath him.

“Aw,” Harry starts with another one of his condescending pouts. “How am I supposed to pull out of a pussy like this?” He grins, before mocking the desperate expression on your face.

“You keep squeezing me tighter and tighter, Sweetheart- just know this pussy wants to milk Daddy’s cock. Gonna fill you-” He interrupts himself, moaning out as cum pours out of his pulsating cock, and coats your walls. He continues to thrust in you, gripping your hair as he goes. Filling you with his searing, hot cum, it makes you feel so so full. You feel it so deep inside you, claiming you, making his mark inside your body. Just like he wants.

You wanted so badly to not want this, but God, you love how it feels when Harry fills you up. You’ve always been obsessed with feeling his cock twitch and pulsate inside you.

Harry stays inside you for a little while longer, watching you still shake and cry helplessly under him. Though you’re quiet, tears still fall from your cheeks and splatter onto the forest ground. After a few moments more, and Harry pulls out of you slowly, immediately moaning at how all your juices pour out when he does.

He brings his fingers to your sopping pussy, fingering all the juices and cum back into you.

“Mine, mine, mine..” Again, he speaks more to himself, until he looks back at you.

“C’mon. Say it. Be a good girl for Daddy and say it,” He says in your ear.

“Who do you belong to?”

Harry’s hoping inside that you’ll say what’s right. If you do, then all this can be over and the both of you can go back to the way things were. He wouldn’t have to punish you anymore, because he’d know he did his job.

You open your mouth to speak, and a hopeful yet menacing smile appears on Harry’s face. But, your mouth closes, and you turn your face away from him. If you kept eye contact, you would’ve seen the most dark, and wrathful glare Harry could ever give you.

You wanted to say you belong to him, because you do, you know that you do. But you still don’t know what this was for. You thought being close with Drue and Jack was what Harry wanted! When Harry left you in that park, you went to seek comfort from his two best friends. How could that have been so wrong? Would he rather you do that with some random stranger? You still don’t understand.

“Fine.” Scoffing, Harry gets up and quickly puts back in his clothes, leaving his belt off. You gulp, a sinking feeling in your stomach telling you that you know what’s coming next.

Harry grabs his belt, beginning to fold it in half, until he pauses completely.

“Y’know what? Not gonna need it.” He says, callously discarding it somewhere beside you.

“Daddy-” You begin, trying to find a way to compromise with Harry. If you were correct about what was coming next, you were going to do everything you could to stop it. Feeling the scrapes and small gashes on your legs reminded you that your fraile body can’t take that much pain.

Sitting back down on the forest floor, Harry effortlessly brings you back onto his lap. He makes sure you’re on your stomach, propping his left leg slightly so you’re ass remains up in the air. Slowly, he rubs his fingers over your sore ass. His gaze shifts to you, withering at his touch. Your soft sobs continue on.

“You have one more chance, Babydoll. One more.” Harry begins, continuing his slow rubs on your ass.

“It’s really not that hard, I’m sure even you can understand this. All you have to do is say the right answer.” Tauntingly, Harry rubs your hair to calm your nerves.

“Who do you belong-”

“NO!” You screech, completely overpowering Harry. He cocks his head slowly to the side, getting more pissed off by the second. You look up at him, uncomfortably twisting your head to make eye contact. He sees your little pathetic look of determination and laughs.

“No..? What do you mean no?”

You clear your throat before attempting to speak again, trying making sure you sound as big and bad as you can be. You don’t deserve a spanking, you know it. You’ve been nothing but good to Harry. He brought you all the way out here, chased and fucked you until your body gave out, and now wants you to answer a question you know you shouldn’t answer. You just want to be back home in bed, watching your favorite cartoons and stuffing your face with all your favorite food. Instead you’re here, being punished and still not knowing why. You’re angry- No, you’re infuriated.

“You’re just jealous because Drue and Jack can treat me better!”

Horrible idea.

Immediately after saying that, your hands fly to your mouth as if they can take back what you just said. But they can’t, and that scares you to the core. Harry’s face is wrathful, and he narrows his eyes as his pupils grow beady.

“You dumb, pathetic girl.” You think you hear, not being able to comprehend it because of how low Harry spoke. It’s silent for a moment, before your piercing screech breaks right through.

“AH!!”

Harry brings his hand right on your ass, the sharp sound of the slap filling your ears. Your body jerks in response to the pain, and your tears flood your face.

“DON’T!”

SMACK!

“YOU EVER!”

SMACK!

“DISOBEY ME!”

SMACK!

“AGAIN!”

SMACK!

Harry grabs a fistful of your hair, pulling your head all the way back. Your body is arched as far as it can go, making you whine in pain. He harshly tugs again before bringing his mouth to your ear.

“DO YOU HEAR ME? DO YOU FUCKING HEAR ME?” He shouts, making your sensitive ears feel like they’re going to fall off. He harshly spanks you again, and again, and again, your body jerking helplessly at every blow.

“Y’think those dimwits could ever take care of you? The way I do? No- better? You stupid girl! Go ahead and see for yourself! They don’t know shit!

You try to get away before he can spank you again, but it’s no use. His grip on your hair won’t budge, and there’s no way you’d be able to leave if you want your hair still attached to your scalp. You see his hand lift up again, and you brace yourself for the blow. This time was even harder, making your ass move harshly at the hit. Harry spanks you again, his jaw clenched and his eyebrows furrowed with frustration.

“You need me! You know it! You and your stupid pus- look at it! Look at this stupid-“ He cuts himself off, letting your hair go and using both hands to spread your ass cheeks.

“Look at this stupid fucking cunt- you’re still wet!” He callously spanks your still sensitive pussy, and you wail as you grip his thigh.

“HARRY! AH-” Your wails are interrupted by Harry spanking you again. You don’t know how much longer you can take this. It hurt so much, you almost feel numb. Your poor ass was now an angry red, bruised and so beat up. Harry doesn’t care, he continues lashing out on your poor body.

“Go ahead and scream, you pathetic baby. Nobody can fucking hear you!” Harry taunts, never stopping his blows to your ass.

As he goes, you remember a certain sentence from Drue, when you were on the bench with him and Jack.

“Someone as innocent as you shouldn’t be with someone as fucked up as Harry.”

The moment plays through your head clearly, making you realize something; Drue and Jack were trying to get to you all along. They danced with you, touched you, and even tried to take care of you, all while Harry was gone. It made you realize that Harry was right the whole time.

And that only made everything worse.

Your sobs grow louder as Harry continues spanking you, taking turns on each cheek. You don’t even fight anymore, knowing full well that you deserve it. You were bad. You should’ve just listened to Harry, instead you were stubborn, like you always were.

“Daddy..! I’m sorry! I’m so- I’m so sorry..” You begin, still wailing like a little baby over Harry’s lap.

“I’m yours, Daddy! I’m yours, only yours!”

The spankings stop as soon as Harry hears those words. For a while, Harry doesn’t do anything. He leans back against the tree, watching you completely fall apart on his lap. You sob and sob, your body helplessly twitching from being so stimulated. A few more long, excruciating moments pass before you feel Harry grab your torso and flip you on your back. You still remain on his lap, and your eyes begin to flutter shut as you see Harry’s eyes stare right down into yours.

“That’s my girl..” He whispers ever so gently above you. That was mainly for him to hear. His hands wander slowly and carefully up and down your body, feeling every part of you that he could with just his hands. He makes his way to your chest, grabbing and squeezing your precious boobs before he kisses them softly. Next, his hands wander down your waist, tracing your curves until he got to your thighs. Your beautiful, luscious thighs. He could never do without them. He loves them for multiple reasons. He loves to lay on them, kiss them, bite them.. He loves when he’s face deep in between your thighs.. and how you wrap them around his head to push him deeper. To feel his tongue deeper in you.

Slowly, you shift so you can sit perfectly in Harry’s lap. He doesn’t help you. He watches as you helplessly crawl back to him. Once you get fully comfortable without hurting yourself, you bury your head into Harry’s chest.

“Da-Daddy.. H-hurts.. everything hurts..” Your voice is strained, like almost everything else on your body, and you shiver as the cold wind begins to pick up.

“I know, baby.. I know.” Harry grabs his jacket and wraps it around you tightly before trapping you in his warmth.

“Shhh. It’s okay Darlin’. See? that’s all you needed to do. Just needed to tell Daddy you’re his- I know, baby.” Harry sympathizes with you, trying to ensure that you know he’s no longer cross with you.

“S’okay now, I promise.“

Nobody knows how to tear you apart and put you back together like he does.

“Let’s get this pretty dress back on you, yeah? Y’know this is one of Daddy’s favorites.” He starts to reclothe you while maintaining a low, soothing voice for you. Wiping the dirt and dander from the forest floor, he attempts to unwrinkle it as best he can. He locates your MaryJanes and applies the same treatment to them, taking care to remove the obvious stains from your most precious shoe. Once you are both off the ground, he gives you a long, passionate kiss on top of your head.

“You did a good job, baby.”

You’re silent. You acknowledge him with a barely noticeable nod, too tired to give him a full response. With one arm, Harry carries you against his hip all the way back to the car. Somewhere along the path he noticed your body fall limp in his arms, your head laying helplessly on his shoulder as fall asleep. He places you in the passenger seat of the car, buckling you up before going back for your belongings.

Harry did get the peaceful drive back that he wanted. Your soft, faint snores with the low sound of the car engine are all that can be heard. Still, memories of that day at the park continue to nag at him.

There are a lot of things about that day that Harry will never admit. How when he left you at the park with Drue and Jack to make phone calls, he was in his car, spending the majority of his time jerking off to the fading taste of your juices that were left on his tongue. If he's being truly honest with himself, the fact that his friends genuinely thought they could replace him, turned him on even more. They don't know the closest thing about taking care of you, and how to take care of you when you're acting up. How to take care of you when you're crying and crying about something so stupid.

The days that follow show just how much the little run around in the forest impacted you. Your body has been so sorely used and strained that you're dependent on Harry for help with nearly everything. You can’t even use the bathroom or sit in a chair because of sensitive and worn out you are. Harry’s lap is the only thing your body can withstand. And your pussy, your poor pussy still hasn’t been recovered from being so fucked out. The slightest bit of contact between your pussy and literally anything makes you clench your legs. Harry of course helps you with everything, giving you massages and relieving the aching pain in your pussy whenever he can. He’s always conveniently there.

He tells you that you’re a big girl and you can handle this, but you don’t how much more you can take before you rip your hair out. It’s like being stimulated 24/7, which nothing and no one but Harry to help the pain. You’re indeed suffering, but Harry couldn’t feel any more accomplished. Now more than ever, you need him, you rely on him, just like you always should. You’re ruined. It shows in almost every aspect.

Yes, Harry couldn’t be anymore satisfied.

<3 @love-letters-to-uranus

[freedomfireflies-deactivated202]

Infinite You Masterlist

Open Relationship!Harry x You

*Contains Mature and Explicit content, so please only consume what you feel comfortable with!💞*

~ Infinite You* (Pt. 1)

The one where Harry is in an open relationship with your best friend, and maybe you have more in common than you realized.  (Based on this request! There is no third, just Harry and Reader!)

~ Insatiable You* (Pt. 2)

The one where Harry wants to know more about these smutty books you read. And maybe have a bit of fun, too.

~ Insufferable You* (Pt. 3)

The one where Harry is still in an open relationship with your best friend, so maybe it’s time to remind him what he’s missing.

[ladyg1rll-deactivated20260404]

⌞ TEXTS WITH OLDER!BF HARRY౨ৎ ⌝

SUMMARY: how your older boyfriend would text you.

PAIRING: older boyfriend! harry styles x younger girlfriend! reader

gracie speaks .ᐟ

i absolutely love this one. ALSO i made this HOURS before he announced the album so i had to change one of them lol

join my taglist! | masterlist

© st4rkeysangel, posted january 17th, 2026. do not steal, copy or repost without my permission.

join my taglist!

