BRI 𐙚

[1-800-local-slut]

Stiles and His Horny Girl

I want this white man in my guts, but I can't have that so instead we get this. Enjoy :)

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You two are horny, almost all the time. Stiles, who played with himself twice a day before you got together and who damn near couldn't keep his hand out of his pants at any given moment

I feel like being in the pack with Stiles would be so stressful but make the sex so worth it

Like, it would be really, really frustrating to have no one listens to him. And when Stiles get stressed, he tends to lash out physically. Even if it's just about something like where they should all get lunch that evening.

So, you always benefit

Like when no one wanted to listen to Stiles about something being wrong with Lydia's front tire, and then the car broke down on the highway, then he had to change the tire with Scott in 97 degrees under the California sun

That night, he came home and had one of your legs over his shoulder while he whispered degrading words in your ear that had to shaking responding to ever nasty thing he said with an affirmative

Noah always knew Stiles was a bit more...excited than some teenagers. The last time he borrowed Stile's laptop, he almost had to bleach his eyes. He just didn't need to know about his son's preferences and now he just knows way too much. And since then, he hasn't been able to look at Stiles the same.

He always hoped that Stiles's delusions about sex wouldn't hinder him in a real relationship, but the noise canceling headphones he had to buy said otherwise.

You just looked so nice! When you came in for the first time, charming and sweet, he was sure that Stiles would have to try being normal for a bit. Then he came home one night and heard a moan that had him scared he'd be a grandfather soon.

No one expects you two to be the way you are. Except for Scott, he's been subjected to hearing Stiles's insane thoughts about you for the past two years since you transferred in the school. Like that time, they ran into you at the mall when you had on biker shorts and the minute you turned to walk off Stiles went from sweet, cute Stiles, to scaring the crap out of Scott with how badly he was describing his need for you.

And you were no better. Your friends were damn near victims. Hearing about how hard you fucked yourself while thinking about Stiles, seeing you turn into an entirely different person whenever he was close by. Why you wanted this guy to throw you around like a rag doll was a mystery to your friends. I mean, sure they knew he was handsome. You just had thoughts about Stiles that would kill a nun.

Honest to God, I don't know which one of you is worse. It's probably Stiles to be honest, you do egg him on though.

You don't care where you are, you want him real bad sometimes. Even if that's in the middle of the woods in the middle of the night (y'all are dying first in a slasher movie for sure) and you two are supposed to be investigating something. You'll push him against a tree, before you're making out and unbuckling his belt. He can't exactly argue when the feeling of you giving him a handjob through his boxers is making his head spin and his tip leak. Somehow you try end up dry humping (BRING BACK DRY HUMPING) before your entire body is shuddering, and Stiles is gripping your hips with his eyes shut while he stains a pair of his boxers.

Your werewolf friends have had the misfortune of hearing you two. No one, and I mean not one of them, needed to know that you like being choked. Or that Stiles liked being bitten. You two don't do stuff in front of people, because that just gives creep so that's not the move but it's not your fault half of the town has supernatural hearing. Honestly at a certain point they should just stop coming over at night.

There are times when you two are apart and can't go at it for a while. Stiles will beat his dick raw; the man is addicted to you. He's obsessed. He's pathetically rewatching videos of you two. You deepthroating him until your eyes are red and teary. You bouncing on his cock while scratching down his abs. Him eating you out while you urge him on with moans of his name. Oh, and the videos of him hitting it from the back with a hand tangled in your braids while you squeal moans of approval. It doesn't help that you both have a really high sex drive so he's basically getting laid every day then has to go to getting absolutely nothing for probably months. It's also worse because he's madly in love with you and sex helps him feel so close to you.

If you're smart forget about it. Stiles is smart but he can't focus at all. You help him by studying with him, and Stiles could listen to you talk literally all day. Then about three hours in he's focusing on your lips and the way they pucker just a bit when you bite the inside of your cheeks to focus. Somehow, he ends up slowly kissing you until you're laying down. Then oops! He's eating you out while you expertly deep throat him with your hips wiggling from the stimulation.

To cut a long ass story short, y'all are freaked the fuck out, that's it. And neither of you want it any other way.

[uhhhj13iguess]

stiles, are you hard right now?

stiles x reader

summary: you and stiles make a break for the supply closet the second a fight breaks out at the bank. a series of unfortunate events ensues.

wc: ~1k

masterlist and taglist!

“holy shit — janitors closet, go go go!” stiles shoved you towards the door, stumbling over you to get away from the vault scene going on just in the other room.

both breathless, you squeezed into the dark and cramped room, both of you fumbling to shut the door and turn the lock. despite the commotion happening on the other side, the finally locked door gave you relief, and you took a breath for what felt like the first time in hours.

you turned around, feeing around for the pull chain lighting in the dark. when you found it and yanked, you regretted it immediately. your stomach turned at the sight on the floor in front of you.

before you laid a body, too maimed to recognize. you started the step back, realizing how close you were to the blood pooling on the ground, and tried but failed to suppress a shriek.

“s-stiles!”

internally, stiles wasn’t doing any better at the scene before him, but he kept his composure and moved quickly to cover your mouth before you made anymore noise and gave away your hiding spot as the pack continued to fight off the Alphas.

he pulled you close, taking to keep you as far away as he could from the body. you murmured against his hand so he released it, hands still on you as they rested across your shoulders and kept your back flush against him as he had his own pressed against the door.

“holy shit we should’ve stayed in the car.”

you nodded fervently, the hairs standing on the back of your neck as he whispered against your skin. you realized now just how close you two were. you sat in silence for a minute before you noticed something else as well.

“stiles is that-“

“hm?” he hummed in your ear, looking past you to see what you were referring to.

“are you, i mean — is that what i think…”

you shifted against him and he immediately knew what you were talking about. his eyes shot open and he tried to press himself against the door, trying to create any possible space between the two of you as he could. he would sink into the wall and disappear forever if he could.

“uh, is what? i don’t, i don’t know, or i mean i don’t —“

“stiles —“

“i think uh,” he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to will this conversation over. “it’s something else —“

“stiles, are you hard right now?”

surely this had to be worse than his fate out there in the fight.

he let out a huff of air against the back of your neck, and you could feel how tense he was.

“no, i no of course not, i mean,

i, no yeah okay,

yeah, maybe, fuck”

a smirk plastered across your face, a new emotion beginning to overshadow the fear from night you were having.

“there’s a dead body less than a foot away from us, are you serious right now?”

“listen im not proud of it, alright? okay so,

shit, jesus christ im sorry.” he tried desperately to find the door handle behind him, willing to face the violence outside the door if it meant getting the hell out of there.

you didn’t move a muscle, still standing flush against him, the silence in the closet only being met by the sound of stiles’ hand struggling with the door lock.

“is that because of me?”

stiles let out an exasperated breath of air. “jesus (y/n), it’s not from the fucking body, what kind of question is that?”

you held back a chuckle, his remark reminding you of the body you had momentarily forgotten about, and you subconsciously pressed harder into stiles, disgust winning as your primary emotion again at the sight of whoever was in this closet before you.

he couldnt take the silence, nor you getting even closer to him.

“i’m - im sorry y-you’re just really close and im not trying to and —“

“stiles don’t worry about it, we’ll talk about it later. we need to get out of here.”

stiles sighed, worry overtaking him. “okay but talk about it as in you yelling at me and calling me a perv and that you never want to be near me again, or talk about it as in —oh,”

you pressed your hips hard against his, grinding against how hard he was. you smirked at the whine that escaped his lips as you did so.

“i said we can talk about this later, stiles, maybe not in front of someone while their organs hanging out.”

“right yeah let’s, yeah no of course yeah let’s—“

before he could even get his hand on the doorknob, the door swung open, causing him to fall backwards and hit the ground with a groan.

“jesus fuck” stiles collected himself and met the eyes of isaac, not impressed with the inquisitive look on his face.

“we’re done and headed out. nice hiding spot, guys”

you rolled your eyes at him. “yeah whatever, let’s head ou-“

“what’s that smell?”

“huh?”

isaac looked towards stiles with a smirk. “you reek of lust.”

stiles couldn’t move a muscle if he wanted to. there was no way this was happening.

“what the hell happened while we were out here fighting for our lives?”

you swore all of the blood drained from stiles’ face, and you matched isaac’s smirk at the sight.

stiles tried to stutter out a sentence, only to be met with more amusement from issac. he grumbled and shoved him out of his way.

“this is why no one fucking likes you, isaac.”

[swirledyouintoallmypoems]

★ when did you get hot?

stiles stilinski x fem!reader

synopsis: you hadn’t seen stiles since middle school. but when your friend lydia invites you to a party, and you see stiles again for the first time. and he’s not the annoying kid who used to have a crush on you. now he’s hot.

warnings: underage drinking (in the usa), swearing, some suggestive language. some of them are probably ooc cause it’s been ages since i’ve written anything teen wolf oops.

notes: i’m very slowly making my return to tumblr. i’ve been listening to man’s best friend on repeat and got a little inspired.

you leaned in closer to the mirror in your bedroom, rubbing your lips together and dabbing away the excess lip gloss from the corners of your mouth with your fingertip.

“hurry up already!” lydia huffed from where she was sitting on the edge of your bed, leaning back with her arms outstretched to hold herself up. “if we don’t leave in the next 5 minutes we’ll be past fashionably late.”

“oh, whatever.” you rolled your eyes and turned around to face her, slipping the strap of your bag over your shoulder. “how do i look?”

