author's note: a little over 2,000 words, but if y'all can't tell, i'm in love with the man (drew starkey is my husband in my head)
warnings: drug/weed consumption, sexual tension
(do not copy or plagiarize, original work)
You’re not the kind of girl who smokes. Not because you’re a prude—just because it never felt like you. You’ve been around it before, sure. Friends passing joints between laughs and half-empty Solo cups, the smell clinging to their hoodies and hair. But you’d always waved it off with a shake of your head and a soft laugh, sitting at the edge of the circle like you belonged but never fully stepped in.
Again, You’re not the kind of girl who smokes. But watching Rafe now, you feel that conviction slipping.
He’s seated on the floor between your legs, back resting against the couch like he owns the whole damn room. The joint burns slow between his fingers, his movements smooth, practiced. Like it’s a part of him—an extension. The kind of habit that doesn’t just calm him down but defines how he moves through the world. Effortless. Controlled. Dangerous without trying.
You sit still above him, your thighs on either side of his shoulders, your hands knotted together in your lap. And you watch him. Not just because he looks good—which he does, always—but because there’s something intimate about the way he smokes. Like the world slows down when he does it. Like he’s letting you see a version of him that no one else gets access to.
He tilts his head back, takes another drag, and exhales through the corner of his mouth. The smoke curls up and around him, catching the golden light spilling from the lamp on the table. It turns the room into something hazy, cinematic. You swear even the air changes when he’s like this—thicker, warmer.
You don’t mean to stare, but your eyes are locked on him. On the way his lips wrap around the filter. On the way his lashes lower just slightly with the inhale. On the sharp angle of his jaw when he exhales, like the smoke is being pulled from somewhere deep inside him.
Of course he notices. He always notices.
He takes a drag, head tilted back slightly, exhaling through the corner of his mouth. The smoke curls upward, soft and slow, catching the warm light of the room. You don’t mean to stare, but you do—and of course he notices.
He glances up at you from under his lashes, one brow raised, smirk tugging at the edge of his mouth. “You want to give it a try baby?”
You blink, caught. Lips parting—but nothing comes out. You don’t even know what you would say if you tried. You just stand there for a moment, wide-eyed, tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth, heart beating a little too fast for how casual his question was.
His smirk deepens like he knows. Of course he knows.
You don’t answer—not with words. You just nod. Small. Barely there. A quiet yes that you feel more than speak. You’re not even sure if you’re saying yes to the weed or to him, but maybe that’s the point.
He doesn’t say anything right away. Doesn’t rush you. Just stares for a second longer than necessary, eyes moving slow over your face like he’s reading something written in invisible ink. Like your silence says more than anything you could’ve replied with.
Then—he smiles.
Slow. Crooked. A little dangerous.
“Alright then, baby.”
The way he says it makes something flicker low in your stomach.
He shifts, calmly brushing his palms together as he finishes rolling, sealing the blunt with a smooth lick along the edge. You catch it—the way his tongue presses against the paper, the way his fingers roll it back into shape with practiced ease, like he’s done this a thousand times and never once fumbled. There’s something steady about him when he’s doing something with his hands. Something that pulls you in.
He rolls it once between his fingers, slow and deliberate, making sure it’s even, tight, clean. His thumbs work with expert precision—pressing, tucking, smoothing—like his hands know the rhythm by heart. Like they’ve done this a hundred times before, maybe even a thousand, but never in a room this quiet, with someone watching him the way you are.
And you are watching. Your eyes haven’t left him.
Not his face. Not his hands. Not the way his brows pull together slightly in concentration. There’s something intimate about it—not the weed, not the act itself, but how he does it. How methodical he is. How patient. Like the moment deserves to be done right. Like he’s not just rolling a blunt, he’s crafting something meant to be shared.
And you’re watching every second of it, glossy-eyed, breathing softer without realizing. Lips parted, hands still curled into the edge of the couch cushion like you need something to hold onto.
Then he leans forward just slightly, and you watch him bring the edge of the paper to his mouth. You swear the room shrinks a little when his tongue drags across it—slow, practiced, wet. His eyes stay down, focused on the task, but yours don’t. You can’t look away. There’s something so quietly filthy about it, the way his mouth moves so casually, so unbothered, like he doesn’t even realize what it’s doing to you.
Or maybe he does.
He smooths the seam down with his fingers, seals the blunt with a final press of his thumbs, then lifts it—rolls it once between his fingers, testing it.
Then he looks up at you.
And that look—soft, unreadable, a little amused—says he knows exactly how long you’ve been watching him. How hard you’ve been trying not to blink. How your breath caught when he brought it to his mouth. His smirk is subtle, like he’s letting you keep the illusion of innocence.
Then, without a word, he pats his thigh twice. Solid. Certain.
“C’mere.”
You hesitate—not because you don’t want to, but because you do. And you know what it means. You know what it feels like to sit in his lap, how close it puts you, how warm he runs under those hoodies he never takes off, how you can smell him—cologne and something a little rougher—just by leaning in.
He sees it in your eyes before you move.
His voice dips lower, softer, smooth enough to coat the moment without breaking it. Like he knows one wrong move could shatter the entire atmosphere between you—but he’s too in control to make one.
“Don’t worry,” he says, leaning back into the couch with the kind of ease that dares you to follow. His arms open casually, but the way he looks at you—still, focused—makes it feel deliberate. Like the space he’s offering isn’t just a seat. It’s permission.
“Just wanna be close.”
Your teeth catch your bottom lip before you can help it. Your heart stutters, too loud in your chest for how quiet everything else has gone.
And then—slowly—you move.
Your fingers brush the edge of the couch cushion first, searching for balance, your breath catching even though nothing’s happened yet. There’s no rush, no pressure, but still your skin warms as you crawl forward, one knee slipping between his legs, the other following until you’re straddling his lap.
The cushion dips under your weight, tilting your body forward until your thighs bracket his hips and your chest brushes his. You can feel his breath now—subtle and steady, grazing the front of your hoodie like heat from a match.
You plant your palms on his chest to steady yourself, and his heart beats against them—slow, solid, unreadable. You swear it doesn’t race like yours. Like even now, he’s still composed. Grounded. But his eyes, when you meet them? They tell a different story.
He’s already got you.
His hands move without hesitation. Not in a rush, not rough—just certain. They glide up your thighs first, fingers pressing gently into muscle, then higher, sliding beneath the hem of your hoodie to find the warm skin at your waist. They settle there like they belong, thumbs brushing soft, lazy circles against your sides.
Not grabbing. Not guiding. Just holding. Anchoring you to him.
You settle fully into his lap, your weight folding into his body like you were meant to fit there. And the moment you do, something in the room shifts. The air presses in. The noise in your head goes quiet.
You feel the click before you even understand it.
It’s not sexual, not yet. But it’s close. It’s full of that slow-burning tension that sits between two people who’ve wanted something for longer than they’ve admitted. That quiet question of are we going to do this, or just sit here pretending we’re not thinking about it?
But neither of you moves.
Because right now, the stillness is doing all the work.
And in this stillness—hips aligned, chest to chest, breath to breath—you finally realize what it means to be close to him. Not just physically. But really close. The kind of closeness that leaves no room for lies. The kind of closeness that feels like surrender. The closeness where you can feel the air from his nose breathing on your lips.
His hand moves then—just one. It drifts from your waist and traces upward, soft and slow, until his fingers ghost along the underside of your jaw. You feel the whisper of his touch before it lands. He tilts your face toward him—not forcefully, just enough to make your breath stutter.
“You ready?” he asks, voice low, rich, like velvet dragged over smoke.
You nod, lips parted slightly.
But he doesn’t hand it to you yet.
Instead, he brings the joint to his own mouth again. His fingers curl around it, thumb flicking the ash into the tray. Then his eyes flick back to yours—steady, unreadable, but charged.
“Watch me carefully,” he says.
You nod again. Slower this time. Almost dazed.
His lips close around the filter, and you watch everything.
The inhale. Deep. Smooth.
The way his chest rises beneath your palms.
The slow drag that leaves his eyes just a little heavier, lips just a little more swollen.
He holds the smoke a moment, and then leans in—mouth just a breath away from yours.
“Open.”
You obey without thinking.
He exhales into you.
It’s warm. It’s intimate. It’s dizzying in ways that have nothing to do with THC. Your breath syncs with his without thinking, and you feel the smoke fill your chest like the air between you wasn’t enough anymore. When it settles, you blink. Lightheaded, but grounded. His touch never left your jaw.
“Now you,” he says softly, guiding your hand to the joint between his fingers. His other hand moves back down to your waist, grounding you again. “Don’t rush it. Just pull. Then hold it. Then let it go.”
You bring it to your lips, but pause—just for a second. Your fingers twitch around the joint, unsure. You’re not nervous, exactly, but it’s new. Intimate. His eyes are on you, and suddenly the act of breathing in feels like too much, too exposed.
He catches it.
His thumb presses gently into your side smoothing it over a few times, warm and steady.
“Go ahead,” he murmurs, low and reassuring. “I got you.”
You glance at him once more—eyes meeting, heat passing—and then finally, you inhale—slow, unsure.
You cough. Hard.
His hand is already on your back, soothing. “That’s alright, baby,” he says with a low laugh. “You’ll get it.”
You try again, determined. He watches, calm, thumbs grazing your sides again—steady, encouraging, a quiet anchor.
And when you finally get it—inhale, hold, exhale—he smiles.
Then his hand rises again. Traces your jawline once more, slower this time. Like he means to memorize it. His thumb brushes the corner of your mouth, just below your glossed bottom lip, where the smoke lingers.
That’s when you feel it.
When you look at him again, he’s already staring—eyes locked on your mouth, watching the way your lips wrap around the blunt. Glossy, parted, soft. It’s messing with him more than he’s willing to admit. He swears he’s thinking about replacing it with something else—something filthier—but he stays still. His touch is gentle as his fingers trace along your jawline, featherlight, coaxing your mouth toward his. You don’t resist. You can’t. And when he leans in, you have no choice but to exhale the smoke into his mouth, your breath mingling with his in the thick, hazy air between you.
When the smoke clears between you, his eyes don’t move. They stay fixed on yours—soft, low-lidded, the kind of look that feels like it’s peeling back every layer of you without saying a word.
He’s not smiling. Not exactly. He’s just looking.
And you feel it everywhere.
The silence stretches, warm and heavy and full. You shift slightly in his lap, like maybe that’ll ease the pressure building in your chest, but it doesn’t. It only brings you closer.
Your head tilts to the side, lips parting, breath catching like you’re about to say something. “Wh—”
You don’t get the word out.
Because both of his hands come up—one cradling the side of your face, the other curling gently around the back of your neck—and he pulls you in, slow but certain. His forehead brushes yours for a second. Then his nose. Then he dips in like he’s going to kiss you—but stops just short.
You feel his breath. Close enough to taste.
Then he pulls back—barely. Just an inch. Just long enough to make you ache for it. And then he finally leans in again, slower this time, and kisses you.
It’s not rushed. It’s not greedy.
He tastes like smoke with a bit of salt and something warmer. Like control wrapped in want.
When he finally pulls back, his thumb drags across your bottom lip, smearing your gloss. He looks at your mouth again, then back at your eyes. His voice is low. Rough. And jst above a whisper
“You’re real good with your mouth… wonder what else it could do.”
He says it with a smile against your lips as he goes in for another kiss—but his eyes don’t flinch.
sigh now i want to recreate this but WITH WHO?!? him?? i don’t think he would let me well idk (yes it’s a guy i know but UHHHH oh boy idk if he wants me or not because he’s so confusing)
⤷ in which a rare night out turns into something unexpected when a run in with your ex brings out a side of your boyfriend that you’ve never seen before. in turn, he takes it upon himself to make sure you’ve forgotten about any other guy who came before him.
pairing: lsu!joe burrow x fem!reader
word count: 16.4k
warnings: 18+, sexual content, jealousy, angst, weed, alcohol, choking, highkey possessive joe, arguing, cursing, mentions of cheating, i think that’s it but lmk if i missed anything. psa this is overly freaked out so do with that what you will
a/n: ringing in the new year the right way with some lsu joey 🙂↕️ pls excuse any inconsistencies i literally redid this whole thing like 5 times and im still not completely satisfied but we move 💔 anyway this was inspired from the song by dominic fike so i highly recommend listening to it while reading for elite vibes. also, idgaf if joe was prob the biggest sweetie at lsu, in my universe he’s an evil ho. ANYWAY i hope u enjoy happy reading <3
You were never much of a party girl.
You liked the idea of them more than the reality; liked the way people talked about the night after it ended, the drunk retellings and hazy minded stories that floated around campus the next few days that followed. But actually being there, pressed into rooms that smelled like sweat and weed and cheap alcohol always felt a little too loud, a little too unlike you.
You preferred the quiet intimacy of late-night drives with the windows down, music low enough where you could still hear your own thoughts and feel the wind blowing against your cheeks while the world slowed down around you. With parties came chaos, and you’d always existed just on the edge of it; bordering the brink but never fully crossing through.
LSU didn’t really allow you to have that kind of edge. Not during football season, which was the time that every off-campus house within walking distance seemed to be throwing something every weekend. And tonight’s party was no exception; packed tight and full of stressed college students looking for a good time after the gruelling headache that was known as finals week. Christmas break was right around the corner and if anything called for a party, it was definitely that.
By the time you walked through the front door with your boyfriend right behind you, the floors were already sticky with spilled drinks and the lights were dimmed so dark that if it weren’t for the series of multi-colored LED lights that flashed occasionally, you would’ve tripped over yourself. The bass of some rap song rattled through the walls as bodies moved in sync to it carelessly and smoke lingered thick in the air, curling around you like clouds as it infiltrated your nose. You made yourself as comfortable as you could and stood near the kitchen counter with a red cup clutched between your hands, staring into the distance and watching everything like an outsider looking in.
The thought of it makes you laugh, actually. You'd met Joe at a party a few days into his transfer, back when his name still floated around like some sort of secret no one would share. It had been another off-campus houseparty in another overcrowded living room, but that night had felt different. Somehow more accidental. You remember noticing him because he wasn’t trying to be noticed.
He’d stood near the back porch with a plastic cup he barely touched, nodding along as someone talked to him about something he clearly wasn’t interested in. You’d thought he looked out of place in the same way you felt, like he’d wandered in out of obligation rather than desire to have a good time.
You ended up talking to him out of pure boredom, walking over to where he was tucked away near the fence, away from the lingering smoke and too loud voices. The conversation had come shockingly easy. You’d gotten to know him. Not “Joe Burrow: The Transfer”, but just Joe. You’d spent the entirety of the night talking about almost anything and everything. About how drastically different Ohio was than Louisiana, about how strange it felt to start over somewhere new, about how exhausting it was to always have to prove himself.
He’d laughed when you told him you weren’t really a party person, told you it was pretty obvious and admitted he wasn’t either. He later confessed to you that right before your conversation he’d contemplated carefully sneaking out the backdoor and heading home to his apartment.
After that night, you’d spent every moment you could with Joe. Time went on and the two of you had gotten closer than ever. He’d pick you up from your apartment and drive you to your classes so you didn’t have to walk, you’d spend the night at his place on the weekends, and eventually, the two of you began to exist within the company of one another.
Exactly three months after that night, he’d asked you to officially be his girlfriend during a date he’d planned at a local fair. The two of you spent the night shovelling popcorn and funnel cake past your lips as you skipped around to different booths, with him leaning into you as you laughed uncontrollably at his insistence on winning you an excessively large stuffed bear.
The night had gone perfect, and he’d ended it by kissing you for the first time, so soft and so lovingly before reluctantly dropping you home. He’d become the reason you began to tolerate parties, and you learned to enjoy them with each other. You fell in love with the way he’d always keep a hand on your lower back so you wouldn’t get lost in the sea of drunk bodies, the way you’d be his excuse when he wanted to leave early. The way you’d share looks across the room and he’d immediately understand before smiling at you knowingly. It felt steady, almost like something solid you could count on even when everything else became a bit too overwhelming.