🏷️ : @cherriesnkisses @ravenriley23 @gldenrry @sarahinhersundaybest @kissedaven @jocelynlovesharrystyles @swagbellaa @triski73 @ccowboylikemez @avensgreenvans @carolinaastyles @kateluvshaz @cinemafics @tpwkmr @bamababy055fan @cinemadi @kissallthetime @snoopsrry @sincerely-yours-marsbar @harryscherrysuckr @maddwoman @lomlcamy @onlyraenova @lntrrys @harryshe4art @littlefreakmadz @harrystyleshotwife @tuckshoney @28tpwk1989 @vicloveshs @daydreamingstyles @oifukinloser @thewineranout @aoxetic @bndnrry @bebopbumblebee @fbhhstyles @harrysangel94 @alemunson42069 @anoldrecliner @moonlightharryy @osorto @starrylupine @ballerinarry @merylittlefreak @frankiebeeslyshouse @patriwxlls @dwtshq @harrysredshortshorts @ell0ra-br3kk3r

[moonstruckme]

also i LOVE your poly!marauders apocalypse au (so creative btw!! i'm obsessed!!) and would be so down to read something in that universe where the reader gets hypothermia or something like that hehe !!!! <333333

Thanks for requesting lovely!

cw: mild hypothermia

apocalypse poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.2k words

You keep tripping, which is mildly embarrassing. You think it’s a combination of fatigue and the general numbness that’s pervaded your body even through the layers you’d put on when you’d packed up the campsite that morning. You’d all agreed that, with the death eaters on your trail, it’s really only safe to stay in one area for a few days at a time, even with all the protections you place around your sites. But that means days where, instead of lounging around your tent, listening to the radio and plotting for the Order, you use all the daylight you have to hike through the wintry woods until you’re far enough away to set up another camp. 

Sirius glances back when you stumble again, the toe of your boot catching on a branch you hadn’t seen buried in the snow. It’s a more dramatic affair than it should be, and you barely get your other foot out in front of you fast enough to avoid face-planting into the leaf litter. 

Your shivering worsens as another gust of wind burns your face, making your thick jacket feel like mesh. You think this has to be the worst moving day your group has had yet. The cold is the same, but the sun hasn’t so much as peeked from behind the clouds all day and the wind makes it nearly unbearable. The snow is thick enough that you’ve started stepping in the boys’ footprints to save energy. One of the many perks of taking up the rear. 

You nearly hit Sirius when he stops in front of you. 

“This clearing looks about as good as any,” James is saying, but Remus looks hesitant. 

“I don’t know,” he frets. “Do you think it’s far enough? We’ve been slow today.” 

“You’re tired,” James says kindly. You look at Remus, noting his slouched posture, the weariness he’s never quite learned to hide from his expression. You’re not sure how you didn’t notice his exhaustion before. You’re usually more aware of those things. “And it’s horrid out here. Let’s just call it a night, and if you’re still anxious about it tomorrow we’ll go a bit further.” 

“I can make it further tonight.” 

“It’s not all about you, Moony,” Sirius drawls. He looks especially monochrome against all the fresh white snow, you think. His superblack hair is as eye-catching as neon. “I’ve got a rock in my shoe I’d love to get out, and I know y/n’s knees have to be black and blue from the way she’s been falling for the past hour.” 

His scheme works; Remus looks to you, arguments of his own fortitude forgotten. “Are you tired, dove? You want to stop?” 

You shrug. “Yeah, I guess. It’s cold.” 

Suddenly all three boys seem focussed intently on you. You’re not sure why. You don’t actually recall much of what you’d been talking about. 

“Could you say that again?” James asks you. His brows are stitched together and his eyes have gone all sharp behind his glasses. 

“I just said it’s cold.” 

“Why’re you talking like that, doll?” Sirius takes a step toward you, then looks to Remus. “Why is she slurring?” 

“I don’t know,” Remus says softly. He’s looking at you weird, too. Frowny. “Yeah, let’s set up. Maybe she just needs a rest.” 

James spells the tent up quickly, then makes Remus stay and sit with you while he and Sirius set up the protections and everything else. The temperature inside the magical tent is cozy. Remus lights a fire in the grate to warm you all up. 

“Do you feel okay, lovely?” he asks, helping you out of your jacket. You sit on the bed, working off your shoes. 

“Yeah, just…just really tired.” 

He furrows his eyebrows, placing a palm on your cheek. You have no clue how it’s so warm, but a sigh escapes you as you lean into the touch. 

“When did you start tripping?” he asks you. 

You…you’re not sure. You can’t remember the first time it happened. How long had you been walking?

Your bemusement must show on your face, because Remus’ mouth pinches. His hand slides down to cup your face, fingers pressing oddly into your jaw. Frankly, you could care less where he puts them so long as he keeps touching you.

“Feeling better?” James asks, materializing behind Remus. You’re not sure which one of you he’s talking to, but you hum contentedly anyway. 

“I think she might be hypothermic,” Remus doesn’t look away from you as he talks, his eyebrows lowered like he’s waiting for you to answer a question you don’t remember him asking. His fingers press harder into your neck. “Her pulse is…scary weak.” 

James looks at you, and you look at Remus. 

“You really think so?” you ask him, befuddled. “I don’t feel…I’m only tired.” 

“Hypothermia makes you tired,” he tells you gently. “And you’re slurring your words, love.” 

You feel an icy tendril of fear snake around your spine. “I am?” 

“You’re alright.” James catches onto your panic quickly, leaning over Remus to give your shoulders a bolstering squeeze. “Let’s just get some of these layers off you, and then we’ll swaddle you in blankets.” He starts easing off your jumper, leaving you in just your undershirt. You’re newly cognizant of the sluggishness of your movements as you raise your arms to help him. “Once you sit by the fire for a bit, you’ll be feeling back to normal in no time.” 

You nod numbly, lifting your bum to tug off the jeans you’d worn over leggings. James takes the blanket from the bed and wraps it around you while Remus goes to find more in the other room. 

“Poor love,” James coos, dropping a kiss to your head. “You’re shaking like a leaf.” 

“No duh,” Sirius says, the tent flap letting in a blast of cool air behind him. “It’s fucking freezing out.” 

James offers him a sorry smile. “We think she’s got hypothermia.” 

Sirius sobers, stormcloud eyes flickering to you. “Shit, really? How bad is that?” 

“Not too bad, I don’t think,” Remus says, nudging past him with a stack of blankets in his arms. “I mean, it’d be great if I’d thought to bring any books on that sort of thing, but I’m fairly sure if it were bad she’d be more confused and a bit…blueish.” He drapes a blanket over your shoulders, letting James pull it tighter and tuck it about as he wishes. “Do you feel any better?” 

“I think so,” you say quietly. It’s a bit unnerving to be at the center of so much alarm like this. You do feel better being out of the cold, but you’re not sure if that’s what he’s asking. “It’s a little hard to tell.” 

“You don’t seem like you’re slurring as badly,” James evaluates. He cups the back of your neck, planting a kiss on the frozen tip of your nose. “I think you’re getting better already, lovie.” 

Your face certainly feels warmer. 

Sirius grins at your flustering, though it’s dampened by worry. “What about a hot chocolate?” he asks, tone unusually gentle. “Does that sound like it might help?” 

“I’m fine,” you say, and he disregards you immediately, posing the same question to Remus. 

“Would that help?”

Remus shrugs. “It could. Doubt it would hurt. James, love, I think she’s got enough blankets.” 

James frowns, peering through the layers of covering to find your face. “Do you feel warm enough, angel?” 

You blink, owlish. “I think so?” 

He shakes his head. “Sounds far from certain. More blankets it is. Sirius, get started on the hot chocolate.” 

[colouredbyd]

bambi, oh bambi

poly!marauders x reader ♡ 3.6k

synopsis: shifting for the first time to surprise your boyfriends leaves you a whirlwind of nerves, but with the guidance of your closest companions, you discover an animagus form that feels entirely, unexpectedly like you.

warnings: sweetheart!reader, r is shy and anxious, r is best friends with regulus and barty, animagus transformation, magic, snow, fluff, panic and anxiety, seasonal cold/snow, mild self-doubt, feelings of nervousness and vulnerability.

You stand nervously in the middle of the snow, your breath rising in small clouds as it meets the crisp winter air. Every nerve in your body feels alive, tingling with anticipation and fear. 

Pandora and Regulus are both staring at you, their expressions calm but attentive, while you panic and spiral quietly to yourself. 

Your thoughts feel heavy, though you are still very much yourself, very much human, in this moment.

“It is completely normal to feel nervous during your first transformation,” Pandora says gently, kneeling slightly in the snow to be closer to your level. 

“Especially when you do not even know what your Animagus will be.”

You shake your head, panic prickling in your chest. “I… I don’t know if I can do this,” you admit, your voice trembling. Your hands fidget with the cuff of your sleeve. “What if I fail? What if I hurt myself?”

Regulus steps a little closer, his hands shoved into the pockets of his coat, his expression composed yet firm. “You will not hurt yourself,” he says, his voice low, carrying a quiet certainty. “I know you. You are careful, and precise. Even your first attempt will not be dangerous.”

Your eyes widen as worry twists in your stomach. “But what if my Animagus is dangerous? What if it is something wild or… I don’t know… something I cannot control?”

Regulus lets out a short, amused chuckle. “You are my best friend. You would not be capable of producing anything dangerous. And honestly, I would not be surprised if it turns out to be something completely harmless. Likea  butterfly.”

You pout, shoulders tense, feeling a little relief at his attempt at humor but still trembling. “I don’t know how to transform. What if I just… cannot do it?”

Pandora opens her notebook carefully, the pages crisp against the cold air. “Don’t worry,” she says, flipping to the page she has marked. 

“We will go through the instructions step by step. Focus on your breathing. Relax your muscles. Visualize the form you wish to take. Imagine every part of your body shifting, folding, and changing until it feels natural.”

Regulus crouches slightly beside you, watching you carefully, his dark eyes bright with encouragement. 

“The first time I transformed,” he says, a faint grin tugging at his lips, “I became a cat. Tiny, soft, and like a black shadow. I hid under the couch for hours because I was terrified I would break something or scare someone. But I learned to control it. You will, too. It is just a matter of patience and practice.”

You bite your lip, your gaze dropping to the untouched snow beneath your feet. “It still feels… impossible.”

Pandora reaches out and gently rests a hand near your shoulder, careful not to startle you. “Nothing worth doing comes without some fear. It is natural. The important part is that you try. That you don’t give up on yourself before you even begin.”

Regulus leans a little closer, lowering his voice to something almost conspiratorial. “I will be right here watching and making sure nothing goes wrong. I promise. And if it does… well, we will handle it together.”

You take a deep breath, feeling the crisp winter air fill your lungs, and step carefully back onto the thin ice near the edge of the frozen stream. You pull your scarf tighter, though it is heavy and awkward against your suddenly smaller frame. 

Pandora kneels a few steps away, her notebook still in her hands. She tilts her head slightly, watching you with gentle patience. “Remember the steps,” she says softly. 

“Relax. Focus. Visualize. You have worked for months for this. You can do it.”

You tense your muscles, every fiber of your body trembling, and let the magic flow. It begins at your toes, a strange tickling warmth that moves up your legs. 

The sensation is dizzying, surreal, like every bone and muscle is bending in impossible ways. Your heart pounds, and you stumble on the ice, flailing slightly before your hooves catch.

When the shift is over, you stare down. Your hooves press into the snow, delicate and firm. Your legs feel both fragile and alive. You take a small, tentative step and then another, testing balance and coordination. 

The cold snow presses against your fur, sparkling on the tips of your coat. 

You flick your ears nervously, eyes wide, and glance toward Pandora and Regulus.

Their reactions hit you like a shock. Pandora gasps softly. “Oh… my…” Her eyes are wide, full of awe.