“hot.” lydia replied and stood up. “now, come on! if we’re gonna get you a man, we need to hurry before all the good ones are gone.”

while you shook your head, you couldn’t help the amused smile that grew on your face as she pulled you out of your bedroom.

it had been months since you had even talked to a guy - with romantic (or sexual) intent, that was - and lydia had decided to make it a mission for herself to find you a boyfriend before the school year ended.

“you know, i bet if you went to my school instead of your silly private school, all the boys there would be falling over themselves to talk to you.” lydia sighed as you both headed down the stairs to the front door of your empty house. “so unfair.”

“please, i know the boys you go to school with.” you spoke with amusement. “i doubt any of them are any better than they were in middle school.”

“oh, you’d be surprised.” lydia said, flashing you her signature smile as you opened the passenger side door to her car. “some of them have really changed.”

“yeah, i’ll believe it when i see it.”

the soft voice of sabrina carpenter played through lydia’s speakers the moment she started the car, and the short drive consisted of failed harmonization attempts and mispronounced lyrics.

when lydia’s car pulled to a stop a short distance down the road, you checked your makeup in her car mirror one last time before the two of you headed down the sidewalk towards the bustling party at the house of someone you didn’t even know.

upon entering the house and hearing the loud music and equally loud chatter from the party guests, you needed a drink.

lydia immediately beelined for the kitchen, pulling you through the sea of half-drunk high school seniors by the wrist, and the two of you were examining the labels on bottles soon after.

“whose party is this, anyway, lyds?” you asked as lydia searched a nearby cupboard for shot glasses, gripping a bottle of some flavored vodka in her left hand.

“allison’s.” lydia responded with a hum as she set two small glasses on the counter in front of her. “you remember allison, right? you met her like a month ago.”

“brown hair, dating scott with the asthma from sixth grade?” you asked and lydia giggled.

“yeah.” she replied and handed you one of the glasses, clinking them together in a ‘cheers’ motion. “here’s to finding you a new man.”

“sure.” you laughed and downed the shot, immediately wincing at the taste after swallowing the drink. “ugh, i swear that tastes worse every time.”

“lydia!” a new voice cut in and you turned to see allison argent, the host herself, hurrying towards the two of you. scott mccall was close behind, one finger linked with hers as he followed his girlfriend around like a puppy. “and y/n, right?”

“yep.” you offered a friendly smile as she and lydia hugged, then she turned and hugged you next, which you weren’t expecting.

“this is my boyfriend, scott.” allison introduced, locking her arm around scott’s as he gave you an awkward smile.

“we’ve actually met already.” scott spoke up and allison turned to face him. “we used to go to school together.”

“oh, right. duh.” allison nodded as lydia handed you a cup of whatever alcoholic concoction she had been making while you spoke with her friends. “sorry, i’m already a bit tipsy, but help yourselves to any of the drinks.”

lydia gestured to her cup with a smile. “sweetie, we already have.”

an hour in and you had already spoken to multiple people you hadn’t seen since you were all twelve, now you were eighteen and in just a couple months you’d be graduating.

“anyone caught your eye?” lydia’s voice asked in your ear and you spun with a gasp, holding one hand to your chest at her sudden appearance.

“jesus christ! give a girl a warning, next time.” you exclaimed with a sigh of relief and lydia’s lips turned into a smirk.

“i take that as a no.” lydia said and you stayed quiet, lifting what was now your fourth drink to your lips for a sip. “you know what? come with me.”

“where?” you asked.

“just trust me. he’s your type.”

lydia grabbed onto your hand and began pulling you along again before you could protest.

you didn’t know where she was leading you, but you looked ahead to see allison and scott talking to another boy, who had his back facing the two of you.

“hey, guys.” lydia said and the boy turned, but you couldn’t see his face from your place behind lydia.

as you took another sip of your drink, lydia pushed you a few steps forward so your eyes could finally settle on the boy’s face.

“y/n, don’t you know stiles?” she introduced smoothly and your heart stopped as you took a double take - then a triple take.

you did know stiles… six years ago.

back then he was obsessed with you. twelve-year-old stiles stilinski had the biggest crush on you and he made it extremely obvious.

you, on the other hand, didn’t like stiles at all. you found him annoying, much like all the other pre-pubescent boys in your classes, and you didn’t like that he liked you because you thought he was ugly and a bit of a loser.

but now?

oh, boy.

your eyes traveled up and down stiles’s frame. maybe it was because he lost the buzzcut and finally grew out his hair, or maybe it was how much taller than you he was now.

it could’ve been the way his brown eyes hadn’t moved from your face since lydia said your name, or the way his shoulders filled out the flannel shirt he was wearing very nicely. maybe it was just his face.

whatever it was, you knew stiles stilinski was now, undeniably, hot.

“huh.” was all you managed out after you looked stiles up and down again.

“uh, hey, y/n.” stiles stammered slightly, looking over to scott in a panic like he was going to melt any second.

you could’ve sworn stiles was pretty unattractive as a kid, you were so sure of it. but how on earth could an ugly kid make such an attractive man?

“hi, stiles.” his name fell off your tongue so nicely, so naturally. you smiled.

“thank me later.” lydia whispered in your ear before she and allison disappeared. scott pat stiles on the shoulder before he followed.

“it’s been a while.” you noted and stiles laughed awkwardly, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

“yeah. yeah, it- it has.” he nodded, swallowing and hoping it would fix how dry his mouth was looking at you.

if he had a crush on you when you were twelve, then, fuck, he was in love with you now. he couldn’t help the way his eyes slowly drifted away from your face and down your neck, down to your chest, before snapping back up to your eyes.

“how have you been?” you asked casually, your tone sweet, and stiles struggled to reply.

he seriously thought he was over this crush. it had been several years since he had seen you last, but it came back with a vengeance the moment he laid his eyes on you.

“i’m good.” stiles strangled the words out as he nodded.

“you look good.” you nodded in agreement and stiles went red immediately. “do you work out?”

stiles seemed to short circuit at the question, or maybe it was the way your hand brushed ran down the side of his bicep.

“no. no, i don’t.” he shook his head, lifting one arm to scratch the back of his neck awkwardly and you noticed the way his arm flexed as he did so.

“hmm.” you ran your hand up his other arm again and stiles froze in place.

he managed to collect himself again, picking up his drink and lifting it to his mouth to take a long sip.

“so what have you been up to, stiles?” you asked him before taking a sip of your own drink. a smirk tugged on your lips at his reactions, threatening to show on your face.

“me?”

“is there another stiles here?” you teased and he scratched the back of his neck again.

you couldn’t believe yourself. if you from sixth grade - hell, if you from yesterday knew you were flirting with and thinking about hooking up with stiles stilinski, you knew past you wouldn’t approve.

but current you certainly did. and that was enough.

“i, um… i’m on the lacrosse team.” stiles managed the words out.

“yeah? you any good?”

“no.” he replied honestly. “i spend most the games on the bench.”

you hummed and reached up to brush away the hairs that fell over his forehead.

“i bet you look really hot in the uniform, though.” you said. “when did you get hot, by the way? because i like it.”

“you think i’m..?” stiles’s words were lost in his throat as he chuckled breathily with raised eyebrows. “wow. i mean, you’re… shit.”

you finished your drink and put the empty cup down on the table beside you before brushing your hand against stiles’s free one.

“i’m… shit?” you repeated, raising an eyebrow, and stiles ran a hand over his face.

“fuck, sorry, no, i mean… you’re -” he let out a sigh and a bit of a chuckle. “you’re so… and you think i’m…”

he gestured between the two of you and you connected your hand with his.

“mm?” you gave him a look that told him to go on.

“god, you’re beautiful.” he said and lifted his own hand. it ghosted against your hip like he was scared to touch you. you pushed his hand against your hip with your own and he gripped onto you easily, his eyes flickering all over your face and body. “can i get your number?”

you laughed and stiles’s stomach dropped. he freaked out, did you not actually like him? were you messing with him this whole time?

“stiles, baby, you can have that and more.” you told him and dug through your purse to pull out a pen.

you grabbed onto his hand and stiles watched in awe, his heart beating out of his chest as the ballpoint tip met with the skin of the back of his hand.

a moment later blue ink read out a sequence of numbers - your phone number - on the back of his hand.

you popped the lid back onto the pen and it disappeared into your bag again.

stiles was in disbelief. the girl he had the biggest crush on in middle school just gave him her phone number.

the girl he had seen again once at the mall, who had then become the star of his wildest fantasies, thought he was hot.

you were right in front of him, he could feel your fingernails graze against his arm and he swore his jeans were starting to feel too tight.

you giggled at the bewildered expression on his face and leaned forward, onto your tiptoes, to kiss him on his cheek.

“i’ll see you around, stiles, yeah?” you said and stiles blinked, snapping out of his thoughts.

“what? you’re leaving?” he questioned, his heart sinking and a pouty frown appearing on his face.

you gave him a shrug. “text me.”

you started to walk away and stiles watched, his eyes drifting down your back, until you swiveled around.

“unless… you wanna walk me home?” you suggested, the smallest flirty smirk on your lips.

stiles didn’t hesitate to jump forwards, letting you grab onto his hand and lead him away from the party.

and maybe him walking you home would lead to you inviting him inside… of course, only to give him the house tour.

a/n: or whatever idk how i feel about this so i hope you like it

[sharklover00]

[scerek]

DYLAN O'BRIEN as Preston Bradley in Send Help! (2025)

[briml]

DADDY ???

[skywwwalker]

nom-nom

⌖ you bite Four’s bicep

⌖ its back. The rot is back. Ugh. I have so many inappropriate things to say. GN!reader, sexual implications.

