A/N: Not me being mildly annoyed that there isn't more stuff about this goof. Inspired by the current Danish weather, and my current tattoo itch. I should just start tattooing myself, really.
………………
“You laying good there?”, Joost asked in a chuckle, watching as you laid still on the leather covered bench, waiting for the tattoo artist that was sitting by your ankle to get ready, smearing the cream onto the purple stencil on your leg, in order to keep your skin hydrated.
You tugged the oversized closely around you, looking up at the blond dutch, still smiling down at you, finding your strained angel every amusing to look at. His arms crossed for comfort, his sunglasses pushed up to top of his head, with a few hairs of his bangs stickuíng to his forehead in the heat. Not even Joost was immune to the building heat in Europe.
“Never been better”, you sighed, trying you best not to sound uncomfortable. There was always that little growing nervousness before getting a tattoo, as you anticipated the impact of the needle. No matter how often you decided to subject your skin to this, your brain would always rail you up, thinking that it was going to be worse than it actually would. That coupled with the rising summer heat had you covered in small droplets of sweat, making your skin stick to the leather underneath you, making you even more uncomfortable. But you wanted this tattoo! A little uncomfortability would never overhaul the need for another tattoo.
“Hey”, Joost said, uncrossing his arms so that he could grab your hand with a reassuring squish. “If you need water or anything else, just tell me. I got gummies in my backpack”, he said, nodding towards his bag leaning up against the wall.
You let out a chuckle, feeling some of the weight being lifted off of you. Of course he had brought candy. Especially after your last tattoo where your blood sugar dropped.
“No stroopwafels?”, you laughed, stroking his knuckle with your thumb, letting him know you appreciated it.
“In this heat? Never!”, he exclaimed, acting offended at the thought of a half melted stroopwafel, drawing another laugh from you. However your laugh was cut short, by the sound of the tattoo artist turning on the machine, the buzzing sound echoing against the walls of the studio.
“Ready?”, the artist asked, to which you answered with a small smile and a nod, before his gloved hand stretched out the skin of your ankle, followed by the needle breaking through the surface of your skin. And with the small dull pain, all nervousness started to fade away, once again reminding you of how comforting it actually was to be tattooed. Feeling your heartbeat calm down, your grip on Joost’s hand softened a bit. Joost did not say a word, but gave you a warm smile along with another squish of your fingers. He did not need to use words in order to tell you how much he cared. It was the smiles he would give you, along with the way he held your hand, and the small acts he did for you, such as bringing you water and sweets, just to make sure you wouldn’t repeat the incident of last time.
Before long, your small ankle tattoo was finished. You sat up on the leather bench, before making your way to the mirror, taking a look at the fresh black ink on your skin.
“It looks great”, you smiled, letting the artist know that you were satisfied, before letting him wrap it up.
“My turn!”, Joost exclaimed, sounding like a happy child.
You look at him in slight confusion, one of your brows arching. “Didn’t you say that you weren’t going to get a tattoo today?”, you asked.
“I did, but now that I’m here I might as well do it”, Joost smiled mischievously, as if he was totally innocent. All you could do was roll your eyes, before letting your goofball of a boyfriend decide what tattoo he wanted. On his ribs…
“Uhm, are you sure that’s a good idea?”, you asked, your eyes scanning over the purple stencil on his ribcage. You could already imagine the pain.
“Of course it’s a good idea”, Joost said, laying on the bench with his shirt off, waiting for the tattoo artist just like you had done moments ago. “It’s going to look sick”.
“Whatever you say”, you sighed with a smile, before grabbing a hold of his hand. You knew your boyfriend way too well by now. Right now he was calm and collected, even playing with your fingers while he waited. But then the needle made contact with the skin of his ribcage, with his facial expression changing in an instant, almost fighting to keep his breath steady. The hand in yours tightened its grip, making you bite back a laugh. You knew it.
“God voor dom”, he sighed while the artist turned to dip the needle back in the ink cap, before continuing on Joost’s rib. Safe to say, you weren’t the only one that was sweating that day.
summary as children, you and rafe were best friends, but then tragedy suddenly struck his family and he shut everybody out. years later, you need his help when a pushy ex-boyfriend won’t leave you alone. rafe is perfect for the job because everybody’s afraid of him. except for you.
content warnings stalker ex, violence, substance abuse, death and mourning of parent
» masterlist
· · ── ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ── · ·
You’ve been looking at your reflection for five minutes now, eyes rimmed red from crying. Muffled, bass-heavy music is echoing from the front of the house.