Regulus steps closer, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, though his voice carries a quiet wonder. “Incredible,” he says, crouching slightly. 

Your tail flicks nervously, and you back up a few steps toward the frozen stream. You pause at the edge and lower your head toward the ice, sniffing, trying to understand yourself in this body.

The reflection that stares back at you makes your chest tighten with disbelief. Small, wide eyes, soft brown fur, and delicate white spots across your back.

A little deer. 

You paw at the snow, testing your legs, and take a careful step forward, then another, discovering the agility in your new form.

Pandora tilts her head, eyes widening with so much joy that she practically glows. Her breath bursts out in a delighted cloud as she claps both hands over her mouth.

“Oh my god, you are like a little fawn!” she squeals, bouncing on her toes as if she cannot contain the excitement. “Look at you! You are tiny and spotted and absolutely precious!”

She crouches down a little, leaning closer with shining eyes.

Regulus chuckles lightly, crouching so he is level with your eyes. “I would never have guessed, but it suits you.”

Your ears twitch at every sound—the whisper of the wind, the crunch of snow beneath Regulus’ boots, the distant caw of a bird. 

A tiny, excited leap carries you forward, snow spraying around your hooves. Your movements are clumsy but joyful, and a little thrill of freedom surges through you. 

Pandora claps her hands softly, and Regulus leans back, eyes bright with amusement and pride.

The snow, the forest, the cold, the magic;; it all feels like it is yours, in this moment, completely and beautifully yours.

The second you shift back into your human body, you stumble straight onto your knees in the snow. A rush of wild exhilaration bursts through your chest, so powerful you can barely breathe.

I did it!” you gasp, practically choking on your own smile. “I did it, I did it! Pandora, Regulus, did you see that?”

You don’t even wait for an answer. You throw yourself at Pandora so fast she lets out a startled squeal of laughter as she catches you.

“You did it, sweetheart!” she cries, gripping your shoulders and shaking you a little in excitement. “You were amazing! I knew you would get it!”

You shake with excitement and cling to her a moment longer before turning and launching yourself at Regulus. 

He stands with his arms half-raised, pretending he is not expecting it, although his eyes soften the moment you collide with him.

“Regulus!” you gasp, grabbing the front of his coat and practically bouncing on your feet. “i was a deer—a real deer! with spots and hooves and everything!”

His arms come around you slowly, steady and grounding, as if he wants to hold onto your excitement without letting it overwhelm you. His voice is low, smooth, calm.

“I know,” he says. “I saw the entire thing.”

You pull back a little, cheeks flushed, breath quick. “Did I look strange? Did I look ridiculous?”

He tilts his head, meeting your worried gaze, and a small, almost imperceptible smile touches his lips. “No. You were amazing,” he says softly. “Even when if the transformation was a little sloppy, it was perfect. You handled it better than anyone could have expected.”

You cover your face with your hands, heart pounding, and he gently moves your fingers aside, brushing snow from your hair.

“But you were also adorable,” he adds quietly. “A very, very adorable deer.”

You couldn’t help but feel giddy on the inside at Regulus’s praise. 

He may have been your best friend and closest companion, but it was rare for Regulus, of all people, to show any emotion at all—let alone let his pride seep through the cracks of his carefully maintained walls.

A word of praise from Reggie, meant the world to you. It made your chest feel lighter, your heart warmer, and every bit of hard work you’d poured into becoming an Animagus feel completely worth it.

Pandora laughs again, brushing snow off your sleeve. “You should be proud. What a beautiful Animagus form.”

Regulus steps back and lifts one eyebrow. “Well then. Off you go, amour. Go show your boyfriends before you burst from excitement.”

You gasp dramatically and clutch Pandora’s hands. “We have to go. I need to tell them right now.”

Pandora squeezes your hands with the same excitement. “Go. They will be thrilled.”

****

“James!” you call the moment you burst into the common room. 

You don’t even wait for him to answer — you grab his wrist with both hands and start tugging. “Come on, come on, come on, I need to show you something!”

James barely has time to blink. “Merlin, love— what’s got into you?” He’s stumbling after you, curls bouncing, but he’s already smiling because you’re smiling.

“Sirius!” you call over your shoulder. “Remus! Get over here!”

A groan answers you from the couch. “It’s snowing,” Sirius complains, dramatically wrapping himself tighter in a blanket. “Do you know what snow does to my hair?”

“You’ll survive!” you say, breathless and glowing. “Please, Pads, it’s really— really— really important.”

Before Sirius can argue again, Remus appears from the hallway, book still in hand, scarf slung over his arm. He takes one look at you, practically vibrating with joy, and his whole expression softens.

He steps forward and gently cups your face with both cold hands. “Dovey,” he murmurs, brushing his thumb over your cheek, “take a breath. You’re shaking.”

“I know,” you say, grinning so hard your eyes crinkle. “I’m sorry— I just— it’s important, Moony.”

“No apologizing.” He smiles faintly. “Just slow down enough so we can keep up with you.”

“Right— right, okay,” you say, even though you’re still bouncing a little on your toes.

Sirius slinks over now, muttering under his breath, blanket still draped around him like a cape. “This better be worth frostbite.”

“It is,” you say, nearly squealing.

James squeezes your hand, brows raised in playful intrigue. “Are we going to pull a prank? Because if this is about causing some trouble, I’d like to mentally prepare first.”

“No! Well— no. Not this time.” You tug him closer. “It’s a surprise.”

Remus lets out a small, fond sigh and flicks his wand. Scarves whoosh out of his bag and wrap themselves neatly around each of your necks, warm as a cup of tea. 

“If we’re going out,” he says, adjusting yours with gentle fingers, “we’re doing it without any of you getting sick.”

Sirius brightens immediately as the warmth hits him. “You should’ve led with the free winter gear,” he says, looping his scarf twice. “Very persuasive.”

“Alright,” James says, squeezing your shoulders, “where to, sweetheart?”

“Outside,” you say, practically glowing. “Hurry!”

Sirius opens the door with a flourish, snow drifting in on a soft, icy breeze.

You step into the center of the courtyard, breath puffing in front of you in little clouds. The boys stand a few feet away, bundled in their scarves, waiting.

But now that they’re actually here, watching you… your heart stutters. Nerves flutter in your stomach. You take a small step back.

Sirius tilts his head, a curious smile tugging on his lips.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he teases, “what is it you’re dying to show us?”

James laughs breathlessly. “Yeah, love, you’re scaring us a little.”

You swallow, nod once, inhale deeply—

And then you shift.

The world ripples around you, magic curling over your skin like warm light, and in a blink, you’re standing on four legs in the snow.

A small, soft deer with your fur dusted with flakes, breath steaming in the cold.

Three pairs of eyes widen dramatically.

For one perfect moment, silence.

Then—

James absolutely screams.

“Holy— Merlin’s scruffy stag— when— how— what—!”

James grabs Sirius’s arm, his eyes wide as if holding onto someone might help him process what he just saw.

Sirius stays frozen, mouth slightly open, completely still, like he can’t believe what he’s seeing.

Remus just blinks, taking a moment to register it all, his expression caught somewhere between shock and awe.

You stamp your little hooves impatiently, looking at them with wide, pleading eyes, as if to say, Well??

James is the first to find his voice, stumbling over words in his excitement.

“When did you even—how did you go through the Animagus process without us knowing— ”

You can’t help it. The thrill of it, the joy of finally revealing yourself, bubbles out uncontrollably, and you jump, bouncing in the snow, spinning and hopping with excitement.

And suddenly Remus breathes out a stunned laugh. “Oh, sweetheart— come here—”

You don’t even let him finish. You gallop straight toward him and tackle him into a soft drift of snow. He goes down with a yelp and then bursts into laughter, wrapping his arms around your warm neck.

“Okay— alright— alright— you’re heavy like this—” he wheezes, still grinning up at you. “Merlin, you’re beautiful.”

You nuzzle his cheek before prancing away, hooves crunching through the fresh layer of snow.

James is already crouched, eyes wide with pure awe and giddy pride.

“Look at you!” he gushes, one hand reaching out carefully to stroke between your ears. “You’re perfect. D’you know that? Absolutely perfect.”

You lick his sleeve and he laughs like a little kid.

Then you turn to Sirius.

He hasn’t moved at all.

He’s standing like someone hit him with Petrificus Totalus, except his eyes are huge and soft and the tips of his ears are pink from the cold.

You trot up to him and blink up at him with wide doe eyes.

He inhales sharply. “Oh… oh no,” he whispers. “You’re— you’re literally the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.”

He drops to his knees instantly, hands hovering like he’s afraid to break you.

“I have so many questions— so many— but I can’t think right now because your little face is attacking my soul.”

You poke his side with your velvety nose.

He giggles.  “Oh, that’s illegal— don’t look at me like that— Bloody hell, you’re adorable—”

He finally wraps his arms around your neck, burying his face into your fur. “I’m never letting you be human again.”

You snort loudly, which makes him laugh even harder.

And then—

James shifts into his stag beside you, tall and magnificent, nudging your shoulder with a joyful snort.

Sirius rolls his eyes, stands up, and transforms in a smooth wave of magic — a huge black dog shaking snow from his fur.

You squeak (or… whatever the deer equivalent of a squeak is) and immediately bolt across the courtyard.

Prongs and Padfoot charge after you, hooves and paws thundering through the snow.

Remus stays human, arms crossed, scarf fluttering in the wind, laughing helplessly as you dart behind him for protection.

He places one steady hand on your back.

You press closer to Remus, hiding half behind him, peeking out just enough to flick your ears at the two troublemakers.

Remus laughs and pats your side.

“My brave girl,” he teases softly. “Hiding behind the man who can’t even shift.”

You nudge him indignantly.

Padfoot and Prongs are still waiting for another chase, but both of them stay where they are when Remus places one calming hand on your back.

“It’s alright,” he murmurs. “Take your time. Whenever you are ready.”

You close your eyes. The magic rises again, warm and familiar now, like sunlight curling through your limbs. Your shape shifts. Your hooves sink into the snow and dissolve. Your fur pulls inward. The world tilts once, gently, and then settles.

You are human again.

Your knees fold, and you collapse forward into Remus’s chest, breath coming out in a startled gasp. 

His arms tighten instantly, closing around you with a fierceness that makes your heart swell.

Remus’s hand rests lightly on your back, his voice soft as he leans down. “You alright?”

You lift your head just enough to meet his gaze, still flushed and breathless, and nod. “Yeah.”

Then, with a little nervous grin, you stare up at him. “Soooo… what do you think?”

He lets out a quiet, fond chuckle, brushing a hand through your hair. “I think… you’re amazing.”

You peek up at him through the scarf, a little shy but still glowing with excitement. “You… really think so?”

“I do,” Remus says quietly, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “You were incredible. All of it. I’m proud of you.”

Your chest swells, and you can’t help the soft, delighted laugh that escapes you. “Thank you… I was so worried you’d think it was silly or—”

Before you can finish, a loud chorus breaks through the calm.

“There she is!” James cries, barreling through the snow toward you, his hair dusted with flakes, a grin plastered across his face.

“You have an unbelievable amount of explaining to do, darling,” he announces, although his voice is far too warm to be truly scolding.

You giggle and pull your scarf close, cheeks warm despite the cold. Remus keeps one arm wrapped firmly around you as if he refuses to let you go now that you are back in human form.

“I know,” you say, still breathless and glowing. “I know I should’ve told you sooner. I just… needed to be sure. I didn’t want to say anything until I knew it was real.”

James’ brows lift, but his eyes are nothing but warm. “So all of this… has been going on for a while, then?”

You nod, hands twisting together for a moment before you make yourself meet their eyes. “A little over a month. Pandora helped me with the theory — she’s brilliant, honestly — and she was so patient with me. Every single time I messed up, she just tried again with me.”