“Hey you,” you greeted quietly as you took a seat next to Four on the bed.

He turned to offer you a smile. “Hi.” Four stifles a yawn and slinks his arm around your waist. “Are you tired?”

You shrug and bring his other hand into your lap. Leaning against his shoulder, you turn his hand so that Four’s palm faces the ceiling. Running fingertips up his forearm to stall at his biceps. Delicious. You actually almost growl.

Four’s head rests against yours and he lets his eyes flutter shut to bask in this moment before the chaos. He feels you bring his arm up but he doesn’t open his eyes. Its only when he feels a sudden sharp sensation in his bicep does Tobias open his eyes.

You couldn’t help it. He looks like a meal all the time, and you barely had any time to dig in. Was it really so bad for someone to want to appreciate their boyfriend? And damn was he worthy of appreciation- with his small gasp and the bulge of his veins and the way his hand laced in your automatically, you were practically drooling on your poor boyfriend.

“Y/n…” Four drawls, catching your gaze as he nudges your back to the bed. He knots your hands in his left hand while his right hand rests against your stomach. Your sly smile and dark hooded eyes urge Four to slot his knew between your thighs.

“Don’t make me beg,” you rasp, seeing the amusement blazing in Four’s eyes.

Four tilts his head in a way to suggest he’s comsidering making you beg. “You did assult me…” he says aloud.

Laughter bubbles out of your throat before you can stop it. “I was just appreciative of your… figure.”

The hesitance of your last word makes Four chuckle a little. His eyes squint because his cheeks are just so cute and his smile is just so precious and oh my gosh his Adam’s Apple looks like a delicacy from this angle. Ugh. So perfect.

[paigesluver]

him and this song>>> god he’s so fine

[devonskitten]

i may have a type 😋

rebellious, lazy, and “dumb” older brothers with two younger siblings who get bad grades and like music 💔💔 (rodrick has a band and likes metal music, axl had a band before, and georgie likes guns n rose + bon jovi!)

[zzzeldazone]

GOODY TWO SHOES | Rick Sanchez x Reader | smut | dubious consent | cis girl reader

A/N: You’re Rick’s college aged, seemingly innocent assistant and you accidentally get hit with a sex pollen seed while on an adventure with him. He is TRYING to be a better guy but you test him

I posted this on Ao3 forever ago and never posted it here so. gift.

You’re not sure how it happened. You were knocked out upon impact of the spore pod and woken up by rick jostling your shoulder, and some grumble about being home.

You didn’t know exactly what you said or where you were because all you could focus on was how hard your nipples were, it took so much of your attention that you looked down and could see them poking through your bra and shirt. “Oh god,” you groaned, opening the door feeling drunk.

You’d been Rick’s assistant for about a year now, at first you were morty’s tutor and baby sitter, but after being dragged into his sci fi nonsense on more than one occasion, you—persistently—convinced him to let you be his assistant. You were in college, with a great science program and coincidentally, you wanted to be a scientist too. You figured that real life application would be a good learning exercise or at least maybe it could look good on a resume.

But this time you’d been climbing a tree when coconut sized pods smacked you in the head, knocking you out cold before rick could catch you (at least you told yourself that was why he hadn’t caught you.)

As you felt throbbing in your core and a pink haze come over your vision, You started putting the pieces together that those were some type of sex pollen/spore like plant. You wanted to study the plant and the effect it was having on you, but the only thing you could focus on was how wetness had poured through your panties and down your leg. You stifled a gasp, turning to look at rick who was ignoring you, already walking to his desk to resume fidgeting with a gadget.

Before he noticed, you rushed to jerry’s man cave. Luckily, the year you spent baby sitting had gotten you familiar with the smith residence.

You whimpered your way to the love seat, quickly laying down and slipping your hand under your shirt and bra to attack your nipples. Using your other hand to move your soaked panties to the side and plunge two fingers deep inside.

You cry out from the sudden release, it’s amazing and too much and not enough. Every touch is ecstasy and yet the aching feeling of lack is making you feel insane. “Pl-please-“ you don’t know who or what you’re asking for but you can’t stop thinking about Rick. You’ve had a crush on him since you met, and worse you’ve had a deep intellectual respect for him. You shouldn’t be doing something so inappropriate in his house while he’s there. Surely he knows what seed hit you, and what affect its having, maybe he’d be able to help?

You can’t help the thoughts that rush into your head at the idea of him helping you with your little problem…

You bite your lip hard and moan thinking about him fucking the need out of you right now, in the name of “science” or “helping you” The idea of him taking advantage of your state was sending you over the edge. You cover your mouth with your free hand to try and stiffle the little “R-Rick”s and moans whimpering out of you, but you feel out of control. You suddenly reach your release with zero warning, but it isn’t even satisfying. There’s no time between reaching your peak and immediately feeling the painful craving for another. The desperate need hurts, there’s no satisfaction or release it’s just an infinite abyss of being close. “h-help-Rick-“ you cry out for his help.

What you don’t know is that Rick went right to his work bench to make the counter act serum for the pollen, and went looking for you in the house to give it to you. He followed the moans and to his shock, his name. His movement stuttered. it was so quiet he was sure he imagined it, you’re a good girl there’s no way he’s about to catch you fucking yourself while thinking about him in his son in law’s home office.

But he stands and stares through the crack in the door, watching your pretty little fingers squelch around your wet pussy, hand covering your mouth but he can still hear it. “R-rick- oh fuck!” God that pretty voice of yours had him exercising control on a daily basis, everytime you’d go “Rick! what does this mean?” with all the sincere curiosity in the world, running up to him wearing that little skirt. Usually, he wouldn’t bother with a Normal™️ but he warmed up to you. He liked having someone around with the same curiosity for everything that he once did. And it didn’t hurt that you were Eye candy.

He can feel the strain in his pants. Jesus, he knows that feeling must be painful. Rick wants to help you, he really does. From the embarrassment alone, He’s trying to be a better guy but he can’t help but cockily raise an eyebrow, watching such a pretty and smart girl thinking of him while fucking herself.

It’s the pathetic little “rick-! help,” cry that drags him into the room. “alright y/n c’mere, i’ve got your antidote right here, your horny ass will be back to being a goody two shoes in juuuust a second-“ he’s being smug, enjoying this too much. He goes to pull your arm out to inject the serum in but you’re unruly, grabbing at his belt, sitting up and moaning desperately.

“s-stop it, y/n, god-“ He frustratedly tries to restrain you while keeping you from pulling his clothes off but you grab his hard dick and whine. He looks at you, with your big teary eyes practically begging and he is glad he’s not as bad as people thinks he is because he wants so badly to give you what you want. To shove his dick past those pouty lips and fuck that throat.

You interrupt his fantasy by dragging him onto the couch and straddling him, which makes him drop and break the serum. “fuck-dammit y/n now i have to make another one-i-i-i don’t even know if i have enough glipfrobvian saliva to make more-!” he’s silenced by you kissing his neck, he pushes you away half-heartedly. “y/n…” he protests in your ear. “Rick… rick…rick,” you moan through kisses like a mantra, like his name is a spell that’ll save you, it makes him chuckle. “g-god you’re-you’re killing me,” he grunts as you grind against his bulge, earning a morally conflicted moan from him.

Rick weakly pushes your hips off him but all it does is grind you harder into him, the sensation drives you crazy. You whimper and wrap your arms around him, now dedicated to dry humping him in a frenzy, You’re so wet it’s soaking his pants. “fuck!” you cry, embarrassed. “m-make it stop,”

“i tried! you broke m-my shit!” He gestures towards the shattered vial and needle on the ground and you cry in frustration, now unbuttoning his pants. “make it stop,” you say again, looking towards his crotch, and he realizes what you mean. Rick feels horrible for you, how embarrassed and miserable you must feel, but it’s starting to feel like this is out of his hands now.

You yoink his pants down and your mouth practically waters at the sight of his huge dick. Even in your state you shoot him a mischievous glance, biting your lip. “Hard.” Is all you can say, though. He gives a weak laugh and looks away, brushing his hair out of his face “well-doll-i-it’s not my fault, with you grinding against me like a dog-like a dog i-in heat-“ He’s cut off by you licking the pre off his tip eagerly. The taste makes you moan, vibrating on his cock, causing him to buck up involuntarily into you. You think he mutters a sorry, running his hands through your hair, still trying to deescalate this. But you’re distracted by how your entire body reacts to his touch. You feel every hair on end, your skin feels like it purrs and rushes to anywhere he touches.

The feeling of his dick filling your throat, the way his breathing hitches, the little involuntary bucks up into your mouth, the way he throws his head back, it’s too much.

You can’t take it anymore, You waste no time sitting up and sliding him between your wet folds, practically sobbing at the contact. Rick shoots you a look of surprise, the last of his worries leaving him slowly as he bottoms out in you. You both moan out in unison feeling him hit your womb. “f-fuck, sweetheart-shit-“ his head rolls back. You whimper, he’s fucking huge. Like scary big. Like it kind of hurts big, but your body moves on its own, riding him. He rocks up into you and lifts you up and down by your hips, seemingly by muscle memory.

You look down to watch, something you’d never do normally, it would be too embarrassing. You bite your lip and chuckle, seeing his truly massive dick go in and out of you, you lean forward to kiss his neck and whisper “be honest, ya cybernetic enhanced your dick to be bigger didn’t you?” you can hear your voice hot and frenzied, you barely even sound like yourself. He laughs at this.

“pfft, that’s all me babe,” he scoffs, spanking you with one hand and using the other to fuck up into you hard as punishment. You Moan and your head falls back from the pleasure, feeling him hit your walls just right.

