summary: how i think it’ll go down if dean knocked you up..
word count: 765
warnings: having a baby out of wedlock (???) other then that none i think it’s just super fluffy n cute 🥰
a/n: omh guys i suck so bad im sorry the fics are taking so long, my health is trash rn im like sick but not?? n im also going on vacation ive been busy but ill try to post before i leave soRRY
enjoy! ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚
- ok so i feel like he'll meet you while on a hunt, staying in town for a few days and taking a liking to you and eventually you both hooked up
- i think he'd fully panic and freak out for a few days first and then lock tf in.
- i also think he'd go through random mood swings where he's excited then scared and then absolutely sick to his stomach nauseous and then happy again.
- he'd have his doubts and fears..
- "what if i mess it up like dad did with us sammy?"
- "what if i can't be there to protect it?"
- "what if-"
- making a promise to himself to not be like john
- but actually he'd be a really good dad :,)
- he also probably won't remember you when you call him to tell him tho LMAO
- you and the baby would take first priority EVERYTHING else is on the back burner.
- he'd come with you to all the appointments and hold your hand when your he's nervous.
- you both decide not to force anything romantic between you and just be friends that co parent. *wink*
- that still doesn't stop dean from loving you with all of his heart, you're his family now.
- he'd want a girl and probably bust out crying from happiness when you found out youre having one.
- he'd be so proud of himself too, watching each month as you get bigger and bigger
- "hey sam, i did that" he's smirk and pointing to your stomach.
- he'd definitely go crazy baby proofing the bunker even though you're only like six months pregnant
- he'd also force sam and cas to help build baby furniture.
- also..
- uncle sam :,)
- uncle cas :,)
- you both agree it would be easier if you moved in at least for now. it's safer for the both of you
- sam i think will be pissy with dean for being so irresponsible but when he sees you and your bump his heart will instantly warm up.
- you n sam quickly developing a brother/sister relationship.
- cas would definitely help you through you pregnancy when dean wasnt around or on a hunt.
- i mean cmon, he has all that baby knowledge from when he was helping kelly and he never got to use it.
- he's the perfect lil midwife <3
- i think dean would keep hunting during your pregnancy even tho you keep telling him how dangerous it is.
- "i'll be safe, i always am. i'll come home to you two i promise"
- cas would be so stressed out trying to confort you for however many days they're gone.
- even tho you're just friends you guys would immediately cuddle when he comes home.
- he'd tell you all about his hunt, leaving out the dangerous parts and you'd talk about your days with cas and new names you like
- as you got closer to your date dean would stay home a lot more
- when you finally go into labour everyone would freak the fuck out.
- cas would be running around gathering "supplies" ???
- dean would be carrying you even though you're perfectly capable to walk.
- and sam would be yelling at dean
- "DEAN WHAT DO WE DO?"
- "I DONT KNOW STOP YELLING AT ME"
- eventually you'd get to the hospital...
- him dressed in scrubs <3
- while you we're literally pushing a head outta your coochie dean took a peek and passed out
- "did i miss it?!"
- crying when he first holds her
- "hi sweetheart, i'm your daddy"
- whispering a promise to her that he'll protect her no matter what :,)
- car seat in the impala
- dean winchester's daughter needs a badass name.
- scarlett amelia winchester
- the first couple days home would be sooo stressful
- dean would probably go on a hunt for a few days as a break
- being exhausted and out of practice it went wrong and a vamp was a second away from ripping dean's throat out before sam sliced its head off
- dean was trembling so bad that sam had to drive home.
- he'd burst through the door the second he got home and scooped his two week old baby up in his arms, climbing in bed next to you and holding you close.
- that would be the last hunt he ever went on.
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synopsis: Garrett solves your roommate problem for you, but even though he gets you closer to him, you start to wonder how far he's willing to go to keep you there.
warnings: soft!dark!garrett, possessiveness, overprotectiveness, controlling relationship dynamic, innocent reader, shower spicy scene, choking, dub/con 18+ PLEASE READ AT YOUR OWN RISK
word count: 3.4k
off campus masterlist
As soon as the bus got back to Briar, the next morning, Garrett Graham started his mission. Last night, he’d decided you and Paige were done. He was confident he knew what was best for you in this situation. You could’ve gotten hurt last night over Paige’s petty bullshit. It baffled him, especially now that he’d gotten to know you. He wouldn’t be exaggerating to say you’d never even hurt a fly.
He’d barely slept last night; he didn’t even close his eyes until your location showed that you’d made it to the hockey house with Jules.
Garrett knew he couldn’t hurt Paige; that was a line he’d never imagine crossing, but her boyfriend was free game. So when he and Dean knocked on yours and Paige’s apartment door that morning, still clad in their tracksuits, and a shirtless Ethan opened the door, Garrett wasted no time.
Pushing at his chest, Garrett pulls Ethan deeper into the apartment. Ethan’s smile fades quickly before the confusion surfaces on his features. Dean locks the door behind them. “What’s going on? Y/N’s not here.”
Garrett had every intention of maintaining his composure enough to make a clear threat, but he finds his blood is already boiling, and his breathing is erratic. “She’s not. She’s safe. No thanks to your fucking girlfriend.”
The three men crowd in the living room or Y/N’s makeshift bedroom. Garrett pushes him, hard, and Ethan stumbles until he falls into the blinds of the far window. “What the fuck?”
Paige appears from the bedroom, but Dean is already blocking her from intervening.
"Whoa. Stay back."
“Dean?” She asks, flabbergasted, “Garrett? Stop! What are you doing?”
Garrett sees read. Ethan charges back at him in an attempt to defend himself. Garrett stumbles, but gains his bearings quickly before grabbing Ethan by his shirt and forcing him down. The coffee table rattles at the impact. Then Garrett’s fists start to fly, each blow serving as retaliation for all the harm Paige caused you. All he could imagine was you sitting alone on those steps last night. How broken you must’ve felt.
Bruising his own fists, Garrett leaves him with a black eye, a bruised nose, and a busted lip. Only stopping when Dean grabs him and lifts him off of the older guy. “Okay, buddy, that’s enough.” He feels frustrated, initially, but the entire reason he brought Dean was to prevent overkill. And as another voice to convince Paige to back down and stay down.
It doesn’t feel like enough, but Garrett feels satisfaction when Paige kneels to expect her boyfriend’s injuries. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” She shouts, and it’s completely rich coming from her.
“What’s wrong with me? You left her stranded last night.”
Paige’s lips part, hands running nervously through her red hair, “I ….I totally forgot. It was an accident —”
“Bullshit,” Garret cursed, “You forgot? You forgot the girl you’ve been using for money, your maid, as your fucking pet you drag around.”
“Y/N is one of my best friends!”
“And how did your best friend end up all alone last night while you ignored every single one of her calls?”
Paige doesn’t answer.
“Not anymore. The two of you are done. She’s not living here anymore. We’re taking her shit, and you’re not gonna call her or text her ever again.”
“Are you serious?” Paige asks, incredulous, “You can’t make that decision for her.”
“Fucking watching me, “ Garrett only continues, his voice rising as he grows more furious, “If you see her on campus, you’re gonna walk the other way, or you’re not gonna like what I do next. Do you understand that?”
“Dean?” As a last-ditch effort, she looks to Dean for some kind of validation: “You know this is crazy, right?”
“I would drop it if I were you. Be smart, Paige. You don’t want this to become a bigger conversation.”
Her relationship with Dean had overlapped with her and Ethan’s on multiple occasions. Ethan’s not able to pick up on the implied threat because of the massive headache Garrett’s given him, but Paige catches his meaning quickly.
"Dean," she says again, quieter this time.
"Drop it."
With a huff, she returned to tending Ethan, shaking his shoulders in an attempt to get him to focus.
Garrett gives Dean an impressed look. “We gonna grab Bunny’s stuff or what?” Dean asks, chin tilting towards the hallway closet.
“Yeah.”
Garrett doesn’t hesitate.
The process should take longer, but naturally, not having a real room means you can’t have many belongings. He almost didn’t believe it when you’d told him she’d turned the coat closet into your personal one. Now he could visualize the handful of hangers, your backpack tucked into the corner, and the storage bins stacked with trinkets that you had no room to display.
You’d smiled when you explained that arrangement.
Garrett’s jaw clenches at the thought.
You jolt up from your spot on Garrett’s bed when he shoves his bedroom door open.
“Shit, I thought you’d be awake.”
You’d been curled up on top of his comforter, still in your clothes from last night. “No, no, I’m awake.” You rush out, looking him over, blue tracksuit and all. His forehead is slightly sweaty, and his breath is heavy. He was an all-star athlete, which ruled out the possibility that he was winded from walking up the stairs. You noticed your quilted, cotton duffle bag that you often used as your overnight bag in his hands.
There’s a question on your lips, but you push it down. Garrett sets down your bag near the edge of the bed before he comes closer, sitting down beside you on his bed.
“Are you okay?” He grabs you by your chin as his face leans closer. He tilts your head to each side to inspect you. You're sure your eyes are puffy from crying yourself to sleep, but there was no reason you’d be bruised. No one bothered you at the restaurant, and Jules came to get you as soon as they could. It was the early hours of the morning by the time you’d made it back, but you were fine, thanks to Garrett.
“I’m fine. Thank you…for last night,” You say quietly, sincerely, because you’re mostly just embarrassed at this point that last night even happened. He tilts your chin up, and his eyes search yours before he presses a soft kiss to your lips. You’re not sure when you’ll get used to that.
“I just want you to be safe,” Garrett says against your lips, his hand moving from your chin to your arm and then down towards your waist. “You know how you agreed that you would let me take care of you?”
Your heartbeat quickens at the thought of that promise and that moment you shared in his car. “Yes.”
“Last night was a prime example of why I want you to rely on me. To trust me.”
With him this close, you see every emotion swirling in his eyes. He’s deadly serious. “I-I do trust you. I promise.”
“Trust would be calling me as soon as you knew something was wrong.”
Your throat hurts. You didn’t think you had any tears left to cry, but you feel them threatening to fall again. “I didn’t I-I…I thought she would come.” Your voice cracks, “I’m sorry.”
Garrett’s lips press into a thin line of frustration. You wait desperately for him to say it’s okay, to relieve you of this feeling of impending doom. You don’t think you can take it if he’s mad at you. It’s already killing you to think about Paige and what a disaster your relationship is turning out to be.
Besides her, Garrett was the only friend you had here. “You promised me you would let me take care of you.”
Your stomach hurts.
“I will,” You assure him, nodding your head. “I want you to.”
“You do?”
“Yes, I want you to take care of me.”
"You need me?"
"I need you."
Garrett seals your promise with another kiss. That sinking feeling fades as you melt into Garrett’s arms. He pulls you into his lap, squeezing your body against his, and there’s a long moment where he’s petting your hair as you rest your head on his shoulder. You feel better like this. Your heart doesn’t hurt as much.
For the first time, you consider a future that doesn’t revolve around work and school. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to care about something–someone else. You’d always done everything yourself. It might not be so bad to rely on someone else.
As if he could sense where your mind was wandering. “You don’t have to worry about any of it anymore.”
“What do you mean?” You ask, your voice small, fingers curling into the fabric of his jacket.
“We got all your stuff from your apartment. All of it’s in the spare bedroom now. A real bedroom.”
Your body stiffens as you lift your head from his shoulders. “What? Did Paige see you?”
“Paige isn’t going to do anything, Bunny.”
“You don’t understand. I can’t …it wouldn’t be fair–” The panic starts to build again. You meet his eyes, and they’re swirling again. His grip on you tightens, and you understand that there’s a fine line between this side of him and something beneath the surface. “Was she mad?”
“It doesn’t matter.” Garrett shakes his head, jaw flexing. “You’re not giving her any more money. You will sleep in a real bed, and you won’t ask her for anything ever again. Fuck her. Do you understand?”
You don’t let yourself fully comprehend the full weight of his words and decide to take the path of least resistance. “Yes, Garrett.”
“Good. I smell like a bus. Let’s shower together.”
“Together?”
“Uh huh.” Garrett pats your bottom playfully, “This is your house now.”