And so, maybe that was part of the reason as to why the way he was acting tonight rattled you this much. Because tonight, he blended into it all too well, swallowed by laughter and movement, his presence magnetic even though he was barely trying.
And then there was you. Standing alone near the kitchen and contemplating your stupid decision of coming the longer you watch him from across the room. With him pulled deeper into the crowd and you stuck on the outside looking in, it feels like you’re seeing that first night in reverse.
The music still thumped and the lights shone in your face, laughter erupting around you, but all you’re able to think about is how strange it feels to be surrounded by so many people and still feel like something was slipping just out of reach.
A few minutes after arriving, you’d lost him somewhere between the living room and the kitchen, and it really shouldn’t have bothered you as much as it did. You told yourself it was nothing, that this was normal and convinced yourself that you were being ridiculous.
Joe deserves to let loose, he deserves to have fun.
But the longer you stood alone, the more your eyes kept drifting back toward him. Toward the familiar shape of his broad shoulders and messy hair, toward the way he leaned in to hear people over the music. The party blurred around him as voices and bodies melted together, and that’s when a strange tightness began to settle in your chest; heavy and so impossible to ignore.
Because he was still on the couch.
Still with her.
You didn’t even know her name, but you definitely knew her type. She was the kind of girl who wouldn’t stop trying until she got what she wanted, and all you knew was that she was seated too close for comfort.
Her legs were crossed in a way that she wanted him to notice and every now and again her shoe would brush his calf as her fingers landed on his bicep testingly. Her obnoxious laugh practically cut through the music, loud and careless as she tossed her hair behind her shoulder like she expected him to lean in and kiss her right then and there.
To be fair, Joe wasn’t even doing anything, you knew he wouldn’t. He was just sitting there like he always did in crowded rooms. Leaning back with one arm on the couch cushion, one of his awkward polite half-smiles painted onto his face as he nodded along like he was listening but he probably didn't retain a single word. He wasn’t flirting and anyone could see that. So realistically you shouldn’t be so upset.
But that’s the thing. He wasn’t exactly stopping it either.
And the more you watched him the more your chest burned. You stood in the kitchen doorway, making it seem like you didn’t care. But in actuality, you were glued in place as you watched everything unfold like a slow-motion replay you couldn’t look away from. Every time she shifted closer, your jaw clenched tighter.
Next to you, a girl you’d never seen before was filling a cup full of something she’d surely regret come morning and someone else was passing a joint down the line of people pressed against the counter. Smoke curled toward the ceiling, traveling in circles under the low-hanging chandelier before fading into the air. You sighed, taking a sip of your drink even though it tasted like someone mixed every alcohol known to man together, and continued staring ahead as you tried focusing on keeping your face blank.
Or at least you thought it was blank.
Because all of a sudden, Justin Jefferson appeared at your side like he’d magically been summoned. He leaned against the counter next to you and raised an eyebrow, giving you that same annoyingly perceptive look he always seemed to have.
“What’s with the face?” he asked over the music, tilting his head like he was studying you in an oddly inquisitive way. “Nothing,” you said immediately, the word leaving you way too quickly to convince even yourself. “This is just my face.”
Justin let out a scoff, the sound far from subtle before moving closer toward you, the two of you now practically shoulder to shoulder. “Nah. That’s your ‘I wanna kill someone’ face.”
“I don’t have that face.”
He gives you a brief once-over and crosses his arms against his chest. “Yeah, you do. You’re making it right now, actually.” He quips teasingly while a smirk plays at his lips.
You will yourself to relax, exhaling slowly as you fix your posture and shake out your shoulders, hoping that would rid you of the stiffness. “I’m fine,” you declare, taking another sip of the concoction.
“Yeah, okayyyy.” Justin nods, still unmoving from his spot as he gives you a side eye, speculation written all over his face. “So you’re just standing here staring at Joe for what reason exactly?”
You cough on your drink and furrow your eyebrows in defense. “What? I’m not staring."
“Mhm.” He hums, glancing toward the couch. “It lowkey looks like you’re tryna shoot him with your eyes.”
You take in his words as your eyes dart back over to Joe, unable to help it. The girl is laughing again, leaning in so close as she continues to have the utmost audacity by brushing her hand along Joe’s arm like she has every right to. If it was possible you think you’d be able to see her breath on Joe’s neck from your spot across the room.
Your vision actually blurs for a second before you reluctantly pull your eyes away and look down into your cup, forcing yourself to calm down. You almost had things under control before you heard Justin let out a low whistle about a minute later. “Oh, shit.”
“What?” you snap, lifting your gaze and turning to him. He just smirks, nodding his head in the direction of Joe and his new little attachment. You turn back toward the living room again, your jaw tightening when you see the girl touch Joe’s knee like she owned it. He pulls back politely, offering her a small and gentle smile that you recognized. It was a smile he only used when he didn’t want to be rude.
It should make you feel better, but it doesn’t. It just makes things worse. So much fucking worse.
Justin notices you stiffen and places a comforting hand on your shoulder, giving it a friendly pat. “You know that’s just Joe being Joe, right?” he says, his tone softening as he tries to ease your worries. “He’s being nice. He probably doesn’t even know she’s flirting.”
“She’s literally a minute away from sitting in his fucking lap.” You respond snarkily as the urge to start some shit begins to rise inside you.
“Yeah.” Justin continues with a shrug, “But you know he’s not the type to just tell someone to fuck off.”
You don’t say anything but your breathing begins to pick up speed as the girl leans in again, whispering something near Joe’s ear. Once again, his head turns away like he’s trying to distance himself from her, but from where you were standing the angle looked too intimate and it makes your stomach twist.
“This is dumb.” You mutter under your breath, shuffling your feet under you in annoyance.
“Nah, I get you.” Justin replies immediately, trying his best to calm the fire inside you. “It makes sense to want him to get up and walk away.”
“He’s clearly fine sitting there, probably doesn’t even wanna get up.” You mumble, continuing to glare daggers in Joe’s direction.
Justin lets out a laugh and pokes you in the arm playfully. “Come on, he looks miserable as fuck. Don’t sweat it, alright? You know that’s your guy.”
Your mouth opens up to reply back but your words die on your tongue before you let anything slip. This time you swear you see red when the girl goes too far and places her hand on Joe’s upper thigh. Even as you see Joe freeze slightly and move away again, something sharp still pierces right through your chest.
“Actually, nevermind. I’d be pissed too.” Justin winces sympathetically, staring into his drink.
“I am not pissed.” You announce, and he gives you a look that says something along the lines of ‘you aren’t fooling anyone’. “Sure you aren’t.” He mumbles under his breath, holding back a laugh.
You don’t reply with words. You can’t. You just look at him with a glare because you’re too busy feeling the room grow hotter, the music louder, the lights harsher. Everything starts closing in around you the longer you watch that girl continue to lean in closer to Joe, closer than she has any right to be.
And you can't stop staring, even if it's killing you.
The room feels different by the time Joe finally gets up almost fifteen minutes later.
You stare at him as he excuses himself, smiling awkwardly at the girl as her own smile fades, her entire demeanor shifting while her body stiffens in annoyance. You quickly look away when he begins walking toward you, each heavy step of his drawing him closer yet you keep your eyes trained on the far wall, basking in the clouds of smoke curling around you.
A blunt burns between your fingers, the paper still a bit damp from when you’d rolled it a few minutes prior. You weren’t much of a smoker, but tonight you needed something to take the edge off and this was the perfect solution. Each inhale settles heavy in your chest, not calming or grounding. Just blurring the edges of your anger until it simmered instead of exploded.
Justin had drifted away at some point, getting pulled into a conversation with a teammate. You hadn’t noticed when, didn't really care. You were still leaning against the counter, arms crossed tight as though you were holding yourself together with a sewing thread.
Joe makes it over and slides into the space besides you like he always does. Slow and steady until he’s close enough that you could fuse yourselves together if you tried. He leans down and wraps his arms around you, placing a fond kiss on your temple before pulling back and tucking his face in the crook of your neck. The scent of him hits you instantly. A mix of sweat and cologne, traces of weed and something lingering underneath. Something so him, it makes your stomach twist in a way you both love and hate.
For a moment neither of you speak as the song that’s playing changes to something calmer. You stay quiet while a group of girls laugh too loud behind you, the energy still alive and messy. It stays that way like it doesn’t even care that you’re just a second away from losing your shit.
Eventually Joe takes note of your silence and the fact that you hadn’t reciprocated his hug, removing his face from its place in your neck and pullinh back just enough to look you in your eyes. “You okay?” Joe asks finally, his voice low like he didn’t want the question to be overheard by anyone else.
You don’t respond as you bring the blunt to your lips instead, inhaling deeper than you should’ve and holding the smoke until your chest begins to burn. When you exhale, you turn your head just enough to avoid blowing it in his face, unable to acknowledge him.
Joe frowns, his eyebrows pinching together in confusion. “Baby, you good?” He tries again and leans down closer this time.
Still, you say nothing and grit your teeth while you look straight ahead, eyes unfocused as you stare at nothing important. The smoke drifts above you lazily, unconcerned to the tension building between you.
His body shifts in front of you as sudden impatience creeps in. “Hey,” he whispers, his voice is firmer now. “Talk to me.”
You continue to ignore him, now moving your eyes down to the ground and lifting the blunt toward your lips once more.
But before you know it his hand juts out quickly; too quickly for you to stop. His fingers close around the blunt, plucking it clean from your grasp and the sudden absence leaves your hand hanging in the air, both empty and stunned.
You turn on him instantly. “Are you serious?”
He stares at you, his eyes sharp now and his jaw set in place. “Yeah, I am. Because you’re clearly pissed and pretending I don’t exist.”
“Give it back,” you snap as you try to grab it from him but he pulls his hand away, holding it out of your reach. “No. Not until you tell me what the hell is going on.”
The space between you feels heated and you can feel people nearby starting to sense it as wayward glances begin to focus on the two of you, the sound of the conversations floating around you lowering just a notch in order to hear what was about to go down.
Their king, the ice-cold quarterback who saved their city is about to get into a full blown argument with his girlfriend in front of dozens of wasted college students.
How entertaining.
Joe pulls you away from the crowd and to a secluded area of the house and while it’s not completely quiet, it’s still less loud than where you were standing previously.
“Nothing’s going on,” you say, your voice wavering as your jaw locks and Joe laughs once, the sound completely humorless.
“That’s bullshit.”
“Okay,” you retort, now irritated as you cross your arms against your chest.
“You’re in a mood,” he insists, lowering his voice but not the intensity. “You won’t look at me, won’t talk to me, what am I supposed to think?”
“I don’t know,” you snap. “Maybe what you should think about is who you’re letting touch all over you.”
His eyes darken as he sighs in disbelief. “Are you serious? You’re really gonna do this right now?”
“You tell me,” you say as spite begins flooding into your chest, now rushing through your veins. “You seemed pretty comfortable earlier.”
“Baby, come on.” he says incredulously. “That’s what you’re mad about?” Your jaw drops and your eyebrows raise to your hairline at how easily he’s dismissing you because uou both know full well that if the roles were reversed, he wouldn’t even wanna hear it from you.
“Yes, Joe! You let her touch you,” you argue, the words leaving you sharp as glass. “You let her flirt with you like I wasn’t even here.” He steps closer to you, voice dropping to avoid this from being spread all over campus tomorrow. “I didn’t let her do anything. I was being polite.”
“Oh, please, you were loving it.” you argue, laughing in his face bitterly.
“That’s not fair. Or true,” he snaps back, displeasure flaring in his body and you can tell his patience is beginning to wear thin. “You know me better than that.”
“Do I?” you mutter back at him. “You were acting like you forgot I existed, even Justin saw it!” You’re shaking at this point, anger running inside you as it spans from the heels of your feet to the tips of your fingers.
“That’s funny,” Joe says, growing pissed the longer you continue to harp at him. “You’re the one ignoring me right now.”
“Because you embarrassed me, Joe!” you fire back exasperatedly, and at this point you’re getting tired of the back and forth with him. It’s getting you nowhere and only upsetting you further.
“How did I embarrass you?” He shakes his head in a mix of bewilderment and confusion. “I didn’t even do anything.”
“You didn’t stop it,” you mutter quietly. “and that says a lot about you.” He stares at you for a long second, like he’s trying to decide how hard to push and the noise of the party continues to press in around you irritatingly. The laughter, the music, the excessive bodies brushing past. All it's doing is overstimulating you, making it feel like you’re trapped in a bubble. Just the two of you and the things you refuse to admit.
“You’re being ridiculous,” he mumbles finally, groaning low before rubbing his hand across his jaw in annoyace.
And for some reason that’s what does it for you.
“Don’t talk to me like that.” You warn him with a look, one that tells him to stop before he can go any further and cross any lines that’ll be really hard for him to come back from.
Joe huffs out a laugh. “Like what? You’re acting like a brat.” Your face contorts and you’re instantly taken aback as the word lands heavily, its impact sharp. Your breath skips in your throat and you blink up at him angrily.
“What did you just call me?”
Joe doesn’t back down. “Did I lie?” He says cockily, clearly getting ahead of himself and it makes something inside you snap.
“I said don’t fucking talk to me like that,” you speak low as your voice turns shaky. “You don’t get to sit there and let other girls throw themselves at you and then talk down on me for being upset about it.” You spit with a cold glare as your chest rises and falls in aggravation.
Joe’s expression hardens as frustration starts bleeding through, painting his features with a layer of impatience and indifference. “I didn’t do anything wrong. You're literally acting like I cheated on you in front of everyone.”
“You might as well have!” you retaliate. Every feeling you’ve been bottling up rises to the surface and practically explodes at his nonchalance.
“That’s insane,” he mutters as he runs a hand through his hair. “You’re making this a bigger issue than it has to be.”
“Maybe because you never listen when I tell you how I feel, Joe!” you shoot back, your voice rising as the seconds pass.
“I’m listening right now. All you’re doing is yelling at me.” He deadpans with a sigh as he runs his hands over his face, clearly over the argument.
“Because you won’t take me seriously!” You point out, voice cracking in defeat while you move closer into his space and look up at him. Emotion floods every inch of your face as you attempt to make him understand where your sudden anger is stemming from.
The lump in your throat thickens as the seconds go by and you swallow it before you start to speak again, only Joe beats you to it. And you really wish he fucking hadn’t.
“‘Cause you’re being so fucking dramatic!”
Silence crashes between the two of you like broken glass, and your mouth drops in shock while you move back a few steps away from him. Your chest feels tight and your throat starts to burn as you feel tears well in your eyes. Joe’s shoulders slump slightly as his indignation gives way to something else. Something that resembles a mix of exasperation and regret and hurt all muddled into one. “Baby, I came over here because I care,” he starts, “because I wanted to check on you. Because I love you.”
“Love me? You sure looked like you loved me while you sat there and let that girl eye-fuck you,” you snap. “You just made shit worse, Joe.” Hostility burns inside you as you continue to rattle on and you know you’re probably not helping the situation much, but you really don't care anymore.
“Are you kidding me?” He spits at you before leveling you with a hard stare, the look on his face warping into one you don’t think you’ve ever seen from him. His lips press together tightly as he shakes his head in a way that looks a lot like disappointment. “You know what, it’s fine.” He speaks angrily, lifting his hand to thread his fingers through his hair in exasperation once more. “Keep acting this way. Do whatever the hell you want.”
You clench your hands into a fist to stop your fingers from trembling harder as you find your voice. “Alright. Don’t fucking talk to me then.”
Joe takes a step back and his gaze goes dark before he lets out a laugh that’s void of any humor. “Gladly.”
You stare up at him, looking into his eyes before you roll your own and slip out from beside him, walking away as your body shakes from pure, untamed frustration. You’re instantly swallowed by the crowd; by noise and smoke and bodies that didn’t care how hard your heart was pounding.