You’ll do anything to delay going back out there. Even if it means standing still in the bathroom, trying and failing to stop tears.
Parties at Tannyhill always bring in massive crowds, yet your ex-boyfriend still managed to find you in the sea of people. You slipped away and have been hiding since, the anxiety of seeing him again crushing you.
Thankfully, you know your way around the estate. It was once like your second home.
As an only child, you latched onto the Cameron siblings the second you met them. You had just moved to Kildare, your dad having been an old college friend of Ward’s.
You practically grew up with them. You’re still close with Sarah. And even though Wheezie was only four when they lost their mother, she seems to find comfort in you always being around.
But your once best friend, who you’re merely weeks apart from in age, was transformed by the grief. Rafe is a stranger now. And you can tell that he loathes being around you.
When the door is roughly pushed open, the knob slamming against the wall, your heart lurches, overtaken by the sharp fear that Ty has found you.
But it’s Rafe, his hair hanging over his forehead and his nose dripping with blood, shattering your solitude.
He meets your eyes for just a second and looks away as soon as he sees it’s you. Like always. He never makes eye contact with you for very long.
“You’re bleeding,” you say quietly.
“No shit,” he mutters.
He barges past you to the sink, spitting crimson blood onto the porcelain. He’s hunched over the counter, panting, pissed off that you’re still standing there. Still lingering.
You’re always around. A constant reminder.
“Do you need help?” you ask, but you step back, your actions mismatching your words. You put distance between you for his comfort. Not yours.
“No.” His head is in splitting pain. He hasn’t accepted help in years and he’s not starting now.
This is how your conversations with him always go. You extend an olive branch. He snaps it in half.
You were both ten years old when the sweet boy you knew started hating the world and everyone in it. You had a front row seat to the tragedy that broke Rafe Cameron, a mama’s boy who suddenly lost the person he loved most.
But no matter what he does or says to you, you can’t hate Rafe back. After the accident that took his mother’s life, the compassion you harbor for him won’t let you.
While you definitely don’t like the person he’s become, a man so cold and aggressive, you couldn’t hate him if you tried.
You look at your reflections, side by side. You were once kids playing on the beach together, but in the mirror stands a bloodied cokehead next to a tearful mess, living in another summer of seeing each other everywhere and never speaking.
If it were up to you, it wouldn’t be like this. You’d still be friends. But he has his group of buddies who he drinks and smokes with and to him, they’re enough and you’re not.
Rafe looks up from his contorted position, the water rushing out of the faucet loudly. Frustration rises in him when he sees your silhouette in the mirror. He focuses on the edge of the sink, refusing to meet your eyes.
“You’re still here?” he snaps.
You’re used to the disheartening sight of a high and injured Rafe. He snorts lines and brawls at almost every party. Everyone calls him a psycho behind his back.
You want to ask what happened, but you know he’ll brush you off like he always does. You leave the room, determined to escape the party and go home. It’s past midnight anyway.
You’re nearly out the front door when frigid fingers wrap around your forearm. Your blood runs cold as you twist to see Ty, his eyes fixed on you.
“Did you block me?” he asks, the smile that once charmed you now making you sick. You look around at the crowds of partygoers as if someone can save you.
He’s still refusing to accept that you broke up with him a week ago. It was annoying at first. But now, it’s scary. He won’t leave you alone.
He texted you so many times over the last few days, going back and forth between calling you a waste of time and apologizing and begging to see you, that you had to block him.
After a few months together, you realized he wasn’t as nice of a person as he liked to pretend to be. Slowly, who he really is seeped in, unveiling a cruel and controlling brute.
“Of course I did,” you say. “I told you to stop texting me. I’m not your girlfriend anymore.”
“You’re not thinking straight,” Ty scoffs. “It can’t just be over.”
“Yes, it can,” you say, straining out of his grip. You had told him over and over that if he wasn’t going to stop disrespecting you, you’d leave. He kept apologizing, saying every outburst was a one-time thing, just to put you through the same pain again.
“Are you going home?” he asks.
You wish he didn’t know that your parents are on a business trip and will be gone for the next couple of weeks. Regrettably, he’s aware you’ll be sleeping in an empty house for the next while.
“No,” you lie.
“Then let’s get a drink and talk about this,” he says sternly. “Unless you’re with some other guy now and that’s why you tried to break up with me?”