“I can’t stay here for free.”
“I just said you could.”
“But–” You stop yourself, now realizing the pattern. Nothing with him was a negotiation. You didn’t make your own suggestions. You followed his lead. You could worry if Garrett told you to worry. If not, then maybe it wasn’t something to freak out about. “Okay. The guys don’t mind?”
“‘Course not. They love you, Bunny.”
You wish you could believe him. Sure, everyone was nice to you. You couldn’t wrap your mind around why Garrett was interested in you and had seemingly started to focus all his attention on you. It was even harder to understand why his friends would like you.
The events of last night and this morning, all of the new revelations made, led up to you showering with Garrett.
The two of you stood in the upstairs bathroom, steam slowly rising from the shower as you watched Garrett peel off the clothes he'd slept in. When he turned around, his expression shifted into something resembling disappointment.
You were still fully dressed, your arms wrapped tightly around your torso, looking seconds away from curling up in the corner and crying.
“It’s a lot. All of this is a lot, Garrett.”
Paige.
The fact that all your things were now packed into his guestroom.
Him.
He approaches you, carefully, as if herding a scared animal. He shushes you. “It’s a lot,” He confirms. “Change is hard. Fall a part of you want. I’m here for you.”
You nodded, heart heavy. “Lift your arms, baby.”
He undresses you slowly, lifting your crewneck above your head and then helping you out of your leggings. Your underwear and bra come next. You don’t meet his eyes the entire time. You focus on his chest, tan and sculpted.
You notice his bruised knuckles for the first time.
“Your hands?”
“From the game,” He answers quickly, matter-of-fact.
You can’t help it, an “I’m sorry” escapes from your lips as he unhooks your bra. You cover your chest with your arms as soon as your breasts are exposed to the air.
Garret tsks at the sound of you apologizing for your appearance. “Don’t, Bunny.”
Don’t apologize.
Don’t cover yourself from me.
His meaning is easy to understand. You let your arms fall back to your side, and then Garrett pulls down your underwear. He grabs your hand, wrapping your smaller one gently in his, and he guides your naked body towards the shower. You can see all of him, just like he can see all of you, and you’re not sure if you’ll be able to make it through being so close to him.
Garrett is a lot of man. The magnitude of him hadn’t fully set in until now, when there were absolutely no more secrets between the two of you.
He lets you stand in front of him, and the majority of the shower is spent with Garrett’s hands roaming over your skin. He lathers your skin with body wash, and you do your best to accept the gentleness. If there were something he didn’t like about your body, he wouldn’t be touching you this way. He pays extra special attention to your nipples, his thumbs constantly rubbing over the peaks of your chest, hands squeezing at their fullness.
You feel warmth spreading under your skin, especially in your center. You squeezed your lips tightly together to keep a desperate moan from escaping you. In an attempt to get your bearings, to allow yourself to think clearly, you turn around and look at Garrett for the first time since you entered the bathroom.
He’s focused, and then you feel his hardness poking against your stomach. “I’m sorry,” You say automatically, and you cringe at yourself.
“Don’t, Bunny,” He warns again; this time, he quiets you by placing his hands around your throat.
Smooth and controlled, Garrett presses you against the wall, his grip tightening.
With wide eyes, you stare back at him, but you’re not sure what version of Garret you’re seeing now. He crashes his lips against yours shortly after that. His knees between your legs, his hands keeping you pinned, he explores your mouth with his tongue.
You’re not sure how you’re breathing at all. You feel lightheaded, but that somehow only makes his kiss feel better.
He leaves you no room to wiggle away when he reaches between your legs. “Garrett, please,” You whimper against his lips, “I can’t–”
“I know you can,” He grunts back. “I want to see you.”
Thick fingers explore your center. He squeezes your neck whenever you try to close your eyes.
“Look at me, Bunny.”
“Good girl.”
“You know what I want to see.”
He makes slow, consistent, agonizing circles over your most sensitive area. He increases his pressure when your lips part in a gasp. He reads your body so carefully that it’s as if your body reaches its crescendo as soon as he wills it. You don’t think he can choke you any harder, but you find yourself gasping for air as you let out helpless, shaking sounds.
“Jesus, fuck, get on your knees, baby.”
You’re still shaking and breathing heavy, riding out your own wave of pleasure. Your knees are against the shower floor shortly after Garrett demands it. His fingers tangle in your hair.
“Keep looking. Look at what you do to me, Bunny.”
There’s little work involved. All it seems to take is your face looking up at him. You watch as he touches himself, slow movements, and then rapid ones.
“Fuck.”
Groaning, falling hard over the edge, he paints your lips and your chest. Although you’re overwhelmed by the sight of it and then the feeling, you don’t dare take your eyes away from him.
The spare bedroom has a full-sized bed, and you find your sheets and comforter already decorating it. There’s a bay window on the furthest wall with plenty of room for all the things you might want to display. The closet is three times the size of your old one, and there’s an old wooden dresser Garrett said you could also use. The walls are bare, and there are old moving boxes in the corner, but it’s perfect. And it’s yours, which you’re not fully sure has sunk in yet.
Over the next week, Garrett helps you settle in, and the two of you step into a new routine. You ride to campus together, Garrett drives you to work when he can, and when he can’t, you usually end up with Jules or Beau.
You see Paige outside of the College of Education building before class one day, talking with one of her friends, and as soon as you work up the courage to walk up to her, she spots you. Her face falls instantly. She turns away from you, says goodbye to her friend, and actually crosses the street.
You’re surprised Paige hasn’t sent you an angry text yet.
Part of you wondered what exactly Garrett had said to her. When he told her that you were moving in, was she sad? Did she try to defend your friendship? Maybe she was so pissed that she’d never talk to you again.
Hours later, after your Literacy class, you walk out of the education building with the members of your group project. “We’re gonna study at the main library for the midterm tomorrow, Y/N, if you want to join.” Your classmate, Ben, tells you. His dark hair and sharp facial features contrast with his prescription glasses and boyish personality.
You should ask Garrett first. “Oh, okay, I’ll let you know.”
Another one of your classmates, Sydney, adds on, “No, you should come, Y/N. We can start brainstorming ideas for lesson plans.”
You smile politely. You had no other excuse except for Garrett, and you had a feeling they might give you a strange look if you told them you were asking Garrett Graham for permission to study with them.
“Yeah, okay.”
“Good, it’s a plan,” She chirps.
“If you need a ride or something, I got you,” Ben decides to add. His eyes are kind, and he seems to sense your hesitation about coming.
“No,” You say a little too quickly, “I’ll have a ride. Um, so I’ll see you guys tomorrow.” You turn on your heels quickly, walking down a brick staircase towards the parking lot.
Garrett’s got practice tonight, but he said he’d drop you home before he had to leave. You find his car in the front row, but he’s not inside; he’s leaning against the driver’s door.
“Hey, Bunny.” He smiles, and you’re immediately relieved he’s in a good mood. “You look pretty.”
Your cheeks heat with embarrassment: “You saw me this morning.” He was actually the one who told you to pair your white sneakers with your denim jacket.
“And somehow you look better than before.”
Garrett grabs your chin and leans down to kiss you. The kiss is short-lived because seconds later, a male voice is calling your name. When you turn around, Ben is jogging towards the two of you. You inhale sharply and your nerves spike.
“This is yours, right?” He approaches with his hands stretched towards you; the teddy bear keychain you’d had attached to your bag forever is in his hands. “Must’ve fallen off.”
Speechless, you reach out to accept it. You part your mouth to force out a statement of gratitude, but it never comes.
Garrett breaks through the awkward silence, reaching out to shake Ben’s hand. “Hey, man, I’m Garrett. Y/N’s boyfriend.”
“Of course I know you. That was an insane game against Harvard, man. I’m Ben, we have a few classes together.”
“Good to meet you,” Garrett says, friendly.
For a brief moment, you wonder if you’re going crazy.
“Yeah, you too. You guys have a good night. See you tomorrow, Y/N.”
“Yeah,” Is all you can manage.
The drive back to the hockey house is too quiet. You squeeze the teddy bear charm in your hand. You’re the one who breaks the silence five minutes later. “I told some of my classmates I would come study at the library tomorrow night. We have that midterm Friday, and we also have this group project coming up.”
“Mmhm,” Garrett hums.
“If that’s okay with you.”
“It’s school, Y/N, of course it’s okay with me.”
You let out a small breath, “Okay. I just thought … never mind.”
“What’s his deal, though? That’s the guy who keeps offering you rides?”
“No, it’s been like two times. I think he’s just being nice.”
“Is a teddy bear that fucking precious that he needs to chase you down?”
“I don’t know. It might’ve been weirder if he held onto it … right?”
Garrett only hums in response.
“You’ve never called yourself my boyfriend before.”
“Felt right.”
“So that means…”
“What do you think it means, Bunny?” Garrett reaches across the console, his large hand enveloping your thigh.
“That I’m your girlfriend?”
Garrett smirks at you, “You’re everything to me, Bunny.”
yayyyy gf bunny :) reblogs and comments are much appreciated :):):):)
pairing: Criminal!Rafe Cameron x Preacher's!Daughter!Reader
blurb: you are the sweet innocent preacher's daughter. he's the town's most notorious criminal. what happens when he becomes obsessed with you, and you can't help but fall for him?
warnings: mentions of heavy violence, alcohol, smoking, crime, slight noncon, religious themes.
wc: 3.1k
part 1 | part 2 | part 3
The first time you saw Rafe, it was late. You were closing up the church. Had just finished stacking the hymn books and going through the pews. When you stepped through the back door, you saw him. There in the parking lot. Glowing under the pale yellow street lights. Cigarette tucked between his fingers as he exhaled smoke into the night air. He was leaning on his Harley, dark and sleek just like him. You could almost feel the vibrations all the way across the street.
That’s when he turned to look at you, leather jacket stretched across his broad shoulders. Rafe’s lips curved up in a smirk. You looked down immediately, moving to walk home like you were originally supposed to do. Your steps were quick, hurried, but you couldn’t help but take one last glance back. He was still looking.
The next day, you saw him again. This time, while going through the daily newspaper left on your front porch. “A man has been seen breaking into the Blunsberry ATM. Police state it may be linked to several other crimes across the local county. Please call your local police station or let authorities know if you encounter anyone with the following description.” There was a CCTV photo underneath. Tall. Dirty blonde. That same leather jacket. You knew it was him. The guy you saw in the parking lot yesterday. You could tell even though the photograph was grainy. You could’ve gone to the police. Should’ve. But for reasons unbeknownst, you didn’t.
The first conversation you had was weeks later. Rafe had been lingering in your mind, taking up your thoughts as if he had every right to do so. It was after church again. Your father, the preacher, had just finished his sermons for the day. Everyone was scattered around, vying for his blessing. You’d snuck out the back to go down to Jimmy’s Joint. What looked like a reject store on the outside was really a dealer. Not the best place for the preacher’s daughter, but it was better than going down to the gas station by the highway. Nobody asked questions when you stopped by to get cigarettes a couple of times a month. You didn’t really like smoking. It was just a release in some way. To take your mind off everything else for a bit. Before, you had to come back and face the reality you were trapped in.
You noticed Rafe immediately as you walked in. Eyes scanning the shelves, going through the packs of liquor. You couldn’t help but freeze, the bell ringing as the door closed behind you. He was right here now. In front of you. Still in his worn leather jacket and faded jeans. Tousled dirty blonde hair falling over his ocean eyes. As if Rafe could feel your eyes on him, he looked up. At you. You turned immediately, grabbing the closest pack of cigarettes and placing it on the counter. Some off-brand box that said Brighton Red.
“I’ll have these, please,” you whispered, soft as if you were still in church, pulling out a crumpled $20 bill. Most of your monthly allowance. The man behind the till was in his mid-thirties, named Dale. You knew him well enough. He’d been working there for a few months now. Right when you first started coming to buy cigarettes.