The music still shakes through the walls, people still laughing and drinking and having a good time. Everything and everyone is still in action while you stand there burning and furious and all kinds of hurt. You linger by the stairs for a minute, watching as Joe collects himself before he walks over to where Ja’marr and Justin are seated with a couple more players from the football team. Your eyes never leave him as he plasters a smile onto his face and tries to hide how pissed off he is.
You scoff under your breath before you gather yourself and push off of the stair railing, marching back over to the kitchen. If he wants to act indifferent, then so fucking be it. You aren’t going to let him ruin your night. Anger still buzzes hot under your skin as you weave through the masses, but once you’re out of your head the music swallows you up instantly.
Before you’re fully out of view, you turn your head slightly and out of the corner of your eye you take one last glance at Joe. He’s now got a cup in his hand, and his body rests against the wall angled in a way that allows him to look toward the kitchen.
Toward you.
It was almost as if he’d positioned himself there on purpose, his eyes unblinking as they lock onto you. He’s watching you like a hawk. Like maybe he thinks if he looks away for even a second, you might disappear.
You meet his gaze for half a heartbeat before you pull your eyes away and turn your back on him. You move through everyone with your head held high even though your chest feels hollow, and the kitchen lights somehow seem brighter and harsher than they were earlier when you make it to your destination. You pour yourself something strong enough to drown out the image of Joe’s face and voice and body, even though his words still echo in your head like they’re tattooed there.
Bringing the cup to your lips, you take a long swallow and wince slightly as the liquid burns on its way down your throat. You quickly finish off the contents and pour more into your cup, taking another swig of the drink, only at a slower pace this time. The music feels louder in this part of the house, and you’re shown why when you spot a group of people singing along to the lyrics at the top of their lungs near you.
You sigh, and just when you go to take another sip someone accidentally bumps into you hard enough to jostle your arm. You flinch and watch as a small amount of liquid spills over the rim of your cup before landing onto the countertop. “Shit. I’m sorry,” you mutter quietly as you steady yourself.
Only, when you finally look up from your cup, your whole body freezes. “Oh,” you whisper, your eyes widening as you exhale slowly and the offender looks equally as surprised. “No way,” he says, his eyebrows raising before a grin breaks across his face. “Oh my God.”
“Noah?” you mumble, blinking rapidly. Like maybe if you did it enough times he’d vanish. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Of course it was just your luck to run into him.
Noah was your ex back from freshman year. The one who used to drive you around too fast and kiss you like he could never lose you. Things with him didn't work out but the two of you still ended on good terms. Some days, even though you weren’t outright thinking of him, he’d linger in the back of your mind. It wasn’t in a ‘I miss him so much I can’t think straight’ kinda way, but in a way that would inevitably sting when you thought of the past.
“I could ask you the same thing,” he says with a low laugh, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “I didn’t think you still came to these things. They were never really your scene.”
“Yeah, well,” you shrug, lifting the cup to your lips. “Shit changes.”
He glances at the drink in your hand and then back to your face, his eyebrow rising skeptically. “Yeah, I can tell.”
“Good,” you mumble under your breath and down the rest of the liquid, placing the cup on the counter and looking back at him when you’re finished. “That’s the goal.”
Noah laughs again softer this time, staring at you in a way that says everything and nothing at the same time. “Still blunt as ever, huh?”
“Old habits die hard, I guess.” you mutter, sending him a smile despite yourself. He leans back against the counter across from you, close enough that you can smell his cologne. It's a different scent from what he used to wear when the two of you were together, but still familiar enough to tug at something old and buried. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again,” he admits, his voice low as he looks at you sheepishly. “Last time I heard anything about you, Adam told me you were dating a football player.”
Your heart skips and your stomach twists when you remember where you currently stand with said football player, and you tap your fingers against the marble mindlessly before swallowing down the urge to roll your eyes. “Something like that,” you reply vaguely and use the moment as a chance to refill your cup and take a few sips. There's a beat of silence, but it’s not awkward, just heavy with old history and some sort of tension. You’re grateful for how the noise of the party fills it in, music and laughter and carelessness spilling in from around you.
“So,” Noah pipes up. “How’ve you been? Catch me up.” You huff out a laugh at his newfound excitement. “I’ll save you some time and give you the short answer.” You reply as your fingers come up to fiddle with your necklace anxiously.
“C’mon, since when have you ever given me the short answer?” He questions with a smile. You roll your eyes playfully, and something inside you warms at the conversation. It’s so familiar that it actually feels good.
It feels easy.
“Um, I’ve been okay.” you speak quietly, staring at the man beside you. “Busy. School, life, same old shit. What about you? I haven’t seen you in a while.”
“I transferred. So Cal.” he says, and you swear it carries something that sounds a lot like regret. “Adam, actually. He told me there was a party, said I should come back for the weekend. Thought I’d show myself and see who still remembers me.”
“Well,” you mumble and lift your cup to your lips again, taking a sip before speaking once more. “You saw one familiar face so, congrats.”
“Thanks…. ?” he says confused, a grin creeping onto his face, and as the minutes pass and with the more alcohol you consume, the two of you start to fall into an easy type of banter. Your shoulders relax without you noticing, the earlier outrage starting to dull just a little, and for a moment the night doesn’t feel so shitty.
What you didn’t know was that after your argument, Joe had taken one look at you before you disappeared into the kitchen and felt that tight, panicked feeling settle low in his chest. The one he hated, the one that told him he’d fucked up worse than he thought.
So about fifteen minutes after your departure, something ticks inside of him and the worst starts invading his thoughts. Beside him, Ja’marr had a blunt pressed between his lips, about to light it until Joe straightened, his voice aimed at his best friend as he claps him on the back lightly. “Hey,” he says distractedly. “Go watch her.”
Ja’marr blinks in confusion, the joint still hanging from his mouth. “Me?” Joe doesn't even look at him, just rolls his eyes before keeping them glued to the kitchen doorway. “No. The other Ja’marr.”
Justin chuckles at the two of them before he takes the joint for himself, finally sparking it up and taking in a long inhale.
“Bro,” Joe cuts in, finally turning when he notices Ja’marr hasn’t moved an inch. “Just make sure she’s okay.”
Ja’marr glances past him, his gaze now floating toward the kitchen. “You sure you're good?”
Joe exhales through his nose and nods once, the movement tense. “Please.” He spoke with a hint of desperation, but his tone also left no room for argument.
So, he nods and begins making his way over to you because he sure as hell wasn’t gonna say no.
He didn’t make it obvious. He didn’t march right up or insert himself into your space. He hovered a few steps back, pretending to check his phone, acting like he was looking for someone. He just kept doing that thing he was very good at. The one where he fit in even though he wasn’t trying.
After a minute of scoping things out, that’s when he sees it. His eyes squint suspiciously when he spots you leaning against the counter and laughing, really laughing; the kind that doesn't need any effort. Hard enough that your head was tipped back slightly and your shoulders weren’t as stiff as they were before. You looked unguarded, like you weren’t replaying the earlier argument in your head on a loop.
Somehow, you dont notice him lingering near the edge of the kitchen doorway, his fingers tapping against his thigh nervously and his posture gone still in a way that didn’t match the actions of people in the rest of the house. You don't see the way his eyes move between you and the guy with you, don't see how his face slowly pulls together as he clocks the conversation and the way he leans in.
Ja’marr recognizes him vaguely. Tall with dark hair and a confident posture, and standing close. Too close, and way too comfortable. He was leaning in, smiling like he had history with you. At that, his brows lifted and it all began to click to him.
“Well, shit.” He mumbles under his breath and kisses his teeth, watching the two of you for another moment longer. His eyes widen at the way you nudge the guy’s arm when he says something that seems to be annoyingly funny. At the way your smile lingers just a second too long. It wasn’t exactly flirty, but familiar. Intimate in a way that he could tell hit different.
He didn’t need to see any more.
Turning on his heel, he headed back to Joe like a man on a mission. A man who was also carrying bad news and enjoying it just a little too much. Joe, who was now taking a hit from the blunt Justin had sparked minutes before, pulled it from his lips and looked up the second Ja’marr came back.
“Well?” He questioned, already bracing himself for what he was about to hear.
Ja’marr took his time. He had a feeling that this wasn’t something he should drop like a bomb. So he grabbed his cup and took a sip before speaking. “She looks… fine.”
Joe’s jaw tightens in annoyance. It really wasn’t the time for subliminals and Ja’marr’s nonchalant vibe was really pissing him the fuck off. “Fine how?” he spoke, his tone meaning business.
Ja’marr shrugged his shoulders casually and took another sip of his drink before grabbing the spliff from Joe’s hand and taking a hit. “She was laughing and shit. Talkin’ to some dude,” he said lazily after exhaling and clearing his throat.
Joe’s eyes flick toward the kitchen instantly, his body pushing off the wall he was leaning on so quickly it was almost scary. “The fuck? What dude, bro?”
Ja’marr tilted his head, pretending to think as he scratched his chin lightly. “Bit shorter than you, dark hair. Kinda looks like he knows her.”
As the words leave his mouth Joe’s hand curls by his side, fist clenched so tightly his fingers are almost paper white. “Knows her how? Bro, come on, I need details.”
Ja’marr finally meets his eyes, throwing his hands up in exasperation before dropping them to his sides. “Man, I dunno. In a way like he’s been there before. You know what I’m tryna say?” He speaks and gives Joe a small smirk as to egg on the situation and rile him up a bit more.
“Ohhh, shit.” Justin lets out a low whistle as his eyes widen. He takes a look at Joe before he laughs into his fist quietly and purses his lips. “Damn, Nine. That’s bad.” He mumbles, also instigating for no good reason.
Joe grabs his cup from the table beside him hard enough that liquid almost sloshes over the rim. He brings it up to his lips, downing the entirety of it in one go before tossing the empty plastic back onto the table. “Are you deadass?” he says, his voice dangerously calm as he runs a hand through his hair.
Ja’marr nods and purses his lips together awkwardly now that the tension rises higher. “Yeah, man. She seemed real comfortable.”
After that, Joe doesn’t say another word. He begins weaving through the crowd, his broad shoulders squared and his expression locked in a way that said everything and nothing all at once. One that said ‘don’t get in my fucking way.’
People moved without realizing, no one asking why. They didn’t have to. Because when it came to Joe Burrow, no one questioned anything he did. Not anymore.
Once he made it within distance, he spotted you laughing at something Noah had said. You barely even opened your mouth to respond when suddenly there was an arm around you, the feel of it heavy and familiar. And everything about it possessive.
Oh, you’re so fucked.
Before you could comprehend it, Joe’s arm that's slung tight around your shoulders pulls you back against his chest like it’s the most natural thing in the world, his presence swallowing you instantly. The heat of his body radiates through his tight black t-shirt, and you almost fold at the way he towers over you, at the way his other hand settles at your waist, at the way his thumb presses in just hard enough to make a point.
You already know what’s coming.
Not even a second later, your entire body goes stiff when you feel his mouth brush across your neck. He leaves a soft kiss on the skin, sucking lightly before pulling back and moving again, slower this time. His lips are warm as they slide against you, lingering just below your ear because he knows just how bad it’ll get under your skin. He knows just how flustered it gets you.
And he knows it’ll be seen.
Your breath catches despite yourself and Noah freezes. His eyes flick from Joe’s hand at your waist then to his mouth at your neck, and back over to Joe’s face when he finally pulls away.
“Oh,” Noah says, clearly stunned. He blinks a few times before laughing once, the sound disbelieving and void of any humor. “Oh, shit.”
Joe doesn’t look at him right away, he just rests his chin on your shoulder, his voice calm as if it was just the two of you alone in his apartment. As if he wasn’t about to start some unnecessary drama.
“Hey, baby.” Joe whispers to you, the sound low and gravelly against your ear. “You hidin’ from me?”
You move forward slightly to try and create some room between you, but Joe’s hand that was moving against your hip doesn’t drop. In fact, it only tightens.
Moments later, Noah speaks from his place beside you again. “Wait,” he starts, pointing between you and Joe curiously. “He’s the football player you’re dating?”
Joe finally looks at him, only it isn’t aggressive.… it’s worse. The look he gives him is one of pure hatred, almost as though he could barely conceal his distaste for the man standinh in front of him.
“Yeah.” Joe responds for you, and you watch as his eyes track from Noah’s face all the way down his frame and up to his face again, lingering on him in a way that makes you wince.
Noah’s eyes widen as he takes it all in. “Joe Burrow?” He questions in shock.
Joe gives him a tight nod. “What, you want an autograph or some shit?” He deadpans with a chuckle, and it makes you want to bang your head into the nearest wall a million times at the situation you’ve now landed yourself in.
“Damn.” Noah lets out a breathy laugh and shakes his head, impressed despite himself. “You’re her boyfriend?”
Joe’s arm tightens around your chest, and you can feel the annoyance radiating off of him in waves. “Is that not what I just said?” The aggravation in his tone is becoming clear as day and you can’t help but feel a little bad because Noah obviously hasn’t caught on yet.
He just continues to grin at him, unbeknownst to the annoyance brewing inside of your boyfriend. “Bro, you’re a fuckin’ legend.” Noah says excitedly but Joe barely reacts.
“Thanks,” he just replies flatly and then without missing a beat, “Who’s this?” He questions and you swallow nervously as you begin to register that this conversation is not going to end in the way you hope it is.
“Noah,” He says before you can, and sticks out his hand in a friendly gesture. Joe doesn’t take it, he just stares at it like it’s something poisonous before looking back down at you. “Okay…” he says instead. “Who the fuck is he?”
You sigh softly, mentally preparing yourself for the aftermath of the bomb you’re about to drop.
“Uh, Noah’s… my ex.”
Joe blinks once before he barks out a laugh and the sound of it is so condescending it makes you cringe internally. “Are you kidding me?” He questions with a demeaning smile plastered across his face and you can practically see the steam coming out of his ears. If he wasn’t pissed off before, you have no doubt that he most definitely is right now.
“Joe,” you whisper, trying your best to ease his temper because you can already sense what's about to go down. “Please don’t.”
He looks down at you sweetly, placing a kiss at the crown of your head before pulling away. “Relax, baby. I just wanna talk.” He coos, acting as if he's just about to have a regular old conversation. He looks back toward Noah, his smile returning, but this one in particular is sharper around the edges. “So. You’re the ex.”
Noah shrugs cordially, still painfully unaware of the tension Joe harbors toward him. “I guess I am,” he says with an awkward laugh. Joe nods slowly at that, running his tongue across his bottom lip as he takes everything in.
“Mhm.” He mumbles and glances down at you for a second before looking back at Noah and his thumb presses harder into your side before it stills. “Didn’t know you could get her laughin’ that loud. Thought that was just me.”
“Stop it.” You mutter, your eyes flashing up at him as your heart begins to beat rapidly behind your ribs. He just ignores you and continues on. “Makes sense though. You probably weren’t together long enough to get her loud anyway.” He goads, and your eyes widen as your stomach drops to your ass.
“Joe, stop it. Please.” You whisper desperately.
“Bet you didn’t even know that once she gets loud,” he doesn’t acknowledge your pleading, tuning you out and moving his hand further down your chest, finally resting it on your lower stomach, his thumb slipping under the hem of your baby tee and brushing over your belly button. He leans his head down and places a possessive kiss on your jaw, pushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear.
“It’s not that hard to quiet her down.” He still won’t look at Noah as he continues on so casually, acting like he was telling him what the fucking weather was and not details of your damn sex life. “All she needs is somethin’ to make her feel good. Right, baby?”
“What the fuck is your problem?” You spit as you shove his arm off of your body and glare up at him in damn near disgust. It seems as if Joe couldn’t care less because his smile doesn’t falter. In fact, it only grows larger, the expression on his face turning smug. “What’s wrong? I’m just making conversation.”
Your jaw drops at the audacity that’s oozing out of his every pore at the moment, you can't believe he would say something like that about you. In front of your ex, no less. “That’s not anyone’s business to know,” you grumble at him angrily.