Could that be the only way he’ll leave you alone? You try not to shrink under his gaze, a heartless, eerie abyss. The fact that he says you tried to break up with him tells you he still isn’t accepting that the relationship is over.
“I broke up with you because you treated me like shit,” you say. Your heartbeat is loud and your breaths are shallow and in a split second, you decide to lie as an act of survival. “But yeah, I am with someone else now.”
Rafe turns off the faucet, heart racing from the coke and the adrenaline of winning a fight. It all started because some guy looked at him wrong. That was enough for Rafe to start swinging.
Admittedly, letting out his aggression is a thrill. It’s his comfort zone. When he surrounds himself with chaos, it distracts him from the voices howling in his mind.
Life is nothing but a sick game of tag, and he’s been running away from reality and towards disorder for years.
Rafe’s nose is still throbbing from the only punch the other guy managed to get in when he heads back into the throws of the party.
He’s filling up a solo cup in the dining room when your eyes meet his. He can’t look away this time. You’re rushing towards him, fear written into your features.
Once you hastily close the distance, leaving mere inches between you, Rafe can see you’ve been crying.
“Hey,” you say over the music, overwhelmingly grateful that you finally found him after frantically rippling through the crowds. “Can you help me? Please?”
Maybe it’s because of the desperation in your glossy eyes. Or because you both once knew how to make the other feel better. Or because you chose him to help, when he’s used to never being chosen by anyone for anything. But he decides to hear you out.
“What?” he mutters, hollow blue eyes searching your face. Rafe’s brooding, all cleaned up now, the blood wiped away.
You look over your shoulder, your chest rising and falling at full tilt, then face him again.
“My ex is following me,” you say. “Can you pretend to be my boyfriend?”
“What?” Rafe’s mouth is twined in irritation. Of all the guys to use to make your ex jealous, you pick him?
“Rafe, please,” you say hurriedly.
You turn to see Ty, his eyebrows raised in clear surprise. After you talked to him by the front door, you rushed away, feeling his looming presence trailing after you.
You face your ex, standing beside Rafe with your hand curling around his hard bicep, finding unexpected relief in holding him. It’s jarring touching him after years of distance.
Rafe can’t remember the last time he was touched like this. It’s like a reprieve from the rush he’s always in, slowing him down.
Ty shoves his way through groups of people, his face carved with anger.
“You’re fucking kidding me,” he shouts over the music, eyes darting between you two. Rafe recognizes him. He’s seen you together at parties and the country club. This guy is just another Kook who gets shit-faced every chance he gets.
“Leave me alone, Ty,” you say.
“You’re with him?” he mutters with a laugh.
“Yeah, I am,” you say, tone shaky, praying Rafe plays along. He catches the brittle waver in your words.
“You can’t be serious,” Ty says. “That was fast.”
He steps forward and you find yourself cowering behind Rafe, who instinctually straightens up.
When Rafe realizes your hand is trembling, something in him twists. You’re not trying to make this guy jealous. You’re afraid of him.
Even after the years of hostility between you, somehow, you uncover a soft spot that Rafe didn’t know he had. He hates that this asshole is scaring you.
“Get out,” Rafe says to your ex, his deep voice sending relief through you.
Ty’s eyes dart to Rafe before his gaze is on you again.
“Really?” he ridicules you. “The guy you always call a psycho?”
Rafe’s arm flexes beneath your hand.
It’s a lie. People talk shit about Rafe, but you have never uttered a bad word about him to anyone.
“I never said that,” you retaliate.
“Just come outside so we can talk,” Ty says, his voice dripping with anger.
“Whose fucking house do you think this is, bitch?” Rafe shouts, roughly shoving Ty’s shoulder. “I told you to get out.”
You see fear on your ex’s face for the first time in your life. Your instincts were right to push you to run to Rafe. Everyone’s afraid of him.
“Chill,” Ty says with a forced smile, palms up in surrender. You’re sure he’s thinking of all the brawls he’s witnessed at these parties. Rafe might get roughed up, but he hardly ever loses a fight.
“Go,” Rafe sneers.
“I - I am,” Ty stammers. He meets your gaze one last time before he flees, his lips thinning in anger. Dread surges through you. You can tell you’re not rid of him.
Awkward tension settles between you and Rafe. He turns to look down at you, eyes flitting to your hand still on his arm. You let go.
Of the entire fervid exchange, what blares in your mind the loudest is Ty’s lie.