Dale nods, unbothered as usual, but before you can put the cash on the counter, Rafe comes up next to you, shoulder brushing yours, putting his pack of beers down next to your cigarettes. “And these,” he murmurs, his voice low and smug. Any protest you have dies down as he drops a hundred on the counter. Dale looks between you and Rafe, then scans the items with a shrug, taking Rafe’s money and handing back the change. Rafe picks up the beers and motions for you to follow him outside. You pocket the cigarettes and go, confused as to what else to do.
He’s leaning against the wall of the alley when you step out. “You didn’t have to do that. I could’ve paid myself.” You try to be firm, but your voice comes out grateful anyway. There’s something about him.
“I’m sure you could’ve, sweetheart,” he hums, popping open a beer and taking a swig, before offering it to you.
“Sorry, I don’t drink.”
He smirks. “Of course you don’t. Preacher’s daughter, right? Believe in purity and all that bullshit.”
You find the courage to voice your thoughts out loud for once. “You’re the guy from the magazine. The one who broke into the banks.”
“So you do know me. Obsessed with me, are you?”
“You were in the newspaper.” You don’t know he’s so calm right now. “The cops are looking for you.”
Rafe just grins wider. “Well, you found me. And yet you haven’t run to the cops like the good girl you’re supposed to be.”
You go quiet, not knowing what to say at that. So you lean against the wall, beside him, your braids brushing both your shoulders. The brick is cool against the cotton fabric of your dress as you open the pack of cigarettes and offer him one.
Rafe glances between you and the pack, but doesn’t reach out.
“Go on. You paid for it,” you say softly, although the money was probably stolen from the bank he robbed.
Rafe finally puts his beer down and takes a cigarette, lighting it. He takes a puff, blowing smoke out into the air. “You don’t drink, but you smoke,” he notes after a moment of silence.
“Just something to take the edge off,” you whisper, pulling out one for yourself. Fuck, you forgot your lighter at home. You turn to Rafe hesitantly. “Um… can you light it?”
“Whatever you want, princess.” Both of your eyes locked as he held out the metallic open lighter. There was something strangely intimate about this moment. You noticed the shade of blue in his eyes. Somewhere in between the depths of the ocean and the dark of the night. If you were just a few more inches closer, you could feel his skin. The thought was unwelcome but lingered. You’d never really been this close to a guy. Your father would never allow it. But here, in the fading sunlight, it was just you and Rafe. You couldn’t even imagine the town’s gossip if anyone saw. The preacher’s daughter smoking with the town’s most notorious criminal. You’d never leave the house again. Your parents would make sure of that.
Still, you didn’t leave. The moment broke as your cigarette lit, and Rafe pulled back, leaning against the wall nonchalantly again. You both smoked in silence, the only sounds both your breaths and the occasional clinking of Rafe’s beer bottle. You watched the sun set. It wasn’t romantic, but it felt nice. Not being alone for once.
Once the sun dipped fully below the horizon, you pushed off the alleyway. You’d already overstayed. You were meant to be home in 15 minutes. “I have to go.”
“Leaving so soon?” Rafe questioned. “I’m sure Daddy won’t mind if you stay a little longer.”
“I can’t.” This time, your voice was firm. You didn’t want to deal with the consequences of disobeying your father. Just as you were about to walk away, a question nagged your mind.
“What’s your name?” you asked quietly.
His lips turned up again. “Won’t you like to know?”
“Forget it-”
“Rafe.” His voice was softer than usual. His eyes focused solely on you.
“Rafe…” You repeated it. Hearing you say his name like that. So soft. So innocent. It affected him in ways you could never understand. You told him your name, feeling a sense of obligation. You didn’t stick around after that. But his name did. In your mind. You tossed and turned the whole night under the covers. Rafe. Rafe. Rafe.
That’s how you ended up here. You were supposed to pick up some things from the local diner beside the bar. Your father’s friend wanted to donate to the church. Curiosity got the best of you. You’d never seen a bar so close before. The noise was pulsing through the walls. Just one look couldn’t hurt, right? You’d probably never get this opportunity again.
And so you stepped inside, immediately overcome with the smell of drinks and alcohol, as your eyes took in the place with awe. The low lights. The barstools. The couples making out. You didn’t know something in your town could look even close to this.
Before you even had the chance to process something, you felt a hand on your bare arm. Sweaty yet somehow cold. Wrong. A chill ran up your spine as you turned. The guy was older. Much older than you. Maybe you’re dad’s age. He had a drink in his hand that wasn’t gripping onto you, and his mouth curled into a sinister smile as his eyes raved over you.
“You lost, darling?” You could feel his breath with how close he was. A mix of beer and weed.
“No. I’m okay, sir-” Your voice was soft, barely audible. You weren’t used to a place like this. Or the dangers that came with it. When you tried to pull back, the man’s grip just tightened. Your stomach twisted as he pulled you closer.
“Hmm, c’mere. Don’t fight it,” he slurred, clearly drunk out of his mind. He wasn’t letting go.
“I-” you whimpered, trying to shove him back, but it was no use.
Suddenly, the man was dragged out of his seat, forced to let you go of you. Strong hands roughly shoved him against the wall. Glass shattered onto the floor, drinks spilt. You gasped, finally free. Your arm ached slightly, but that soon faded as you realised. Rafe.
Rafe was here. He was the one pinning the man against the wall, his forearm digging into the guy’s neck. He sputtered slightly, trying to catch his breath, hands clawing at Rafe.
“You don’t fucking touch her, you understand me?” Rafe growled, loud enough that it cut through the music.
The man’s laugh was ugly, sending another wave of shivers through you. You should’ve left right there. You were free to go, but for some reason, you couldn’t. Rafe didn’t notice as you backed into a corner, flinching slightly when he slammed the guy harder against the wall, his head cracking against the brick slightly.
“Do you understand?” Rafe repeated, clearly not done.
“Didn’t know you were into good girls now, Cameron,” the man garbled.
Rafe’s grip tightened. But the next words truly did it for him.
“She shouldn’t look like a fucking slut if she doesn’t want it.”
The man barely finished his sentence before Rafe’s fist connected with his jaw. There was a sharp crack that made you curl into yourself, but you didn’t stop watching. Rafe was relentless. He wasn’t done yet. No one could say those things about you.
He punched the guy again, his fist colliding hard. Blood splattered against the walls, Rafe’s already bruised knuckles, splitting open. The guy’s head lolled before Rafe picked him and threw him back against the table. You gasped louder as more glass shattered.
He pounded into him. Again. Again. And again. You couldn’t take your eyes off Rafe. The way his hair stuck to his forehead, his blue eyes filled with rage. “You don’t get to fucking talk about her like that!” he roared as the man fumbled, trying to grab a beer bottle. Rafe noticed, grabbing it first and smashing it against his head. You flinched a second time.
No one stopped him. It was like everyone knew Rafe Cameron getting into bar fights was a usual occurrence. Rafe only stopped once the guy went limp, tossing him aside as if he were trash. Because to Rafe, he was. He stood up straight, brushing the hair out of his face with bloody hands, his eyes finally landing on you. Rafe stepped closer until he was right in front of you. You didn’t move.
“You okay?” he asked gently as if he hadn’t just beaten a guy unconscious seconds ago.
You couldn’t speak, too stunned by what you just witnessed, so you just nodded, breath shaky. Rafe took in the sight of you, standing there like some angel in a bar you clearly didn’t belong near. He didn’t ask anything else or push for answers. But he didn’t apologise either because this is how he was. And you deserved to know that.
“Let’s get you home.”
You didn’t protest as he led you out of the bar. The things your father had asked you to pick up were forgotten now. The chilly night air hit you like a wave as you stepped outside. You instinctively wrapped your arms around yourself. Rafe noticed, slipping off his leather jacket and putting it around your shoulders.
“Rafe I-”
“Don’t,” he cut you off. “Just take it.”
The leather was cool against your skin yet filled with his warmth. You couldn’t resist taking his offer.
Rafe walked you home. Your house wasn’t far from here. He could’ve taken you on his Harley, but he figured you had felt enough for one night. It was a quiet walk. As if neither of you knew what to say after that. Occasionally, you glanced at his bloody knuckles. They must hurt, split open like that, but Rafe seems to be used to the pain. What would your father say if he stepped outside and saw the two of you walking like this? You couldn’t be bothered to truly think about that anymore.
Both of you slowed as you reached your house, as if knowing the night was about to end. You finally looked up at Rafe, making eye contact. His blue eyes were piercing in the light.
“Um… thank you,” you managed to finally stutter out after a few moments.
Rafe scoffed, half laughing. “You’re thanking me? After everything you just saw?”
“You saved me from that guy.”
That makes him pause. The fact that you really believe he saved you instead of dragging you down into the depths of his world. It was a dark, dark place, and Rafe knew he should let you go. Move towns. Go back to committing crimes and fucking girls at the club in his spare time. That is what he should’ve done if he were good.
Except he wasn’t. Rafe was a twisted, selfish man, and he couldn’t let go of the only light in a long time that had lit up his dark world. He wouldn’t. At first, he might have convinced himself that you were just another momentary thing, but after tonight, he knew. He knew. Rafe was consumed by you now. He didn’t believe in God, but it was as if you were an angel sent into his life by some upper divine power.
You were the preacher’s daughter. Soft and sweet. A girl who attended every sermon and smiled at the church potlucks. You were the exact opposite of him, and he needed you now. Needed to keep you close and protect you from every evil thing in the world he knew existed outside your little sheltered bubble. Those were the thoughts running through his mind as he stepped closer before you could have the chance to back away.
His voice was low, his eyes darker than before. “You scared of me, sweetheart, hm?” Rafe murmured, gently tilting your chin up with one of his bloodied hands.
Your breath hitched as you looked up at him. His hands were calloused, yet his touch was soft. You couldn’t think as sensation flooded your body. No one had ever touched you like that before.
Rafe noticed your silence. His lips curled into a slight smirk. “Tell me.”
You slowly shook your head, looking up at him through your lashes. “N-no.”
His smile was sinful yet beautiful at the same time. “Good. You haven’t seen the worst yet.”
You didn’t know what that meant. The fight at the bar had been pretty brutal. Before you could ask, Rafe pulled you a little closer, your lips now inches from his. You could feel his breath fanning across your face. Wrapping you in the smell of cigarettes and whiskey.
Your eyes fluttered as Rafe leaned in. You really thought he was going to kiss you right then. And to your surprise, you would’ve let him.
But it was as though maybe somewhere in the back of his mind, Rafe knew. That he’d ruin you eventually. He could never protect you from the evil that was himself. He always ruined every good thing he had. He couldn’t have that yet.
Rafe pulled back abruptly, letting go of you. You stood there, shaken. Confused. “Rafe, what-”
“Go home,” he says, voice colder than you’d ever heard before.
“But-”
“Go home,” Rafe repeats himself, firmer now. When you don’t move, Rafe turns and starts walking away, leaving you alone in the street. You watch him disappear down the road.
You swallow hard, feeling tears well up in your eyes from everything that just happened in the past few hours. You turn to your house with no other option, slipping in through the back door. You prayed your father was asleep, not wanting to deal with his questions about why you were late. It was only when you tiptoed up the stairs and softly closed the door to your room that you realised you still had Rafe’s leather jacket.
You slipped it off. There was no need for it now in the warmth of your room, yet part of you already missed the feeling of wearing it. You couldn’t give it to Rafe now, but there was also no way your parents could find this. You shuddered at the thought of what would happen. Your father’s booming voice. Your mother’s disappointed look. What would come after.
So you carefully folded the jacket, inhaling Rafe’s scent one more time before tucking it into the back of your closet, behind a few boxes of scriptures.
You changed into your nightgown hastily before letting yourself fall back onto the bed. Sleep wouldn’t come easy. There was just one thought in your mind. Rafe.
a/n: my first little mini series! obviously inspired by western nights by ethel cain. hope you guys like it 💕 feel free to send in requests for fics, headcanons or moodboards ꫂ᭪݁
𝐀/𝐍: day 5 of June Jukebox Scribbles!!!!! I'm sorry I'm running late i promise I'll do them all. I don't know what to think about this one, i really needed a longer word count to express myself better lol, i will come back to this later.🫶🏻
𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭: “I'm gonna make her mine, all mine”
⤷June Jukebox Masterlist ⤷Rafe Cameron Masterlist
The first time Rafe saw you, he didn't pay any mind. The second time he did, he noticed your eyes. The third time, he knew your name.