Joe tilts his head down at you in mock innocence, a smile still playing on his face. “Thought I could contribute to your little walk down memory lane.” He finally drops the act, his body going tense while he looks down at you.
Noah looks visibly uncomfortably as he moves back and creates a bit of space from you and Joe. “Look man, I’m not trying to start anything. We were just catching up, that’s all.”
His qualms go ignored as you step away from both of them, though you now put a notable amount of distance between you and Joe. “I’m leaving.”
Joe’s eyes look over at Noah and he stares him down before his gaze returns and fixates onto your moving frame. “Yeah,” he mumbles before nodding swiftly. “Way ahead of you. Good talking to you, Nick.” He says sarcastically while backing away.
“It’s Noah.” He corrects tensely, his eyes darting between you and Joe before he settles on staring at you.
“Right. Whatever.” Joe waves him off with an annoyed laugh, and you mutter a curse under your breath at his pettiness. Noah chuckles softly as if to try and lighten the mood but it doesn’t help whatsoever. “It was really good to see you,” he expresses to you earnestly. “Seriously.”
“Yeah, you too.” you smile and sigh before you turn on your heel and walk away. You don’t wait as you push past Joe, past the counter, and past the people packed into the kitchen. The front door feels miles away, every second stretching thin with anger and embarrassment and adrenaline.
The night air whips across your body the instant you step outside, the feeling of it thick and muggy. It's way quieter than inside even while the music continues to bleed through the bricks behind you, the bass is muffled, slightly resembling the way your heart beats inside your chest rapidly. Crickets chirp away from the bushes lining the street and headlights cut through the dark as cars continue to drive past, partygoers still looking for parking that doesn’t exist.
You cross your arms tight over your chest, pacing back and forth on the sidewalk while you wait for Joe. A minute later he steps out behind you, the front door slamming shut after him. You turn around just in time to see him storm down the steps, his shoulders tight and his posture stiff like he’s holding himself back from doing something stupid. His face is flushed, his jaw locked so hard you swear you can hear his teeth grinding.
“Baby, come on.” He demands, reaching his arm out toward you and huffing when you dodge his attempt. You don’t even give him a second before you go crazy on him, your eyes blazing with fury and frustration. Every word you didn’t say tonight sits on the tip of your tongue like it was just waiting for this moment.
“Are you serious?” your voice is sharp as you shout at him, cutting through the quiet of the night like a knife. “Can you please enlighten me on what was going through your head? You fucking ambushed me in front of half the party.” You continue, eyeing him up and down with a glare painted on your face.
“Yeah, ‘cause you walked away from me to go chat it up with your fucking ex.” he throws back at you, bitterness laced in his tone as he raises his eyebrows indignantly.
“We were literally just talking,” you claim exasperatedly. “That’s it.”
Joe scoffs at you, the sound of it harsh and disbelieving. Like he can't fathom the fact that you were having a good time with someone who wasn't him. “Please. You don’t laugh like that when you and I are ‘just talking’.”
“Oh my god,” you whisper, letting out a frustrated sigh and running a hand through your hair. “You’re unbelievable.”
“No, what’s unbelievable is you walking away from me to end up giggling with some guy who’s already had his dick inside you before.” Joe spits at you, looking repulsed at the thought that just crossed his mind.
“What the actual fuck is wrong with you?” Your eyes widen as your jaw drops, practically on the floor at his choice of words he’s using to prove a meaningless point. “You don’t get to say shit like that to me.”
“I do when you disrespect me,” he fires back immediately, giving you no time to figure out what to say next.
You let out a broken laugh, the sound containing zero traces of humor as you throw your hands in the air infuriatedly, running one of them through your hair. “How did I disrespect you? If anything, you were disrespecting me by practically letting that girl sit in your lap all night.”
“That’s not the same shit. Like at all.” He insists as he takes a few steps closer toward you. Only you move back once again, attempting to put more distance between you. Joe takes note of the movement, glaring at you and rolling his eyes at your effort to spite him.
“Why?” you retaliate snarkily, now fed up with him and this fuck ass conversation in general. “‘Cause it was you?”
Joe groans and shakes his head in annoyance. Like you're missing something obvious and he’s getting pissed off trying to explain it to you. “Because I wasn’t entertaining shit, unlike you. Plus, I didn’t even know her.”
“And you think that makes it better?” you counter back at him, raising your eyebrows in shock at his defense. “It’s okay for you to talk to random girls, but when it comes to me I’m forbidden?”
“That’s not what I’m saying.” Joe argues, dropping his shoulders as he sighs loudly. You’re beginning to get increasingly more irritated at the fact that he’s so impassive about the situation.
“No, that’s exactly what you’re saying.” You voice back at him without hesitation, your heart beating rapidly as you try to compose yourself, but it’s no use. You're losing it and Joe can tell, because before you can register it he steps closer, frustration radiating off him as he invades your space. “You’re twisting shit up.”
“No, I’m pointing it out,” you declare, your voice rising the longer you continue trying to explain yourself. “You don’t get to decide what’s acceptable for me and not for you.”
“I’m not deciding anything,” he states with a shrug of his shoulders as his hand lifts to rub at his jaw nonchalantly. “I’m just reacting to you doing shady shit.”
“Shady?” You repeat the word like you’ve never heard of it, staring at Joe like he’s grown three heads. “You wanna talk about shady? You gave me a fucking hickey in front of him like I was your damn trophy.”
His jaw clenches and unclenches in quickness at your words and he scoffs before responding with the dumbest shit known to man. “I was making a point.”
“Are you kidding me?” you fire back, quite literally appalled at the man standing in front of you and the words leaving his mouth as you attempt to discern them fully. “See, that’s the problem with you Joe. You always have to try and prove something.”
His brows knit together in offense as he runs a hand through his hair in agitation. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“It means,” you challenge as you step closer to him, your finger lightly pressing into his solid chest, “you always have to do that. You always have to show out, always have to remind everyone you’re that guy. It’s so fucking annoying.”
“That’s not true.” He snaps at you and by the way his body straightens and how his jaw clicks a handful of times, you can tell you’ve clearly offended him with that one.
“It’s not?” you challenge. “Then why would you bring up our sex life in front of him, Joe? Why?”
His expression flickers just for a second but you catch it. “You didn’t need to do that,” you continue and the words spill out faster now, tinged with hurt and something along the lines of betrayal. “You didn’t need to humiliate me so you could feel secure.”
“I wasn’t humiliating you,” he asserts defensively, almost as if he was trying to convince himself rather than you. “I was letting him know.”
“Letting him know what?” you question him, genuinely baffled.
“That you fuck me?”
Something in Joe snaps at that. You see it in the way his eyes shift from frustration to something darker, his gaze shadowed with hostility. His jaw locks as his shoulders go rigid, and the air between you feels different in a way that has nothing to do with the conversation anymore.
“I’m over this shit,” he announces, laughing in a way that makes you seethe.
“You don’t get to just dismiss this, Joe.” you warn him with a shout. He steps closer, towering over you as he looks down, eyes unmoving as they fix onto yours. He raises his hand, carefully as he pushes a loose strand of hair away from your face. His fingers brush your cheek gently before they tuck the strand behind your ear.
“Get in the car.” He states, his voice low and controlled, and that coupled with his previous action makes your head spin. The contradiction of the delicacy he just handled you with, woven with the way he’s speaking to you lights something inside of you on fire.
Something that has nothing to do with anger.
You look up at him through your lashes in confusion, blinking rapidly as your thoughts become muddled into one at the hasty change of conversation. “What?” You whisper, the sound inaudible as you try to center yourself.
“I said get in the car,” he commands you. His hand travels from your cheek to your jaw, holding it tightly as his thumb begins moving back and forth against your chin, and you can feel that same feeling from just a few seconds ago start to fog up your brain once more.
“No,” you say immediately as you pull yourself out of your thoughts and back to reality. You’re still pissed as fuck and there's no way in hell you’re gonna let him off that easy. “We’re not done having this conversation.”
“Jesus Christ. Just get in the fucking car.” Joe doesn’t raise his voice and that somehow makes it harder and harder to focus.
You stare up at him, your heart pounding in anticipation. “What if I don’t?”
His lips twitch into something you can’t really comprehend, something in the middle of a smile and a smirk. “You don’t wanna find out baby.”
Your breath hitches despite yourself as he steps even closer than he was before. You can feel the heat of his body through his shirt when you place your hands on his chest as though to push him away, but it’s no use. He’s so close you can smell every trace of him; weed, sweat, and something sharper underneath. He bends down to your height, his voice dropping to a low, almost undiscernable whisper meant only for you, even though no one else was around.
“Get in the car,” he repeats himself as he exhales a short breath through his nose. “Right fuckin’ now. I’m not gonna tell you again.”
The next few seconds seem to last a century as you hold his gaze before shifting your hand from its place on his chest. You rest it on his own and remove it from your face, pulling your eyes away from his as you turn away. You walk down the street toward his truck that’s parked a few houses down, the paint catching the reflections of the bright streetlights. You force yourself to not look back; not because you don’t want to, but because you don’t need to.
You can feel his eyes on you anyway.
The passenger door is already unlocked as you pull on the handle and you climb in, sitting down before slamming it harder than necessary. The interior smells like him; laced with something familiar enough to make your chest ache and you’re instantly smothered by it.
You cross your arms and stare straight ahead, keeping them that way even when Joe gets in a second later, the door thudding shut behind him. He presses the push to start to turn on the car, staring at you as the engine roars to life. You continue to gaze out the windshield, staying completely impassive. He sighs and reaches across you without hesitation, pulling the seatbelt over your body and clicking it into place himself, his movements rough and sure.
You don’t say a word.
He eventually tears his eyes off of you and puts the car into drive, pulling away from the curb as he begins to transport you to what you assume is his apartment. The tires crunch roughly against gravel as the house and the night you thought you were salvaging disappears behind you and into the dark.
You mindlessly pick at a loose fray on your shorts as you try and ready yourself for what comes after this. You and Joe rarely argue, so you have to admit you’re a bit disappointed in yourself for letting your anger get the best of you. As the silence between you continues to brew, you try and think back on why it all went down tonight. Maybe it was stress, maybe it was the alcohol. Or maybe it was genuine jealousy, and the need to claim what was yours took over; swarming your brain with worries and thoughts that you hated thinking of.
Minutes eventually pass as you lose yourself in your thoughts, the tension between the two of you stretching like a rubber band that’s ready to break at any moment. Joe speeds down the empty road as the words from minutes earlier still hang heavy in the air. The headlights of his truck cut through the darkness, illuminating empty stretches of road as you sit in silence. The sound of your joint breathing and the rumbling engine is now amplified in the quiet between you.
You fiddle with your fingers and stare ahead defiantly, the light chill of the glass pressing against your temple from where your head is leaning on the window. Every muscle in your body is stiff with everything left unaddressed as the night keeps playing on a loop in your mind. Joe doesn't say anything either. He just grips the steering wheel with tight hands, his jaw set in a way you know all too well.
But out of the corner of your eye, you can see him glance over at you, his blue eyes shining as they flit across your rigid frame in the passenger seat. The animosity that lingers practically suffocates you, the feeling of it heavy enough to choke on.
Shock rises in you when he reaches out, his hand extending across the center console toward you. The pads of his fingers brush against your elbow in a hesitant attempt at reconciliation, but you're not having that shit. You snatch your arm away and pull it close to your body, as if his touch burns and you’re trying to shield yourself from it. You don’t have it in you for apologies or olive branches right now.
Especially not after what he said.
Joe exhales sharply through his nose and rolls his eyes in exasperation. He mumbles something inaudible under his breath and he’s lucky you don’t hear it over the sound of the engine. He doesn’t push any further for the time being, just presses his foot harder on the gas for a couple of seconds which surges the car forward. Time drags by in the heavy quiet as your joint anger ruminates between you, increasing in intensity the longer it sits.
Then, without a word or a warning he slams on the brakes and swerves the wheel to the right, steering the two of you off of the main road and onto a side street. Your body jerks as he drives into a shopping center parking lot, the kind that’s only abandoned due to the hour. Grocery store and nail salon signs light up the area around you, aided by the pale moonlight. The car comes to a stop, and you watch as Joe shifts in his seat after turning the engine off. You're now plunged into near-darkness that’s broken only by the faint glow of shops surrounding you.
Your heart skips in your chest as you try and decipher what the hell is going on. Whipping your head toward him in confusion, your mouth is already gearing up to complain as you watch him mirror your earlier actions and stare out into the nothingness. "What are you doing?" You question bewildered as the words tumble out past your lips, laced with the rage that's been developing all night.
Joe doesn't answer, he doesn't even look at you. He just unbuckles his seatbelt with a sharp click before he finally turns to you, his eyes setting onto yours. His gaze is so intense it makes you want to shrink underneath him from the weight of it. Before you can hurl any additional words at him, his right hand shoots out fiercely, fingers curling around the nape of your neck as he tugs you close to him, his touch rough and tinged with something you’ve never felt from him.
You can’t even think straight when he leans over and crashes his lips onto yours in a rough kiss, built up by a mix of anger and disappointment and jealousy that’s been stewing all night. You freeze against him and resist for a just split second, your eyes widening before you relent and kiss him back with equal emotion, your hands fisting in the cotton of his t-shirt.
It feels like a shock to your system as heat transfers from his lips to your own, his mouth moving firmly against yours, almost demanding. He tastes faintly of the alcohol he’d been drinking all night and he kisses you like he’s trying to make you feel the edge of his anger. You reciprocate, your lips moving fiercely as your tongue glides against his own smoothly. Your hands ball into fists against his chest, contradicting yourself when you shove him away lightly before leaning in closer.
You need to see him, need to gauge if this is real or just an attempt at a shitty apology. So you pull away just enough to gaze up at him, your breath leaving you in short bursts. His eyes meet yours in the dim light, cloudy and intense, his pupils blown wide with desire and something darker, more primal.
There's no regret that lingers, no guilt for what he said. All you can see is need. It reflects the chaos that’s nestled inside you, and before you can second guess it, your hands cup his face hard as you scratch lightly against the expanse of his jaw. You pull him back toward you, pressing your lips onto his again, this time without hesitation.
The kiss is messy, almost like a physical continuation of the fight he wouldn’t let you finish with words. You bite at his lower lip, tugging it between your teeth and Joe groans low in his throat, the vibration rumbling through you.
Your tongues move against one another in a way that sends a rush straight through you, and you can feel your pulse racing as he practically devours you. Your joint breathing and the sound of your lips smacking against his own flood your ears, now being the only thing you can hear.
Your body arches toward him instinctively and the way you’re leaning over is slightly awkward and starting to numb your side, but you ignore the discomfort because you’re so lost in the magnitude of the moment. Joe’s hands are almost territorial as they twist in your hair, holding your face in place.
It's as if he can read your mind because just seconds later he helps you scramble over the center console with a rough yank, his strength making it seem effortless despite the awkward angle you were seated in. Your knee bangs against the gear shift and you wince as it sends a sharp pain radiating through your leg, but it's instantly forgotten as you swing yourself over and straddle his lap.
Joe’s seat creaks under your shared weight as he shifts to get comfortable, his thick thighs solid beneath you as the warmth of him transfers through his body and into your own.
He pulls back just enough to smirk, his voice low and cocky. “You should’ve known that fighting with you just makes me want to fuck you.” He proclaims before his hand slides to the nape of your neck, holding you close while he presses his mouth to yours, his tongue immediately pushing past your lips once again.
Without breaking away, he reaches down with his left hand and pushes the recline button on the side of the seat. There's an immediate mechanical whir as it tilts back, creating some much needed space due to the confines of where you are. You settle deeper into his lap now, your core so close to pressing against the hard line of him straining against his jeans. The thought sends a rush through your body, and you feel yourself start to grow eager as the night's lingering frustration begins to escape you.