“I never said that about you,” you say.
Rafe scoffs. He figures it’s better to be feared, to be seen as a psycho, instead of the loser he knows he is.
“I don’t give a shit,” Rafe mutters, although, for whatever reason, he feels a piece of him caring what you think about him. He shifts to continue filling his cup with beer, pissed off and disoriented.
“He lied,” you tell him, stepping to the side to meet Rafe’s eyes again. You need him to know.
“Got it,” he says carelessly. He dips his head back as he downs his drink.
“Listen, I’m sorry to drag you into this, okay?” you say. “I don’t know what to do. He won’t leave me alone.”
He stills. Talking to you is hard. The fact that you’re still kind to him makes it harder.
But you’re so clearly terrified. Maybe he owes this to you. Everyone else wrote him off, but you, for whatever reason, still treat him with a gentleness he knows he doesn’t deserve.
“If he bothers you again…” Rafe says. He doesn’t finish the sentence, but you don’t need him to. This is his way of telling you he’ll protect you.
You stare at his hardened features. You always felt like grew up with Rafe from a distance. You know him in snapshots.
The ten-year-old who made small footprints next to yours in the sand. The seventh grader who got into so many fights that rumors of expulsion circulated around school. The high schooler who didn’t care to hide that he was doing lines at every party.
And now, he’s the man towering over you, drugged up, throwing punches every chance he gets, agreeing to pretend to be your boyfriend.
The fact that he’s willing to put on this charade for your safety makes you think that maybe there is a soft part of Rafe left somewhere deep inside. A part of the boy he once was.
“Thank you,” you say. You’re sure he won’t want to carry on the conversation, so you step away before he takes back his offer.
You find Sarah and ask if you can crash in her room tonight, knowing she’ll say yes. The thought of going to your empty house is too daunting.
The next morning, you’re sitting in the large kitchen of the Camerons’ estate, wearing last night’s clothes. You stare out the window, wishing your anxiety didn’t keep you awake last night.
You slept a couple of broken hours next to Sarah, thoughts of your ex and what he might be capable of rushing through your mind.
You’re not sure what to do next. In a normal world, you’d spend your summer partying and having fun with friends and enjoying your lack of a schedule. But things aren’t normal right now.
You’re desperate to shower and get into clean clothes and simply exist in the comfort of your home.
When Rafe sees you sitting in the kitchen, sunlight spilling over the planes of your face, he does something he never saw himself doing again. He approaches you, instead of running away.
Footsteps pull you out of your daze. You meet Rafe’s tired eyes. He doesn’t look away this time and it makes hope bloom in your chest.
He settles on the other side of the table, across from you, tensely raking his hair back. He doesn’t say anything, words trapped in his throat.
“You’re up early,” you say to break the silence.
Tonight was one of many sleepovers you’ve had here. Even though you and Rafe don’t speak much, you’ve puttered around the house enough to have noticed his habits, one of them being that he typically wakes up well into the afternoon the day after a party.
But Rafe wants to cut through the bullshit of small talk. He can’t get how scared you looked last night out of his head. And he won’t admit that it’s the reason he wasn’t able to fall back asleep when the brightness of the sun woke him up this morning.
“Did he ever put his hands on you?” he finally asks, voice low. He braces himself for the answer. He doesn’t know how he’ll take it if you were getting hurt while he was always close by, ignoring you.
“No,” you say. The thought sends a chill through you. “He got… mean. And controlling. Or I guess he was always like that, but he hid it at the beginning. Maybe he would’ve eventually started hurting me. I don’t know.”
Rafe clenches his fist beneath the table. It may be hypocritical to be so angry at another man for being cruel to you when all he’s done for years is end every conversation you’ve tried to start with him. But Rafe has never claimed to reasonable.
“And he won’t leave you alone?” he recalls.
You shake your head no. Silence nestles between you, but this time, it doesn’t feel as uncomfortable.
Rafe’s eyes finds yours again, a shade of blue you can’t forget no matter how many times he’s averted his gaze.
“You scared of him?” he asks.
“Yeah,” you admit. The way your voice weakens puts Rafe even more on edge.
“You don’t have to be anymore,” he says. You exhale slowly, enveloped by a sense of security that you haven’t felt in a long time.
“He looked afraid last night,” you tell him. “When you pushed him, I mean. I’ve never seen him look like that.”
At least his anger was put to good use, Rafe thinks. It was actually worth something for once.