By the fourth time, he wanted you.
Your smile, the sound of your laughter, the moles and marks on your skin, the way your lips move when you say his name.
So he did what any other man would, he talked to you, asked you things he already knew about, praised you.
Asked you to be his.
Then the fifth time came—the first time since he asked you out, the first time since you told him no— and he only had one voice inside his head, the devil whispering in his ear, I'm gonna make her mine.
All mine.
The very same night, he had you sprawled out on his bed, hands cuffed to the headboard, tears staining your cheeks as you sobbed and whimpered, begging him to let you go.
Why would he? You're his. And he always takes care of his toys— even when he breaks them, he cares.
He licks a slow, long stripe down your neck, humming at the taste of raw fear on his tongue. His calloused hands roam over your soft skin, the way you kept squirming and writhing underneath him doing nothing but arouse him further.
Pausing just over your mound, he takes a long, tortuous moment just to flash a perfect smile at you. He was about to take what was his, and he would enjoy every. single. fucking. second.
His fingers swipe over your slit, and a shudder passes through your body. You were wet. Embarrassingly so. All because of the man in front of you.
You shut close your eyes, trying to escape, trying to wake up from this nightmare, but each soft circle over your throbbing clit made it harder to do so. Each pathetic mewl that left your swollen lips made you realise.
𑣲⋆ if you'd like to be added to my taglist, send a letter via a pigeon...or just a reply down below🫶🏻 (i write for ce babes and bocky and now, mr rafe cameron. if you'd like to be tagged for someone specific, please feel free to let me know 🤭🤭)
Summary: You should have just broken up, but Rafe would never let that happen. Sequel to ‘we’re not over.’ (Reader is kies cousin btw)
Warnings: NONCON/DUBCON (implied), DV (implied), Toxic relationship, Emotional abuse, Physical abuse,Baby trapping, Religious guilt/manipulation, Forced pregnancy elements, abortion. If any of this triggers you or isn’t your thing, scroll away. This is fiction.
a/n: BITCH IM BACK OUT MY COMMA. Okay but fr thanks for all the love on the last part, i had to go to rehab right after posting it so my apologies for how long this part took but im doing sm better now. They tried to make me go to rehab and i said yes! yes ! yes!
MINORS DNI
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Downstairs, your mom’s voice floated up the stairs, soft and uncertain.
“Honey? Rafe said… he said you’re pregnant?”
The words landed in your chest like stones dropping into deep water.
You stayed sitting on the edge of your bed, knees pressed together, one hand drifting behind your head without thinking. Your fingers found the strands at the nape of your neck and pulled. Hard. The sharp sting grounded you for half a second before the panic rushed back in. You twisted the hair tighter between your fingertips, pulling again, feeling the roots give way. It was the only thing that made sense right now.
Your mom’s footsteps came up slowly. Each creak of the old stairs made your stomach twist harder.
She stopped in the doorway, one hand resting on the frame like she needed it to hold herself steady. Her eyes were wide, searching your face, already glistening.
“Is it true?” she asked quietly.
You swallowed. The lump in your throat felt like it had been there for weeks. Your fingers kept working at the back of your head, pulling, tugging, the little pricks of pain the only thing keeping you from floating away completely.
“Yeah,” you whispered. Your voice sounded small. Foreign. “It’s true.”
Your mom stepped inside and sat on the very edge of the bed, close but not touching you. She always did that when things got heavy. Like she wanted to comfort you but didn’t know where to start anymore.
You kept pulling at your hair. The strands came loose between your fingers, soft and warm. You didn’t stop.
“I don’t want it, Mom.”
The sentence hung between you both. Heavy. Ugly.
Your mom’s breath caught. She looked down at her hands, twisting her wedding ring the way she did when she was trying not to cry.
“Oh, honey…” She let the words trail off, then tried again. “You’re sure? How far along are you?”
She looked down from your eyes to your stomach with a worried almost tired expression.
“I mean, you can't be that far, and things like this… they change you. Rafe seems really excited. He's always so sweet to you…He's already talking about helping. Making sure you and the baby would be taken care of. You wouldn’t have to worry about money or housing or any of that ever again.”
You laughed once. A short, broken sound that scraped your throat raw. Your fingers yanked harder at the back of your head. More strands came free.
“I can’t do this,” you said. Your voice cracked. “I’m not ready. It's not even just about Rafe. There's things I still wanna do. I've only traveled with the Camerons; I don't have a degree yet. I mean, shit, I haven't even had an actual job, yet mom, and now there’s this baby, and I just… I can’t bring a kid into all of this mess. I can’t.”
You didn’t tell her the worst parts. You couldn’t. Even now, some sick, stupid part of you couldn't. After everything, you still remembered the way he cried in your lap earlier, the way he said he loved you like it physically hurt him. You hated him, and you loved him, and the two feelings twisted together so tight you couldn’t breathe.
“But honey, if you keep it, you won't ever need a ‘real job’.”
Your mom reached out and gently touched your knee. Her hand was warm. Familiar. It almost made you cry.
“We’re not going to force you into anything,” she said carefully. “But sweetheart… abortion? That’s forever. And Rafe… he’s a Cameron. You could have a future. Stability. For you and the baby.”
You stood up so fast the room tilted. Your fingers were still buried in the hair at the back of your head, pulling, pulling. The sting had turned into a dull burn, but you couldn’t stop. It felt like the only honest thing left in your body.
“I don’t want that future,” you whispered. Then louder, “I don’t want any of this.”
Your dad appeared in the doorway then, silent, watching. He looked exhausted..
He didn’t yell. He rarely did.
“We’ll support you no matter what,” he said quietly. “But you need to really think about this… that baby changes everything.”
The weight in your stomach twisted again. Sharp. Alive.
You turned toward the window without meaning to. The streetlight outside cast a pale glow over everything. Rafe’s truck was still there. Parked across the street, engine running low, exhaust curling in the cool night air.
Even from here, you could see the way his shoulders were tense. The way he hadn’t moved in what felt like hours. Waiting. Patient. Like he already knew how this night would end.
Your breath caught.
He looked up. Your eyes met through the glass. For a second, the world narrowed to just him, the boy who used to make your heart race, the boy who pinned you against walls and cried in your lap and told you God gave him this baby.
You turned away fast. The room felt too small. Your fingers yanked harder at the back of your head. A few more strands came loose, caught between your knuckles.
“I can’t breathe,” you muttered.
You pushed past your parents, feet moving before your brain caught up. Down the stairs. Through the living room. Out the back door into the yard. The cold night air hit your face like a slap. You sucked it in desperately, chest heaving, fingers still tangled in your hair.
Rafe’s truck was still there.
Still waiting.
You turned and ran back inside. Up the stairs. Slammed your bedroom door behind you and leaned against it, sliding down until you were sitting on the floor with your knees pulled to your chest.
The silence in your room pressed in so thick it felt like it had weight.
You stayed on the floor for a long minute, back against the door, knees drawn tight to your chest. Your fingers were still tangled in the hair at the back of your head, pulling, twisting, the sharp little pops of pain the only thing keeping your thoughts from spinning completely out. Strands kept coming loose between your knuckles. You didn’t care. It was better than feeling nothing.
Eventually, you forced yourself up. Your legs felt shaky, like they belonged to someone else. You crossed to the mirror above your dresser without really deciding to. The girl looking back at you made your stomach drop.
Your eyes were swollen and red, puffy from the tears you hadn’t let fall all the way. Cheeks flushed and blotchy. Lips pressed into a thin, trembling line. Your hair was a mess at the nape, pieces sticking out where you’d yanked too hard. You looked wrecked. Like someone who had already lost.
You stared at her, at you, and felt a wave of something ugly rise in your throat. This was what Rafe saw when he looked at you now. This was what your parents saw. This was what everyone would see if you kept falling apart.
You turned away fast.
Grabbed the oversized black hoodie from the back of your chair and pulled it on. The fabric smelled like your detergent and faint traces of Rafe’s cologne from the last time he’d worn it. You tugged the hood up over your head, cinching it tight. It felt like small, useless armor, but it was something.
Your hands were still shaking when you opened your bedroom door.
Downstairs was quiet. Your parents had retreated to the kitchen. You could hear the low murmur of their voices, but couldn’t make out the words. Good. You didn’t want to explain anything else tonight.
You slipped out the front door.
The night air hit cold and sharp. It stung your swollen eyes and made the skin on your face feel tight. Rafe’s truck was still parked across the street, engine idling low, exhaust curling lazily in the streetlight. You could see the faint red glow of his vape through the cracked driver’s side window. Smoke drifted out in slow, steady clouds.
He was waiting.
You crossed the street with your head down, hood pulled low, arms wrapped around yourself. Your fingers found the strings of your hoodie and twisted them tight. Each step felt heavier than the last.
Rafe looked up the second you got close. His eyes were red-rimmed, glassy. He looked exhausted. Wrecked. But when he saw you, something shifted in his face, like relief mixed with that sharp edge he could never quite hide.
He leaned over and pushed the passenger door open.
“Get in,” he said. Voice rough but soft. The same tone he used when he was trying to be careful.
You hesitated for half a second, then climbed in. The seat was warm. The truck smelled like his cologne and weed. You pulled the door shut. The click sounded final.
Rafe watched you for a long moment. The vape glowed again as he took a slow hit, smoke curling out between his lips before he spoke.
“You came out,” he said quietly. Almost surprised. “I thought you were gonna make me sit here all night.”
You kept your eyes on the dashboard. Your fingers were back at the nape of your neck again, pulling gently at the strands under the hood. The sting helped. It kept you from completely dissociating.
“I don’t want my parents involved in this anymore,” you muttered. Your voice came out smaller than you wanted. “They’re already freaking out.”
Rafe nodded slowly. He took another hit, then set the vape down in the cupholder. His hand moved across the console and rested on your thigh. Heavy. Familiar. You didn’t pull away.
“I’m sorry I told them,” he said after a beat. “I was just… scared. I didn’t know what else to do. You weren’t answering me, and I thought,” His voice cracked. He looked away for a second, jaw tight. “I thought you were really gonna do it. Get rid of our baby.”
You stayed quiet. Your fingers kept pulling at your hair under the hood. Slow. Methodical. The pain was sharp and clean.
Rafe turned back to you. His eyes were wet again.
“But you’re not, right?” he whispered. “You’re keeping it. You came out here to tell me that. Tell me you’re keeping our kid.”
The words sat heavy on your tongue. You swallowed once. Twice. Then you nodded.
“Yeah,” you said softly. “I’m keeping it.”
The words tasted like ash.
Rafe’s whole body sagged with relief. He let out a shaky breath and leaned across the console, wrapping his arms around you so tight it almost hurt. His face buried in the crook of your neck. You felt his shoulders tremble.
“Thank you,” he whispered against your skin. His voice was thick with tears. “Thank you, baby. I knew you’d do the right thing. I knew you wouldn’t do that to me. This is gonna be good. I swear. I’m gonna be better. For you. For the baby. We’re gonna be a family.”
His hand slid down to rest on your stomach again. Gentle this time. Almost reverent.
You sat there stiffly, letting him hold you, letting him cry into your hoodie while your fingers kept working at the back of your head under the fabric. Pulling. Twisting. The sting kept you present. Kept you from screaming.
After a long minute, he pulled back. Wiped his face with the sleeve of his hoodie. His eyes were red but brighter now. Hopeful in that terrifying way only Rafe could manage.
“I’ll come get you in the morning,” he said. “We’ll go see Ward together. Everything’s gonna be okay now. You’ll see.”
You nodded again. Small. Mechanical.
Rafe leaned in and kissed your forehead. Soft. Lingering. Like a promise.
“I love you,” he murmured. “Even when you scare the shit out of me. I still love you.”
He waited until you got out of the truck. Watched you walk back toward the house. Only when you were inside did he finally pull away, the truck rumbling down the street.
You stood in the doorway for a long time after the taillights disappeared.