His deft fingers hook under the hem of your baby tee and start to tug it upward with possessive urgency but you hesitate, glancing out the dark windows and to the empty lot stretching out like a void around you. He catches your eyes, his smirk turning soft for a brief moment as he places a quick peck against your lips. "It's okay babe. No one’s gonna come here.”
You bite your lip anxiously and feel the need to protest, but the feeling of him against you is too good to resist so you nod quickly and lift your arms to help him take it off. The fabric peels away in an instant, leaving your top half in just your bra as Joe stares at your heaving chest hungrily in the dim glow of the lights surrounding you.
You fist your fingers in his hair, pulling lightly when your cunt brushes against the bulge of him through your shorts when you begin grinding steadily. You arch up into him while he shoves your bra down a couple inches, his warm palms immediately coming up to cup your breasts as his thumbs begin to circle your hardening nipples.
He doesn't waste time before he leans forward and latches his plush lips onto the swell of one of your breasts, sucking hard as his teeth graze the sensitive flesh. You gasp softly and increase the speed of your movements, dragging him closer while he works over you. He takes his time before he moves to the other, his mouth licking and biting and lapping until you're practically putty in his hands.
“Come on, sweetheart. Show me how bad you need it and I'll give you whatever you want.” He mumbles against you as his own hips start to buck up, matching your rhythm and building up the delicious sensation between the two of you.
Just as you get into finding your cadence, Joe maneuvers you so your cunt settles directly onto his thick cock with a subtle shift of his legs. He slides one hand down to your ass, squeezing roughly while he pushes you down harder against him.
The newfound friction makes your jaw drop, his dick settling right up against the seam of your shorts and pressing at your clit even through all the layers of fabric. The feeling is torturous as the pressure increases your arousal, and you can feel yourself soak into your panties.
“Dirty girl, fuckin’ leaking through your shorts.” He speaks tauntingly, his words making your breath come in short pants as your body trembles. His mouth moves quicker against your chest, leaving open-mouthed kisses against the skin while his other hand lightly pins you in place when your pace begins to falter.
A whine slips past your lips, the sound of it high and needy. It only proves how his words twist at something deep inside you and your body responds before your mind can catch up, shifting above him restlessly. Both of Joe’s hands move to your waist at that, his fingers digging into the denim of your shorts and helping drag you forward in a methodic grind.
You rock against him instinctively, gasping loudly as you chase what’s right in reach. It hasn't even been five minutes and you're already unraveling, a mess of harsh breaths and quivering muscles. Joe laughs tantalizingly, sounding so audacious as his eyes lock onto yours with that same confident glint that always ruins you.
“Wanna keep arguing with me baby? Keep talkin’ back like a brat? Gonna show you how far that gets you.”
His arrogance only fuels the fire inside you and you really can't deny the fact that it gets you ridiculously wetter than before. Your hands roam him greedily, fingers threading deeper through his hair and eliciting a groan from him when you tug harder at the golden strands that are now dampening with sweat.
You move further down, sliding to them to his chest. Your palms press against the firm muscle of his pecs beneath his tight shirt and you can feel his heart pound in time with yours. Your fingers begin to claw at the fabric, bunching it up slightly as you rest them against his stomach, your nails dragging over the skin and tracing over the ridges of his abs.
Joe revels in the feeling, tensing underneath you as a low moan leaves his lips. You both know that you have just as much claim on him as he does on you, so anywhere you can reach, you touch.
You start grinding harder when the line of your shorts hits just right, your hips continuing in their desperate rhythm. Joe captures your face again, pulling you down into another feverish kiss as your tongues knot together. His hands shift lower, landing on your ass again and he cups it firmly, squeezing the flesh as he guides your movements. His insistence forces you to move harder and faster even though you're already aching.
He smirks up at you with an infuriating curl of his lips as his eyes darken with desire. "Nasty." He mutters while he helps push and pull you back with a controlled effort, the pace now turning frantic. Each grind sends waves of pleasure radiating from your core as your clit throbs with need.
"Look at you." he rasps, his voice low and mocking in your ear and his breath is warm against your neck as he nips at your skin. "So needy. You coulda just let me know if all you wanted was a little attention. Would've helped you baby."
You whine at his humiliating words even though they still send a fresh wave of wetness soaking through your shorts. Your body betrays you as you buck against him, the friction making your core contract around nothing. "Didn’t want anything," you murmur but it comes out weak, contradicting your entire statement as your arms move to wrap around his neck for leverage.
He laughs in your face brazenly, the sound vibrating through his chest and into you. "Liar. Why’re you tryna ride my fuckin’ thigh then?" He growls as his hips thrust up, punctuating his words as he grinds the thick line of himself harder against you through the layers of denim, and it makes your head spin as you cling tighter to him.
You whimper low in your throat at the demeaning tone in his voice, the sound pulling at something deep inside you and turning your shame into raw desire. Your pussy clenches emptily as you yearn for him to rip your shorts off and just fill you up. "Please..." you beg softly, rocking faster and chasing the pressure that's not quite enough.
"Please what?" he mocks, one hand sliding up from your waist to rest at the nape of your neck, pulling it back so he can stare into your eyes.
"Please fuck you?”
His words hit you like a freight train and you cry out, eyes rolling to the back of your head as your hips sway ceaselessly. You brace your hands on his shoulders, nails digging into the muscle as you take it upon yourself to shift over to his thigh.
The change in position allows a soft groan to slip past your lips when you settle onto him, the tension coiling tighter in your core as each glide sends sparks up your spine. Your breathing pattern is a mess and your body burns hot as sweat beads on your skin. You can feel it building up inside you slowly at first, then faster and faster and faster, almost like a tsunami gathering force.
Joe can tell, of course he can. He glances down at your clothed cunt and smirks, clenching his thigh beneath you and flexing it as if to create an even firmer pressure that grinds directly into you.
The feeling of it pushes you closer and closer to the brink of euphoria and you groan again, louder this time. Your head tips back as it overwhelms you, driving you crazy without him inside of you. "So pretty," he mutters, spurring you on, voice rough and laced with arousal. "I can feel you shaking baby, it’s okay."
Your hips move desperately and every word that continues to leave his lips makes you want to sob. You don't want to stop, you can't stop.
You won’t stop.
Not as long as he continues to help you roll your hips in a jittery rhythm against the rigid muscle of his thigh that's hidden inside in his jeans. It all builds relentlessly as your clit pulses with every drag, the damp fabric of your shorts slick against him.
His mocking words from earlier in the night echo in your ears, making you spiral as you move against him quicker. You whine low in your throat when you feel your thighs quiver as everything finally snaps. Seconds later, a pathetic cry tears from your throat as stars burst behind your eyelids and you finish right on his thigh.
Your body shakes helplessly while shocks of overwhelming bliss shoot through you, and you clock the fact that your panties and shorts are still glued to you, sticky and wetting both your lower halves even more as your body convulses against him.
Joe chuckles under his breath when he feels your release seep out of you through the denim and his hands move to rest on your ass once more, pressing you down harder onto him as he holds you through it.
You slump forward, your face dropping onto his broad shoulder, and you inhale the intoxicating scent of his sweat and cologne, tinged with the faint traces of weed from earlier. Your breathing is ragged, chest surging rapidly as aftershocks ripple through you.
But Joe isn’t having it. His fingers weave into your hair, pulling your head back gently and forcing you to meet his gaze.
“Aw babe. You already lost your mind and I haven't even touched you yet.” He tuts, his voice patronizing as his eyes lock onto yours. His gaze is piercing, stripping away the last remnants of your rage and you can see how the intensity of his possession fuses with the need swirling in his irises.
You feel time slow down when you see Joe lift his free hand to your face, his thumb brushing your lower lip softly at first as it traces the swollen flesh. And then with a delicate, barely there pressure, he hooks it inside your mouth and pulls your jaw loose.
He exhales heavily as the rough pad of his finger stretches your lips wide before resting on your tongue, opening you up to him completely. It's a clear show of his dominance, both intimate and commanding and your heart races at the submission you now carry.
You stay still, breath hitching when he leans in closer, his face inches from yours. His eyes never leave yours, holding you captive in his gaze, even while he licks his lips before moving his mouth around quickly. Seconds later, you see a glistening pool of saliva sitting on his tongue when he parts his mouth open, moving his head closer to yours.
It lingers for a moment, thick and glossy before he lets it drop, the feel of it is both warm and slick as it lands on your own tongue. Joe tilts his head slightly, allowing the string of spit that connects the two of you to break.
It's so filthy, so possessive, and the warmth spreads in your mouth and through your body while it sits there. He doesn’t move as he watches as you swallow it seconds later, his dick growing ridiculously harder at the sight before he drags your face down, attaching his lips to your own in a messy kiss.
Your body jerks in a mix of anticipation and pleasure as you kiss him back, the heat of your skin searing against his and making your heart pound behind your ribs the longer you shift above him. He breaks the kiss, now trailing his lips down your neck and nipping at your collarbone while his hands travel lower, digging into your waist above the hem of your shorts.
“Gonna get you right baby.” He mumbles against your shoulder, his voice rough with need. “Fuck you right here. You want that?”
You nod as you dive back into his mouth, all teeth and tongue and desperation. You shiver as he fiddles with the button of your shorts, popping it open before sliding the zipper down. You rise up just enough, hovering over that same thigh you were perched on mere minutes ago while you help him yank the fabric down. The denim scrapes over your skin, gathering at your knees before he shoves it past your legs, the confines of the vehicle making every movement a complicated tangle of limbs and urgency.
You settle over him fully, now resting yourself on your knees, ans while it’s not ideal, it’ll have to do. With your shorts now out of the way, Joe’s eyes snap to your cute baby blue panties; wet with proof of your arousal and previous orgasm combined, and clinging to you in a way that makes his brain short circuit.
He hooks his fingers into the waistband of the material and rips them off in a couple of rough tugs, the tear of fabric echoing in the car. You gasp into his mouth with wide eyes, but he just grins cheekily and tosses them aside.
“Look baby. Look at the mess you made.” He pulls your attention back to him as he mutters mockingly. His thumb brushes over your slick folds as he teases your entrance, making you whine as you buck against his hand.
The aftershocks of your orgasm always make you surprisingly bolder for some reason, so Joe isn’t really that taken aback when you lift off of him just barely to allow your fingers to fumble with his belt.
He watches your hands yank at it with shaky urgency before they move to grip at his jeans, tugging at them needily. You lean back slightly to watch him make quick work of ridding the item, your heart rate rising when he undoes the button and zipper after. Finally, he shoves the denim along with his black boxers down his hips, pushing them past his thighs and letting them rest at his knees.
His length springs free, thick and unsurprisingly hard, the head of him already glistening with evidence of his own arousal as it slaps against his toned abs. A low whiny sound leaves your throat and your eyes screw shut at the sight before you collect yourself.
Your hand immediately wraps around him, gliding from the base to his tip in a series of firm, punishing strokes. He's hot and throbbing in your grip and you grin as you pump him faster. Your thumb circles the sensitive underside delicately, determined to make him lose control just as he made you.
Joe's breath catches and his hips buck up into your fist, a throaty groan escaping his pouty lips as you work him relentlessly, feeling him grow even harder in your palm as the veins decorating him pulse in your hand.
It takes practically little to no time before you turn him into a mumbling mess, and by the way his abs tense, the way his cock twitches wildly, the way his precum trickles steadily over your fingers, you can tell he’s oh so close to losing it.
But just as his head falls back and a ragged stammer of unintelligible words slip out from his lips, his hand clamps down on your wrist, stopping your strokes mid motion. He holds you there, his grip iron tight and unwilling to let you move while he catches his breath.
“Stop it. Fuck, baby. Wait.” He hisses, his voice laced with control, eyes latching onto yours with that same gleam that’s been swirling in them all night long. His hold on your wrist loosens just enough for you to feel the heat radiating from his cock, still twitching in your hand but he doesn't let you finish him.
Instead his free hand snakes between your thighs, your jaw dropping with an inhale when he finds your slick folds. He parts them with ease, his fingers sliding up and down your entrance menacingly before he plunges his middle finger inside without warning.
You moan in surprise as he curls it deep and pushes against that spot that makes your vision blur, pumping in and out of you with pointed strokes. Your walls stretch around him instinctively and the intrusion sends a heat rushing up your spine, but it's still not enough.
You rock your hips down, chasing the fullness as you pant desperately. The pad of his thumb finds your clit and rubs firm circles that have you on cloud nine, your body betraying you with every ongoing second. His truck feels smaller now, hotter as the air grows thick with the scent of pure sex.
“Joey,” you whimper, the sound slipping out before you can stop it. His finger speeds up before he adds a second one, stretching you wider and fucking into you with wet, obscene sounds that take over the quiet around you.
Your thighs shake on either side of him and your hand that was gripping him moves to slide down the cool glass window while the other clutches his shoulder for some much needed stability as the sensation you yearn for rises inside you again, swimming deep in your stomach.
Joe notices, but he keeps you on the brink, prohibiting you from falling over the edge. His blue eyes are now tinged a shade of grey and his pupils are dilated as he watches you unravel. “What’s wrong baby? Gotta use your words.”
“I can't. Fuck, Joe, I can't.” You cry, your voice breaking while you grind down onto his fingers shamelessly. “Want you inside me. Please, just want you to fuck me.”
Tears prick at the corners of your eyes from the intensity and your pussy clenches around his fingers, still feeling so empty without him. He smirks, that same smug tilt to his lips making your stomach flip with a mix of shame and want and desperation all combined.
“Got you needin’ it bad. Jesus Christ.” He says with a laugh, withdrawing his fingers slowly, leaving you clenching around nothing. The loss makes you want to scream but before you can say anything he's guiding your hand back over to him, finally letting you line him up against your entrance.
You don't hesitate as your body acts on pure instinct, rising just enough before sinking down onto him inch by torturously thick inch. His cock stretches you perfectly, filling the ache that's been building since he told you to get in the car. The two of you let out a collective groan when the head of his dick nudges deep inside as you bottom out.
Your pussy constricts tightly around him and you shift when you feel the tops of his thighs pressing against your ass. You moan at the fullness, clenching around him like you’re scared he’ll disappear. “Oh my… holy shit.” He groans against your throat with a low, scratchy rumble that makes you squirm.
After you settle around him, you begin lifting up slowly at first, gasping uncontrollably as your pussy drags up along his dick before slamming back down. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the air between you and Joe grips your ass roughly, spreading his palms over the flesh and thrusting up to meet you in the middle as you fit him deeper with each bounce.
The car rocks slightly with your movements and the windows are fully fogged up from the heat of your breaths, mist blooming across the glass as if it was shielding you from the world. The thought of it all is dizzying and it makes your brain spiral, knowing you're out here in the open but hidden at the same time.
The space surrounding you feels even smaller now, your knees jammed against the door and center console, and it doesn’t help much with Joe’s long legs spread wide underneath you. But the lack of room only amps up the intensity, so you can’t really find it in you to care.
“Fuck, baby. So tight, gonna kill me.” He grunts against the expanse of your neck and you roll yourself against him rhythmically, your cunt clamping around him with every downward thrust. Sweat slicks at your skin, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you chase that budding heat deep in your center.
Though all of a sudden, every ounce of pleasure is ripped away from you when Joe stills your body, his strong hands latching onto your waist to hold you in place as he stays buried to the hilt inside you. You whimper in frustration and try to grind down but he doesn't budge. You open your mouth to protest, but you don’t have the chance when one of his hands slides up your chest, making its way to your neck as his fingers wrap firmly around your throat.
The pressure is immediate and unyielding as he squeezes just enough to make your pulse thunder under his palm. You inhale sharply, your eyes locking onto his own as he smirks, and that confident twinge in his gaze turns shadowy, almost territorial. “How many?” He starts while his thumb presses into the side of your neck, his hips rising from the seat as they begin snapping into you once again.
“How many guys got to fuck you like this before me?”
You freeze, caught off guard as your body tenses above him, now feeling like a deer in the headlights. His invasive question hangs heavy in the air and your face goes crimson, feeling a pang of embarrassment flood through you for some reason.