Sirius snorts softly, though his smile is fond. “Of course she did. Pandora Lovegood could teach a rock to dance if she felt like it.”

You laugh, cheeks warming. “And Regulus helped too with the practical pieces. Making sure I didn’t try anything too reckless. He’s… very steady. He kept me grounded.”

James hums under his breath, impressed. “So he knew before we did.”

“Only by an hour!” you say quickly, as if it matters. “Today was the first time anything actually worked. And as soon as it did, I ran straight here.”

That earns you three different smiles, all of them soft.

Sirius nudges your shoulder gently. “Good. Because seeing you turn into that little deer might be the cutest thing that has ever happened in my entire life.”

You hide your face in your hands for a second, which only makes James laugh and pull your hands back down so he can see you. “Hey,” he says softly, “none of that. We’re amazed. That’s all.”

Remus’ hand finds its place on your back, slow and steady, his touch radiating reassurance. “You did something incredibly difficult, love,” he murmurs. “And you did it beautifully.”

Your breath catches in your throat, not because of nerves this time, but because of how full your chest feels.

You end up pulled into all three of them at once, completely surrounded and impossibly warm despite the snow drifting around your boots. 

James presses a kiss to your cheek. “I’m so proud of you.”

Remus tightens his hold just slightly, voice low against your ear. “We all are.”

Sirius rests his chin on your shoulder. “Our little Bambi,” he says with a grin you can hear. 

You let out a tiny laugh, too flustered to hide it. “Bambi?”

James grins. “Well, we can’t exactly keep calling you dovey now that we know you’ve been prancing around the forest behind our backs.”

Remus leans in slightly, his breath warm against your temple. “So,” he murmurs, a subtle smile in his voice, “do you want us to stick with dovey… or should we be calling you Bambi now?”

Your cheeks warm immediately. You duck your head a little, trying not to smile too widely.

“I don’t know,” you say honestly, the words coming out softer than you intend. “Either one is fine.”

Sirius snorts lightly. “That’s not an answer.”

You laugh under your breath, nudging him with your shoulder. “I don’t have a preference,” you admit, eyes flicking between all three of them. “If it’s from you, I’ll like it.”

James’ smile softens, warm enough to melt the snow still clinging to your coat.  

“Well then,” he murmurs, brushing a bit of snow from your hair, “come on, Bambi. Let’s get you inside before you freeze.”

[moonstruckme]

Hey Mae, hope you’re doing well :))

So this screenshot just came up in a group i’m in, and I immediately thought of you and your emt! Marauders :))

I was wondering if you’d be willing to write something based on this?

If you’re too busy, or just don’t want to I totally understand!! But I figured I’d share it regardless :))

Thank you angel, hope you're doing well too!

cw: needle, d/s dynamics, stuff emts are definitely not supposed to do but I made it established relationship which I hope helps (?) either way let's just agree to suspend disbelief lol

emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 237 words

“Fuck, fuck fuck fuck.” You clench your eyes shut, unable to get a breath in that satisfies your lungs. Anxious tears squeeze out from between your lashes. 

James shushes you as he wipes the crook of your arm. “Easy, you’re alright. Take a breath in for me.” 

“Fuck, fuck—” 

“Quick pinch, one two three—” 

You take his advice at the last second, gasping in an inhale. Remus finishes closing butterfly bandages over the cut in your head at the same moment. He bends to kiss your brow, thumb stroking across your skin. 

“Good girl,” he murmurs. “Now breathe.” 

Something releases in your chest. Air floods in. Remus’ approving hum vibrates against your skin. 

“Oh. Whoa,” says James, watching the screen that’s mounted next to him. 

Sirius’ cackle sounds from the driver’s cab. “Did her fucking heart rate just regulate?” 

“Yeah.” James grins, seemingly both pleased and entertained. “Everything did.” 

Sirius hoots. “That’s our girl.” 

You’re too exhausted for embarrassment. You only send James a dead-eyed look. Remus chuckles, stroking your forehead soothingly. 

“So good at taking direction,” Sirius goes on smugly. “You’re doing so good, baby. We’ll be at the hospital soon, just keep sitting pretty for us.” 

You roll your eyes, wiping underneath them with the side of your hand. 

“Whoa, not that pretty.” James raises his eyebrows at you. “This is still our work, you know, lovie. We do have to be able to focus.” 

[freedomfireflies-deactivated202]

Infinite You Masterlist

Open Relationship!Harry x You

*Contains Mature and Explicit content, so please only consume what you feel comfortable with!💞*

~ Infinite You* (Pt. 1)

The one where Harry is in an open relationship with your best friend, and maybe you have more in common than you realized.  (Based on this request! There is no third, just Harry and Reader!)

~ Insatiable You* (Pt. 2)

The one where Harry wants to know more about these smutty books you read. And maybe have a bit of fun, too.

~ Insufferable You* (Pt. 3)

The one where Harry is still in an open relationship with your best friend, so maybe it’s time to remind him what he’s missing.

[ellecdc]

this is the poly!moonwater request and yes!! that is what i was referencing.

link to original request here; thanks for the ask!

concept: hi! can you possibly do a little thing of barty and reader and she finally agrees to "run away and start a new life" with him but it's like a cute little vacation while remus and regulus are out of town for something ? [502 words] starring: fem!reader, Barty Crouch Jr featuring: Evan Rosier, Rome Lupin, Soleil Lupin based off of: pt 1 -> pt 2 -> pt3 -> pt4 -> pt5

CW: technically a poly!moonwater ficlet but neither boy make an appearance hahaha

Barty lowers himself down onto the daybed with a languorous sigh, smiling at the clear blue skies as he rests his head on his intertwined hands; the picture of serenity in his neon pink speedo he wore in order to lean into his ‘new European lifestyle’. 

“You know, tres, I’m so glad you finally agreed to do this with me.” 

You let your book fall into your lap though you keep your page saved, stealing a quick glance at your girls playing in the sand before you shoot Barty a look from the rim of  your sunglasses. 

“What exactly is this that you’re glad I agreed to, Bee?”

He turns to look at you with a bemused smile as though he thinks you barmy for forgetting already. 

“Uhm, for running away and starting a new life with me, obviously?” 

Rome squeals in delight at something Evan has done or said, but his signature frown is back on his face by the time you turn your attention to him. 

“Barty, we’re staying at Regulus’ vacation home.” You admonish with no heat. He scoffs at you.

“For now, treasure. I’m obviously going to find the perfect place for my best girls.” 

You roll your eyes with a shake of your head. “Your actual boyfriend is here.” You tell him, nodding to where the brooding man is sitting in the sand like a barricade between your daughters and the gently lapping waves of the ocean. He splits his time between scowling at anyone and anything that comes too close to them and beaming down at Rome and Soleil to say “you’re doing brilliant on the castle, girls. Smashing job” before he’s back to scowling. 

“He’s the live-in nanny, treasure.” Barty drawls like he’s appeasing his ailing grandmother who has just asked if he’s going to give her great grandchildren before she dies. 

“You really do make up your own version of reality, eh?”

Barty simply smiles and returns to his reclining, clearly of the mind that anyone who doesn’t is barmy. 

As it was, Regulus had a few things to wrap up at the Ministry before being able to join the lot of you on holiday, so instead of making you and the girls wait for him, he opted to join you when he could; Remus decided to stay behind with Regulus since you had plenty of help with Barty and Evan.

You couldn’t deny it was nice to be able to catch some rays and get through a few chapters of your book without having to entertain the girls, but other times…

“Y/N.” Evan’s suddenly standing in front of you with his hands clasped behind his back, both girls standing behind him in matching poses; the picture of innocence. “We were wondering, since we’ve been so good today, if we could go get ice cream.” A tiny elbow jabs him in the hip. “Please.” 

…other times, it felt like you’d gone to the South of France – alone – with four toddlers instead of two.

© ellecdc; do not copy, translate, or repost my work anywhere under any circumstances.

[hearts4hughes]

PLEASE some rafe is an asshole to everyone but reader fluff!!!!

everyone hates him. your friends think he’s rude. your neighbor crosses the street when he sees him coming. even the barista at that coffee shop on main visibly flinched when rafe smirked and said “don’t fuck up her drink again.”

and okay, fine, he can be a dick—he likes being a dick. it gets him what he wants faster, and he hates small talk, and he genuinely doesn’t care if anyone likes him—as long as you do. and you do.

you hear his voice before you round the corner. it’s sharp, disdain curling off every syllable. whatever conversation was happening on the boneyard bench before you got there has clearly gone downhill fast.

“jesus, topper,” rafe snaps, “do you ever think before you open your mouth?”

topper’s standing, arms out like he’s trying to defend himself, but rafe’s leaned back on the bench, legs wide, jaw tight, murder in his eyes. you pause for half a second. then you move. without saying a word, you slip between them and drop onto the bench beside rafe. it’s casual, innocent, like you didn’t just sit next to a loaded weapon.

he doesn’t react right away. not verbally, at least. but his hand finds your knee almost instantly. it settles there like it belongs, thumb rubbing over your skin in a slow circle. like he wasn’t just seconds away from strangling his childhood best friend.

topper blinks. “oh. hey.”

you give him a polite smile. “hi.”

rafe doesn’t look at topper again. he doesn’t need to. the shift in him is obvious, almost absurd. his posture eases, his voice drops an octave. “hi, baby,” he says, like the word tastes good.

“hi, rafey.” you blush with a grin. “you done verbally assaulting your friends?”

“depends,” he mutters. “you gonna keep me from finishing the job?” you roll your eyes, but your hand slips into his anyway, fingers threading through his lazily. he squeezes once, like he’s already won something. “he was being an idiot,” rafe mutters under his breath, mostly to you now. “saying dumb shit like you wouldn’t be able to handle…”

“handle what?”

“nothing,” topper cuts in quickly. “it was a joke, dude.”

rafe levels him with a look that could kill a lesser man. “it wasn’t funny,” he says flatly. then, turning to you, he melts. his eyes soften, his lips curl into a smile. “you okay?”

you nod. “just tired.” rafe hums in reply. his hand moves, slides around your shoulders like it’s second nature, pulling you closer. you end up curled into his side, chin tucked near his collarbone, and he kisses the top of your head like it’s just another tuesday.

“rest,” he says, mouth brushing your hair. “i’ll deal with him.”

“you’re so dramatic,” you murmur, voice muffled by his shirt.

he smirks. “you like it.” god help you, you do.

topper stands awkwardly for another beat, then finally mutters, “i’ll just…go.”

“great idea,” rafe calls lazily, already playing with the hem of your sleeve like he didn’t just verbally eviscerate someone two minutes ago. as soon as topper’s gone, he exhales—long and slow—and rests his cheek against your head. “thanks for saving his life,” he murmurs. “i was close.”

“you’re awful.”

“i know,” he whispers. “but i’m nice to you.” it’s true, and when rafe is nice, it’s not performative—it’s real. it’s in the way he runs his fingers through your hair, in the way he always has a hoodie for you before you ask, in the way he’d go to war for you and sleep soundly after.

rafe cameron is an asshole to everyone—except you. and he doesn’t even knows how not to love you.

taglist ~ @ren-ni @bungurus @kayperrysinging @cupids-diner @mojitrvo @babygirlboeser @makiplan @ladyatwalmart @qversazex @nothingtosee333her @soft-starr @f10werfae @brennanyay @grungefck @kravinoffswife @restinpaece @illumoria @meetmeintheemeraldpool @miaaaoa @imtalkinnonsense @strawberrymilk99 @angel06babysworld @rafesteddy @drewrry @urcoolgf @thegirlnextdoorssister @sydneysslove @dsfault @missabsey @ivysturnss @kisses4rafey @katiebby04

[rrysbabydoll]

A Night In Rome

Pairing: Harry Styles x Reader

CW: Alcohol consumption, public intoxication, suggestive sexual behavior in public, light dominance/submission dynamics, clingy Y/N.