Your fingers were still pulling at the back of your head.
The words sat heavy in your chest.
You were alone with it now. The weight. The decision. The words you had just told him.
Your phone sat on the bed like a live wire. You stared at it for a long time before you crawled over and picked it up. Your hands were shaking so badly you almost dropped it twice. The screen lit up your swollen face in the dark.
You opened your messages.
Kie’s name was still there, buried under months of unread texts. The last one from her was from last year.
Kie𖤓˚࿔: heyy im thinking about u
Kie𖤓˚࿔: u should call me
You had never answered.
Your thumb hovered over the keyboard. The words felt impossible to type, but you forced them out anyway.
Kie𖤓˚࿔
(10:07 pm)
You: hey ik we havent talked in a while
You: ive been rlly weird ik
You: but i kinda really need ur help
You hit send before you could delete it.
Nothing.
The minutes stretched. You kept refreshing the chat like an idiot. Nothing. No typing bubble. No read receipt. Just silence.
You pulled harder at the back of your head. The pain bloomed fresh. You typed again.
Kie𖤓˚࿔
(10:19 pm)
You: kie pls
You: this is serious
You: i fucked up bad
Still nothing.
Your chest started to cave in. The room felt smaller. The lie you told Rafe sat like lead in your stomach. You had bought yourself one night. Maybe. But tomorrow he would come back. Ward would be waiting. Your parents would look at you with those tired, disappointed eyes and talk about “stability” again.
You couldn’t do this alone.
You started blowing her up. Message after message.
Kie𖤓˚࿔
(10:23 pm)
You: kie
You: Please answer
You: im pregnant
You: with rafes baby
You: dont want to keep it
The second the last message sent, your phone started ringing.
Kie𖤓˚࿔ flashed across the screen.
You answered so fast you almost dropped it.
For a second, there was only breathing on the other end. Hers. Yours. Both shaky.
Kie’s voice came through, low and tense.
“What the fuck did you just say?”
You swallowed. Your fingers were back at your scalp again, pulling. “I’m pregnant. Rafe’s. And I… I don’t want to keep it. I can’t.”
A long silence. You could hear her moving, probably pacing wherever she was.
“Jesus Christ,” she muttered. “You’re actually serious right now?”
“I know,” you whispered. Your voice cracked. “I know I fucked up. I know I stopped talking to you. I know I chose him. But Kie… my friends won’t help me. My mom's talking about how I’d be ‘set for life.’ Rafe waited outside and threatened me… I don’t have anyone else. Please.”
Kie let out a bitter laugh. Not mean, but exhausted.
“I told you. I told you so many times not to fuck with him. He’s poison. And now you’re pregnant, and you want me to help you get rid of it?”
You closed your eyes. Tears slipped down your cheeks. You didn’t bother wiping them.
“I know,” you said again. “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. But I’m scared, Kie. He’s talking about lawyers. Ward’s involved. FUCK! I don’t know what to do.”
Another long pause. You could hear her breathing.
“Fuck,” she finally said. “Okay. Okay. I’m not promising anything. But… I’ll help you. You need to get it done fast before he figures it out.”
Relief hit you so hard your knees almost gave out.
“Thank you,” you whispered. “Thank you, Kie.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” she said. Her voice was tight. “Be ready at 6 a.m. sharp. John B will drive. We’re taking you to the mainland. Don’t tell anyone. Not your parents. Not Rafe. Especially not Rafe.”
You nodded even though she couldn’t see you. “I won’t. 6 a.m.”
She hesitated. “And cuz… if this goes bad, if he finds out… I can’t promise we’ll be able to get you out again. You know that, right?”
“I know,” you said quietly.
The call ended.
You sat there on the floor, phone still pressed to your ear, listening to the dead line. Your fingers had gone back to your scalp without you realizing. The spot was raw now. Tender. You kept pulling anyway.
For the first time in weeks, a small, fragile sliver of hope flickered in your chest.
Tomorrow at 6 a.m.
You just had to make it through the night.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The sky was still dark when your alarm went off at 5:45.
You hadn’t slept. Not really. You had lain in bed staring at the ceiling, fingers twisting in the hair at the back of your head until the spot felt raw and hot, after you had gave up on doom scrolling. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw Rafe’s face in the truck, the way his shoulders sagged with relief when you lied. The way he kissed your forehead like a promise.
You got up slowly. Your legs felt heavy. You pulled on the same black hoodie from last night, the one that still smelled faintly like him. You tied your hair back tight so you wouldn’t keep pulling at it. Then you stood at your window for a long minute, staring at the empty street where his truck had been parked hours earlier. The spot looked wrong without him in it. Too quiet.
You slipped downstairs without turning on any lights. Your parents’ bedroom door was closed. You could hear your dad’s low snoring. For a second, you almost went in. Almost told them everything. But you didn’t. You just grabbed your keys and left through the back door like a ghost.
The air outside was cold and damp. It clung to your skin. You pulled the hood up and walked fast down the street, shoulders hunched, breath fogging in front of you. Every shadow made your heart jump. You kept expecting Rafe’s truck to appear around the corner, headlights cutting through the dark.
But it didn’t.
At the end of the block, John B’s van was waiting under a broken streetlight. Kie was already standing outside, arms crossed tight over her chest. When she saw you, she didn’t smile. She just opened the sliding door and stepped back.
You climbed in. The van smelled like salt water and old fast food. John B was in the driver’s seat, hands on the wheel, eyes flicking to the rearview mirror like he expected Rafe to appear any second. Kie got in after you and slammed the door shut. The sound made you flinch.
No one spoke for the first few minutes.
John B pulled away slow, headlights off until you were off your street. The van rattled over potholes. You kept your hands in your lap, fingers digging into your palms now instead of your hair. The sting wasn’t enough anymore.
Kie finally broke the silence. Her voice was tight.
“You look like shit.”
You let out a weak laugh that didn’t sound like you. “Yeah. Feel like it too.”
She didn’t laugh back. She just stared out the window, jaw clenched. The tension between you both was thick enough to taste. You had been close once. Sleepovers at her house, you teaching her how to braid her hair, sneaking snacks from the Wreck after closing. Then Rafe happened. And everything changed. Family cookouts became awkward small talk. Texts went unanswered. She had warned you. You hadn’t listened.
Now here you were. Pregnant. Desperate. Asking her for the one thing she had begged you to avoid.
“You really did it, huh?” she said after a while. Not mean. Just tired. “Got knocked up by Rafe Cameron of all people.”
“Yeah,” you whispered. Your voice cracked. “I fucked up.”
Kie let out a long breath. “I told you. So many times. But you kept going back.”
You didn’t defend him. Not right now. Your fingers found the strings of your hoodie and twisted them.
“I know,” you said quietly. “I know I did. But I'm saying that, okay? I'm being honest, Im saying I need your help.”
She looked at you then. Really looked. Her eyes were hard, but there was something softer underneath. Worry. Guilt.
John B cleared his throat from the front. “We’re about forty minutes out. Clinic opens at seven. We’ll get you in quick.”
You nodded. The van felt too small. Every bump in the road made your stomach turn. You kept thinking about Rafe waking up. Checking his phone. Realizing you weren’t answering. The way his face would change.
The rest of the drive was quiet. Kie didn’t say much more. She just sat there, arms crossed, staring out the window like she was carrying her own weight. You wanted to thank her again, but the words felt useless. So you stayed silent. Fingers digging into your palms. Heart hammering so hard you could feel it in your teeth.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The clinic was small and nondescript. A plain building tucked between a pharmacy and a laundromat. John B parked in the back. Kie walked you in. Her hand was on your elbow the whole time, gentle but firm.
The procedure itself was a blur. The nurse was kind. The doctor was professional. You cried the whole time. Silent tears running down your face while you stared at the ceiling tiles. Kie sat in the waiting room. When it was over, and you came out, drained and shaky, she didn’t say anything. She just helped you to the van and wrapped a blanket around your shoulders.
The ride back was even quieter.
You sat in the back seat, curled against the door, staring out at the passing trees. Your stomach felt empty in a way that had nothing to do with the procedure. The weight was gone. But something else had taken its place. A hollowness. A guilt so heavy it made it hard to breathe.
Kie kept glancing at you in the rearview mirror. She didn’t speak. Neither did John B. The silence felt like judgment. Like understanding. Like both at once.
Your phone buzzed in your lap.
You looked down.
Rafe
(7:35 am)
Rafe: why is your location off?
Your heart stopped.
You typed fast, fingers clumsy.
You: sorry my phone died last night (7:36 am)
You: just woke up (7:36 am)
You: everything ok? (7:36 am)
Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
Rafe: ill be at your house in 15 (7:38 am)
Your stomach dropped.
You looked up at John B.
“How far are we?”
“Forty-five minutes,” he said. “Maybe more with traffic.”
“Fuck,” you whispered. Your voice broke. “Fuck.”
Kie turned in her seat. Her eyes were wide. “What’s wrong?”
“He’s going to my house. He thinks I’m there. He’s coming in fifteen minutes.”
The van went quiet again. Different this time. Heavy with fear.
You leaned your head against the window. The glass was cold against your forehead. Your fingers drifted to the back of your head again, pulling at the already tender strands. The pain bloomed fresh. You welcomed it.
You had done it. You had gotten the abortion.
But Rafe was already coming.
And you had lied to his face last night.
The van kept driving. The road stretched ahead. Forty-five minutes.
You closed your eyes and tried to breathe through the panic clawing up your throat.
He was going to find out.
And when he did…
You didn’t want to think about what would happen next.
“What do I do?” you asked. Your voice sounded small. Desperate. “I can’t go back there right now. I can't pull up with you guys. He's gonna be pissed I'm even around you, and he’ll immediately know.”
Kie didn’t answer right away. She just watched you, her expression tight with something between anger and worry. You could feel the years of distance between you both sitting in the space between the seats. She had warned you. Over and over. And you had still chosen Rafe. Still gone back. Still let him pull you under.
John B cleared his throat. “Why don’t we drop you off a couple blocks from your house? You walk the rest of the way. Act normal. Maybe buy yourself some time.”
You shook your head fast. “No. He’ll know. If I show up on foot looking like this he’ll lose it. He’ll start asking questions. He’ll know im lying. He’ll-”
Your voice broke. The van felt too small. Every bump in the road sent fresh nausea rolling through you. The emptiness in your stomach ached in a way that had nothing to do with the procedure. It was deeper than that. Like something had been carved out, and you were only just starting to feel the hole it left behind.
Kie reached back and touched your knee. Her hand was warm. Steady. For a second, it almost felt like old times. Before Rafe. Before everything got ruined.
“Why don’t you just stay with us?” she said quietly. “At the Chateau. At least for today. Maybe tomorrow too. Buy yourself some real time.”
You stared at her. The words landed heavily.
“No,” you said immediately. “No way. Rafe will kill me if he finds out I went there. He already hates all of you. If he thinks I ran to you and lied to him…”
You trailed off. Your fingers kept working at your scalp. Pulling. Twisting. The sting had turned into a dull throb, but you couldn’t stop. It was the only thing keeping you from completely falling apart.
Kie didn’t push right away. She just looked at you for a long moment. Her eyes were tired. Guilty. Like she was carrying her own weight from all the times she had tried to warn you and you hadn’t listened.
“If you go back right now,” she said carefully, “you’re gonna have to look him in the eye and pretend there’s still a baby. You really think you can do that? For how long? A week? Two? Sooner or later, he’s gonna figure it out. At least if you stay with us, we can buy you some time. Figure out next steps. Maybe even… have a little fun for once. Remember what that feels like?”
Fun.
The word felt foreign. Almost ridiculous. You hadn’t had fun in so long. Not the kind that didn’t come with fear or guilt or Rafe’s eyes watching your every move. The idea of sitting at the Chateau with Kie and her friends, even for a few hours, felt dangerous. But it also felt like the first real breath you had taken in months.
You leaned your head against the window. The glass was cold against your forehead. Outside, the trees blurred past. Your phone buzzed again, but you didn’t look. You already knew it was him.
“Okay,” you whispered. Your voice sounded small. Scared. “Just for today. Just until I figure out what to say to him.”