Rick takes your shirt off and starts sucking on a nipple, jolting cold electricity through your body. “r-rick, i’ve- cum- to the thought of y-ou- so many times-“ you admit through cock drunk stupor, riding him like your life depends on it, desperately chasing your high. He looks up at you, sweat forming in his hair line, shocked by your admission. “Shit, baby, did you mess with those seeds on purpose?” he asks using the opportunity to flip you down so that he’s on top of you.

You whine and claw down towards him at the removal of him from inside you. “P-Plea-“ is all you get out before he kisses you. “Ask-b-beg for my help again, Princess-“ He smirks, lips grazing yours, heavy eyes lidded. “Please!” you whine. He smirks and tsks. “You can do better than that, c-come on, y/n-“ he starts rubbing the tip of his dick between your folds and you can feel your pussy throb around him.

“h-help me, rick, please-fuck me stupid,” you beg, wrapping your legs around his waist. He laughs excitedly, giving you exactly what you asked for. He pushes inside of you and jack hammers JUST right. It’s insane, he manages to stay at the exact same rhythm and pace, pushing you to your peak quickly. You start to wonder, Did he cybernetic the ability to like… cruise control during sex? can he also turn up the speed like how you can in a car? jesus he’s like one of those dildo machines.

You hug him tightly, tears start to water your lashes as you reach your second orgasm, he feels like such a protective force in this position. It feels so good to be hugged tightly as he fucks you through your orgasm, giving you exactly what you begged for in your time of need. “T-thank you-Rick- th-“ you whimper as you finish, this time it’s powerful, making you claw his back.

It feels good, it’s more satisfying than before but it doesn’t stop the ache. You look at him, scared. Still fucking you he pants “it won’t stop until i cum in you-“ he waits for you to absorb this new information, but you only moan and hug him tighter. “Jesus christ you’re like m-my heroin-“ he smirks, fucking faster now, chasing his own orgasm this time.

You thrust up into him, desperate and hungry for his cum. “Please-Please-“ you’re salivating “cum in me-rick-i wan’it-“

as if on command his hips stutter as he fills you up, your walls fluttering around him. He’s right, as soon as he finishes you can feel the haze start to fade. Your breathing slowly goes back to normal as he lays next to you. You blink into regular consciousness up at the ceiling. You’re nervous, but you bravely steal a glance at Rick who is studying you. He looks curious, mixed with that usual disinterested stare. But there’s a hint of guilt there. “I need to go get some plan B, i guess-“ you try to lighten the mood, reaching for your shirt at the other end of the loveseat.

“I’ll-uurrp-make you a more effective contraceptive,” he starts to fiddle with some vials in his coat pockets. There’s a thick silence and you start to get the pollen equivalent of hang-ziety.

“Was that true? about you thinking about me?” he asks, keeping his eyes on the new serum he was making.

For a second you consider lying, blaming it on the pollen. But instead you groan and put your head in your hands. “Yeah,” you admit, defeated.

Rick fails to hide a self satisfied eyebrow raise and smirk before handing you the new vial. You throw it back like it’s a shot before standing up, putting your hands on your hips. “Well i guess we’ll go back to normal now, act like nothing happened. Full reset!” you half joke, throwing finger guns his way.

He’s reclothed himself and stood up too. “Yeah something tells me that’s not gonna happen.” Rick takes a swig from his flask and smacking your ass before leaving the room.

[girlamb]

[evansbby]

“𝙣𝙤 𝙤𝙣𝙚’𝙨 𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙝𝙖𝙙 𝙢𝙚, 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪…”

𝙋𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜: frat!Rafe Cameron x innocent Pogue!reader

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

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

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

“Her.”

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

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

“And?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, what about that one?” 

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

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

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

“Who is she?”

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

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

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

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

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

Insecure. Weak. Vulnerable. 

He licks his lips.

“How long?”

“Huh?”

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

Topper raises an eyebrow.

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

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

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

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

“A week.” 

“Mm?”

“A week to fuck her. With proof.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’d have fun ruining you.

***

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, uh, I’m not sure…”

“It was a rhetorical question.”

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

“You find books more interesting than people?”

“Huh?”

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

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

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

“Are you making fun of me?”

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll be your friend.” 

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

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

“Oh, you don’t have to, I uh—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You could call it studying.”

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

“What’s your name, homeschool?” 

You tell him.

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

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

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

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

***

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

You’re alone. As usual.

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

“Oh, h-hello, Rafe.” 

“What’re you up to today?” 

“Nothing, just going to my next lecture.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Friends?” You don’t have any.

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

Fuckin’ jealous pogue bitches. 

“Oh yeah?”

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

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

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

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

Rafe remains impassive, waiting for you to continue. 

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

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

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

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

“It’s… it’s not appropriate.”

“Say it. Now.” 

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

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

“Huh. Is that so?”

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

Rafe nods, “Hmm.”

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

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

You blink, “What?”

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

“It’s not that–”

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

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

“I asked you a question, homeschool.”

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

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

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

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

He stops, allows you to catch up.

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You look aghast, “No! I would never–”

“I’m just kidding, homeschool.”

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

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

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

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

“Thank you.”

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

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

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

He nods, “You look pretty.”

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

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

*

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

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

Rafe Cameron owned the world. Nothing could stop him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No?”

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

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

“Do you have a job?” Rafe asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Rafe?”

“Yes?”

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

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

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

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

“H-Huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

He pulls back abruptly, leaving you gaping at him.

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

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

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

“Wow, that was cool!”

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

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

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

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

He grins, “You a teacher’s pet?”

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

Rafe grins, “Yeah?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You falling for that homeschool freak Pogue?”

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

“You sure about that?”

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

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

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

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

*

Rafe: Hey.

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

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

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

Rafe: What are you up to?

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

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

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

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

“H-Hello?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What like vacuuming and shit?”

“Yes.”

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

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

“Uh, Rafe?”

“I wanted to talk to you,” he says.

A pause.

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

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

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

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

“I’d rather speak to you than them.”

 “That’s not true, Rafe.”

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re funny, Rafe.”

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

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

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

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

“A-Are you still there?”

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

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

“Rafe?”

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

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

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

“Yes?”

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

“Like, uh, at your house?”

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

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

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

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

“Rafe…”

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rafe smirks, “You don’t know her.”

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

“Do you have brain damage, Topper?”

“What?”

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

“Well, yeah, but –”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blink, “Um, water?”

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

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

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

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

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

“People have been talking about me to you?”

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

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

“Do you always drink after school?”

“Huh?”

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

“No.” He lies. “Only sometimes.”

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

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

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

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

He shrugs, “A few.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey!”

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

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

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

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

“Well, it’s easy. I could show you.”

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

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

Your jaw drops, “Hey, it’s not tiny!”

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

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

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

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

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

He taps his leg, “Get on my lap.”

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

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

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

“I did, I’m sorry, but I don’t–”

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

“There. Comfy?”

“Well, I guess, but…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Rafe, maybe not too much–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He feels you go rigid, “Th-The pool?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s okay,” he says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

Kelce: One day left, loverboy.

Topper: Can’t wait to see the pictures.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m scared.”

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

“What happened? Did someone hurt you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Stay put. I’ll see you soon.”

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

“Rafe! You came!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Despite everything, his dick hardens.

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

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

“I wouldn’t do it for anyone else.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He smirks, “I could distract you.”

“H-How?”

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

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

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

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

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

“H-Huh–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y-You.”

“Yeah. And who’s older?”

“You are.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Th-That hurts,” you say pitifully.

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

“Rafe, I, that… oh… oh my–”

“Stand up, baby.”

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

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

“Take your leggings off.”

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

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

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

“Wh-What?”

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

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

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

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

“Stand up straight, look at me again.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You swallow, “H-How, Rafe?”

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

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

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

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

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

“You have an accident, princess?”

You look absolutely aghast, “No!”

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

“Oh my God–”

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, Rafe, oh, oh oh, it’s too much!”

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

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

“No, I-I can’t, I, oh fuck!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You look embarrassed, “Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Take it out.”

“N-No!”

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

“I-I know but… but I’m scared.”

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

“Well, yes, but–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I am?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah?”

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

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

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

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

‘I don’t know.”

SMACK.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Gonna add another one, okay baby?”

‘W-Won’t fit, daddy.”

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

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

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

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

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

“But it hurts!”

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

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

“I made ‘em fit, didn’t I?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“R-Rafe, please, I don’t think–”

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

“Nooo…”

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

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

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

“Rafe, I… please…”

“Baby…”

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

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

“Fuck.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Y-You’re not mad?”

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

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

“You pr-promise?”

“I promise.”

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

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

The wind laughs and laughs all night.

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

What the fuck did that mean?

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

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

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

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

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

“You make me feel safe, daddy.”

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

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

*

“There he is! The loverboy himself!”

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

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

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

Rafe scoffs, “Is that even a question.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then show us. That was the deal.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And immediately locks eyes with you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Does Rafe genuinely care for reader?

Should reader forgive Rafe?

Favourite scene/part?

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

[st4rfckerz]

hi i’m stuck on thinking about rafe encouraging you to slap him during an argument.

rafe has a temper — we all know this. not a day goes by without him getting into an argument with someone and you’re no exception. but what he doesn’t tell you is that sometimes he gets under your skin on purpose.

he believes there’s something so incredibly attractive about the way you get increasingly more fed up with him. so he uses it to his advantage, for fun, of course.

you currently find yourself in that situation. you and rafe have been making snarky remarks towards each other for at least thirty minutes now, and you don’t see it ending anytime soon.

it doesn’t help that you’re no better than he is. if anything, you can be worse — following him into different rooms, jabbing him with a pointed finger, refusing to let him have the last word. meanwhile, he just watches you with that same irritating smirk, like this is all entertainment to him.

except this time it was different. instead of letting you keep following him, he suddenly turns, and you walk right into him — your nose bumping against his chest.