“Give me your phone,” he says.
You obey and watch him add himself into your contacts, a harsh reminder of the lack of a presence you have in his life. You don’t even have each other’s numbers. He texts himself your name.
“Call me if he bothers you,” he says. His promise to watch out for you is like a blanket wrapped around your shoulders, comforting you.
“Okay. Thank you.”
You realize this is the longest conversation you’ve held with him since before his mother passed. The day you heard the news, you came to this very house to offer your condolences.
You had knocked on Rafe’s closed bedroom door, telling him it was you and not his father, who you’d only seen be cruel to his eldest child.
Through the door, you promised him you’d do whatever he wanted. Cry together. Go down by the water. Talk. Or even just sit in silence. But all a ten-year-old Rafe offered you was a tearful go away, followed by years of avoiding you and brushing you off.
He hands back your phone and stands, walking away from you.
“Rafe?”
He turns to face you again, his hand on the kitchen counter.
“Could you follow me home?” you ask. “My parents are away and he knows it and… I just want to be sure he’s not waiting for me there.”
Rafe nods. You give him a grateful smile. He can’t return it.
Minutes later, his motorcycle roars as he tails your car down the street. Your house is only two blocks away from his. He couldn’t forget the way if he tried.
He visited your home with his family a few times as a kid, but most of your friendship was spent on the private beach behind his house, running around in the sand, your childish laughs tangling together in the salty air.
You used to bike to his house almost every summer day. He’d meet you by your gate, smiling so big his cheeks hurt, racing on your bikes to his house together. He would accompany you on the way back home, too, always making sure you got home before dark.
He realizes he always felt like he needed to watch out for you, even when he was just a scrawny ten-year-old.
Over the school year, you spent every recess together. Kids used to tease you about liking each other and he loved that you didn’t care because it made him feel like maybe you had a crush on him, too.
You two were inseparable. Until you weren’t.
Rafe tries not to think about it. This is exactly why he shut you out. You remind him too much of the last time he was happy. Before life became unbearable and before he was left with the parent who doesn’t love him.
Thinking about those days feels like trying to fall back asleep into a good dream, all while knowing he’ll plummet into a nightmare.
You pull into your driveway after getting through the remote-powered gate, parking right in front of the door. Rafe parks behind you, killing the engine and taking his helmet off.
He watches you step out of your car. You shield your eyes with your hand as you look at him, perched on his motorcycle in the bright morning sun, his helmet in his hands.
“I didn’t see his car on the street,” you say. “But I’m gonna make sure that the security system is armed.”
Rafe follows, stopping a few feet away from you as you unlock the door, on edge and ready to strike if he needs to.
You’re relieved to hear the familiar beeping that confirms the system is active and wasn’t triggered since the last time you were home. Rafe watches you disappear into the house to punch the code in.
“All good,” you say when you step back out through the front door. You face him as he stands on your doorstep, your chin tipped up to gaze at him.
“You said your parents aren’t here?” he asks. He’s frustrated that you’re alone.
“Away for work,” you say with a defeated shrug. You wish you’d broken up with Ty sooner so all they’d be close by during all this stress. “Some things never change.”
Rafe looks down and nods. He remembers how often your parents travelled, leaving you with his family or babysitters while they were away.
Birds chirp in the warm air surrounding you. You stare at Rafe now that you have the opportunity to, up close. There are some freckles and beauty spots you remember. Some that you don’t.
He’s strikingly handsome and you wonder if he knows it. If anyone has ever told him.
“Alright,” Rafe says, stepping back, his way of saying goodbye. He doesn’t look at you again as he paces away.
His mother used to have to call you both into the house multiple times to eat lunch when you’d play on the beach together. You’d have so much fun that you didn’t want to do anything to interrupt it.
But these days, Rafe can hardly wait to get away from you. And even though it’s comforting having him watching out for you, having a string tying you to him again, you wish his coldness didn’t still hurt as much as it does.
(to be continued)
author’s note thank you to @rafedaddy01 for this idea @diorjadore for this idea!!! ILYSM!!!
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You are too pure for this world. Is what he thought when he first laid eyes on you. Cute big doe eyes, soft cardigans, and the little tiny sketch book you carried everywhere with you. You were adorable.
“Hey, kid.” He spoke out. You jumped slightly at his sudden outburst and smiled, waving at him as he sat down infront of you.