But before you can overthink anything, the so-called brat in you flares up and you bite your lip, shaking your head the best you can in his grip. You refuse to answer even while your walls pulse around him pitifully.
It makes him laugh and the sound of it so arrogant as it rumbles through his chest. “Tell me, or else I'll stop right now. Swear I'll pull out and leave you with nothing.”
“Why,” you pant, the word tumbling out in a rush. You can feel your resolve crumble under the threat of losing him but your stubbornness creeps through despite yourself.
“You jealous?” You whisper, your lips curling into a smirk despite the chokehold he has you in. You want to make him work for the answer he so desperately craves, even while your thighs start to burn from the effort.
He scoffs low at that and his grip on your throat tightens just a fraction more. Seconds later his hips slow beneath you before stopping fully, and true to his word, he starts to lift you off him, his cock slipping out of you agonizingly slow. His free hand pushes at your waist as he begins to slide himself free from your dripping heat, the movement making you jolt as a whine escapes your lips.
It feels like torture while your walls protest the emptiness, and you whimper when you see a fresh layer of wetness coat him as he nearly pulls out. Panic begins surging through you and the sudden void is unbearable after being so full.
“No!” you cry out, your hands flying to his chest in order to push him back inside or pull yourself back onto him, you're not quite sure what you’re trying to do. “Fuck, I'm sorry. Joe, please.” Your voice is wrecked, all traces of brattiness now gone and replaced with pure, unbridled need as you realize what’s happening. You hover above him, his tip just barely kissing your entrance as you shake with the force of holding back from filling yourself up.
“Then tell me.” He demands as his thumb strokes your clit mercilessly, keeping you hanging right on the edge. His eyes bore into yours persistently and his free hand is still wrapped around your throat as a reminder of his control.
“Just him… just Noah. Please, Joey.” You wail, trying to perch yourself back onto him but he centers you with a glare, stilling for a moment as his eyes narrow in irritation at your answer.
Eventually, you see a wicked grin curl at his lips before he removes his hand from around your neck, smoothing it across your curves before resting it at your waist and abruptly slamming you back down onto him in one brutal thrust. You stretch wide around him and the sudden fullness rips an unrestrained moan from the depths of your throat.
“Bet he never got you this wet,” he sneers, his voice dripping with pride. “never had you beggin’ him to fuck you stupid.”
Your back arches and you pick up the pace at his words, returning to your previous actions and chasing that same friction against your clit with every drag. His hands continue to wander across your body, one of them sliding up to cup your breast while the other wraps around your hip to control the depth of your movements, the feeling making you whine his name again louder as your voice cracks at the ends.
“Did he?” He asks, pressing for an answer while you continue to ride him, but your brain is unable to focus on the question while your hips are moving up and down at a punishing pace, every bounce forcing him deeper into you.
“No, never. Only you. I promise, Joey.” You whimper as the world blurs into white and something in your body lights up, the pleasure now winding tighter and tighter with each push of him moving in and out of you.
“Gonna make sure I'm the only one you’ll ever want, the only one you’ll ever need. Gonna make you forget about anyone else who came before me.” He barks and you cry out, back arching against the steering wheel as he continues pounding up into you, the leather squeaking underneath the force of his thrusts.
Joe's incessant comments don’t stop. “Y’know, I shouldn’t even let you cum.” He taunts, his hand moving from your breast and returning to your throat, squeezing once again and making everything fade to black. “Don’t deserve shit after everything you pulled tonight.” Each word is emphasized with a deep slam of his cock ramming inside of you and hitting that perfect spot as he continues to build up the pressure until you're practically sobbing with need.
“No! Please.” You beg as your nails dig into his shoulders, your hips stuttering as you move feverishly.
“Tell me how much you want it,” he orders, slowing his thrusts under you to now feel like torturous glides, his other hand gripping your waist so tight that you know for sure it’ll leave a bruise. He tilts his head forward, placing a sickly sweet kiss on your temple before moving his mouth to the shell of your ear.
“Ask me nicely, baby.”
You want to scream as tears brim at your waterline from the overstimulation merged with his touch and his constant condescension, but you don't care. You just need it, you need it so bad that you’re willing to do or say anything at this point.
Because you just need him.
“Want it so much. I'm sorry, Joey, fuck. Just let me… please just let me.” You’re rambling, the words pouring out of you, so sincere as your body quakes in necessity. You can feel yourself on the cusp of losing your mind and you cry out loud as the sensitivity shoots through you.
“Good enough,” he grunts and finally relents. His hand leaves your throat to pinch your clit, circling it ruthlessly as he fucks up into you with brutal speed. His idea of “permission” shatters you and before you know it your second orgasm crashes over you like a tidal wave, your pussy fluttering rapidly around his dick, squeezing him tightly as you scream his name in the confines of his truck.
Ripples of ecstasy continue to pulse through your entire being, your spine curving as you screw your eyes shut, your toes curling in your sneakers. It's endless, and the feeling is ripping you apart.
“Such a pretty pussy, pretty mouth… my pretty baby. Love you so much, y’know that, right?” He begins rambling as his own orgasm sneaks up on him, unable to last much longer. Your heart skips at his words and you nod, pulling his face toward your own as you press your lips together passionately, and he immediately kisses you back as he continues to thrust up into you a few more times. Just seconds later, a soft muffled whimper escapes his lips and your eyes widen at the sound before he buries himself deep one last time.
He grows impossibly thicker inside of you, groaning low in his throat as his jaw goes slack, hot spurts of him flooding your insides and painting your walls white. You feel every twitch, every pulse as he empties into you and his grip on your body is punishing as he holds you through it.
You eventually collapse against his chest, tucking your face into the crook of his neck while you begin to pant uncontrollably,his arms wrapping around you tightly as you both come down. It’s an instant difference from how he was earlier in the night and this whole thing; the way he broke you down and put you back together, in a way it’s what makes it all worth it.
After you feel like you've calmed down enough, you pull your face from his neck and blink a few times to recenter yourself before glancing down at where the two of you are still joined. His release drips from inside you, warm and sticky as it trails down your thighs and travels to the leather seat below.
You just stare at the sight, your mind still reeling and unable to form words to say anything. Joe's laugh rumbles against your cheek as he watches you, and he smiles before he does the unthinkable, dragging the pads of his index and middle fingers through the mess leaking out of you. You hiss quietly at the overstimulation, hypnotized as he brings his fingers up to your mouth and taps them against your bottom lip.
Your eyes widen yet you oblige and open your mouth, allowing him to shove them inside before he prompts you to close around them. Joe's grin deepens and he looks you right in your eyes, keeping his fingers locked in between your lips as you suck, his voice dropping to a near whisper.
a/n: finals season is making me feel unwell randomly in the mood to write a little angry confession in the rain BECAUSE THEY ARE SO GOOD I WANT IT!! lmk if you guys want a pt 2 to this (happy or sad ending??)
the rain is so heavy it’s almost blinding, soaking through everything, turning the air sharp and cold. but rafe looks untouched by it, like the only thing hurting him is you.
“you want the truth?” he snaps, stepping toward you, voice cracking under the storm. “i can’t fucking breathe without you. happy now?”
you try to turn away, but his hand closes around your wrist, desperate, shaking.
“don’t walk away,” he says, breath unsteady. “not this time.”
he drags a hand through his wet hair, water slicking down his face like tears he refuses to let fall.
“i tried to forget you,” he spits, rain dripping down his jaw like tears he won’t admit to. “i tried everything, parties, people, noise, none of it worked.”
his laugh is sharp and broken.
“because it’s you. it’s always been you. and it pisses me off that you still have this hold on me.”
he steps closer, chest rising hard, eyes burning through the storm.
“you get under my skin worse than anyone. you ruin my nights. you ruin my damn peace.”
his hand slides to your jaw, thumb trembling against your wet skin.
“i hate you for it,” he whispers, voice wrecked. “and i love you for it. and i don’t know what the hell to do anymore.”
the rain keeps falling. he keeps breathing like it hurts. your silence hits him harder than the rain. you can’t even form a sentence.
"don’t just look at me like that,” he mutters, voice cracking. “say something”
neighbour!rafe checking if you’re okay during a power outage
a/n: i want to have a cute neighbour can I GET A NEW NEIGHBOUR PLEASE 💔
more of this au here
the power goes out, and you’re sitting on the floor with a candle when you hear a knock. you pull the door open, and the hallway light hits his face just enough for you to recognize him immediately, its rafe. he starts talking before really seeing you.
“hey, just making sure the new neighbour’s—”
he stops. blinks hard. "no way y/n?” he runs a hand through his hair, laughing under his breath like he’s nervous. and then say then he smirks, tilting his head. “damn, you grew up nice.” he steps inside without asking, looking around your half-unpacked place.
“power’s out. thought i’d be a good neighbour and check if you were okay,” he says, then glances over his shoulder at you “guess fate wanted us to catch up.”
“i don’t think so rafe.” he smirks. “you don’t agree?”
you shake your head, though your voice trembles just a little. “i don’t know. maybe.”
“maybe?” he repeats, stepping closer. “sounds like someone who doesn’t want to admit she missed me.” your eyes widen, you look away. “that’s not what i meant.”
he chuckles under his breath. “god, you’re still easy to mess with.” he steps closer, voice dropping low.
“you know, you don’t have to lie to me.”
you glance at him, flustered. “i’m not—”
“yes, you are,” he interrupts, smirk tugging at his lips. “admit it. you missed me.”
“i did,” you whisper, heat crawling up your neck. he laughs softly, “good. i was hoping you’d say that.”
he chuckles, stepping closer. “so… are you letting me in, or should i stand here awkwardly forever?” you bite your lip, looking down. “you can come in.”
he smiles, moving inside, brushing your shoulder as he passes. “i missed you too y/n.”
he flops onto the couch, smirking. “so… you stuck with me for the blackout, huh?”
you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, trying not to let the smile break through. “you invited yourself in. that’s on you.”
“you’re lucky i’m here. i bring entertainment.”
“oh yeah? like what?”
he walks into the living room. “you still like those rom-coms, right? let me guess, you’ve got 10 things i hate about you somewhere in this mess.”
your face warms immediately. “why would i have that?”
“because you used to make me watch it every summer,” he says with a lazy grin that is way too confident.
you roll your eyes, but you crouch near one of the half-open boxes, rummaging. “fine,” you mumble. “i might have it.”
“knew it,” he says, smug. “you haven’t changed at all.”
“you’re still annoying.”
he laughs, leaning back like he owns the couch.
you grab your dvd player, and bring it over.
“no way,” he says, sitting up. “you actually still use that thing?”
“the internet’s out,” you say defensively. “i needed something.”
you set the candle on the coffee table; the soft orange glow flickers across his face, throwing shadows across his smirk.
“wow,” he says quietly. “romantic lighting. for me?”
“it’s a blackout.”
“mm. still feels intentional.” he shifts, patting the cushion beside him. “come here so we can both see the screen better.”
“i can see fine from here.”
“you sure?” he tilts his head. “you look like you’re shivering.”
“i’m cold.”
“then share the blanket with me,” he says, opening his arm and the blanket like it’s nothing. you sit on the far side of the couch, creating as much distance as possible, hoping he won’t notice how flustered he makes you. he watches you do it, amused.
“you know,” he says, stretching so his foot almost touches your leg, “you’re acting like i bite.”
“you do bite,” you mumble before thinking.
his eyebrows shoot up. “oh? you remember that?”
your face goes hot. “i— shut up. put the movie in.”
“whatever you say,” he says with a grin that’s way too pleased with himself. he puts the dvd in and starts the movie.
he hits play, the opening music humming softly through the little dvd player as he settles deeper into the couch. a second later, he pulls out a small bag of haribo gummy bears, the crinkle of the plastic loud in the quiet room.
he opens the bag without saying anything, then leans slightly your way. “want some?” he asks, voice low, steady. when you nod, he takes a moment to go through the bag, choosing a few carefully before placing them gently in your hand. every single gummy bear he gives you is red.
“all red?” you ask. he shrugs, looking a little too proud of the detail he remembers. “yeah, it’s your favorite one.”
“you remembered?”
he leans back, and laughs. “i remember more than you think.”
you stay silent, heart fluttering in your chest. butterflies that shouldn’t be there take over as you watch the movie flicker across the room. you try to focus on the screen, but you can feel him shifting closer.
he leans in just enough to close the gap, letting the blanket drape over your knees. a teasing smile curls on his lips as he watches you fidget, clearly enjoying the way you’re trying not to get too close. the proximity makes your heart skip, but you can’t help sneaking glances at him anyway.
authors note cant believe i've been on a hiatus for months but popping back in HAHA. i saw this trend on tiktok and thought it'd be cute to write something up about bf!rafe.
warning(s) cute fluff and kissing.
You recently saw a tiktok video of a couple trend on your for you page in which the girlfriend raises her boyfriend's arms in the air before kissing him. You considered doing it with Rafe but waited for the appropriate time.
The next day is long, with shopping bags and ready to change into more cozy clothing. By the time you get back to Rafe's apartment, you're fatigued in a good way. His room feels like a safe haven⎯dim lighting, blackout curtains halfway drawn, the familiar pile of clothes on the floor, and the faint aroma of his cologne hanging in the air.
You're both splayed out on the couch in his room, with a movie playing on the tv that neither of you are really watching. Rafe's arm is stretched over the back of the couch, his fingertips stroking your shoulder as if to ensure you're still there.
He appears unnaturally attractive⎯black sweatpants falling low on his hips, a black hoodie pulled over his broad shoulders, and a gold necklace resting against his collarbone. He appears cool, at ease, and utterly oblivious of what you're preparing.
Naturally getting up from the couch with your phone in hand with the camera recording already, placing it infront of the tv.
"Hey," you say, attempting to sound natural. "Can you stand up real quick?"
Don't blow it.
Rafe looks at you, his brows pinched together. "Why?" he says, already smirking.
"Just—trust me," you say.
Rafe stands in front of you, watching you with rising curiosity. He transfers his weight from foot to foot, his hands buried inside the hoodie sleeves.
"You aren't going to do anything weird, are you?" he asks, amusement in his eyes.
You step closer and laugh softly. "Everything's OK. Nothing unusual is going to happen. "I promise."
He gives a soft chuckle and shakes his head. "You're suspicious."
You gently take his hands.
They're constantly warm. Your fingers wrap around his wrists, and you slowly, delicately lift both of his arms above his head. He lets you go, perfectly obedient, despite the perplexity on his face.
Rafe looks at the phone and then back at you, smiling as if he's in on a joke he hasn't heard yet. "Babe," he says, giggling under his breath. "What are you⎯"
You don't respond. Instead, you get on your tiptoes, your hands still keeping his arms in place, and push your lips against his.
The kiss is soft at first, gentle and slow. It feels like coming home. His breath catches, and you can feel it right away: the way his body relaxes, his shoulders drop, and his lips melt into yours, as if this is precisely where he wants to be.
Rafe exhales quietly through his nose, almost if he's laughing.
Slowly, he lowers his arms, his fingertips finding your jaw and his thumbs caressing your cheeks with compassion that causes your chest to flutter. The kiss deepens slightly before he pulls back and looks at you.
"You are something.
Before you can answer, he wraps his arms around your waist and effortlessly lifts you off the ground. You chuckle in surprise, reflexively wrapping your legs around his hips as he pushes his forehead against yours.
"You love me though," you smile before kissing his lips one more time.
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summary. You left the party for a reason. Rafe knows exactly why. And for who.
labels. she/her pronouns, reader with no physical description, emotional tension, jealousy, season one Rafe, toxic behavior, gaslighting, possessive behavior.
author’s note. english isn’t my first language.
The sound of laughter was as loud as the music echoing throughout the mansion. Most people were drunk or under the influence of some illicit substance, common at any Kook-side party on the island, whether for status, appearance, or simply the warped way they enjoyed their youth.