Synopsis: A night in rome with a very drunk clingy Y/N.

You were wearing a white lace dress, with your hair tied loosely back, a few strands slipping free to frame your flushed face. The streets hummed around you, but you weren’t really paying attention to anything except Harry, well, Harry and the icy drink in your hand.

The cobblestone streets of Rome glistened under soft amber lights. It had rained briefly earlier that evening, just enough to coat the city in a sheen that made every step feel cinematic.

You were tipsy. Gloriously, gigglingly tipsy.

Harry leaned back against the wall of the trattoria you’d all just left, the collar of his blue shirt slightly undone, the hem of his trousers brushing his ankles. He was sipping slowly, his other hand tucked into his pocket, eyes watching you with that amused, adoring little smile.

Alessandro Michele was standing nearby with an arm lazily draped around his partner. He was telling some story to the group gathered around, all talking over one another.

But you were entirely fixated on your boyfriend.

You took a sip of your cocktail, lips pursing. “Why is this so good?” you said, stumbling a little as you reached Harry. You clung to his side, wrapping your free arm around his waist like you needed him to stay upright.

Harry chuckled, low and patient. “Because it’s your fourth one, bunny.”

You smiled dreamily. “It’s not my fourth.”

“It is.” He slid your glass gently from your hand. “And that’s enough, lovie.”

You blinked up at him, swaying just slightly on your feet. “You’re mean.”

“I know.” He leaned down and pressed a kiss to your forehead, then your cheek. “But you’ll thank me in the morning.”

You wrapped your arms tighter around him, hands gliding over the silk of his shirt, and buried your face in his neck. “You smell so good,” you whispered, then nuzzled in deeper and left a slow, open-mouthed kiss just beneath his jaw.

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull away or tell you to behave. Just let you nuzzle and nip at the soft skin beneath his ear, your lips brushing just beneath his jaw as if you were trying to memorize the shape of him with your mouth. You were delicate at first, barely-there kisses, your breath warm and sweet against his skin, but then your teeth grazed him, playful and a little greedy, and he made a low sound that barely passed as a laugh.

Still, he didn’t stop you.

His arm wrapped more securely around your waist, hand warm and steady against the small of your back, his thumb drawing slow, grounding circles. He was still listening to Alessandro and laughing softly with the others, nodding along, but every now and then, his hand would slide just a little lower, soothing, steadying, as your lips trailed along his neck with lazy devotion.

You kept going, half-draped over him, mouthing at the skin above his collarbone, barely noticing how your lip gloss had smudged just a little. You pressed another kiss to the side of his neck, then did it again, just because you could.

Harry tilted his head to the side slightly, offering you more space, still not saying anything. He didn’t need to. His body was so relaxed, like this was just second nature, letting his tipsy girl crawl all over him in the middle of a Roman alley while he chatted with old friends.

Every now and then, his fingers would tighten at your waist, squeezing gently when you got a bit too close to his collar or a little too sharp with your teeth. But he didn’t move you away. He just kept talking.

At one point, Giovanni, Alessandro’s partner, caught Harry’s eye and raised a brow with a knowing smirk.

“She’s had fun tonight,” Harry said smoothly, not missing a beat. He kissed the top of your head without even looking. “Haven’t you, bun?”

You hummed in reply, completely blissed out against his neck, lips still grazing skin as if it was the only thing tethering you to the ground.

Then you said softly, right against his skin: “You taste good too.”

That was when Harry finally blinked and let out a quiet laugh.

You kissed him again, then again, sloppier this time, hot lips dragging across the column of his throat. “Can we go back home?” you murmured.

“Not yet, bun.”

“Wanna be alone with you.”

“I know you do.” His voice was still gentle, but there was a warning edge to it. You’d pushed past that edge.

Your hand slid down, tracing the front of his shirt, nails dragging lightly, until you reached the waistband of his trousers. You giggled, brushing the heel of your palm over the slight bulge in his pants.

His eyes widened. “Jesus,” he muttered, laughter bursting from him as he quickly grabbed your wrist and pushed your hand away. “You’re gonna get us arrested.”

“But it’s Rome,” you whispered with a giggle. “They’re romantic here.”

“Yeah, not that romantic,” he said, still laughing.

You pouted, leaning up to kiss him again. This time it was full-on, your mouth open, messy, hungry.

Your lips found his like it was the only thing in the world you could focus on. You tilted your head and opened wider, tongue brushing his, fingers tangling into the collar of his shirt as you pressed up on your toes to reach him fully.

Harry let you kiss him. Let you take and take, groaning softly into your mouth as one of his hands came up to cradle the back of your head, steadying you. His other arm stayed looped around your waist, keeping you anchored, flush to him. His fingers curled at your lower back again, a slow, reassuring stroke up and down, up and down.

Around you, no one paid much attention. The group had splintered into smaller conversations, Alessandro now theatrically reenacting something with wide hand gestures, everyone too caught up in their own tipsy laughter and stories to care that you were practically devouring your boyfriend in the street.

You whimpered softly into his mouth, angling yourself closer, knee slipping between his, and Harry chuckled again, deep in his chest.

“You’re a menace tonight,” he murmured against your lips.

But he still didn’t stop you.

You were about to say something, something about how warm he was, or how you wanted to crawl into his shirt and live there, when a sudden arm slung casually around your shoulders from the side, pulling you back slightly with affectionate force.

“Alright, bambini,” Alessandro grinned, standing between you and Harry now like a human barrier, one arm still draped across your shoulders, the other flung around Harry’s. “Save some of that passion for behind closed doors, hmm?”

Harry threw his head back and laughed.

You blinked up at Alessandro, dazed and pouty, but didn’t resist his grip. You stood there for a moment, swaying a little under the weight of his arm, then slipped out from under it with a tiny huff and wandered toward the table nearby, sinking into one of the wrought iron chairs with a sigh.

Your cheek smushed against your hand, elbow propped on the table. You kicked your feet slightly under the chair and started humming to yourself, some soft, dreamy tune you couldn’t quite remember the name of. Probably something Harry had played for you once, or something Alessandro had blasted through his villa speakers.

Your dress caught the light every time you shifted, your flushed face dreamy and content as the night swirled on around you. People talked and sipped and smoked and laughed, and you just hummed and watched Harry from your little spot, like he was the center of your universe.

Because he was.

You kept humming, now swaying slightly in your seat, arms folded on the table in front of you. The streets had grown quieter now, just the low hum of traffic in the distance, a few passing voices, the clinking of ice in glasses.

You closed your eyes for a moment, feeling the breeze slip past and cool your flushed skin. You imagined Harry’s hand instead, those warm fingers tracing down your back, over your thighs, up the inside of your—

“Bun,” came his voice suddenly, close.

Your eyes fluttered open to find him crouching beside you, glass of water in one hand and that soft, bossy smile on his face.

“Drink this,” he said, nudging it toward your lips.

You wrinkled your nose. “I don’t want water.”

“I know,” he said gently, tilting the glass anyway. “Be a good girl, yeah? Just a little.”

You let out the tiniest whine, dramatic and pouty, but opened your mouth. He helped you sip, watching you the whole time, free hand rubbing your thigh slowly under the table. You finished a little less than half before turning your head dramatically into his shoulder.

“There,” you murmured. “I’m healthy.”

Harry laughed, soft and warm. “You’re getting healthy. One more sip, bunny.”

“This is so entertaining,” Alessandro said suddenly, perched across from you both with a smirk on his face, chin in hand, elbow propped on the table, as you glared at him.

Harry smiled down at you, ignoring them entirely, lifting the glass once more.

“You gonna finish this for me?” he asked sweetly.

You stared at him. “If i get a kissy after.”

He smirked. “Deal.”

You took another sip, then immediately threw yourself at him. His arms came around you instinctively, laughing into your shoulder as you tried to kiss his cheek, his jaw, his mouth.

“Christ,” he muttered, letting you do whatever you wanted, still smiling as he glanced back toward Alessandro. “She’s relentless tonight.”

“Let her be,” Alessandro said.

“C’mon, time to go.” Harry said after a while.

You blinked. “Already?”

“It’s nearly two,” he said gently, crouching slightly so you were eye level. “I thought you wanted to go home?”

You pouted again. “No, I like it here.”

“I know, lovie,” he said, brushing his knuckles against your cheek, “We’re gonna come again tomorrow, right now you need sleep.”

You giggled and let him pull you to your feet.

Your legs wobbled a bit, and Harry steadied you immediately with both hands around your waist, then leaned in to kiss the tip of your nose.

“I want pizza,” you said dreamily as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders and guided you back to the group.

Alessandro gasped. “Finally, someone says what we’re all thinking!”

Within minutes, the group was making their way down the winding street toward a place Alessandro swore had the best late-night margherita in the entire city. You walked with Harry, arm wrapped tightly around his middle, your body practically glued to his side.

You kept kissing his shoulder as you walked. His arm never left your back.

“You know how much I love you?” you asked, not quietly.

Harry glanced down at you with a soft laugh. “How much, bun?”

You stopped suddenly in the middle of the street. “This much,” you declared, stretching your arms wide, nearly twirling in your spot.

He caught you before you could wobble too far and kissed your forehead, tucking you safely back under his arm. “That’s a lot.”

“You’re my favorite person,” you whispered into his chest.

He squeezed you closer. “You’re mine, too.”

Eventually, the group stumbled into the tiny pizza shop Alessandro had spoken of, and you curled up beside Harry in the booth, half-asleep on his shoulder by the time your slices arrived. He fed you bites between sips of water and whispered something against your hair that made you giggle again.

And when you finally left, the cobblestone streets still warm beneath your sandals, Harry wrapped his jacket around your shoulders, held your hand tightly, and guided you all the way back home.

[aerynwrites]

Black Paint

Vessel x Fem!Reader

A/N: After almost a week of more i FINALLY finished this omg. sorry for all the teasing it just turned into way more of a beast to write this than i anticipated lol. Now that this is done though I have more of a horror oriented idea surrounding Vessel the character that I want to work on next. Hope you all enjoy! Word Count: 8.4k (oops) Warnings: none

--------------------------

The bar is busier than normal. You have to push the door rather roughly to not so politely get someone blocking it to move, and when you finally do make it inside, the air is thick with the smell of beer and warm bodies. 

Great.

You grumble quietly to yourself as you wade through the mass of bodies, laughter and the loud din of conversation assaulting your ears as you approach the bar, a glimmer of hope flickering in your chest when you see your usual seat at the end is open.  The bartender, Ryland, spots you immediately smiling at you as he gestures to the seat that is tipped forward onto the bar to signal its reservation.

He reaches forward as you finally reach your destination, tipping the chair back so it lands on all four legs and you slide into the well worn wooden seat. The patron to your left glances at you, eyes flitting from you, to the seat that you occupied, back to Ryland before dropping back to his glass. 

You smile warmly at the bartender as you pull your scarf from around your neck. 

“Thanks for saving it for me,” you say, talking about the seat. “I hope I didn’t put anyone out.” 

Ryland shrugs already mixing your drink as his eyes flicking to your neighbor for just a brief moment before they return to you.

“Couldn’t leave my best customer without her seat,” he says kindly, his words making you feign an exaggerated wince. 

“Ugh, Ry,” you groan, “you can’t keep calling me your best customer…it makes me sound like an alcoholic.”

Ryland laughs as he slides your already finished drink across the waxed wood bar top. 

“Well…” you chuckle as you take the drink. “Maybe this is sign enough.”

Your friend shakes his head. “You’re not an alchoholic love, trust me,” he emphasizes. “You might be one of the most regulars, but having one drink a visit doesn’t mean that much. No AA for you yet.”

You raise your glass as you laugh, “Cheers to that.”

Ryland opens his mouth to respond but a shout from the end of the bar cuts him off and he rolls his eyes before sending you an apologetic look. “Duty calls, sorry.”

“I get it, go do your job. I’ll be here,” you assure him.