Kie nodded. She squeezed your knee once. It wasn’t forgiveness. But it was something.
John B glanced at you in the rearview mirror. “You sure about this?”
You weren’t. But you nodded anyway.
The van kept driving. The road stretched ahead. Forty-five minutes became thirty. Then twenty-five.
Your phone buzzed in your lap.
You didn’t want to look. But you did.
Rafe: here (7:54 am)
Rafe: wya (7:56 am)
You stared at the message until the letters blurred. The van hit a bump, and your stomach rolled. Not from the procedure. From him. From the lie you had fed him last night, from the lie right now.
Rafe: now your ignoring me (8:00 am)
Rafe: answer rn (8:01 am)
Your thumb hovered over the screen. Kie glanced back at you but didn’t say anything. John B’s hands tightened on the wheel. The silence in the van felt heavier now, like everyone knew what was coming.
You typed fast, heart hammering so hard it hurt.
You: sorry u know i just woke up (8:04 am)
You: still at home (8:04 am)
You: Just saw this (8:04 am)
The three dots appeared almost immediately. They disappeared. Came back. Your fingers dug harder into the back of your head. More strands came loose. You could feel the tender spot throbbing now, but you kept pulling anyway.
Rafe: come outside. (8:05 am)
Your breath caught. You looked up at John B. “He’s at my house.”
Kie turned fully in her seat. “Block him. Delete him. Now.”
You shook your head. Your hands were shaking too badly to type properly.
“If I block him, he’ll lose it. He’ll go inside. He’ll talk to my parents. He’ll know something’s wrong.”
Another message popped up.
Rafe: btw turn your lo back on (8:06 am)
You swallowed hard. The taste of panic was metallic on your tongue. You typed again, lying through your teeth even though every word felt like it was choking you.
You: location glitching. (8:07 am)
You: im getting ready. (8:07 am)
You: ill be out in a sec (8:07 am)
The reply came faster this time.
Rafe: come out or im coming in (8:08 am)
Rafe: im not playing with you y/n (8:08 am)
Your chest tightened so hard you couldn’t breathe right. You could picture him perfectly. Sitting in his truck in your driveway, eyes red, jaw locked, one hand gripping the wheel while the other hovered over his phone. Waiting. Always waiting. Like he had all the time in the world because he knew you would eventually break.
Kie’s voice cut through the panic. “What did he say?”
“He’s at my house,” you whispered. “He said he’s coming in if I don’t come out.”
John B cursed under his breath. The van sped up just a little. Not enough. Never enough.
Your phone buzzed again. Then again. Then again.
Rafe: baby please (8:10 am)
Rafe: i waited all night (8:10 am)
Rafe: i thought we were good (8:10 am)
Rafe: why are you doing this to me?(8:11 am)
Rafe: turn your location on right now. im not playing. (8:11 am)
Rafe: im coming in. (8:16 am)
The message sat there. Simple. Final.
You could see it so clearly. Rafe walking up to your front door. Knocking. Your mom answering with that tired, worried. Him smiling that polite Kook smile while his eyes stayed dead. Asking where you were. Asking why you weren’t answering.
And when they told him you weren’t home…
You leaned forward and pressed your forehead against the seat in front of you. Your breathing was too fast. Too shallow. The sting at the back of your head wasn’t enough anymore. Nothing was enough.
Kie’s hand stayed on your arm. But even she couldn’t fix this.
The van kept driving toward the Chateau.
And somewhere behind you, Rafe was stepping inside your house.
Looking for you.
Realizing you had lied.
The panic clawed up your throat and stayed there.
Because you knew what came next.
And there was nowhere left to run.
………….
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She had known Rafe Cameron since before either of them could speak.
Their parents used to joke that they didn’t even remember a time when one of them wasn’t in the other’s arms. There were baby pictures of them in the same crib. First birthdays celebrated together, first days of school walked side by side, small hands gripping tighter than necessary
They grew up like twins without sharing blood
He was the boy who punched another kid for making her cry in second grade
She was the girl who sat beside him in the principal’s office and insisted it wasn’t his fault
They built forts. Shared secrets. Promised, at ten years old, that they’d never let anyone come between themAnd for a long time, no one did
Until adolescence began to pull them in different directions
Rafe changed slowly — and then all at once
He got taller, broader. His voice deepened, the softness in him thinned out.
He started staying out late. Started drinking. Started arguing with his father in ways that shook the walls.
Then his mother died.
And whatever light had been dimming inside him finally cracked
The fights at home became vicious, personally, uglier.
His father’s disappointment sharpened into something cruel
Rafe responded by becoming exactly what he was accused of.
Reckless
Angry
Unreachable
She stayed steady.She grew into herself gently — kind, patient, careful with people’s feelings. The type of girl teachers trusted. The type of daughter parents bragged about.
And somewhere in the middle of all that growing up, Rafe started seeing her differently.It didn’t happen in one dramatic moment.
It happened in fragments.
The first time another boy held her hand in the hallway.
The first time she wore a dress to a school dance.
The first time someone else made her laugh the way he used to.
It made something sharp bloom in his chest.He didn’t understand it at first.
He just knew he hated it.
When she started dating Jake it felt like betrayal. Jake was a good person
Good grades, good family, good future. Everything Rafe wasn’t.
“You like him?” Rafe asked one afternoon, leaning against his truck while she stood in front of him.
She smiled shyly. “Yeah”
He studied her face carefully
“Why?” The question sounded casual.
It wasn’t
“He’s nice… and kind”
Rafe scoffed under his breath. “Sounds boring.”
“Not everyone wants chaos Rafe” The words slipped out before she could stop them. They landed harder than she meant. His expression changed instantly, cold
“You think I’m chaos?”
“I didn’t mean it”
And he knew it.
After that something shifted.
Rafe didn’t pull away. He sharpened.
His comments about Jake became subtle but constant.
“He didn’t wait for you after class?”
“He looks like he lost interest in you.”
“He follows a lot of girls on Instagram”
“You sure you know where he’s tonight?”
Never accusations.Just observations.He delivered them like facts, like he was helping her see clearly. At first, she defended Jake easily.
But Rafe was patient.
He had years of practice knowing exactly how she thought. He knew she trusted him more than anyone. Because she always had. The manipulation began quietly.
One night, Rafe was at a party he hadn’t told her about. He spotted Jake there.Jake wasn’t doing anything wrong — just talking to a girl from their chemistry class.
But Rafe watched carefully.
The girl laughed and was touching Jake’s arm briefly. And that was enough.
Later, Rafe approached her
“You weren’t at the party?” he asked
“No,I had dinner with my parents.”
He nodded slowly
“mhm”
Something about the way he said it made her pause
“Is something on your mind?”
“I just thought I saw Jake there”
Her stomach dipped “He said he was studying”
“Maybe he was” Rafe shrugged “People study in different ways.”
That night, doubt crept in. It was small, but it was there.
A week later, Rafe escalated. He asked a girl he knew — someone who liked him enough not to question things — to take a picture with Jake at another party.
He waited until Jake stepped outside for a call.
Then Rafe casually told the girl “Go ask him for a lighter or something ”
And she did.
Jake handed her one.
Rafe snapped a photo from a distance. The angle was perfect, close enough to look intimate, and blurry enough to suggest secrecy.
He immediately sent it to her
Rafe: “I didn’t want to send this, but I had to”
Her reply came almost instantly “What is that?”
Rafe: “I’m sorry”
That was all he wrote.
He didn’t need more
She confronted Jake the next day.He looked confused, hurt. Swore it wasn’t what it looked like
“It’s just a picture” he insisted. “she asked me for a lighter and I gave her”
“then why didn’t you tell me you were there?”
“I didn’t thought I mattered”
But it mattered now. Because Rafe had made it matter.
Rafe didn’t celebrat, he didn’t push. He waited
When she came to him crying, he held herWhen she questioned herself, he reassured her
“shhh it's not your fault” he murmured “I’d never lie to you.”
And that was the cruelest part, because he believed it in his mind.
Jake would hurt her eventually anyway.
He was just speeding up the inevitable. Protecting her like he always was doing for their entire life, claiming what had always been his.
When she finally broke up with Jake, Rafe felt it like a victory he’d earned
He brushed her tears away gently and whispered
“You deserve someone who would never look at anyone else” His thumb lingered against her cheek. And this time, when she leaned into his touch —He didn’t pretend it was innocent anymore.He immediately leans in and kisses her on the lips. As if he were starving, passionately, greedily wanting to somehow mark her as his.
thoughts on rafe and a reader who's just like me... hypersensitive, weak, shy and scared of the world and pretty much everything about life itself. and one evening as rafe is taking care of family stuff, he spots her sitting all by herself, hiding in between the trees. eating lunch and wearing uniform, he assumes thats where she goes at to hide from her peers.
it is not an uncommon sight, far from it, but it makes him intrigued somehow. maybe because he could mirror the look in her eyes, that look of uneasy, paranoia. maybe because her beauty reminded him of a watercolor drawing, the fact that she was sitting in that forest seemed to make sense. like she belonged there, in that scenario.
he decides to drive by the next day just for curiosity, he tells himself. and he sees her again, in the same spot, with the same nervous expression... like if he simply approached her, she would jump startled like a bunny. during the next days, he does the same thing. just watching her from far, wondering about her... and he kept watching her as the weeks go by. months.
she becomes a full time hobby for him. he now knew her full name, who her family was, how poorly they treated her. where they lived at and how much of a terrified little thing she was, and why she was.
she knew how awful people could be. rafe knew that pretty fucking well, too.
rafe would now park his car in front of her house late at night, in a spot that gave him the perfect view of her window. no, he wasn't a pervert, he wasn't trying to see her in unappropriated ways (he would tell himself). he simply needed... more. more of her.
he started getting more bold. getting into her room while she was sleeping, reading her journals to get a glimpse of her mind. how she felt.
he could understand her.
god, she was the only one who could understand him.
she was... his other half.
thats what he started to believe. it was like she was talking to him through her journals.
he also was unbelievably fond of her scent. the smell of her room, the scent of those pages, he was growing addicted to it. he was addicted to her.
one night, the girl slept hugging a stuffed animal as she felt the wind blowing against her exposed skin. she never slept with the windows open, never, that would never allow her to sleep. and then she noticed how a few clothes of her seemed to simply disappear into a black hole, nowhere to be found.
things that she could swear that were always in the same spot, were now in different places. this was making her insane with fear.
rafe didn't wanted her even more scared because of him.
he just wanted to take care of her... hide her from this nasty, filthy world. she would never need to be scared, ever again. he would protect her, he would spend every single moment of the rest of his life protecting her.
she woke up abruptly, feeling incredibly tense. she felt chills on her body, somebody was definetly watching her. as she rubbed and opened her eyes, her soul left her body with the sight in front of her.
there was a figure of a very tall man watching her. she couldn't see his face in the dark, couldn't see what he looked like, but he was as tall as a unhuman creature from the horror stories she would read as a kid. he was watching her still, she couldn't even tell if he was breathing.
the fear was so intense that she couldn't react. couldn't scream or cry for help, couldn't run, couldn't blink. she was sweating and cold, and she was sure that in this moment, she was going to die.
"...hey." spoke the figure, calmly. very calmly.
he approached her slowly, sitting in her bed. and in that moment she started crying like a child, terrified for her life, for what could happen right now. anything. her heart was almost jumping out from her mouth.
"hey, hey... don't cry. it's ok..." he covered her mouth, and caressed her face with his other hand. big, cold hand. "i'm not here to hurt you. i never will."
her eyes widened, she couldn't stop crying.
"i'm here to save you... ok? you're- you're safe with me. i'm taking you with me." he reached out for a silver tape, and rope.
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?”
“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
"Break up?" Steve said incredulously. "What do you mean 'break up'?" He runs his hands through his hair, shaking his head slightly, "no, you can't leave. We're not breaking up."
What has gotten into you? You've gone insane, surely. There was no way you'd get away from him. He felt anger and frustration at the way you stood near the door. Your hair was nicely done and your clothes were ironed. He could smell your sweet perfume and see your lucky socks poking out from your favorite shoes. You're trying to build confidence. You're still weak.