You had been away from the party for some time, too absorbed in the fact that JJ had risked coming there just to see you. The encounter on the pier had been quick, almost innocent, accompanied by subtle touches, a shared silly laugh, a brief moment before anyone could catch it.
The previously blaring music now sounded muffled by the distance, replaced by the low murmur of the ocean and the uneven sound of your own breathing as JJ left the property.
Everything seemed to have gone right, but he would notice your absence. Of course he would.
Rafe seemed to sense it shortly after you vanished into the crowd of young partygoers.
And when you turned, he was there. As if he had watched every second. As if he had tortured himself witnessing the slightest interaction between you and JJ.
Something was off about him that night, very different from his usual oddness. As if the noise, the people, the glances, and the mix of alcohol with drugs had opened an old wound that never healed, now evident in an erratic unease. And you had been the final push.
His eyes were fixed on you, the look made it clear: you weren’t the problem.
You were the trigger. Always had been.
He held a cup with unnecessary force, his free hand running through his hair in a nervous gesture you knew well, his head tilting slightly in disapproval as if frustrated in some way.
The scene was still fresh in his mind like an endless loop.
“You shouldn’t be here.” he finally said, his voice rough and low. The low tone wasn’t to hide from anyone who might pass by, it was low for you to hear.
Rafe stepped closer, the pier creaking beneath each step, his jaw tense.
Your body instinctively recoiled even before you realized it, a natural response to his behavior, especially when JJ was involved.
“Funny… I thought we already talked about this.” He spoke as if more disappointed than angry, as if expecting more from you, from a version of you he had created in his own head. There was no room for defense. This time his gaze wasn’t on the woman in front of him, it was passing judgment on the situation in his mind.
What prevented you from retreating further was the edge of the pier, where there was no more physical or argumentative space, just the distorted version of his perception hanging in the air. The shiver running through your body was maybe from the cold night breeze, or his proximity, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from him and his scent mixing with the ocean air.
The problem wasn’t what you had done, but what he believed you had done.
“You disappear for fifteen minutes.” he said, almost casually, though it was possible to sense the raw emotion beneath. His voice remained controlled, far too controlled for someone agitated.
“And come back with that guy.” He concluded, this time watching you as the silence took over, only the sound of the waves crashing against the boats filling the space.
“I’m not accusing you of anything.” A crooked half-smile appeared but vanished just as quickly.
“Just trying to understand why…” He tilted his head, studying you as if you were a mistake he needed to analyze.
“You know what that looks like, right?” He didn’t wait for an answer. Never did, never would.
“Like you think I’m an idiot.” His hand rose to rest on your shoulder, brushing your hair behind your ear. The gentle touch contrasted with the way he acted, now that the space between you was gone.
“And maybe that’s what bothers me the most.”
Another silence. The kind that forces someone to explain themselves even when they owe nothing, though there was no stopping the need to do so at least not before he said everything, never before.
“I don’t care about JJ.” He let out a short, dry laugh, as if the name made him sick.
“Really. He’s predictable.” His eyes darkened but remained fixed on you, both illuminated by the faint lights of the pier and the moonlight.
“But you…” He didn’t finish, as if unsure whether to say it, letting out a deep sigh before drinking the rest of his cup as if he needed it to calm down, then letting the cup fall to the pier floor and lifting both hands to your face, enough to prevent you from looking away, your gaze locked on his lips.
His behavior was unpredictable not chaotic, but controlled enough to be dangerous.
“You get nervous when I talk about him.” he observed, almost curious.
His thumb traced slowly along your jawline before brushing your lips, still under his evaluation.
“Always like this when things slip out of control…” he murmured. “When you think you’ve done something wrong.”
He leaned in slightly, bringing your faces close enough that his breath nearly touched yours, something that might have been comforting in any other moment. But not now.
“And the worst part?” A second of silence.
“That I didn’t even have to accuse you.”
He noticed the change before you even did, the way your breathing shortened, lips parting, your body giving just a centimeter that seemed insignificant, but not to Rafe. Every hesitation, every slight tremor, was visible.
His thumb glided along your jawline, sending a shiver through your entire body. The fingers of his other hand traced the curve of your waist over your clothes, almost imperceptible, yet enough to make your heart race. The tip of his nose touched yours, the heat of his body contrasting with the cold sea breeze.
The brush of his lips was too brief to be a kiss, too long to be accidental. Every micro-touch seemed deliberate, his scent mingling with the salt of the sea, filling the space, making every centimeter feel too small to contain the tension. Your body leaned slightly, instinctively, and he noticed, liked it, but didn’t move. He just stayed, observing every reaction before stepping back.
When he finally moved away, it took a moment for you to realize that nothing would happen beyond what he allowed.
Every second of silence was a reminder: he had control, he decided, and yet you stayed.
He murmured, almost to himself, but loud enough for you to hear:
“And you’re still here… even knowing everything that could happen.”
His eyes pierced through you, measuring every reaction, and he knew. He knew you wouldn’t run.
you blink, looking up from your phone. it’s almost midnight. you tiptoe toward the window, already having a feeling you know who it is. you look down your window, and there he was. rafe. hair a bit messy, his red guitar slung over his shoulder like some lovesick movie boy.
“rafe?” you whisper-shout, cracking the window open. “are you seriously throwing rocks at my window right now. what are you doing?”
he grins up at you like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
“singing to the love of my life,” he says, and strums the first few chords, nervous, a little shaky, but so sweet you feel your chest ache.
his voice slips into the night air, low, warm, just like him.
“why you standing all by yourself?
those shoes were made for dancing with someone else…”
"why don’t we move over to that empty space?
i bet you twenty bucks i’ll put a smile on your face…”
you cover your mouth, already grinning.
“you’re such an idiot,” you whisper, but your heart’s pounding.
he keeps going, softer now, smile curling at the corners of his mouth.
“i know a place where we can dance the night away…”
you’re leaning out the window without even meaning to, hands braced against the frame.
“baby, we could try to make the world spin slower…”
he’s watching you now, like the song’s always been about you.
“we could take our time and get to know each other over cherry wine…”
“come in,” you murmur, biting back a smile. “before you wake the neighbors with your romantic nonsense.”
he climbs up the window, with the guitar slung over his back, hands steady as they catch your waist and pull you flush to him.
“told you i’d make you smile,” he murmurs.
“yeah you did” you whisper, breathless. “come dance with me, mr.loverboy”
he laughs, low and full of love. “okay, princess.”
his arms wrap around you without hesitation, pulling you close. your hands settle at the nape of his neck, the two of you start to sway, slow and gentle, like the world’s been waiting for this moment to catch up.
“did you like it?” he murmurs, voice brushing your ear. “my little concert?”
you tilt your head up, smiling
“i loved it,” you whisper.
you lean in, resting your forehead against his. “i’m so lucky to have you,” you whisper, your breath warm against his skin as you press a gentle kiss to his cheek.
he smiles, eyes shining like he can barely hold it in.
“you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he says softly.
he catches your hand, brings it to his lips, and grins “and you’re stuck with me forever, love.”
you close your eyes for a second, heart thudding too loud in your chest. and then he gives you a little twirl, playful and soft, like he just couldn’t help himself. you stumble right into him again, giggling, your laughter tangling in his.
he hums, eyes flicking to the corner of the room. “we can’t dance without music, princess.”
he walks to your vinyl player, flipping through your vinyl collection until he finds your favourite one. he places the record onto the vinyl player. the record plays, and the moment shimmers, like you’ve both stepped into a living fairytale moment.
he turns back, hand extended, voice low. “may i have this dance?”
and then it’s just the two of you, swaying in the quiet glow of your bedroom, your shadows dancing on the walls.
the night outside stretches long and golden and quiet, like it’s letting you keep it.
just you.
him.
and a love that feels like music still playing.
neighbour!rafe checking if you’re okay during a power outage
a/n: i want to have a cute neighbour can I GET A NEW NEIGHBOUR PLEASE 💔
more of this au here
the power goes out, and you’re sitting on the floor with a candle when you hear a knock. you pull the door open, and the hallway light hits his face just enough for you to recognize him immediately, its rafe. he starts talking before really seeing you.
“hey, just making sure the new neighbour’s—”
he stops. blinks hard. "no way y/n?” he runs a hand through his hair, laughing under his breath like he’s nervous. and then say then he smirks, tilting his head. “damn, you grew up nice.” he steps inside without asking, looking around your half-unpacked place.
“power’s out. thought i’d be a good neighbour and check if you were okay,” he says, then glances over his shoulder at you “guess fate wanted us to catch up.”
“i don’t think so rafe.” he smirks. “you don’t agree?”
you shake your head, though your voice trembles just a little. “i don’t know. maybe.”
“maybe?” he repeats, stepping closer. “sounds like someone who doesn’t want to admit she missed me.” your eyes widen, you look away. “that’s not what i meant.”
he chuckles under his breath. “god, you’re still easy to mess with.” he steps closer, voice dropping low.
“you know, you don’t have to lie to me.”
you glance at him, flustered. “i’m not—”
“yes, you are,” he interrupts, smirk tugging at his lips. “admit it. you missed me.”
“i did,” you whisper, heat crawling up your neck. he laughs softly, “good. i was hoping you’d say that.”
he chuckles, stepping closer. “so… are you letting me in, or should i stand here awkwardly forever?” you bite your lip, looking down. “you can come in.”
he smiles, moving inside, brushing your shoulder as he passes. “i missed you too y/n.”
he flops onto the couch, smirking. “so… you stuck with me for the blackout, huh?”
you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, trying not to let the smile break through. “you invited yourself in. that’s on you.”
“you’re lucky i’m here. i bring entertainment.”
“oh yeah? like what?”
he walks into the living room. “you still like those rom-coms, right? let me guess, you’ve got 10 things i hate about you somewhere in this mess.”
your face warms immediately. “why would i have that?”
“because you used to make me watch it every summer,” he says with a lazy grin that is way too confident.
you roll your eyes, but you crouch near one of the half-open boxes, rummaging. “fine,” you mumble. “i might have it.”
“knew it,” he says, smug. “you haven’t changed at all.”
“you’re still annoying.”
he laughs, leaning back like he owns the couch.
you grab your dvd player, and bring it over.
“no way,” he says, sitting up. “you actually still use that thing?”
“the internet’s out,” you say defensively. “i needed something.”
you set the candle on the coffee table; the soft orange glow flickers across his face, throwing shadows across his smirk.
“wow,” he says quietly. “romantic lighting. for me?”
“it’s a blackout.”
“mm. still feels intentional.” he shifts, patting the cushion beside him. “come here so we can both see the screen better.”
“i can see fine from here.”
“you sure?” he tilts his head. “you look like you’re shivering.”
“i’m cold.”
“then share the blanket with me,” he says, opening his arm and the blanket like it’s nothing. you sit on the far side of the couch, creating as much distance as possible, hoping he won’t notice how flustered he makes you. he watches you do it, amused.
“you know,” he says, stretching so his foot almost touches your leg, “you’re acting like i bite.”
“you do bite,” you mumble before thinking.
his eyebrows shoot up. “oh? you remember that?”
your face goes hot. “i— shut up. put the movie in.”
“whatever you say,” he says with a grin that’s way too pleased with himself. he puts the dvd in and starts the movie.
he hits play, the opening music humming softly through the little dvd player as he settles deeper into the couch. a second later, he pulls out a small bag of haribo gummy bears, the crinkle of the plastic loud in the quiet room.
he opens the bag without saying anything, then leans slightly your way. “want some?” he asks, voice low, steady. when you nod, he takes a moment to go through the bag, choosing a few carefully before placing them gently in your hand. every single gummy bear he gives you is red.
“all red?” you ask. he shrugs, looking a little too proud of the detail he remembers. “yeah, it’s your favorite one.”
“you remembered?”
he leans back, and laughs. “i remember more than you think.”
you stay silent, heart fluttering in your chest. butterflies that shouldn’t be there take over as you watch the movie flicker across the room. you try to focus on the screen, but you can feel him shifting closer.
he leans in just enough to close the gap, letting the blanket drape over your knees. a teasing smile curls on his lips as he watches you fidget, clearly enjoying the way you’re trying not to get too close. the proximity makes your heart skip, but you can’t help sneaking glances at him anyway.
a/n: finals season is making me feel unwell randomly in the mood to write a little angry confession in the rain BECAUSE THEY ARE SO GOOD I WANT IT!! lmk if you guys want a pt 2 to this (happy or sad ending??)
the rain is so heavy it’s almost blinding, soaking through everything, turning the air sharp and cold. but rafe looks untouched by it, like the only thing hurting him is you.
“you want the truth?” he snaps, stepping toward you, voice cracking under the storm. “i can’t fucking breathe without you. happy now?”
you try to turn away, but his hand closes around your wrist, desperate, shaking.
“don’t walk away,” he says, breath unsteady. “not this time.”
he drags a hand through his wet hair, water slicking down his face like tears he refuses to let fall.
“i tried to forget you,” he spits, rain dripping down his jaw like tears he won’t admit to. “i tried everything, parties, people, noise, none of it worked.”
his laugh is sharp and broken.
“because it’s you. it’s always been you. and it pisses me off that you still have this hold on me.”
he steps closer, chest rising hard, eyes burning through the storm.
“you get under my skin worse than anyone. you ruin my nights. you ruin my damn peace.”
his hand slides to your jaw, thumb trembling against your wet skin.
“i hate you for it,” he whispers, voice wrecked. “and i love you for it. and i don’t know what the hell to do anymore.”
the rain keeps falling. he keeps breathing like it hurts. your silence hits him harder than the rain. you can’t even form a sentence.
"don’t just look at me like that,” he mutters, voice cracking. “say something”
double date with bsf!rafe, but instead of focusing on his date he focuses on reader🫣
“what?” he asks, his ears ringing from what he thought he heard you say.
“a double date.” you repeat, mindlessly scrolling through your phone. you were on rafe’s bed, wearing his pajama pants, and you had the nerve to bring up a double date.
he scratched the back of his neck, his palms suddenly clammy. he was just about to laugh and say no, then, he saw your face. you look up from your phone and stare at him. your lip is pulling downwards into a frown and your eyes are all doe and sweet. he huffs, “who would i even go with? who would you even go with?”
“i could go with dom,” you shrug. that name was like a trigger for rafe. dom…as in dominic…as in the asshole he caught you pressed up against in the hallway while he was looking for you. the sound of you laughing—high and breathless—was still stuck behind rafe’s teeth. the way dom had leaned in like he owned you. the way your hand was twisted in his shirt, your mouth parted like— “and you could go with vanessa,” you add, completely unaware of the bomb you just lit.
rafe forces a breath through his nose. “you’re serious.”
“yeah.” you don’t look up this time. “it’ll be fun.”
he walks to the foot of the bed. the floorboards creak under the weight of his trudges. “fun.” you glance at him now, sensing the shift. the air is different. it’s heavier. he leans against the wall, arms crossed, studying you like you’re a problem he doesn’t know how to solve. “since when do you like dom?”
“i don’t,” you say too quickly. “i mean…we’ve been texting, that’s all. it’s not like I’m marrying him, relax.” he doesn’t relax. his jaw flexes. you go quiet again, eyes back on your screen. “he’s nice.”
rafe snorts, hand running over his face then through his messy hair. “he’s a fucking moron.”
“he’s sweet.”
“he thinks your last name is cameron.”
you grin at that, in spite of yourself. “i mean, we are attached at the hip.”
wrong thing to say. his face goes blank. the dangerous type of blank. “so you’re going on a date with him?”
you blink at him. “i said we were going on a date. a double date.”
rafe runs a hand through his hair once again. “and vanessa? really?” he begins pacing. how could he do this? how was he supposed to pretend he wasn’t in love with you for a whole night?
you cock your head. “you hooked up with her twice.”
“once,” he mutters. “and I didn’t finish.” he adds, recounting the memory with a wince.
your mouth opens. “ew.”
he smirks, like that was the goal. then his face drops again. “why him, though?”
you look at him. really look at him. “i don’t know. he’s cute, funny, tall.”