“Oh, I know.”

His words make you chuckle again as he rushes off to tend to more customers.  Usually you spend most of your nights here at the pub after work talking to Ryland. It’s usually just you and maybe a handful of other people, also regulars. Tonight is different though, much busier, and you find yourself slightly disappointed you won’t get to chat much with him. 

You shrug to yourself, reaching down to retrieve the book you’ve been reading from your bag. Might as well pass the time somehow, you drove all the way down here - no point in wasting the trip.

However, as you turn in your seat to reach your bag hanging on the back of your seat, you see a set of eyes on you. Your bar neighbor. 

You ignore it at first, but then remember how he’d looked when Ryland revealed the seat he’d saved had been for you. Without thinking, you grab your book and lean over slightly to be heard over the loud atmosphere of the room. 

“I hope I didn’t take this seat from someone who needed it,” you say quickly, “Did you need it for someone?” 

The man shakes his head at your question, swirling the glass in his hand around idly. 

“You’re good.” 

His words are short, but you immediately take notice of the deep timbre of his voice.

You nod, taking his curt response as ‘back off’ and move to lean back into your bubble when he speaks again. 

“You must be pretty important to have the bartender save your seat though,” he says, lips quirked up slightly. “Especially if you only ever get one drink.”

You let out a small scoff, waving him off. “Nobody important, trust me,” you say. “I’ve just been coming here for a while, and between you and me, I’m a generous tipper - I think that’s the only reason Ryland puts up with me.”

He smiles at that, closed lips pulling rather upward before he tilts his head back to finish off his drink. “That will do it,” he tells you before falling silent as he lifts up a hand to signal for another drink. 

You follow the natural flow of conversation and let it end there as Ryland comes over to take the mans order, you turn back to your book. 

You get through a few pages of your book, successfully able to tune out the noise around you but unsuccessfully able to turn out the stranger next to you. For whatever reason, you find your eyes flitting over to him more often then they should. 

He’s handsome in a mysterious kind of way. You know you’ve never seen him in here before, so he’s not a regular. He’s not here with anyone either, just silently sipping his drink of choice and occasionally flicking through his phone. But otherwise he just seems to be…existing here. Head bobbing to whatever rock music is playing through the speakers eyes glancing around the room. 

However, the one thing that seems to catch your eye most of all are his hands. He’s constantly fiddling with his glass, the several silver rings that adorn his fingers, clinking softly against the sides. But what piques your curiosity is the small flecks and smears of black on his knuckles and staining the ridges around his nails. 

It looks like paint. 

And before you can stop yourself, you find yourself asking,

“Are you an artist?”

This seems to pull the man from his reverie, eyes turning to meet yours in slight surprise. 

You gesture to his hands when he doesn’t answer. “Sorry I just - It looks like paint. on your hands…”

He looks down at his hands, brows raising slightly as he lets go of his glass to absentmindedly pick at the stains. He chuckles as he does, the sound sending a pleasant flutter through your chest. 

“You could say that,” he says vaugly. 

“That’s cool,” you offer a bit lamely, your mind anxiously reeling for a way to continue. 

You hold up your book. “I’m more of a consumer myself. You know…instead of the creator.” 

God, what the fuck is wrong with you?

The man shakes his head, “I doubt that,” he says kindly. “Most people I know who read are the most creative out there.”

You shrug, “I guess that makes sense...” You trail off for a moment. 

He obviously didn’t seem comfortable talking about what exactly he does since he avoided your question so you try to dance around it. 

“How did you get into your…art?”

The man shrugs, starting to fiddle with his glass again. “I think…It started as a way to express myself I suppose. Most art does. Then I just never stopped. I think of it as an escape if that makes sense.”

You nod firmly, once again thumbing through your book. 

“It does. I think that’s why I love reading so much…”

The conversation continues smoothly after that, the strangers seeming more open to talk as you both ramble on about everything and nothing. He asks you about what book you’re reading and you tell him, surprised to find he’s familiar with the author. You both just ramble on from things as simple as interests to eventually arguing about drinks of choice. 

Soon enough you’re on your fourth drink - a first for you really - and laughing about some story he had told you about a friend of his. 

“No way!” You exclaim through broken laughter, cheeks warm from both the alcohol and the sound of his laughter.  “I don’t believe it.”

He shakes his head hand placed over his chest, “I swear it.”

“Oh my god that is…” your words devolve into more laughter as you take another sip of your drink. 

Your new friend goes to speak again but cuts himself off as his phone buzzes on the bar top. His smile falls, only slightly, as his eyes scan the screen before he lets out a small sigh, Turing the screen off and tapping the phone against the solid wood beneath it.

“Duty calls,” he says ruefully, moving to stand as he pulls a pen from his pocket and scribbles something onto a dry drink napkin. 

You sit up straighter now, fighting off the pang of disappointment as he starts to pull his jack on. 

“Work?” 

He shrugs, sending you another one of those half smiles. “Something like that,” he says before pulling out what is obviously way too much money for his two drinks and tucks it and the napkin beneath his glass. 

“Get home safe,” he says, before turning to push his way through the mass of bodies. 

“You too!” You call after him, hoping he heard you over the din of the room. 

A low whistle catches your attention from where you watch the him exit the bar, and you turn to see Ryland has joined you once again. His eyes are bright as he looks at the empty place beside you, the cash and napkin in his hand as his eyes scan over it. 

“What?” You ask, leaning forward to get a peek at the note.

Ryland sends you a wicked grin. “Seems like someone made a good impression,” he chuckles, shwoing you the napkin. “Your tab is payed for, love.”

‘For the lady’s drinks as well. keep the rest.’

The handwriting was surprisingly neat, a mix between print and cursive as it flows across the delicate paper. You glance back up at Ryland as he whistles again. 

“Damn good tipper too, at that,” he admires. “Hope he comes back.”

It’s then, as your friend is drooling over his tip and you glance back down at the note in you hand that your realize it. 

You never even learned his name.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

It’s several types typical days at the bar before you see him again, and to say you’re surprised is an understatement. It had been almost a week since the night you met him, and you had resigned yourself to the fact that you’d probably never see him again. 

So, when you walk into the much calmer bar tonight, your eyes don’t search the room. Instead you make a beeline to your usual seat, waving at Ryland as you do. You hand barely meets the wooden back of the tall chair before a high pitched whistle sounds from behind you, turning several heads in the pub, including yours. 

You csilently curse the way your heart leaps in your chest as you find the source, a familiar face raises a glass from a booth in the back before waving you over. However, unlike last time, he’s not alone. There are three other guys sitting with him at the table, all eyes on you as you glance from them, back to your usual seat, before falling to Ryland. 

Your friend, who stands in front of you now gives you a scathing look. “Girl if you sit down in the chair I just might kick you out. Go,” he points to the table before walking off. 

You can’t stop the chuckle that leaves your lips as you listen to him, hand falling from your familiar place in order to walk towards the back table. 

The stranger from before assess you as you approach, eyes trailing from your face to your feet then back up again, and you can’t stop the shiver that runs up your spine at the action. 

“Didn’t think I’d see you again,” he says, taking a sip of his drink. 

You give him a confused look. “I did tell you I was a regular here right?” You ask. “I should be the one saying that about you.” 

He smiles, “Oh I didn’t forget,” he assures you. “How could I forget this place’s best customer?” 

“Oi, quit flirting and let the lady sit down!” One of the other guys at the table interrupts, leaning over from his place next to you to push out the last free chair as he looks at your strange companion. “You haven’t even introduced us.”

At the mention of an introduction, the man seems to freeze, as if he too realizes just like you did last time, that you never exchanged names. 

“Well…Uh, this is-”

You interject quickly with your name, sticking your hand out to the one who had pulled out the chair for you. He laughs at your formal greeting and playfully swats your hand away as he stands. 

“We’re the hugging type I’m afraid, but-” he pulls you into a quick hug before ushering you into your seat, “It’s nice to meet you. I’m iv”

You look at him puzzled for a moment, as you take your seat, spotting closer to the table. 

“Four like… like the number?” You ask, unable to keep the surprise out of your voice. 

The man laughs, as if he expected that reaction and nods. 

“You heard right. I’m iv,” he gestures to the man to his right, who has shorter white hair, “This here’s iii, and that-” he points to the man sitting next to your friend, “is ii. And well, you already know Ves.”

Your slight confusion must show on your face as laughter erupts from the table, the boys nudging one another as they all pause to take sips from their various drinks. The one named iii waves his hand in a dismissive manner, shaking his head. 

“It’s a bit of an…inside joke I guess. Nicknames we gave each other that just kind of stuck,” he explains.

You nod at his explanation, still perplexed but accept it nonetheless. And plus, now you know the name of the mystery man from last visit. 

Ves. 

You wonder if that is some sort of nickname too. 

However, you don’t dwell too long on that fact before the conversation last time with Ves comes to the front of your mind. With brows drawn together, you lean over slightly towards Ves, pointing a wandering finger towards the other three guys. 

“Wait, so was one of them the one that went streaking through the park after a night of drinking?”

The grin that splits Ves’ face is all you need to know the answer as a cacophony of groans and loud protests erupt from the table. But it’s not until iii slaps his hands on the table as he leans forward with a betrayed look on his face. 

“Ves, really man? We promised we’d take that shit to the grave! Why are you out here dissing me like that?”

The only response iii gets is a laugh from Ves and soon the other guys follow, elbowing their friend and tossing teases across the table, and before you know it, you join in too. 

***

The night goes on much like that, more stories of their wild times together coming to light, and they even get you to spill some more embarrassing, albeit funny, memories from your college days. Its through these conversations that you determine the must have been friends for a while, and you smile at the thought of what other antics they could get up too. 

This time, and idle chatter also reveals something else to you. 

More black paint. 

It’s still apparent on Ves’ hands like last time, although it looked like he tried to do a better job of scrubbing it away. The same couldn’t be said be said for the other guys. The dark pigment adorns their skin in small amounts much the same way as it did Ves’ the first time you met him. It’s mainly prominent on the ridges of their knuckles and fingernails, sometimes on their wrists when you can see the skin form where their shirts or jackets ride up. You even notice a particularly larger smear on the side of ii’s neck when he lens back to laugh particularly hard at some lame joke you said. 

It’s probably nothing, they probably all work together, it would make sense. But no matter how many times you try to ignore it, your curiosity won’t let it slide. 

And ii notices. Probably from when you let your eyes linger on him a bit too long when you noticed the paint. 

He takes a swing of his beer before gesturing to you with the glass. “Alright, out with it,” he says casually, “I know I’m attractive but nobody stares at me like that.”

iii reaches across the table and swats at his shoulder. “Oi, don’t be so full of yourself mate-”

iv joins in on the banter. “Yeah, we all know I’m the best looking-”

Playful banter breaks out at this, the lot of them seeming to forget about the question ii even asked you, and in the break from the spotlight, you eye drift over to Ves. 

Only to see him already looking at you, a pensive look on his face. 

Heat rushes to your cheeks and you look away quickly, reaching for your glass to take another drink as your eyes fall to your watch. 

Holy shit, it’s late. 

You let out a small huff, quickly downing the last of your drink before setting the glass back on the table with a soft thunk. 

“I have to head out,” you say, turning to gather your purse before moving to stand. 

The announcement brings out a chorus of protests and pleas to stay but you shake your head. 

“I don’t know what you all do for work but I have to be up in...” You look exaggeratedly at your watch, “oh five hours, so with that-” you reach into your purse and pull out several larger bills, laying them on the table, “Drinks are on me tonight as a thank you for a lovely evening.”

More protest follow, but you wave them off and before you know it the three guys you met earlier are out of their seats and giving you hugs as if you’ve known them for years, murmurs of ‘see you around’ and ‘drive safe’ meeting your ears before they back off. 

Then, Ves’ is in front of you before you can blink, and it’s only now that you seem to realize just how huge he is. Well, in reality, he’s not the tallest person you’ve ever seen but he still towers over you and has a…presses about him you can’t seem to place. 