“you’re really that angry,” he stares down at you, the corner of his lip curling in amusement.

“are you being serious right now?” you scoff, crossing your arms. “it’s not just this, that’s the whole point. you keep acting like it’s just this one thing, like i’m blowing it out of proportion, and i’m not. it’s the way you push and push and then stand there like you didn’t do anything, like i’m crazy for reacting.”

your hands fly up as you talk, frustration written all over your face. rafe only watches, hands clasped behind his back, like he’s enjoying every second — because he is.

“god I can’t even stand to look at you right now, you’re so,” you mutter, exhaling sharply while burying your face into your hands.

he doesn’t argue, just slowly bends at the waist so that he’s eye level with you.

He taps his cheek lightly, his tongue pressing against the inside of it ‘attempting’ to hide his growing smile. “c’mon you’ll feel better, promise,”

you squint your eyes at him in disgust before turning on your heels and walking away.

“what?” he calls after you, a grin in his voice. “i’m just trying to help.”

you know he was trying to do everything but that.

[drewsbby]

thinking about your ex rafe cameron, breaking you, but also putting the pieces back together.

"we're done! i'm over this bullshit!" you scream walking away from him. "baby, no don't fucking walk away from me" he says sternly, anger rising in his voice. "you don't get to call me that anymore" you respond entering his room grabbing your things. rafe quickly approaches behind you grabbing your hands to stop you from putting your things in the purse he just bought you. “stop, y/n!” his grip isn’t gentle, not enough to hurt, but enough to stop you completely. your hands freeze mid motion, his fingers wrapped tight around your wrists, your purse slipping slightly from your hold. “rafe, let go.” your voice comes out sharper than you mean it, breath uneven, chest rising and falling too fast.

he doesn’t. “no.” he says, voice low, like he’s trying to stay in control but he knows it’s slipping. “you’re not just gonna walk in here, say we’re done, and act like that’s it.” you let out a short, disbelieving laugh, trying to pull your hands back. “that’s exactly what i’m doing.” his jaw tightens immediately. eyes darkening, “no, it’s not.”

he steps closer, forcing you back a half step until the edge of the dresser presses into your hips. his grip loosens just enough to slide from your wrists to your hands, like he’s trying to make it look softer than it is. “you don’t mean that,” he mutters, eyes scanning your face like he’s searching for something to prove himself right. “you’re mad. that’s all this is.”

“i’m not just mad, rafe.” your voice cracks this time, and you hate that it does. “i’m tired of this shit.” that makes him pause for a second. but then he shakes his head like he’s rejecting it completely, like the idea itself pisses him off. “tired of what, huh?” he presses, leaning in closer. “me? or the fact you don’t get to control everything?”

you scoff, finally yanking one hand free, shoving against his chest. he barely moves. “this, this right here,” you gesture between you, frustration spilling over, “you don’t listen. you don’t care about what i want unless it lines up with what you want.” his eyes darken at that. “that’s not true.”

“it is,” you shoot back immediately. “i said we’re done.” his tongue drags across his bottom lip, like he’s holding himself back from saying something or doing something worse. “no,” it’s quieter this time. your brows pull together. “what do you mean no?” he lets out a breath through his nose, shaking his head slightly, like you’re the one not getting it. “i mean you don’t get to decide that on your own.” your stomach drops at how calm he suddenly sounds. “rafe-”

“you think you can just walk away from me?” he cuts in, voice low again, stepping closer until there’s barely any space left between you. “after everything? after you let it get this far?” your back hits the dresser fully now. “that’s not how this works.” your heart is pounding from anger and nerves. pounding from him being too close, like always.

“that’s exactly how it works,” you say, but it comes out less certain this time, and you mentally kick yourself because you know he’ll notice that, and exploit that. his gaze flickers to your lips for half a second before coming back to your eyes, a slow, almost satisfied exhale leaving him. “see?” he murmurs. “you don’t even sound sure.”

“i am sure,” you insist, but you don’t move away or don’t push him back this time. his hand comes up, slower now, less force, brushing against your jaw, not quite gentle, but not rough either. “then go,” he says quietly. but doesn’t move. he doesn't give you the space to breathe. just stands there. 

“go!” he repeats. “door’s right there.” but he still doesn’t step back from you, nor give you space to pass. that infuriates you even more. you shove his chest harder this time. “you’re so full of shit.” his head snaps slightly at that, brows pulling together. “excuse me?”

“you tell me to leave, but you’re standing right in front of me like you’re waiting for me not to,” your voice sharpens, frustration spilling over. “like always.” his jaw tightens. “because you don’t.” 

“that doesn’t mean i won’t this time.”

“yeah?” he steps closer again, like he can’t help himself. “you’ve said that before.” and that hits you in the chest, because you know he’s right. your grip tightens around your bag. “that’s exactly the problem, rafe. this-” you gesture between you, shaking your head, “this keeps happening.”

“because you keep coming back,” he shoots back immediately, like he’s been waiting to say it. you let out a breath, incredulous. “you think it’s just me?”

“don’t twist it,” he snaps. “you show up, and text me. you come into my room like nothing’s changed-”

“because you pull me back every time!” your voice raises now, breaking through his. “you don’t let anything end, you don’t let anything be done, you just-” you cut yourself off, frustration settling in, shaking your head. he watches you, chest rising, eyes locked on you like you’re something he’s trying to figure out and fight at the same time. “you act like you don’t want this,” he says, quieter now, but sharper. “like you’re so over it.”

“i should be,” you fire back. “we’re not even together, rafe. we haven’t been.” those few words hit him like a moving truck, making his expression shift. “yeah,” he mutters, almost under his breath. “whose fault is that?” you blink watching as he can’t be vulnerable, having this hard tough guy act, but why with you?. “mine?”

“you’re the one who didn’t wanna make it official again,” he says, stepping back just enough to run a hand through his hair, pacing. “you’re the one who said ‘no labels,’ remember?”

“because of this!” you throw your hands up. “because we always end up right back here, arguing and yelling, you not listening-”

“i listen.” you laugh, short and bitter. “no, you don’t. you hear what you want, and then you do whatever the hell you were gonna do anyway.” his eyes flash at that. “that’s not fair.”

“neither is this,” you shoot back, softer now but no less intense. “you don’t get to keep me like this, rafe.” he stills completely. “like what?” his voice drops again. you hesitate saying it, but then you say it anyway. “like something you can pick up whenever you feel like it,” you swallow. “and put down when it gets too hard.”

his reaction is too immediate, “that’s not what this is.” he almost yells. “then what is it?” you challenge, stepping toward him now. “because we’re not together. we fight every other time we see each other. and yet-” your voice falters slightly, “i’m still here.”

his eyes soften for a split second at that, but it’s leaves just as fast. “yeah,” he says quietly. “you are.” your chest tightens. “that’s not a good thing.”

“maybe not,” he shrugs slightly, but there’s tension in it, something real under the surface. “but you’re still here anyway.” you shake your head, backing up a step now. “this is exactly why i didn’t wanna do this again.”

“do what?” he presses. “us.” your voice is barely controlled now. “whatever this is. the hooking up, the pretending it doesn’t mean anything when it clearly does,”

“then just stop pretending,” he cuts in, suddenly closer again. you freeze. his voice is lower now, more intense than before. “you think i don’t see it?” he says, eyes locked onto yours. “you think i don’t notice the way you look at me? the way you come back every time even after you swear you’re done?” your breath catches. “you’re not over it either.”

“that doesn’t mean this is good,” you whisper. he exhales, running a hand over his face, frustration bleeding through now. “i don’t care if it’s good,” he finally admits. “i just..” he stops himself, jaw tightening. you stare at him. “you just what?”

“i’m not letting you walk out like you don't care!.”

your heart breaks a little, because all you wanted was a sign that he wanted this as much as you did. and that’s what makes it worse. you swallow, gripping your bag tighter. “rafe…” you say, but you don’t move and he notices that again. his gaze drops to your lips for half a second before coming back up, something almost darkly satisfied settling in. “yeah,” he murmurs. “that’s what i thought.”

the shift in energy is almost instant. like all the softness meant nothing. one second the space is filled with heavy tension, but now it’s making a turn for the worst. you shake your head, backing up, voice tight. “this is pointless. you’re not even hearing m-”

“no, i hear you,” he cuts in sharply, something mean slipping into his tone now. “i just think it’s funny.” your brows pull together. “what’s funny?” he lets out a dry laugh, pacing once like he’s working himself up. “you standing here acting like you’re some victim in this.” your stomach drops slightly. “a victim? i’m not acting like anything-”

“yeah, you are,” he interrupts, harsher now. “like i’m the problem, like i’m the one keeping you here.” you stare at him. “you are part of the problem, rafe-”

“or maybe,” he cuts in again, voice sharper, colder, “you just like what comes with me.”

you feel like you just got slapped in the face, your hands start trembling of hurt, of anger, or that irritation voice on your shoulder telling you to yell back, to disrespect him like he just did you. “…what?” is all that manages to come out. he shrugs, but it’s defensive,  like he knows exactly what he’s doing and doesn’t care.