“Do you talk?” he asked. Your eyes widened and your lips fell into a pout. You weren’t quite fond of your own voice. It was quiet and small and everytime you spoke someone asked you to speak up. It got to the point where you just stopped talking in general.
You nodded your head slowly and looked away. Avoiding his heavy gaze. He caught on pretty quick.
“Whats your name?” He asked slyly. Knowing that you’d have to talk.
You looked up slowly from your sketchbook and sighed.
“Y/n..” you spoke softly. Giving him your name then going straight back to drawing. He was shocked to say the least. Taken aback by your voice. It was so soft and sweet, he wondered why you never spoke. And ever since then he’s made your life hell by making sure you speak everytime he sees you.
💗 he would purposely trip you (and catch you) or scare you just to hear your cute little whimpers and screams. He found every little noise you made adorable.
💗he would invite you over for sleepovers at his house just to listen to the cute little noises you make in your sleep. (Yes, kinda stalker-ish but he’s head over heels for you)
💗 he would act overly interested in stories you tell so you wouldn’t get self conscious and go all quiet on him. He’s grown used to your shyness and knows how to bring you out of your shell.
💗 every time you want something he makes you use your words.
“rafey?” You say while pointing to his hand.
He looks down and sighs lovingly.
“Hm? Use your words baby.”
You whine lightly, “can I hold your hand?” You whisper, as if you were telling him some deep secret.
a/n: I got high, took one look at this photo, and got horny. This was the end result.
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Please DO NOT ENGAGE if not older stated age. Reader’s discretion is advised. I am not responsible if YOU CHOOSE to continue.
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Masterlist ☽☾
“Oh my fuck, Urban…” You moaned, tilting your head further up towards the ceiling. You could feel your legs begin to shake, body convulsing with pleasure.
“Mhmmm.” Urban called out into your pussy, sending vibrations up the flesh.
You groaned, whining slightly as he replaced his mouth with his fingertips, rubbing on the sensitive bud.
You hated the fact that he put this blindfold over your eyes, limiting one of your senses. And so, you couldn’t notice the ice cub tucked in his lips, sucking on the frozen cube as he began to lap at your clit.
Your body jolted from the bed, Urban using his hands to pin you down to the bed.
“Fuck Urban, please. You’re gonna make me cum. You’re gonna make me cu-.” You couldn’t finish your sentence as your body jolted once more, a swift change from his cold lips to the warmth of his tongue, body growing hot like a flame.
“Mmm.” He moaned once more into your swollen cunt, pulling back as soon as he felt you beginning to pulse around his tongue.
“Urb-“
“Not yet baby, not done playing with you yet."
This continued to go on and on, Urban pushing you closer and closer to the edge, before pulling you right back down.
You swore you were going to implode if he continued this any long. However, that was before he let out a final moan, fingers filling your swollen pussy before the cool sensation on your clit.
He had taken the final ice cube and tucked it between his plump lips, rubbing it over your clit. You yelped, clenching the sheets around you. The contrast between the heat of his tongue and the cold of his lips brought you closer and closer to the edge, faster than you thought.
“Urban, baby I’m gonna-“ He pulled the ice cube back in mouth before mumbling “cum”, immediately pushing you over the edge. You let out a silent scream, feeling your body spazz before letting out a broken moan.
“Good girl, good fucking girl.” He spoke, tongue still lapping at your folds.
You didn’t think you could cum as hard again until he pushed the ice cube into your pussy, body immediately begging to shake. Between the cold of the ice cube, and the warmth of his tongue on your clit, you were completely shoved over the edge, another orgasm shaking your core.
And as you came, the ice cube shot out of you, alongside the rapid fluids of your orgasm. You had squirted all over his mouth and neck, body jolting hard.
“Fuck.” Urban muttered, pulling away from your body and loosely rubbing at your clit with his hand, shaking a harder pulse out of you. Your legs fell hard against the mattress as you descended from your high, tugging at your boobs.
Urban kissed your cheeks and forehead, the space between you accompanied by sighs.
“Urban, that was- Holy fuck.”
“I didn’t know you could squirt baby.”
“Neither did I.” The two of you laughed, you leaning up to kiss his lips.
“I love you Y/N…… Y/N…. Y/N…?”
You came out of the trance hard, Urban pulling you back from your daydream with his voice.
“Y/N?” He snapped his fingers in your face, pulling you further to attention. You smacked his fingers out your face, him making a face in return.
“What?”
“I lost you for a second.” He spoke, placing a hand over his chest.