“i’m tall.” he murmurs under his breath. your eyes flick to his.
“what was that?” you ask, tossing your phone to the side and allowing your body to fall backwards into the bed. rafe’s breath hitches. you have no idea how beautiful you look right now. your hair is slightly messy, makeup rubbed off to reveal your natural features, and you’re still talking about a double date.
he takes a step closer to the bed. then another. “nothing.” he mutters in a tone that makes you flinch. he plops down onto the gray comforter, the bed dipping under his weight. he stares straight for a moment, focusing on the cracks in the doorframe before turning his head to look at you. you seem to have gotten closer, or maybe he just didn’t notice before. his eyes flick to your lips for a millisecond—fuck. hopefully you didn’t notice that.
“next week. 7 o’clock. have an open mind about this, rafey.” you spring up to your feet and press a chaste kiss on his cheek before heading for the door. as you leave the room, he cranes his head to watch you walk down the hall. your hips sway with each step and he groans, falling back onto the bed and squeezing his eyes shut.
~
next week came too fast. suddenly it’s thursday night, 6:52 pm, and rafe’s outside your apartment building with his fists clenched on the steering wheel like he’s driving into battle.
marley—no, vanessa, whatever—sits in the passenger seat humming to the radio. something poppy and grating. something that makes his head throb. she’s wearing a tube top and perfume that’s way too loud. rafe doesn’t say a word. he’s not really looking at her anyway.
his eyes are locked on your front door. and when you step out, he forgets how to breathe. because it’s you. it’s you in that tiny little black dress with your hair all pinned back and your lip gloss just slightly smudged, and you’re smiling like this is funny, like this isn’t the worst idea you’ve ever had.
and then he walks out behind you. dom—fucking dom—with his smug grin and his arm slung over your shoulder like he was born to touch you. he’s saying something in your ear and you laugh, and rafe almost rips the steering wheel off the column.
“you said this was gonna be fun,” vanessa says, looking over at him. “are you gonna talk to me at some point?” he doesn’t answer. just throws the car in park and gets out, moving faster than he should. “you look…” he trails off when he gets close enough to smell you. “late.”
you grin. “it’s 6:59.”
dom holds out a hand. “yo, what’s up, man.”
rafe barely touches him. his smile is cold. “you remember vanessa,” he says instead, turning to you. “think you met her at that party.” he tries not to even think about that party. it’s the one where you and dom met. it’s also the one where rafe fucked vanessa in a jealous rage.
“i did,” you say sweetly. “and you know dom.” your eyes sparkle. you know exactly what you’re doing. rafe wants to grab you by the waist and drag you back inside. instead, he opens the door for you and glares at dom when he tries to help you in.
~
the restaurant is nice. not too fancy, not too casual. the kind of place where everyone tries too hard and the bread is cold but artisanal. you and dom slide into the booth side by side. vanessa immediately scoots in beside rafe and starts playing with his sleeve. he doesn’t move; doesn’t even blink.
all because you’re across from him, your thigh brushing against dom’s, your fingers delicately touching his wine glass, your laugh a little too loud and a little too bright.
“you always wear black?” dom teases, and you nod like it’s some shared secret.
“goes with everything. matches my soul.” your eyes sparkle and rafe almost screams. his eye twitches. his soul does too. you haven’t looked at him once—not directly. you’re punishing him for something, and the worst part is, he’d let you.
vanessa giggles. “babe, you okay?”
babe. you usually call him that—drunk, teasing, curled up in his passenger seat with your head on his shoulder. “fine,” he mutters. the night drags. every laugh you give dom is a knife in his chest. every time dom leans in to whisper something in your ear, rafe imagines slamming his head into the table. but he smiles and plays along. he lets vanessa kiss his cheek and rest her hand on his knee like he doesn’t want to peel it off.
that’s until dessert. because dom, the idiot, the dead man, feeds you a bite of chocolate mousse, wipes the corner of your mouth with his thumb, and you let him. “fuck this,” rafe says, standing up so fast his glass nearly tips. the restaurant seems to pause. heads turn towards your table. vanessa keeps her head down as dom furrows his brows.
you blink. “what’s wrong?”
“nothing,” he says, already moving around the table. “except i’m done pretending this is normal.”
you’re on your feet now, stunned. “rafe-”
he doesn’t give you time to stop him. he grabs your hand and pulls you after him, ignoring dom’s dude, seriously? and vanessa’s shocked gasp. you stumble behind him out the door, the cool night air hitting your bare shoulders as he drags you to the car. he opens the passenger side and looks at you. he’s practically tapping his foot on the ground.
you cross your arms. “you’re insane.”
“get in the car.”
you stare, mouth slightly agape. “why?”
he steps closer. voice low and taut. “because if you stay here another second, i’m gonna do something violent.”
your heart skips. then you smile. it’s slow, amused, infuriating. “what happened to having an open mind?”
his hand grazes your hip. it’s silent for a beat or two. “you liked that,” he says suddenly. “you wanted to make me mad.” you don’t deny it. instead, you slip past him and slide into the seat. he exhales once, sharp, and shuts the door behind you.
twenty minutes later, you’re in his room again. same bed, same hoodie on your body, but everything is different. this time, you’re on your knees on the mattress, fingers tugging at his belt, and he’s watching you like he’s starving. “you’re such a brat,” he mutters, voice thick. “flirting with him right in front of me.”
you smirk. “not my fault you have a jealous streak.”
he grabs your jaw, forces your face up to meet his. “you were never gonna fuck him.”
“i might’ve-”
“don’t.” he commands. you go quiet. his thumb brushes your lip. “you’re mine,” he says, low and certain. you nod, breath caught in your throat. “say it.”
“i’m yours.” you whisper. he kisses you like it’s a promise. like it’s war and he’s already won. when you wake up the next morning, tucked beneath his sheets, dom’s number is deleted from your phone, vanessa is blocked, and rafe’s hand is still possessive around your waist
“because if you stay here another second, i’m gonna do something violent”
LIKE WHAT?! I NEED AN ALTERNATE VERSION FOR THIS 🙂↕️ FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT !! i’m kidding this was perfect, rafe does not need to be violent (he can definitely spin Dom like a helicopter and throw him out the door)
you're about to reach for the door handle, when his hand slides into yours, stopping you.
"let me” he says
“rafe, we’re literally in your driveway.”
he just grins and gets out of the car, jumps onto the hood like an idiot, slides across it with zero grace, stumbles on the landing, and still somehow opens your door
you blink at him. “you good?”
“never better” he holds his hand out.
you shake your head, biting back a smile, and take his hand.
can you write how dbf rqfe finds the reader crying
you don’t hear him come in. you’re in the backyard, knees curled to your chest on the porch swing, hoodie pulled over your tank top even though it’s warm. the sun’s low. your tears sparkle from the light. you’re wiping the tears before they fall off your cheek.
it’s been a day. not one big thing just a thousand little cuts. your dad snapped at you this morning for not answering his texts. your car battery died again. you spilled coffee on your favorite tote. then, your period started in the middle of the grocery store and you cracked your phone.
now you’re here—crying over everything and nothing. your phone’s somewhere inside with a new shiny crack and a few missed calls from rafe after you left him on read.
“hey.” the voice is quiet, rough, soft in a way it never is. you freeze, turn your head slow, and there he is. rafe’s in a white t-shirt and gray sweatpants, keys still in his hand like he came straight from his car. his eyes drop to your face. then narrow. “what happened?”
you try to smile, but your lip wobbles. “nothing,” your voice sounds fake.
“don’t lie to me,” he says, already crossing the porch. he crouches in front of you like he’s trying to catch a breath. like you’re something fragile and glassy and he doesn’t know where to touch without breaking something.
your eyes blur again and you laugh. it comes out as a choke. “god, this is so embarrassing.”
“it’s not.” his hand brushes your ankle. warm, grounding. “talk to me, ladybug.”
you look at him and that’s all it takes for the ache in your chest cracks open. you tell him about your dad, about the car, about how everything’s fine but it also isn’t, about how it feels like you’re always a second away from ruining something.
he doesn’t interrupt. just listens, nods, and breathes. when you finish, he doesn’t say anything right away. just reaches up and pushes your hair behind your ear. his fingers linger against your cheek, his thumb catching a tear like it’s something holy. “you’re too hard on yourself,” he murmurs.
you swallow. “yeah, well. someone has to be.”
“not you,” he says. “not like this.”
you blink away your tears and shrug. “i don’t know what to do.” you cry, fingers gripping your sweatshirt.
his face shifts. “you come to me,” he says. “always. i don’t care what time it is, i don’t care if it’s stupid or messy or nothing. you come to me.”
“okay.” you nod, mustering up the best smile that you can. maybe it’s the way you look at him—wrecked and soft and trusting. maybe it’s the fact that you’re still in your pj shorts and your hoodie swallowing your frame and you smell like vanilla and salt and something he can’t resist.
but then he leans in. not all the way, but just enough. his lips brush yours every-so-slightly before he connects them. your make a noise of surprise that’s swallowed into his lips. it’s not rushed or dirty like usual. it’s careful and aching.
when he finally pulls away, he doesn’t say anything. he just tugs you into his chest and rubs his hand across your back. it’s crazy how one kiss can make all your problems melt away.
a/n: i need him 🥲 feel free to send requests for this au because i am slowly running out of ideas 💔
more of this au here
you haven’t felt like talking to anyone today
you lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, thumb hovering over your keyboard.
finally, you give in and send a message to him.
| you: i feel unwell
you send the text not expecting an immediate reply. your phone lights up after 4 secs.
| rafe: what if i tied a ribbon around my arm and showed up at your door like a present?
| rafe: would that fix it, princess?
you blink. this message was so ridiculous, but somehow, it’s exactly what you needed.
| you: maybe
| rafe: i'll be there soon
your heart skips. god, it’s embarrassing how easily he does this to you. other guys come and go but rafe? he’s the glitch in your system.
it’s complicated. he feels like a boyfriend most days, but neither of you want to call it that. so you’re stuck somewhere in between but you're okay with it.
twelve minutes later, there’s a knock.
you walk to the door in the oversized hoodie he left last time, and when you open it, there he was.
wearing a hoodie, with messy hair, smug grin, and a pink ribbon tied around his bicep in the dumbest, most adorable bow you’ve ever seen.
“delivery for the sad girl,” he says, voice low. “limited-time cure. kinda clingy. may flirt too much.”
you blink. “are you—are you serious?”
“very serious,” he murmurs, stepping closer. “but you already knew that.”
you don’t even hesitate—you grab his hoodie, yank him inside, and wrap your arms around his middle.
he laughs into your hair, arms sliding around you tight. “that bad, huh?”
“mm-hmm,” you mumble. “this helps.”
“yeah?” he leans back, tilts your chin up. “should i wear the ribbon more often?”
you laugh. “maybe”
he looks at you "i will take that as a yes"
you roll your eyes, but your smile gives you away. “you’re ridiculous.”
“ridiculously charming,” he corrects.
“someone’s full of himself,” you mutter.
“and yet…” he kisses your cheek, slow and gentle, “you’re already feeling better.”
you hate that he’s right. you hate that something about him always makes you feel better and you secretly hope he will always be there for you when you need him. maybe it’s a little toxic needing him more than you should but he shows up every time and that makes it hard to stop.
SUMMARY: your and rafe’s alone time gets interrupted when you get a notification about your grades.
WORD COUNT: 834
WARNINGS: soft smut (bro idek😭), it is smut but no explicit terminology or nomenclature used but the entire scene is set; super sweet; quite suggestive and light tbh; allusions to oral and subtle descriptions of riding (again, it is light 😭); usage of nicknames + lmk if I should add smth!!
EDITH SPEAKS: AS U CAN SEE, this is my first ever post which can be begun to be classified as smut, even though it's light and is nothing explicit. so like, give me feedback, PLEASE, and if you want me to improve somewhere, i would gladly accept your feedback but give it nicely to me please 🥹 and at last, reblogs are always highly appreciated!! (fic is inspired by this reel, and after watching it, wrote it in like, 20 mins in one sitting 😭)
masterlist / join my taglist / requests
“Oh fuck…” Rafe sighs softly, his arms wrapped firm around your waist whilst yours are around his shoulders, your face buried into his neck as you feel heat creep across every cell in your body. You’re slow on top of him, almost painfully so, but even then, Rafe is relishing every damn second being so physically close to you.
“Oh baby… you’re so good…” he mumbles against your collarbone, causing you to let out a soft whimper as he gently kisses along the prominent bone, as if he’s laving his love onto your skin.
“You too…” you breathe out into his neck, your breath hot onto his perspiring skin. A soft moan slips past your tongue as Rafe twitches slightly under you, the action practically sending chills across your spine.
Your phone on the bedside table pings loudly in your bedroom, and your hazy gaze falls on the screen as it flashes momentarily. And you see it. You catch the logo, the bold heading of the mail, and god, at that moment, it feels as if your eyes have opened up fully.
You immediately reach out for it, and Rafe’s grip tightens around your waist. “What are you doing?” He groans softly as he watches you settle back down in your old position but now with your phone in your hands.
“My semester grades are posted,” you mutter, already flicking your fingers across the screen.
Rafe looks at you with a deadpan expression on his face. “Grades? Right now baby?” He sighs, kissing your shoulder gently in an attempt to drag you into the amorous bubble you both were just locked in.
“Just, just one minute, I need to see…” you mumble, and to Rafe it feels like you’ve forgotten what you two were actually just doing. Nevertheless, he softly squeezes your waist and presses a few more gentle kisses alongside your shoulder and the side of your neck. He knows how tough this semester was and how hard you’ve worked to get the grades you wish to get.
Suddenly, you let out a soft gasp and Rafe leans his head back to look at you expectantly. “I got all A’s,” you whisper softly, as if saying it out loud will somehow jinx it.
Rafe’s lips tug into the biggest smile as he leans up to press a gentle kiss against your lips, allowing your lips to move softly against his. “I’m proud of you baby, knew you could do it,” he hums against your mouth before capturing your lips back again.
He takes your phone from your hands and keeps it aside without pausing the kiss, his hands holding onto your waist the same way as before. You feel yourself falling back into the same mood, the same sensations beginning to light you up.
With the leverage on your waist, Rafe flips you two so you’re laying flat on the mattress and he’s on top of you, supporting himself by his forearms as your lips part. You let out a soft gasp at the sudden movement, looking up at Rafe through your eyelashes. The movement causes him to pull out, a sudden emptiness now making you groan inwardly.
“Mmm…” he hums softly, ducking his head down so his lips find your sensitive neck again, your head tilting back against the pillow with a hitch of your voice.
“So proud of you baby…” he whispers into your skin, slowly beginning to trail his lips lower onto your body as he kisses between your breasts, feeling their soft swell under his palms. Your breath comes out as shaky exhales as your fingers begin to thread through his hair, partially wanting leverage and partially giving him some pleasure too as you know he loves the feel of your fingers in his hair.
“So fuckin’ proud, knew my girl could do it…” his lips move down lower over your ribs, finding purchase on the soft skin of your stomach as he kisses along it, feeling your muscles jump under his lips which causes him to smirk.
“Rafe…” you breathe, fingers gently tugging on his hair in an attempt to not be too rough.
“Wanna give you your gift, baby,” he whispers, now kissing right over your hip bone, his fingers coming to spread across your thighs to keep them where he wants to. “Wanna give you your gift for doin’ so good. Will you let me?”
He looks up at you from his place between your thighs, his eyes soft and sultry, while yours are barely open.
“Yeah… yeah I will…” you whisper, and you feel his breath fan across your sensitive flesh, causing your hips to twitch.
Rafe leans his head down so his forehead rests on your tummy, his eyes closed as he practically revels in the moment. “Good girl,” he whispers, before moving his lips right where you need him. “Such a good girl,” he says for the last time, before his lips connect, and you feel like you are being lifted to heaven.
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