“the bags, the clothes, the shit i buy you,” he gestures vaguely toward your purse. the one he just got you, the one you were just shoving all your shit in, “all of it.”

“don’t..” your voice shakes slightly, “don’t do that.”

but he’s already too far in. “what?” he scoffs. “you gonna tell me you don’t like it? you don’t like showing it off?” his eyes drag over you, cruel now. “walking around like that, acting like it’s not mine?” those words hit you hard, like something physically just knocked the air out of you. “you think i’m with you for your fucking money?” your voice is loud and sharp, hurt bleeding through every word.

he doesn’t hesitate like he’s had this thought for ages, and it’s just now coming out. “i think it doesn’t hurt.” your vision blurs almost instantly, tears filling your eyes before you can stop them. you shake your head slowly, like you’re trying to process what he just said.

“wow.” he exhales, running a hand through his hair, but he doesn’t take it back, or try to fix it. “you really think that low of me?” you whisper. “you think i’m like every other kook bitch on the island who wants your money?” you ask louder, “you really think that’s why i’ve stayed, and had your back through everything? for purses and dinners?” you say letting out all your frustration. 

he doesn’t answer right away. and somehow, that’s even worse. your let out a laugh, shaky and disbelieving, tears slipping down your cheeks now. “i have never, not once, needed anything from you, rafe.” he looks at you, but there’s still that edge there, like he’s too deep in his own anger to pull himself out.

“then why are you still here?” he throws back. and that’s the final blow, your teared eyes widen in shock, not expecting him to say anything worse, but it just piles on. “because i loved you.”

his expression flickers, just for a second, but you don’t let him speak, don’t give him the chance. “because i wanted you,” your voice cracks, tears falling faster now. “not your money, not your stupid gifts, not any of that, just you.” he takes a step toward you. “y/n-”

“no,” you snap, backing away quickly, grabbing your keys off the dresser with shaking hands. you dump the purse of your things, throwing the bag at his chest.  “you don’t get to take it all back now” panic flashes across his face now, the anger leaving. “hey, hey, i didn’t mean-”

“yes, you did,” you cut him off, voice breaking. “you said it. you thought it.” you turn toward the door, wiping at your face but it does nothing, tears still streaming uncontrollably. “y/n, stop-” he moves after you. “don’t follow me!” you spin back for a second, voice shaking but loud. 

“baby, i’m sorry, please-” he begs, but you shove him back. you stare at him for a second longer, chest heaving, then shake your head. “fuck you, rafe cameron.” your voice cracks on his name. For the first time all night you can physically see his heart break, his eyes turning glossy, while his mouth is a gap, like he’s stuck between saying something, or letting out a sob. 

“leave me the fuck alone” and this time, you really walk out.

the door slams behind you, echoing through the house as you rush to your car, hands shaking so bad you can barely get the key in. tears blur your vision, falling faster, harder, your breath coming in uneven gasps as you finally start the engine.

“FUCK!” you hear him yell, but you don’t care, you put the car in drive and you don’t look back.

-

you can’t even count how many times you’ve ignored every text, every call. every text that said “im outside,” because he did try to see you, and speak to you. at first is was way too messy, only coming late at night in the form of drunk texts, always a string of texts with unreadable spelling mistakes, saying the same “i’m sorry baby”  “I love you so much”  “please you mean everything to me” and it hurt so much more because all you wanted to do was run back into his arms. 

but then you kept telling yourself no. that him saying sorry enough times wouldn’t undo what he said or how he acted. and it was like he realized it for himself as well, because the messages slowly decreased, and when they did, they were more honest, and less quick and poorly written, like “i know you don’t wanna hear from me, but I’m trying to give you space.”  “i fucked up. i know that.”   “not texting you again after this. just I’m so fucking sorry baby.”

and that was the last you heard from him for a few days, until those days turned into a week, then a week into two, and eventually it became a month and so on. it hurt too, because somehow, for once he finally actually listened, and of all the times he could’ve listened, why’d he choose this time?

-

you almost don’t go.

you stood in front of your mirror for ten minutes, staring at your reflection like you were trying to convince yourself this was just another night. “girl, staring at the mirror isn’t gonna do anything” your best friend says to you. “i don’t know if i wanna go honestly” you reply to her, and it’s partly true. “you just don’t want to run into him, but honestly fuck him, he can’t stop your life” she says, and you immediately know who she’s speaking about.

“no you’re right, and we look hot as fuck anyway” you say with a smile. “hell yeah we do!” she laughs with you. 

the air is warm when you arrive, the feeling of the start of summer. the waves silently crashing into the sane, while everyone is in conversation and the music is playing lightly in the background. you and your best friend grab a drink, saying hello to your other friends. 

you glance around like you’re trying to reassure yourself he’s not here when your eyes drift to the past the bonfire smoke, and there he is. 

rafe cameron, your ex boyfriend. 

standing a little forward down the beach, talking to someone, but not really. he looks different, his eyes are darker, like he’s been in his head, his shoulder relaxed like he doesn’t care anymore. you stare longer than you intended, when his eyes roam around, feeling the heat of behind stared at, when they fall on you. 

it feels like the whole party faded away, like the music just stopped, and the conversations ended. your heart nearly drops to your ass, while you almost forget how to breathe. he doesn’t look away, and neither do you. “shit,” you mutter under your breath. your friend glances at you. “what?”

“um, nothing,” you say quickly like you’re trying to cover it up, but it’s already too late. because he’s already making his way towards you both. his movements are careful, like he’s trying to make sure you don’t disappear, like it’s a fragile moment. your heart is pounding a thousand beats per second, you’re not sure how you haven’t fainted at this point. you force yourself not to leave to hear him out because honestly? you missed his voice. 

“hey,” he says when he finally reaches you. the moment is awkward and filled with nerves from you both. “hi.” you respond.  there’s a pause that stretches a little too long, both of you clearly trying to figure out how to exist in the same space again without everything blowing up.

“you look really good,” he says finally, like he’s just trying to start somewhere normal. you let out a small smile. “so do you.” he shifts his weight slightly, glancing down for half a second before looking back at you. “i wasn’t sure if you’d, talk to me, or if you’d just ignore me.” you raise a brow slightly. “you didn’t exactly give me a reason to run up and say hi.”

“yeah,” he nods, accepting that immediately. “that’s fair.” he pauses before continuing, “i’ve been wanting to talk to you.” your arms cross loosely, more out of grounding yourself than defensiveness. “you’ve took plenty of chances.”

“i know,” he says. “i just figured you didn’t wanna hear it anymore.” you tilt your head slightly, “and now?” he exhales. “now i think even if you don’t wanna hear it, you deserve to.” that softens your sassy exterior a bit.  “okay,” you say slowly. “then talk.” he runs a hand through his hair, like he’s organizing his thoughts in real time. “i meant what i said,” he starts. “about being sorry. not in a ‘i messed up, let’s move on’ kind of way. i mean, i actually get why you left.” your brows pull together slightly. “do you really though?”

“i do,” he nods. “because if you said that shit to me? i would’ve lost it too.” you let out a quiet, almost humorless laugh. “you did lose it.”

“i know,” he says quickly. “that’s what i’m saying. i was already off it and i still said worse.” your gaze hardens slightly. “you didn’t just say something ‘worse,’ rafe. you questioned why i was even with you.”

“i know.”

“you made it sound like i was using you.”

“i know,” he repeats, more firmly this time. “and i’ve been replaying that over and over in my head, wishing i could take it back.”

“well, you can’t,” you say, your voice sharper now.

“i know i can’t,” he says, stepping a little closer, but still not invading your space. “that’s why i’m not standing here asking you to forget it. i just, i needed you to know i didn’t mean it.” you shake your head slightly. “then why even say it?” he doesn’t answer immediately, and it makes you open up a space to truly heal from that comment, because for once, he’s not rushing to defend himself, actually thinking before he speaks. 

“i was so angry,” he says finally. “and i wanted to win the argument.” your jaw tightens, the angry of that night slowly rising. “so you said the one thing you knew would hurt me the most.”

“…yeah.” the honesty knocks the air out of your lungs more than any excuse would’ve. “you don’t even understand how deep that cut, rafe” you say quietly, your voice starting to shake despite your best effort.

“i do,” he says immediately.

“no, you don’t,” you shake your head, stepping back slightly. “because you didn’t have to walk away wondering if the person you loved ever actually respected you. you didn’t have to think about how i thought you just viewed me like all the other girls you dated. how the island looks at me like that. ” his face softens, like the guilt is eating at him, now that he can see and hear how bad he broke you with that small sentence. 

“i’ve never needed anything from you,” you continue, your voice breaking now. “not your money, not your gifts, not any of that. and the fact that you could even think that-”

“i didn’t think that,” he cuts in, more desperate and pleading now. “i don’t think that.”

“but you still said it,” you fire back. “and that means somewhere in your head, you believed that.” he exhales sharply, frustrated, but at himself. “you’re right,” he admits. “it did. for a second. and i grabbed onto it because i knew it would get to you.” you stare at him. “which makes it worse, i know” he adds, quieter now. “because i used it against you knowing it wasn’t true.”

“i’ve been around people like that my whole life,” he continues. “people who do want me for that. and instead of recognizing that you’re not like them, i threw it back in your face. i threw you in that same category just to hurt you.” you don’t even know what to say at this point. “yeah,” you whisper. “you did.”

“and i hate that i did,” he says. “i hate that that’s what you walked away with.” you laugh softly, shaking your head. “you didn’t just hurt my feelings, rafe. you messed with how i see things now.” his brows pull together. “what do you mean?”