"I-" you paused, looking away from him, "I can't do this anymore, Steve."
"Why not? You promised. You remember that, don't you? You said we'd be together forever and what, now you're leaving me because of some stupid mistake?" The thought of you slipping through his fingers made his skin itch.
"It wasn't a mistake!" Your lips wobbled, "You're insane, Steve! You're making shit up, twisting reality. I can't do it anymore." You look dejected, tired.
Steve scoffed, "making shit up?"
Your piece of shit coworker has a crush on you, it's clear as day. He meddles in your relationship, planting false ideations into your head. He's a little too possessive, he tells you, that can't be healthy. Who is he to speak? He doesn't know you or Steve and he sure as hell doesn't know anything about your relationship.
"Steve," you plead, "he's my friend. He's just a friend looking out for me."
"So you agree with him? You're ridiculous. He got was coming to him." Steve's expressionless, staring at your look of disbelief. He can see the wheels in your head spinning, trying to figure him out.
"You've lost it," you breathe. "I'm sorry, Steve, but I really can't do this anymore." You turned to leave.
Slipping, slipping, slipping.
Your fingers only brushed the door handle when he spoke again, panic laced in his voice, "baby, please, I can't live without you."
You stopped and he could hear your breath hitch. "I'd rather die than live without you." It's a sensitive topic, he knows that but what else was he to do? You've left him with no other choice. You're silent for a few seconds, "what would I do without you?"
"Stevie, please don't say that," your voice is small, weak, and broken.
"I will if you leave me. You don't want me to hurt myself, do you?"
Your back moves as you sob, head falling forward, "no."
Steve feels a sense of satisfaction. Your hand dropped from the handle and moved to cover your face as you cried. He stood and walked over to you, wrapping his arms around your shaking body, "s'okay, baby, I'm safe as long as you're with me. We can get through this."
You nod, finally meeting his eyes. Your eyes are lined with smudged makeup, red and glassy from crying. He leans in to kiss you, happy when you melt into his touch, eagerly kissing him back. Your tears slide into the cracks of your lips and the salty taste makes him sigh.
Steve picks you up, carries you to your shared bed, and gently climbs over you. Your skin is soft under his fingers as he feels up every crevice of your body, focusing on the places you liked most. How could he be a bad boyfriend if he had every part of you committed to memory? You're the only thing on his mind, day and night.
He sucks your thighs, leaving marks as he gets closer and closer to your little cunt. You whimper when he takes your clit into his mouth, flicking it with his tongue and diving into your folds. He pulls away once he's satisfied, savoring the taste of your - his - pretty pussy.
His cock aligns with your clenching hole that aches to be filled. He sinks in with a shaky breath, slowly thrusting into your dripping heat. He'll never tire of the look of pleasure on your face as you squirm under him, tears still leaking from your eyes and mouth slightly ajar, whining and whimpering.
He can't believe he almost lost you. It could never happen again. It would never happen again. "I told you we'd be together forever," his voice is raspy as he reaches to cradle your face, passionately kissing your puckering lips. "I love you so much."
You'll be his forever once he fucks his cum into your womb, breeding you, tying you to him. A symbol of your love in the form of a growing entity. A piece of him tethered to you.
"M'gonna cum inside you," he groaned. The head of his cock kisses your cervix as he thrusts harder.
The look on your face shifted from pleasure to pain and he found himself just as entranced by the hurt so evident in your eyes where he could see the light flickering almost like you were succumbing to your fate. He knew you wouldn't resist with the threat of his life hanging above your head.
You may not want it now, but you will. Eventually, you'll see and feel what he does. You don't need anybody else.
WARNINGS: Non-Con, loss of virginity, depression, mentions of blood, semi-public sex, underage drinking, non canon ages, Carrera!reader, Rafe is an asshole with a capital A
➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies | ➥ divider by @firefly-graphics
summary: Rafe Cameron never thought of himself as the hunting type, but the more you hid, the more he wanted to find you.
⭑
You curled up in the corner of the couch with your knees pulled to your chest as you faintly registered the conversation happening around you. You tried to engage enough to be considered present, but it was hard, and you didn’t think you were fooling anyone. You were positive that you hadn’t been fooling anyone for weeks, and when you glanced up you weren’t surprised to catch Kiara’s eye.
She was worried about you.
You never would’ve known if she hadn’t cornered you last week, not-so-subtly subtly trying to pry information from you to determine what had triggered this change in demeanor. You’d stupidly thought that you were behaving normally, somehow convincing yourself that you weren’t acting differently, at all. After all, you still hung out with your friends and laughed at their jokes and smiled whenever JJ showed you the fish he caught.
“You just seem…” Kiara shook her head. “…kind of spacey, I guess. Like you’re here, but…you’re not.”
That was what she’d said to you when you’d unconvincingly asked her what she meant.
You recalled letting out a near silent scoff, the realization washing over you that you weren’t doing as good of a job as you thought. It made you wonder how long the other girl had noticed without saying anything, and then, that only made you wonder about the rest of your friends too. Granted, Kiara was your sister, so she was bound to notice more than they did, but you’d also never written her off as the most observant.
Especially now that so much of her time was taken up by JJ.
So…if she noticed…
You swallowed, unable to sit here and put in more effort to appear somewhat happy. You couldn’t deal with Kiara’s periodic glances as well as wondering what they were saying about you when you weren’t around. You knew it wouldn’t be anything bad, but you suddenly felt like the elephant in the room. Even more so when all eyes focused on you the very second you started to stand.
“I think I’m gonna go home,” you said, shaking your head the moment Kiara started to stand too. “All I had today was an iced coffee, and it’s finally catching up to me, I think.”
“Even more reason to stay,” Pope told you, and you sent him a small smile.
“Even more reason to go lie down in my bed,” you chuckled.
When your eyes met Kiara’s, she stood anyway, a sigh leaving her as she reached for her keys.
“Well, I’m at least driving you.”
Her tone left little room for argument, and choosing to pick your battles, you simply gave her a small thanks. You waved everyone else bye after putting on your shoes, and you didn’t need to look over to know that your sister was staring at you as she walked at your side.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay with you? I mean, if you’re not feeling good someone should be home with you. Mom and dad are at The Wreck.”
“I’m literally just feeling a little lightheaded,” you assured her as you got in. “It’s nothing some noodles can’t fix.”
She didn’t look all that convinced, but she bit her tongue to whatever was clearly on her mind. The ride back home was pretty quiet outside of you flickering between stations here and there, and Kiara’s lack of protest over it clued you in on just how worried about you she was. Its why you weren’t surprised when you were prevented from hopping out the moment she parked in front of the house.
She’d reached out to you to stop you, and there was an unsure look flickering over her face. You could see that she was contemplating how to say whatever it was she was going to say, and eventually she just sighed.
“I know that I haven’t been available as much ever since JJ and I started dating,” she slowly started, eyeing you. “…but you know that if you ever want to talk, I’d blow him off in a heartbeat, right?”
You gave her a small smile.
“I know.”
She still didn’t look satisfied, probably hoping this would be an opportunity to really talk about whatever she wondered was going on with you. When it was clear you weren’t going to give her what she wanted, she merely pressed her lips together with a nod. She gave you a soft ‘okay’ before reluctantly unlocking the vehicle. You didn’t look back once you made it inside, but you didn’t need to to know she hadn’t driven off right away.
The sound reached your ears when she finally did.
You pressed your back to the wall the minute you were finally alone, and you stared at the wall before you for what felt like a long time before it eventually started to blur. Once the first tear escaped, the rest quickly followed, and your lips trembled as you roughly wiped your face. Your gaze rested on the family pictures on the wall, focusing on your smiling face in particular, and you wondered if you’d ever smile like that again.
You would never in a million years tell Kiara what was wrong. Not because you didn’t trust her and not because she wouldn’t believe you, but because you should’ve known better. You should’ve fucking known better, and instead of listening to what you knew, you ignored every instinct inside of you just to be nice. It was bad enough that two people in this world knew just how stupid and naïve you could be.
You didn’t think you could handle any more than that.
With a choked sob, you slid to the floor, head tilted back as you gazed at the ceiling. It was the same ceiling throughout the whole house, same color and all, and you found that gazing at it—as you’d done that night—brought you some comfort. It was all that had filled your vision when you’d felt more and more detached from your body, eyes tracing every inch of it as he’d pinned your wrists to your bed.
Staring at it calmed you, the sight of it much more enjoyable without Rafe Cameron’s heavy breathing in your ear.
“You want to hear something funny?”
The voice just at your ear was low, but the suddenness of it startled you, nonetheless, and when you turned, a familiar face was greeting you with a grin. His perfect teeth were winking at you as you slowly turned to fully face him, equal parts cautious and curious. Your grip on the red cup in your hand tightened for a half a second before you took a step back, thankful that no one was behind you to bump into.
“I was just at the beach,” the older guy said, leaning in so you could hear him. “…and your sister said you were at home because you’re in trouble.”
You felt all color drain from your face at his words, and by the look on his own face when he pulled back, he knew the exact effect they had on you.
“…but yet, here you are.”
Rafe Cameron looked nothing short of like the cat who caught the canary as he leaned his hand on the couch you both were standing next to. He had a drink of his own in his hand—although his wasn’t nearly as empty as yours—and his head was tilted as he eyed you. You watched him tilt his cup up to his lips, those blue eyes of his holding your gaze over the rim as his words—and what they meant—floated between you.
You scoffed at him.
“Kie would never talk to you,” was your best response, and you didn’t like the way his smirk grew.
“I never said she did,” he haughtily replied. “Only that she said it…and I heard her.”
Accepting that you’d been caught, you rolled your eyes, and the oldest Cameron only chuckled.
“You can relax, Carrera,” he drawled, laughing again before taking another sip. “Do I look like I care if Kie’s baby sister wants to sneak out to a party she has no business being at?”
“I’m not a baby,” the words flew out before you could stop them.
Of course, that didn’t need to be said, but despite the fact that you were only one year younger than Kiara and your friends, they had a moderately annoying habit of treating like you were a child. You suspected it was because Kiara always acted like she was much older than you than she actually was. The girl was twenty, not twenty-nine, and her behavior had long rubbed off.
You didn’t know if you liked the onceover Rafe gave you, blue gaze slowly taking you in from your hair all the way down to your platform flip flops and back.
“No shit,” he said matter-of-factly and leaning in, a crooked smile on his pink lips as he shook his head. “…but you’re two years younger than me, so unfortunately, that makes you a tad more childish than I am.”
“Rafe Cameron? Childish? Never,” you sarcastically said to him just before finishing your drink.
Rafe seemed to be really entertained by you for some reason, and when you lowered your hand, his gaze fell to your cup. When his eyes met yours again, he threw you a playful smirk.
“Do you want another drink?”
You held his gaze for a few seconds more before glancing away, eyes taking in the party that you weren’t supposed to be at. It wasn’t like your parents could actually legally stop you from walking out of their house and going to any party you wanted, but considering you were still at home with no means of independence whatsoever, you didn’t see the appeal in blatantly disrespecting them. Especially since you deserved your lashings for mishandling money they gave you.
You were starting to think you’d pushed your luck enough.
“I’m not even supposed to be here,” you told Rafe, throwing him a sheepish look. “I should probably go home.”
Rafe didn’t immediately respond to that, only staring at you for a moment before eventually nodding. You watched him take another swallow of beer, his eyes still on yours.
“You got a ride?” he wondered.
“Yeah.”
You answered too quick, and Rafe tilted his head at you, giving you a look that let you know he didn’t buy that.
“Really. Who?”
All of your friends were currently at the beach with your sister, and Rafe already knew that none of them knew you were even here. When you sighed in defeat, Rafe’s smirk grew, the corner of his lips pulling upwards.
“Fine, I walked…and I’ll walk back,” you told him with a shrug.
“Mm mmm,” Rafe hummed with a shake of his head as he downed the rest of his drink. “Come on, I’ll drive you.”