You look up at him and smile as he holds your coat up in his hands, having retrieved it from the back of your seat before you could. He helps you as you slip your arms through the sleeves, and you turn back to him, smile still tugging at your lips. 

“Thanks.”

Ves nods, shoving his hands in his pockets. 

“I can walk you to your car,” he offers, nodding to the windows. “It’s dark.”

You shake your head in an automatic response, “You don’t have to do that-”

Ves’ is steering you towards the door before you can finish, “I insist.”

The boys call out their goodbyes as you leave, and Ves just chuckles as you make for the door. 

“They liked you,” he says as he pushes open the door, holding it for you until you’re both out in the crisp night air. 

You laugh, turning right to head towards your car parked just down the street. 

“I liked them too, they’re a riot,” you say fondly. “I can see why you’re all friends. They seem like good people.”

Ves smiles softly at this, nodding his agreement. “They are - basically saved my life a time or two.”

A silence falls over you too then, neither of you sure what to say as you lead him further down the sidewalk, your car now in view. The only sound is the soft thudding of shoes on concrete and your own breathing. 

Your over active mind races for something to fill the silence, but you reach your destination before you can think of anything, and you try to swallow the disappointment you feel as your night draws to a close. 

“Well,” you say, pulling out your keys, “this is me.” 

You turn to face Ves, your back to your car as he stops just a few steps from you, closer than would be considered normally appropriate. 

Not that you’re complaining. 

He looks down at you again, features obscured by the shadows casted by the street lamps. But he seems to be studying you, that curious tilt to his head making your heart stutter slightly. 

“It was nice to see you again,” he says finally, voice gentle in the quiet night.

“It was nice to see you too,” you say, tugging your bottom lip between your teeth in a moment of contemplation. “I had been looking for you. Before tonight.” You admit. 

His brows raise at that, slight surprise painting his features. 

“Really?” 

You chuckle, “Yeah. I remembered after you left that we never even learned each others names and…it was silly. But I’m glad I got to see you again.”

Ves smiles at your words just a small gust of wind blows though, sending a shiver through you as part of your scarf falls down from around your neck. He reaches up instinctively to adjust the fabric, his knuckles brushing the underside of your jaw as he tugs it back into place. 

“Well,” he breathes, “Maybe we’ll see each other again.”

You’re looking up at him again, closer than ever and you can barely muster the weak ‘yeah’ that falls from your lips, before his hand drops back to his side. 

“Have a good night, love.” 

And then he’s walking back towards the pub. 

Your mind is racing again, and like a total dumbass you blurt the first thing that comes to your mind. 

“Baby oil!” You call out, stopping the tall man in his tracks as he turns to send you a very confused look. 

“For the paint,” you clarify, gesturing to your own hands. “Baby oil gets paint off pretty good. Better than soap and water.”

Ves smiles, and just nods turning back to continue his journey.

But even from this far away, the silent night allows you to hear that deep laughter slip from his lips. 

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

Today was one of the bad days.

Everyone has them, you know they do, today is just your turn, you suppose. You don’t have many of them, or at least - you don’t go to the pub when you do. But even Ryland notices your dour mood, noticing right away when you by pass your usual seat without so much as a wave in favor of picking the tiny booth at the very back of the establishment. 

He only offers a small pat on the shoulder as he drops off your usual drink, muttering a quiet offering of solidarity before walking back off.

It feels stupid. To be this upset when nothing even really happened. Your car didn’t break down, you didn’t have a partner dump you, you didn’t get laid off, it’s just-

The tears seem to come without warning. Burning at the back of your eyes, lower lip wobbling in an attempt to stop the onslaught of tears and the sob clawing at your chest. 

Get it together!! You scream at yourself, frustration further fueling the tears. 

Life just sucks sometimes for no particular reason it seems. 

Work is overwhelming, your hobbies aren’t interesting, your house too quiet it seemed to scream at you instead of comfort you. 

You take a sip of your drink, wiping furiously at the tears that escape as you do so. 

You’re thankful you chose the booth seat facing away from everyone. How embarrassing to be a caught in a pub crying  over -

“Fancy seeing you here.”

The all to familiar voice shocks you from your own mind and you jump in your seat, making the mistake of looking over your shoulder to see none other than Ves. 

“Oh my god,” you mutter wiping hastily at your cheeks as you watch his lips turn downwards in concern. 

“What’s wrong?” He asks, coming closer despite your inner desire for him to leave. 

You shake your head, wiping your nose for good measure as you stare down into your drink. 

“Nothing,” you say, voice clogged with emotion. “Don’t worry about it.”

You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself when you realize he’s sliding in the booth across form you. Plastering on a watery smile you clutch your glass between your hands as you look at him. 

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” you try to say casually, but fail miserably. 

Ves just shakes his head, eyes soft as he rests his clasped hands on the table before him. 

“You don’t have to do that,” he tells you, “not with me.”

“Do what?” You say, lip trembling again as your tears bubble up once more. 

“Pretend you’re okay, when you’re not.”

The laugh you let out is a bitter thing, small and broken by the tears that drip from your eyes that you wipe away again and again. 

Ves doesn’t say anything as you try to compose yourself again, but you find yourself unable to, and he eventually stops you from fruitlessly wiping away tears by reaching up to take one of them in his own. 

“What’s wrong?” He asks again, somehow even gentler than before. 

All you can do is shrug, tears salty against your tongue as you lick your lips. 

“Nothing, really,” you say again, continuing when he looks like he’s going to argue. 

“I’m just…sad. Don’t know why.”

Ves nods understandingly, thumb swiping comfortingly over your knuckles. He doesn’t say anything. Maybe because he doesn’t know what to say or maybe because he knows it won’t really matter. Either way you appreciate his presence - it’s nice to know someone is here, even if no words are shared. 

After a few quiet moments, he grabs a drink napkin with his free hand, offering it to you. 

You take it, fingers brushing his own and notice something that takes your mind off of your own turmoil. 

“The paint’s gone,” you say softly, turning his hand over to inspect it. 

You glance up only to see Ves’ lips twitch upwards ever so slightly. 

“Baby oil,” he says, “who knew?”

His words make you let out a soft chuckle, and he joins in, his hand never leaving yours. 

And suddenly, you’re not so sad anymore. 

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

Laughter bubbles up from your chest as you and the boys spill out of the bar into the cold night air.  Your breaths materializing in front of you in puffs of white steam. iii is hanging of off iv’s shoulder, doubled over in laughter at something that someone said - you can’t even keep track of the conversation anymore, laughter cutting most of it off anyways. 

However, after a few more long moments of racouys laughter, iii perks up brows raised slightly as he looks to you. 

“Holy shit I almost forgot,” he says, letting got go iv to address you now. “You’re coming tomorrow night right?”

You send him a quizzical look before looking over to Ves where he stands next to you, only to see him waving his hand in front of his throat in a ‘cut it out’ motion, stopping abruptly when you catch him. 

“Go where?” You ask, curiosity piqued. 

You watch as ii rolls his eye, “Come on Ves,” he groans. “We already decided to extend the invitation.”

You hear Ves let out a huff, running a hand through his hair as you speak up again, confusion turning into annoyance. 

“What are you guys talking about?” You ask, exasperation lacing your words. 

It’s iv who speaks up this time, wrapping an arm around iii.

“There’s a concert tomorrow,” he says grinning. “We have an extra ticket and wanted you to come.”

“A concert?” You ask, turning to Ves only to see an almost imperceptible blush tinging his cheeks. “Why are you so worked up about a concert?”

Ves huffs again, shaking his head as he digs around the inside of his jacket for something. “I’m not worked up,” he grumbles, finally finding what he was searching for and pulling it out. “I just-”

II interrupts Ves with a clap on the shoulder and a shit eating grin on his face. “He’s just mad because he wanted to be the one to ask you.”

Ves shrugs his hand off his shoulder and lands a playful punch to his friends arm, mumbling something about being a prick and he’d pay for that later, before he turns to you, offering you what you realize now is a small badge attached to a lanyard. 

“Here,” he says, softer than when he addressed iv. “It’s VIP, just show up an hour before show time and they’ll tell you where to go.”

You take it from him, the black lanyard soft beneath your fingers as you examine the item. The badge is sturdier than you expected, seeming to be made of metal instead of plastic. it’s all black with a red symbol you’ve never seen before printed on both sides the name of the band printed just beneath it with the words ‘VIP PASS’ below that. The lanyard itself is black with white lettering echoing the same as the badge. 

Sleep Token.

Huh. You’ve never heard of them before, but that doesn’t surprise you as you haven’t been a huge music buff most of your life. Then, as if Ves’ words finally register with you, you look up at him again, brows pinched in confusion once more. 

“Wait. They’ll show me where to go - are you guys not coming with me?” You ask, “Because this ticket it wasted on me if you guys don’t come, I don’t even know the band-”

“Oh we’ll be there,” iii laughs from his place next to iv.

The boys all laugh at his words, leaving you feeling utterly left out of some inside joke they have. But before you can get to worked up about it, a warm hand reaches out to take your own that holds the pass. 

“Don’t worry about them,” Ves says, rolling his eyes. “Give me your phone.”

You comply without really thinking about it, watching as the much taller man takes it from you and types something into it before handing it back. 

“There. I put in my number, just text me when you get there tomorrow and we’ll find each other.”

You nod, stomach fluttering as your fingers brush his when you take your phone back and pocket it. 

“Sounds good.”

ii claps his hands together, seemingly satisfied with tonights events. “Alight, now that’s settled we probably need to get going. Big day tomorrow boys!”

The rest of the group whoops in agreement, grouping together as they head down the sidewalk, only Ves lingering behind at your side. Only when he gestures towards your car down the street do you realize he wants to walk you there. 

“Oh, right,” you say, chuckling softly as warmth rushes to your cheeks. 

You’ve been getting unusually flustered around him lately, unable to control the fluttering in your chest when he’s around. 

It’s silent for a moment before you break it, gesturing with the pass to the guys ahead. 

“This must be some band for them to be this excited about it.”

Ves laughs at that, an actual laugh deep from his chest instead of the usual soft chuckles he gives you. 

“Yeah, they…You could say it’s a huge part of our lives,” he says.

You hum softly, looking back down at the pass. 

“Well then, I’m sure I’ll like them if you all enjoy them this much. Ill try to listen to some of their songs on the way home-”

“No!” Ves interjects, voice loud on the quiet street as you both come to a stop in front of your car.

He clears his throat when you give him a withering look, caught off guard by his outburst. 

“I just…” he begins, “they’re best live,” he tells you, rubbing the back of his neck. “Promise you won’t listen to them before the concert tomorrow.”

His eyes seem to be pleading with you, and you can’t find it in you to deny him despite your curiosity. 

“Okay…I’ll wait until tomorrow.”

Ves sighs, relief evident in the way his shoulders drop ever so slightly, and before you can even blink his face is right next to your own, warm lips pressing quickly to your cheek before he’s back out of your space, grinning like a fool.

“Good. See you tomorrow night.”

And all you can do is stare, stunned silly, as he jogs to catch up with his friends. 

You only realize when you pull into your driveway that you never got the location of the concert, or the start time at the same exact moment your phone pings with a message. It’s from an unknown number but lists an address and a time, followed quickly by a second less cryptic message. 

Hope you got home safe. See you tomorrow.

-V

* * * *

Even though you get to the concert venue an hour early like Ves told you too, it’s already packed. You almost don’t find parking until you get lucky with a street spot a few blocks over. When you finally make it to the entrance the line is down the block and seems to keep going. You look around for a line labelled for VIP, anything to tell you where to go, but all you see is the sign pointing to the long line for general admission. 

You pull your phone from your pocket, pulling up Ves’ number to shoot him a quick text. 

‘Hey! I’m here but I don’t see a sign for VIP…where are you guys?’