“i mean,” you swallow, “now every time someone does something nice for me, i’m wondering if they think i expect it. or if they think i’m taking advantage.” his face falls. “and that’s on me now,” you continue. “because you put that thought there.”

“i’m sorry,” he says again, quieter this time. “not in a fix it way. just- i’m so fucking sorry i did that to you.” you look at him for a long moment. “and it’s not just that,” you add. “it’s everything. the fighting, the way we talk to each other when we’re mad, the way it always turns into something bigger than it needs to be.”

“i know.”

“i’m exhausted, rafe,” you admit, your voice softer now but heavier. “i don’t wanna keep doing this. i don’t wanna keep loving someone who makes me feel like i’m constantly fighting to be understood.” he nods slowly.

“i hear you,” he says. “i really do.” you tilt your head slightly. “do you? or are you just saying that because you think it’s what i wanna hear?”

“i’m saying it because i do get it,” he replies. “there’s a difference.” you cross your arms again, studying him. “okay. then explain it to me.” he takes a breath.

“i’ve been treating this like, as long as you don’t leave, it’s fine,” he says. “like the relationship is successful just because you’re still here.” your expression shifts slightly. “but that’s not the point,” he continues. “the point is making you wanna stay. and i haven’t been doing that.” you don’t interrupt, because he’s not wrong.

“i’ve been controlling, i haven’t listened, i’ve pushed you, pulled you back, pushed you again, and just assumed you’d always come back.”

“and when you didn’t,” he adds, quieter now, “that’s when it finally hit me.” the silence settles between you, and your heart hurts, because you’re realizing you weren’t the only one suffering these past few weeks. “i didn’t get over you,” you admit after a moment.

his eyes flicker a look of relief, like he was hoping you’d give him an indication, just a smidge of leeway back into your life. “i just stopped letting myself go back,” you continue. “because i knew if i did, nothing would change.”

“fair,” he says, but it’s not casual this time. his voice is lower, rougher around the edges, like he’s choosing his words instead of just throwing them at you.

“and i can’t do the old version of us again,” you tell him, holding your ground. “i won’t, rafe.”

he nods slowly, jaw tight, eyes locked on yours. you hesitate slightly at that. “then we don’t,” he adds, a little more firmly now. you let out a small breath, shaking your head. “it’s not that simple, and you know it’s not.”

“i do,” he says, stepping a little closer, but not too close, not pushing. “i know it’s not simple. i just, i know it’s that clear.” your brows pull together, studying him like you’re trying to catch the part where he slips back into old habits.

“you’re not gonna rush me?” you ask. he huffs a quiet breath, almost like the idea annoys him but not at you, at himself. “no. i’m not doing that again. i pushed you enough.”

“and you’re not gonna try to pull me back in the second i let my guard down?” his gaze flickers, something honest passing through it. “i’ve wanted to every day since you left,” he admits, voice dropping. “but no, i’m not gonna do that either.”

that makes you take a second, .

“you’re actually gonna listen to me?” he lets out a small, humorless laugh, running a hand over his jaw. “i should’ve been doing that the whole time,” he says. then softer, more serious, “ but yeah, course i am.” he says with that stupid smirk now. “and if it starts feeling like it used to?” you ask quietly.

he doesn’t answer right away, smirk fading, as he really deeply thinks about the answer. then he nods once, like he’s settling into something. “then you walk,” he says. “and i don’t chase you, or try to talk you out of it.” his jaw tightens slightly. “…even if it kills me.” you internally frown at that. “that’s not what you used to do.”

“i know,” he says immediately. “that’s the problem.” silence falls between you, heavier now but real. “i still care about you,” you admit, your voice quieter now. his head dips slightly, exhaling like that hits deeper than anything. “I was hoping you still would” he said with relief.

“and that’s what makes this hard.” he nods, eyes not leaving you. “same. i wouldn’t be standing here right now if it wasn’t.” you look away for a second, collecting yourself, then back at him. “this doesn’t just go back to normal,” you say. “there’s no jumping right back into whatever we were.”

“i don’t want that,” he says quickly. you blink, confused. “you don’t?” he shakes his head, stepping closer again, carefully. “no. because whatever we were? that’s what screwed it up in the first place.” his voice lowers. “i don’t want half of you. i don’t want the ‘when it’s convenient’ version.”

“so what do you want?” you ask. He steps into you space now, still not touching you, but he doesn’t hesitate with his words, like he’s so sure of it,  “i want a real shot,” he says, eyes steady on yours. “i want to do it right. no games. i want you, and i want it in a way that doesn’t end like this again.” your heart flutters. 

“and if it doesn’t work?” you ask, softer now.

“that’s not an option in my mind. It will work, because I want you more than anything.” he says so softly you barely know if you even heard it, and his words linger in your mind. the waves crash behind you, filling the silence you don’t know how to break, making you remember, you’re at a bonfire with actual people near you. 

you glance around, looking for your best friend. Her eyes are already on yours, looking for any indication that you need help, need her to rip rafe a new one, but you give her a nod that says “i’m good” and she takes it, taking a sip of her drink while looking back at the guy she’s speaking to. 

“you can try,” you say finally, glancing back at rafe. his eyes only waiting for an answer.  “yeah?” he asks quietly, like he doesn’t want to push it. “yeah,” you nod. “but slow. and if i feel like i’m losing myself in this again, i’m done. for real this time.”

“you won’t,” he says so surely. you give him a look. “you don’t know that.”

he reaches out to place his hand on yours, hesitating for a second, like he’s asking for permission, grabbing it with a small squeeze, reassuring you. “ i’ll make sure you don’t,” he corrects, “i’ll fix it before it gets there.” 

you feel a warmth creep up your arm at the contact, and you have to stop yourself for melting into it, but you body reacts before your brain can even process what you’re doing. your hand comes up first, fingers curling lightly into the front of his shirt, pulling him just a little closer.

his restraint snaps as instantly as yours, his hand slides to your waist, the other to your jaw, and when he leans down to kiss you, it’s everything you’ve both been holding back for weeks. weeks of missing each other, of him stopping himself from just showing up to your door, weeks of you having to force yourself to not think about him.

his grip tightens just slightly, pulling you closer like he’s making sure you’re real, like you’re not about to disappear on him again. when he finally pulls back, it’s barely an inch, his forehead resting against yours, breath uneven.

“please, don’t ever leave me again,” he mutters, raw and honest, a side of rafe you’ve never seen, until now. and for once things feel like they’ve gone back to normal. 

[ultraviolet-rayblogz]

THE WANK BANK— miguel edition!

╰┈➤ a list of some of vi's fav smutty fics!! (mostly me dick riding my moots)

— "Earth 703” (+ the sex pollen drabble) BY @xbellaxcarolinax

— “Mystery Girl” series BY @fairlyang

— “Lunch Break” (and literally EVERY scientist hubby!miguel fic she’s written) BY @improbable-outset

— “Nerd!Miguel starts an OF” and it’s sequel BY @cheonstapes

— “69ing w/ Miguel” BY @mybvalentine

— “Sticky-Icky" BY @bluesidez

— "Dad Bod!Miguel ft. breeding kink" BY @cupcakeinat0r

— Literally any of their "sweet thoughts", but this one especially BY @sweetimpurity

— Every single fic she writes is phenomenal, but my favourite is the "Curvy!Reader x Miguel" headcanons BY @cherryredstars

— “Let's Make Up" and "Don't Push It" BY @monarchberrysblog

— Every "The Quiet Storm on 209.9" oneshot BY @risararelywrites

— "Miguel Knows How to..." BY @lacedinweb22

— "My Husband Has A Symbiote!" BY @slushycoookie

— "Study Night" BY @pxtched

— "Mi Valentín" BY @xxsugarbonesxx

— "Present time with baby daddy!" (specifically pt.6) BY @yougavemeyourheartyouknow

— "Devil's Advocate" BY @st4rymoon

— "Pretty in Pink" BY @miguelhugger2099

— Literally ANYTHING BY @lazyjellyfish300

— "Miguel x Wife!Reader (Lactation Kink)" BY @exhaslo

obviously there are many many more amazingly sexy fics and extremely talented writers on this app, so I might have to make a part 2!

[nottsangel-rip]

ugh i NEEEEEEED to jerk off bsf!theo rn 😵‍💫

giving bsf!theo a handjob is never something that’s planned, it just… happens. he could be barging into your dorm room in the middle of the day, clearly exasperated about something as he paces around your room and rants on and on. it hurts seeing your best friend this way, and you’d do anything to help him feel just a little better.

“teddy… come sit next to me.” you pat the empty space beside you on your bed, and he marches towards you, heavy, furious steps echoing across your wooden floor. still, he’s not done ranting, as he animatedly waves his arms in the air with hints of italian thrown into his sentences.

slowly, your hand inches towards his crotch with your eyes still locked on his, nodding in understanding at his outburst with furrowed brows. but when your hand reaches into his pants, he exhales sharply and bites his lip, the room suddenly turning silent.

“baby…” he whispers in a strained voice as you palm him over his boxers, and he just falls apart immediately. what was he angry about again? he forgot already, as he leans back on his elbows and instinctively spreads his legs wider, watching you touch him through lidded eyes.

when you finally pull his cock free, already straining against the fabric, he laughs softly, a cheeky, lopsided smirk tugging at his lips. “you just always know how to shut me up, huh? fuck, what would i do without you, bella...”

[iris-qt]

between the lines

a very inconvenient discovery

You don’t realize what you’ve done until you’re halfway through your second class of the day and open your notebook to find...

Not your handwriting.