“Are you okay?” He spoke, and you immediately nodded your head.
“Just thinking.”
“Thinking about what?”
“Last night.” You deadpanned, Urban’s eyes going wide briefly before a smirk appeared on his face.
“Is it my outfit?” You nodded your head, taking your tongue between your lips. He let out a small chuckle before he responded.
“Baby, I don’t even look that good. This outfit is basic as fuck.”
“You're hot Urban. In anything you fucking wear, you look hot. Hell, you could be in nothing but a pair of sneakers and boxers and I’d think you’d look good in it.” His cheeks began to glow pink, flustered before he spoke.
“Want to do it again tonight?” He deadpanned, eyeing you up and down.
frat rafe is the type of guy to sneak in your window after you told him you can’t hangout because you’re busy ….
and when he sees that you’re laying in bed in nothing but a skimpy little set and reading some smutty romance book he’s like “oh you’re busy? yeah?”
“what the fuck rafe?!” you whisper yell, while covering yourself up with a nearby blanket, despite rafe having already seen you naked plenty of times.
“what?” he says innocently, like he didn’t literally just break in your house without your permission.
“are you fucking serious?”
“what ya reading?” rafe snatches the book out of your hands and reads a few sentences before throwing the book back on your bed with wide eyes. “you’re into some weird shit.”
you feel your cheeks turn red from embarrassment. “really rafe?”
you and rafe went on a date, which meant going shopping.
you always end up going into every single store with him walking behind you with multiple bags in his hands with an annoyed look on his face from all the walking.
“oh my god baby can we go in there?” you ask excitedly as you turn to look at him with the biggest smile on your lips, and how can he say no?
you walk into the next store, and grab a few stuff to try on and walk to the changing room. you close the door behind you and try on a cute little dress. after a few moments you walk out to show him the top.
his eyes are immediately glued to your tits, since they’re practically spilling out of the top. his jaw clenches as he tilts his head to the side slightly
“don’t you think that’s a little too revealing?” he asks, but when he sees your frown he just shakes his head “you look amazing angel”
the next thing you try on is a backless dress and he’s in awe.
“damn baby that’s definitely your color” he smirks as he spreads his legs as he sits and pulls you to stand between them, making you do a spin.
“yeah we’re definitely getting this” he smirks, adjusting his pants slightly, making you blush and giggle.
after a few more dresses, rafe starts to lose his patience, your teasing not helping. so as you’re trying in the next dress, he walk in to your stall and pins you against the wall, his hand sneaking around your throat as he admires the dress, his dick twitching in his pants.
“fuck baby” he smirks, his eyes darkening. “you look so sexy in this, but i need to take it off” he says huskily as he takes off your dress, his lips attacking your neck and chest, leavinf multiple marks.
“rafe…” you moan “people could hear us” you whisper.
“yeah i guess we’ll have to be quiet, ain’t that right, sweets?” he smirks
rafe would in fact fall asleep while sucking on your tits. and drool all over you but of course you don’t say anything about it cause he’ll deny it anyways.
“Damn ma, you have to slow down for real...” Fezco grabbed your hips with a tight grip, forcing you to slow your movements.
“But I want you Fez...” Your lips traveled from his lips to his neck. Fezco wanted you too, maybe even more than you could ever imagine. He couldn't deny he has thought a million times the things he'd do to you but he made a promise. Fez threw his head back giving you more access to the sensitive skin of his neck.
“Shit...” He moaned, moving his hands to your ass and giving it a sweet squeeze.
"Please, Fez...” You purred in his ear, rocking your hips against his crotch, he was so definitive about this one.
“No ma'. I told you I'd fuck ya when you finish high school..."
You whined. There was no way you could change his mind, even though you’ve assured him that you wanted to do it and that you felt completely ready. “I know you can feel how wet I am.." Fezco let out a chuckle and hid his face in the crook of your neck. "What's so funny, huh?" You moved and grabbed his cheeks with both hands, making him look directly at you.
"It ain't nothing funny, I just think you are cute and shit." Fez kissed your lips.
“But you won’t fuck me.” You moved from his lap and fell onto the couch next to him.
He laughed again. “You know It ain’t like that.” You huffed.
“Imma go and have a cold shower and shit, you think about what you want for dinner.” Fez got up from the couch and kissed your forehead before leaving to the bathroom. In that moment, Ash walked into the house and frowned at you.
“If I ever catch you fucking on my couch, you both are dead.”
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