You wait less than a minute before a response comes through.

‘V: We’re running way later than expected. Find an attendant, they should be able to point you in the right direction.’

You huff at the message anxiety gnawing at your mind as you bit your lip. Late? You don’t know anything about this band or this venue, you don’t really want to go in without them-

“Miss?” 

A voice behind you makes you jump, turning to see a younger looking man with tattoos put his hands up in mock surrender as he chuckles. He’s wearing a t-shirt with the same logo as your lanyard.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to frighten you,” he says kindly, gesturing to your lanyard. “You’ve got a VIP pass. I can get you to where you need to go.”

“Oh,” you say, looking down to the pass hanging around your neck. “Yeah I was just texting my friend about where to go I don’t…” you hesitate for a moment. “I’ve never been to one of these before.”

The man smiles, holding a hand out as he gestures for you to follow him towards a side entrance to the venue. 

“That’s alright. In your defense we don’t have the best signage for VIP’s,” he chuckles. “We don’t get many of them.”

Surprise tugs at your chest at his words.

“You don’t?” You ask, “My friends are supposed to meet me here, will they know where to go?”

The man chuckles at this, eyes glimmering with mischief as he looks over to you before opening the door to head inside.

“I think they’ll be fine.”

You follow him inside the venue and marvel at the gargantuan space as he shows you around. The stage is set up, lights on but not moving and the bands logo projected onto the back wall of the stage. The venue looks big enough to hold thousands of people. The floor closest to the stage is void of seats, allowing for people to stand up close to the stage while stadium like seats art up about half way back and up all around the room. 

“So this is it,” He says as he brings you up to the side of the front of the stage on the floor, right next to the barricade in a small roped off section separating you from the rest of the open floor seating. “They’re going to be letting GA in here in a few minutes and concert starts soon after that,” he extends his hand to you. “My name’s Sam by the way, if you need anything don’t hesitate to ask someone.”

You smile, your nerves from earlier dissipating slightly at the thought of knowing someone here as you take his hand.

“Thanks, Sam.”

He smiles back, before his phone buzzes in his hand. He looks down at it before waving it in the air slightly. 

“Duty calls. Enjoy the concert!”

And then he’s gone, leaving you alone in the big empty room waiting for your friends.

* * *

‘Ves, where are you guys???’

Your text has gone unread for several minutes, but your nerves are at an all time high as the room around you continues to fill with excited concert goers. The doors had opened half an hour ago and the room was already packed to the brim, people who had floor seats rushing in to be the first at the barricades as the start time drew closer. 

You send another hurried text, looking around you in hopes that Ves and the guys would show up any second. 

‘The concert is about to start!’

For a brief moment, dread settles in the pit of your stomach. What if this is some cruel joke being played on you. What if they bailed last minute and decided not to come, leaving you here by yourself. An ache settles in your chest as the fleeting memory of lips agasint your chilled cheek flashes before your eyes and you go to send another text. 

‘Ves…please tell me you guys are coming.’

As if on command, the room around you goes pitch black, the crowed around you erupting into a deafening roar as the stage lights slowly come to life with the sounds of harsh guitar strings flooding through the speakers. 

You phone lights up with a text message. 

‘V: We’re right here’

The crowds roar around you continues to crescendo as the music flows from the speakers, the blue lights on the stage illuminating a sole figure emerging in the center of the stage to greet the adoring crowd as the drums behind him explode in a rhythmic beat. 

You don’t have time to try to direct Ves’s message, your attention draw and held captive by the presence now on stage. 

They approach the front of the stage, just mere yards from you where a microphone stand sits, and you’re immediatly observing the sight in front of you. It’s a man, that you’re now sure of. He moves to the beat, the black cloak he wears billowing out behind him. He’s not wearing a shirt but any skin that would be showing is covered in black paint - from the portion of his face not hidden by a hood and face mask to his chest and right down to the fingers now wrapping around the microphone.  

The mask is obviously the most striking thing. White with a red symbol of the band painted on the front, missing the lower half to leave his mouth free to sing. 

Which he does. 

The vocalist starts to sing into the microphone, a song unfamiliar to you, but no less enchanting as a streak of familiarity zings though you. His voice sounds familiar in a far off distant way - and for a moment you wonder if you have heard this band before somewhere. 

Without really thinking, you find yourself swaying to the beat, foot tapping against the ground as the bas reverberates through the room. Your eyes flit from the lead singer to another figure you see drifting across the stage, guitar slung over his shoulders as he plays. 

He’s also masked, visible skin inked in black and the suit jacket he wears having a hood pulled up over his head. 

In fact, all the members of the band wear masks with any visible skin painted black. From the drummer to the back up singers to the other bass guitarist now waltzing along the stage towards the section your standing in. You notice as he get’s closer that he’s the only one not wearing a hood, his ash white hair flipping this way and that as he moves to the beat. 

As if sensing your specific gaze on him, the bass player looks up from his guitar strings to where you stand, and sends you a playful wink before turning back the way he came, all but swaggering off. 

It all seems to click into place in an instant, your eyes going wide as they flick from the shock of white hair back up to the lead singer, who’s now pulled the microphone from the stand and walking to your side of the stage, never missing a single word of the song. 

He stops right in front of where you stand, an the crowd behind you goes wild as he reaches out towards them, before bringing just slightly to look directly at you, sending you an almost imperceptible smile before he’s up and back the way he came. 

You can’t stop the laughter that erupts from your lips as realization sets in, you finally push past your confusion to join the crowd in jumping and clapping and trying your best to sing along to songs you’ve never heard before. 

It feels like you blink and the entire time passes by going from upbeat high energy songs to slower more emotionally charged ones. You find yourself completely drawn into the whole experience, especially on the soft songs, and you can tell that parts of himself were poured into them when they were written.

In no time the concert is drawing to a closer the last notes of the set flowing through the speakers as the crowd erupts into more deafening screams and cheering as Ves’ bows thankfully to the arena. You just barely manage to catch it as he looks over to you, turning and placing his hands together in a ‘thank you’ motion before you feel a gentle hand on your elbow. You turn to find Sam, the one who lead you in earlier, gesturing off to the side of the stage. 

“Come with me!” He calls, struggling to be heard over the crowd. 

You nod, casting one last glance over your shoulder before you’re lead out of the main arena to the backstage area. 

“So, what did you think?” Sam asks, genuine curiosity lacing his words. 

You smile wide, adrenaline still coursing through you from the excitement. 

“It was amazing! I’m just sad I didn’t know the songs…”

Sam let out a small laugh, “Well, I’m sure you’ll have plenty of time to learn them all someday,” he says before coming to a stop in front of a door towards the back of the backstage area. “You can wait in here. Vessel and the others should be by shortly.”

Vessel…

You don’t have time to dwell on the name reveal as Sam opens the door and ushers you inside and barely has time to close it behind you before a round of raucous laughter and cheers assault you as three of your four friends all but jump you as you enter. 

You laugh and hug them all, noticing that their masks are now gone, replaced with the familiar faces you recognize, just streaked with black paint. 

“I can’t believe you guys!” You exclaim once the noise dies down a little bit. “Why didn’t you just tell me you were in a band?”

iii waves a dismissive hand at you, moving to plop back into the couch in the center of the room. “Where’s the fun in that?” He teases, taking a water bottle that iv hand him. 

“Yeah,” iv agrees, taking a seat by iii, “it’s all part of the fun, love.”

You roll your eyes, turning youthful attention to ii who has yet to say anything from his place propped agains the edge of the couch. When he notices your eyes on him, he throws his hands up in surrender. 

“Don’t look at me, I was the one who wanted to tell you. These blokes,” his eyes shift to look at something behind you, “and him - outvoted me.”

You turn to face the object of ii’s attention, only to be met with a familiar towering form, the white and red mask still in place. Now that you’re able to see him up close, you can’t help the way your eyes roam. He truly is imposing like this - not in a bad way - but he seems to take on a different persona adorned in the costume. You take note of the paint still on his skin, but noticeably patchier from where it rubbed off or has dripped away due to the thin sheen of perspiration coming through. And from this close, you’re able to fully see the mask he wears, the intricate details and the way the eye holes are formed to create the illusion of there being 3 sets of eyes instead of just two. 

There’s so many thoughts running through your head, yet the only thing that you’re brain manages to verbalize is a very simple, and quiet - 

“Hi.”

Ves chuckles at this, the sound low and deep as it reverberates through his chest.

“Hi,” he mimics before casting a glance behind you. 

He must have silently communicated with the other guys because you soon hear rustling behind you as the al stand and start to move towards you, and thus the exit. They all murmur quick goodbyes to you, telling you and Ves to come find them later and you al can go out for drinks again, until eventually it’s just you and Ves alone in the room.

Neither of you have moved and you can feel a certain tension in the air that either of you have left to break. Until you finally work up the courage to speak. 

“So…Vessel?” 

The word comes out as a question, and you watch silently as he lets out a small huff, lips quirking upward in a small smile. 

“I figured ‘Ves’ was a more socially acceptable way of introducing myself,” he jokes, reaching up to tap the mask. “Despite what you might think, I don’t try to scare people away.”

He pauses for a moment, hands clenching at his sides slightly before he speaks again.

“So…what do you think?”

You can’t help but perk up at his question, flashes of the concert coming back to you immediately as you practically bounce on your toes. 

“What do I think?” You repeat, exasperated. “Ves, that was amazing! I might not have known the songs that well but it was phenomenal…”

Your words come out faster than you can really control, rambling on about everything you loved about the concert and their music. You’re so caught up in recalling the recent events that you fail to notice as Ves moves ever closer to you, eliminating the space between you both.

“And then when you were on the piano and singing that song I could just tell that you poured your heart into it and it reminded me of that night at the bar when I was upset and you -”

Your words are cut off before you can continue, large calloused hands cradling your cheeks as warm lips capture your own in a kiss that takes your breath away. You barely even notice the way the mask he wears presses into your cheek until one of his hands leave your skin in order to pry the offending article up and off his head, lips breaking from yours only momentarily before kissing you once more. 

You hands fall to his sides instinctively, skin warm beneath your palms as your try to pull him closer.  He obliges your request by moving to wrap an arm around your waist, holding you too him until he eventually breaks the kiss, resting his forehead against your own as you both struggle for breath. 

“You are truly amazing,” he says softly, brushing a stray piece of hair from your face. 

You pull away from him then, just enough to look up and capture his gaze with your own, heat flooding your cheeks. 

“You’re one to talk,” you jest lightly, reaching up to wipe at the pain smudged on his cheeks. 

“Never in a million years would I have guessed you literally cover yourself in paint. I thought you were a painter!” You exclaim.

Vessel laughs at that, eyes crinkling at the corners as he does so. 

“Well, I guess technically I am a painter-”

“Not what I meant,” you argue, reaching up to wipe at something tickling your cheek. 

Vessel reaches up and grabs your hand before you can wipe your cheek again, eyes widened slightly. 

“Stop, you’ve got paint…” 

You glance at your hand in his, only to see black paint smeared over your palms from where you’d touched him earlier. 

“Here,” he says, reaching up to wipe at the smudge you assume is now on your face.

However, his nose scrunches up as he does so. “Oh…” he tries to wipe it again. “I - I’m just not helping at all really-”

You dissolve into a fit of giggles as you imagine him just smearing more paint around in an effort to clean it up, and he soon joins in before reaching grabbing the corner of his cloak to use instead. 

He takes your chin between his fingers, tilting your head to one side as he used the piece of fabric to delicately wipe away the traces of paint. His eyes trial over your features as he works, taking you in until he eventually drops the fabric back to his side in favor of cradling your face in his hands once more. 

“I really want to kiss you again,” he whispers, eyes shimmering with mischief.

You smile.

“Then what are you waiting for?”

And then his lips are on yours, and you couldn’t be happier for that busy night at the bar all those weeks ago.