Not your diagrams. Not your very specific color-coding system. And certainly not your very dramatic drawing of Professor Binns mid-lecture, labeled “Sir Snooze-a-Lot.”

You stare at the page. Then flip. And flip again.

Oh no.

You’ve taken someone else’s notebook.

You never make mistakes like this. Your entire personality is built around being the girl who does not make mistakes like this. The girl who labels her tab dividers and rewrites her notes in neat, margin-aligned bullet points.

And now you’ve accidentally stolen someone’s entire academic life.

You're about to panic when a small ink blot in the corner of a page catches your eye.

It’s not a blot. It’s… a doodle?

Of a plant. One you recognize from Herbology drawn with an almost obsessive attention to detail, like someone who secretly loves the subject but doesn’t want anyone to know. Cute. Kind of nerdy.

You flip again.

Another page. Another harmless doodle.

You squint. There’s writing next to it, a scrawled little annotation that reads: cold in the library again. she never brings a jumper.

Your stomach does something weird.

You turn the page one more time.

It’s a sketch of… you.

It’s not a masterpiece or anything, but you recognize yourself immediately: the curve of your cheek, the way your quill rests against your lower lip when you’re thinking. There’s a tiny label under it, scribbled like an afterthought:

"Library girl."

You slam the notebook shut, face hot.

Okay. So.

You’ve just accidentally discovered that someone, an anonymous, emotionally repressed someone, has not only been sketching you in their notes… they’ve noticed things. Like the fact that you’re always cold in the library. Like the way you sit. The way you—

Oh Merlin.

Who does this belong to??

You think back to that morning. The rush of class. The pile of identical-looking notebooks on the desk in the library.

There’s only one other person who sits near you there. Always. Like clockwork. Never speaks. Just reads quietly in his perfect posture and his perfect jumper and his perfect bloody bone structure.

Theodore Nott.

You nearly fall off your chair.

Because if this notebook is his...

You look down at the cover. Nothing. Not a single identifying mark.

Of course. He would be mysterious about it.

You spend the next three hours spiraling.

Maybe, hopefully, it wasn't Theodore Nott’s? What if it is his and he finds out you saw and... Oh no.

He’s going to hex you.

You clutch the notebook like it’s about to self-destruct. You need to return it. Quietly. Discreetly. With as little eye contact as possible. Preferably while pretending you’ve seen nothing at all. Unfortunately, fate (and Theo Nott) are not that kind.

Later that evening. The library.

You slip into your usual spot and there he is.

Seated across from you like always, looking calm and composed and terrifyingly unreadable. His hair is a little messy, like he’s been running a hand through it, and his tie is slightly askew in a way that shouldn’t be attractive but absolutely is.

Your eyes meet.

Something flickers in his.

He looks down at the desk in front of him… where he has your notebook. Oh no. He knows.

You hold his notebook out toward him like a peace offering, trying not to die on the spot. “I, um— We switched. Earlier. I think.”

He doesn’t say anything right away. Just takes the notebook from your hands and flips it open. Your face burns in mounting horror as you take your own notebook back and see that he dog-eared a page where your very detailed to-do list included:

Finish Transfig essay

Ask Theo Nott what his problem is

(or if he just hates me personally???)

(he’s hot tho. unfortunately.)

“You read it,” he says, voice low and maddeningly calm, snapping you back from your brief paralyzation of horror.

“Did not,” you lie immediately.

One of his brows lifts.

Your face burns. “Okay, maybe a little. But like... casually.”

He leans back in his chair, studying you. “You read this casually? Was it a casual read for you?”

You fidget. “I didn’t mean to.”

There’s a long, awful pause. Then, softly and unexpectedly, he says, “I thought you’d be mad.”

You blink.

“What?”

“I thought… you’d be freaked out.” He taps a finger lightly against the edge of the notebook. “That I drew you. That I notice things.”

You stare at him.

“Theo,” you say, voice too high. “You drew me like a Victorian botanist in love. I’m not freaked out. I’m flattered.”

He gives a quiet huff of laughter, then looks down, shy, almost. It's disarming. You reach for your own notebook again, flipping it open and finding a new note on the inside cover. In that familiar sharp script:

“You looked cold. I’ll bring a jumper next time.”

You glance up.

He’s already pulling off his jumper and sliding it across the table to you.

[iris-qt]

Are we getting more of theo whom has a staring problem

The Boy Who Folded First

-> Part Ⅰ - The Boy Who Stares

You’re halfway through outlining your Arithmancy essay, peacefully nestled into your usual spot in the library (the cozy alcove by the window that smells faintly of dust and lavender polish) when you hear the faintest sound of someone… hesitating.

It’s the sound of feet shuffling. A bag being adjusted. A breath being held.

You glance up, expecting Madam Pince or maybe a first-year in crisis.

Instead, you get Theodore Nott, frozen like a deer caught mid-scheme, holding a stack of books and trying very hard not to look like he’s here for you.

He is.

You blink. He nods. It’s weirdly formal, like you’re about to conduct business negotiations.

Then, very carefully, he slides into the chair across from you. He places his books on the table with reverent precision. Doesn’t say a word.

You go back to your essay. Or try to.

It’s been twenty seconds. He has not opened a single book. He has, however, started watching you with the expression of someone seeing a rainbow for the first time.

You glance up.

He quickly looks away. Opens the wrong end of a book. Realizes it. Flips it. Doesn’t read it.

You pretend to focus, but your quill slips. “Theo.”

His eyes flick up, startled. “Yes?”

“You’re not even pretending to study.”

He freezes. Then, slowly he flips a page in the upside-down book and says, “I am.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Your book is in Latin.”

“It’s a universal language,” he replies, far too quickly.

You try not to smile. “Are you here to read or stare?”

He’s quiet for a moment. Then he rests his chin on his hand, looks at you, and says, very softly, but with complete sincerity

“Both.”

Cue the butterflies. Stupid, ridiculous, flapping butterflies.

Your face warms before you can stop it. “That’s not very productive.”

He leans in slightly, his voice just a whisper above the quiet: “It is for me.”

Silence. Except for your heartbeat, which is now doing some kind of interpretive dance in your ribcage.

You look away, biting the inside of your cheek. “You’re very weird, Theodore Nott.”

He gives you the softest, smallest smile, one that tugs at just one corner of his mouth like it’s shy about being there.

“I know,” he says, eyes never leaving yours. “You make me that way.”

You drop your quill.

And for once, he doesn’t panic. He just picks it up, sets it gently in front of you, and goes back to flipping pages in his very, very upside-down Latin book.

And you, utterly doomed, go back to pretending you’re not falling for the boy who stares.

…

You don’t expect to find anything strange in your Arithmancy notes the next day.

You really don’t.

You sit down in the library like always, armed with a steaming cup of tea and the vague hope that numbers will one day make sense.

You flip open your notebook.

And there it is.

A folded piece of parchment tucked right between your notes on logarithmic spell sequencing and wand length correlations. Neat. Crisp. Very much not yours.

You pause. Pick it up. Look around suspiciously, like the paper might explode or insult your handwriting. No one seems to notice.

Your name is written on the front in tight, slanted script. Theodore’s script. Oh dear.

You unfold it carefully.

And you gasp.

Because it’s not a note. It’s a letter. A dramatic, charming, deeply earnest letter, written with the kind of emotional intensity that could only come from someone who once stared at you in class for thirteen entire minutes and forgot how to blink.

To the girl who doesn’t know she’s being watched, I should clarify: not in a terrifying way. Hopefully. Just… in a “you exist like sunlight through old stained glass and it’s very distracting” way. You sit there, every day, with your quiet focus and your ridiculous pens and your little crease between your eyebrows when you're thinking too hard. I’ve watched the way you annotate like you're solving a mystery. I’ve watched the way you smile to yourself when you get something right. I’ve watched the way you make silence feel like a conversation. And I’m utterly, irrevocably— (Ridiculously, foolishly, sincerely) —smitten. You make it very hard to concentrate. You make it very easy to feel seventeen and doomed and soft all at once. I’ve rewritten this five times. Probably because I’m terrified. You’re very smart. I’m mostly composed of sarcasm and dramatic eye contact. But if you’ll have me, even just for a walk by the lake, or a shared study table, or something unspeakably wild like holding hands, I’d very much like that. —Theo (P.S. I know you saw me walk into a door. I’m trying to block that memory out. Please let me have this.)

You stare at the letter for a full minute, brain short-circuiting, heart doing small backflips.

And just as you’re about to burst into tiny flustered sparkles, you hear the soft scrape of a chair.

You look up.

Theodore Nott is standing there.

He looks like he wants to flee the country.

“Hi,” he says, voice unusually hoarse. “So. You found it.”

You hold up the letter with both hands like it’s Exhibit A in a very dramatic trial. “You left me a love confession in my Arithmancy notebook.”

His ears go red. “You weren’t supposed to find it until after exams. I was buying time to work on…bravery.”

You raise an eyebrow, suppressing a giddy smile. “You rewrote it five times.”

“I panicked,” he says solemnly. “And I was out of parchment.”

You try to hold back your smile, but it breaks through anyway, soft, real.

“I’d very much like that walk by the lake,” you say.

Theodore’s eyes go wide. Then soft. Then stunned.

“You would?”

You nod. “On one condition.”

“Anything.”

You grin. “You have to stop pretending your upside-down French book is useful.”

He groans. “I knew you noticed.”

And just like that, the boy who stares officially becomes the boy who blushes, babbles, and very gently takes your hand like it might be the most important thing he’s ever held.

Spoiler: it is.

A/N: manifesting this, big thank you to everyone for all the love :)