He took your empty cup, and along with his, set them both down on a nearby table. You hesitated as he dug in his pocket for his keys, lips parting as you mulled over if this was what you wanted to do. It wouldn’t be the first time you walked back home from a party no one knew you were at. Granted, thankfully nothing had ever happened, but you didn’t know. It could finally be the night your luck ran out.
Nothing hardly happened on this side of the island much, anyway, but you started to feel silly for contemplating turning down a perfectly fine ride home. Rafe could be kind of an asshole, but nothing worse than the average Kook you encountered on a regular basis. Besides, even though you were far from friends, it wasn’t like you didn’t know him. You were literally best friends with his sister.
“Are you sure?” you asked him. “I really don’t mind walking.”
Rafe chuckled at you like he thought you were cute, and he gently touched your arm as he guided you through the full house. His chest grazed your back as he remained close, keeping you steady and on track to the door.
“Walking home in Kildare County on a Saturday night?” he wondered in your ear. “Never mind the drunk drivers, but you never know what creep might come along and just pluck you off the street.”
You scoffed at him, and Rafe’s laugh was in your ear as he led you outside.
“Is it bad?” Kiara wondered, looking between your face and your plate. “If dad’s off his A-game tonight, you can tell me.”
Pope and JJ chuckled at that, and you merely shook your head, pushing your food around before sitting up.
“No, I…” you licked your lips. “I guess I’m not as hungry as I thought I was.”
When your eyes met Kiara’s, she was frowning, and you could tell that a small lecture about your eating habits was on the tip of her tongue when Sarah spoke up.
“It’s not good to eat so much on an empty stomach, anyway,” Sarah jumped in, throwing Kiara a look before smiling at you. “Just take your time.”
You appreciated that, and you sat back in your seat as Cleo asked John B. something about a noise his van was apparently making earlier. By the uptick in conversation at the table, you got the sense that the noise had some crazy story attached, and you tried to listen—you really did—but your mind kept floating somewhere else entirely, and when a familiar face flashed behind your eyes, you desperately craved a drink.
You had just set your empty water glass down when you heard a voice that might as well had been a bucket of ice for you. Your gaze was glued to the table as you froze, fingers grazing the glass, and even though you told yourself you were imagining things, your heart wouldn’t slow down. It felt like it was going to jump straight out of your throat, doubly so when the voice became so much clearer.
“I told you she’d be here.”
That haughty drawl made your hair stand on end, and you were so glad that your head was down so that no one could see the way your eyes watered. Sarah made a noise of disapproval, and you shared her sentiments completely. He wasn’t alone, Kelce and Topper’s voices reaching your ears too, and as much as you wanted to be anywhere but here…
You couldn’t move.
You were completely frozen in your seat, pinned down by some invisible force that wouldn’t allow you to get up and get as far away from Rafe Cameron as possible. You’d done a good job of avoiding him for damn near two months—avoiding any party or outing he might be at—but you were running out of excuses as to why you wanted to stay home or why you didn’t want to take advantage of a free meal at your parents’ restaurant.
You reached up to wipe your face just as he spoke again…closer this time.
“Rose said whenever you’re done doing…” he paused. “…whatever it is you’re doing to come straight home.”
You didn’t need to look up to know that small sneer was on his face. You could almost picture it, those blue eyes sparkling and those nostrils of his flared—almost in disgust. It was a very vivid expression, one you recalled being on the receiving end of when you begged him to stop. He’d looked at you like you didn’t have the right to even find the audacity to ask him such a thing.
“Did you ask what she wanted?”
Rafe didn’t answer, but the barked laugh that left his lips was answer enough.
You blinked at the table, still so…still, and some part of you—an irrational part—wondered that if you remained still, maybe, just maybe he wouldn’t see you. Maybe he wouldn’t acknowledge you. Even if he didn’t do it with his words, you didn’t know if you could handle being on the receiving end of that blue gaze.
However, the way that your skin suddenly pricked told you that your efforts were in vain.
“Lunch on the house with your friends?” he wondered to Sarah no doubt. “That’s cute.”
He dragged it out in a mockingly condescending way. After a beat of silence, you heard Rafe hum.
“I’d hurry up if I were you,” he advised. “Rose made it seem like it was urgent.”
You heard him walking, and it sounded like he and his friends were making their way towards the counter.
“Nice to see you all again. JJ, Cleo…”
He was slowly acknowledging everyone at the table, and you felt bile rising in your throat at the realization. The feeling became even worse once it became clear that Rafe was saving you for last, and your stomach violently turned when his lips finally curled around your name.
“Y/N.”
You felt light—too light—and where you once even felt maybe too cold you now felt overheated. Sarah was complaining about his lingering presence when you finally glanced up, hating the way your name fell from his tongue. You were unsurprised to meet his gaze, and if you thought for a moment that Rafe would look at you in a way that was anything like indifference or contentment…you were wrong.
It happened so fast as Sarah shooed him away. There was a glint in Rafe’s eyes when they looked into yours, and it was a look that spoke volumes. A small smirk danced along his lips, and there was nothing content about it. It said so many things without Rafe uttering a single word, doubly so when he gave you a quick onceover. Rafe had only said your name, but you understood him loud and clear.
We both know I had you and you couldn’t do a thing to stop it.
The moment he was at the counter with Topper and Kelce, you finally found the strength to move…and you used all of it to stumble to your feet and out of The Wreck. Kiara was quick to follow you out of the restaurant, on your heels just in time to witness you throwing up what little you ate all over the pavement. Her gasp was barely registered as your stomach heaved again, and you could hear that it was no longer just your sister with you.
“Cheese on bread,” you heard Cleo say in shock. “Pope, go get a napkin or something.”
By the time he came back, there wasn’t anything left in your stomach, and you thanked him as you took it. Kiara’s eyes were wide and concerned when you looked at her, wiping your mouth and tongue.
“Are you okay? Was it…the food? You barely ate anything,” she added, and you shook your head.
“My stomach’s been a little upset all day. Maybe Sarah was right, and I ate too much and too fast.”
Your words came out a bit slurred, and you noted how hot and lightheaded you felt. You remembered that vomiting dehydrated you, and Kiara seemed to remember the same thing, reaching for her keys.
“We should get you home,” she finally said, turning to glance at your friends. “We’ll see you guys later.”
You frowned at her when she pushed you towards her car.
“Kie, I’ll be fine. You can come back after you drop me off,” you told her, gesturing to them.
She merely gave you a look as you both slid into the vehicle. You could tell that she didn’t agree with that suggestion at all, but there was also something in her dark gaze that gave you pause. Worry clouded her face as she pulled out of the parking lot, and you found yourself eyeing her. Kiara was never one to keep her thoughts to herself when she clearly had something serious she wanted to say.
You were put out of your misery halfway to your house.
“Are you pregnant?”
Somehow that was the last thing you expected to hear her blurt out, and her concerned gaze met your wide one. While not entirely impossible, you were almost one hundred percent sure that you weren’t, and you gave her a ridiculous look.
“What? No!”
“Don’t…! Don’t look at me like that, alright? That’s not a crazy question-.”
“That’s not a crazy question…” you repeated, sounding more like a statement.
“No, it’s not,” she doubled down, looking between you and the road. “Not when you’ve been acting strange for two months! You’re not really here and I feel like we barely see you now and then today…”
She shrugged.
“You threw up in the middle of the day despite the fact that you’d barely eaten a thing.”
“…and you don’t think I’d be eating a lot more if I was pregnant?”
Kiara seemed to think that over, sitting back in her seat with a sigh. Her hands were tight on the wheel, and you could see her accepting how crazy that seemed. She roughly exhaled.
“Well, something’s wrong with you,” she forced out, sounding defeated, and you weren’t able to hold her gaze when she looked over. “I’ve been trying to be a good sister and just…let you know you can come to me in your own time.”
You wrapped your arms around yourself.
“…but I’m getting scared.”
Her voice was small, and you didn’t have a good response to that. Denying that anything was wrong would just insult her intelligence and probably make her worry more. You swallowed, fighting back tears and wondering how you could ever tell her what happened. You barely even wanted to think about it—despite how much it plagued your thoughts—let alone actually talking about it.
You didn’t know how to even begin to tell Kiara that your friend’s brother had raped you…in your own house…in your own bed, no less. You couldn’t stomach walking her through what happened that night and its eventual horrifying end. You didn’t know how to tell her that you’d been so stupid…and you especially didn’t know how to tell her that Rafe Cameron was walking around like he wasn’t even somewhat remorseful about what he did.
…but instead proud.
You didn’t know how to voice any of that, so when she parked, you were quick to be the first one out. You fixed her with a look that was meant to reassure her, but you didn’t know if you pulled it off. Gazing into Kiara’s eyes, you lied straight to her face with a small smile.
“I promise, it’s nothing.”
You didn’t give her the chance to respond, making your way up the driveway.
You’d been standing at the top of the stairs for a minute too long when your mom called for you again. When she’d called you down the first time, you hadn’t even considered what it could be for, just acting on instinct and pulling yourself out of bed. You hadn’t given much thought to the fact that you’d heard her answer the door only moments before. However, the moment you reached the top of the stairs, you’d tried to tell yourself that you were imagining that voice.
That hauntingly familiar voice.
His soft laugh reached your ears at something your mom said, and the sound of it brought tears to your eyes. Like at The Wreck only just the other day, you found it hard to move. Your hand was on the staircase and one foot was already on the step below, but you were finding it so hard to will yourself to move—to act like everything was normal.
To act like Rafe Cameron wasn’t in your house.
Again.
“I wonder if she’s…” your mom trailed off when she rounded the corner, face lighting up at the sight of you. “There she is! Come on, you’ll never believe it.”
Her presence—and her hand reaching for yours—gave you the strength to finally put one foot in front of the other. The whole ordeal felt like an out of body experience, your lips parted and eyes fearful as she led you into the living room, forcing you to come face to face with those blue eyes yet again. There was a grin on his lips as he stood by your door. To your mom, it was charming.
It was predatory to you.
“You will never believe what Rafe found,” she said, sounding so pleased.
When the other guy held his hand out…you wanted to be sick.
“It was just there…at the beach,” his smooth voice explained, and you were certain now more than ever.
You were going to be sick.
When your gaze lifted to meet Rafe’s, finally pulling your eyes away from your wallet, your heart sank. Your mom was going on a tangent in thanking him while you had yet to utter a single word. You wanted to cry. You wanted to scream. You wanted to push him into the street, and you couldn’t even fix your mind to take the damned thing.
Rafe didn’t find your wallet on any beach.
You knew it, and he knew it.
He’d taken it the night he raped you.
Despite how terrified you were, you couldn’t break the gaze. Why? Why was he doing this? The oldest Cameron had gotten exactly what he wanted from you, so what did he get out of this? It wasn’t enough that he broke your trust and violated you, but now he meant to torment you too? You hadn’t even told a soul what he did. You hadn’t gone to the police, done a rape kit or anything, he got away with it, so what was the point of all this?
Beyond the despair and confusion, you could feel a hint of anger flaring within you, and that small flare must have made itself visible through your eyes…because the look Rafe gave you had you taking a step back. Your mom noticed, and she rubbed your back.
“Everything’s in there,” she assured you. “I know we got you a new one and everything, but at least you can know it found its way into good hands.”
Both her and Rafe chuckled at that, and your lips parted as you stared at him.
The look that Rafe had given you… For that brief moment when you felt a hint of anger, just a smidgen, the look in those blue eyes had made your blood run cold. There was a crooked smile on his lips and a softness to his visage, but Rafe’s eyes had told an entirely different story. There had been a glint in his gaze—a challenge—like he was almost itching to see what you would try and do to him.
At your mom’s urging—and with shaky hands—you hesitantly reached out to take your wallet, careful to avoid touching his fingers. You didn’t even recall thanking him, but you must have, because Rafe looked you over with a quickness your mom missed, that smile of his growing when your eyes met again.
“You’re welcome,” he slowly responded, almost dragging the words out in that smooth baritone.
“Rafe, would you like something to drink before you go?” your mom offered, and both of your minds seemed to go to the same place.
Tears kissed your eyes as her steps traveled to the kitchen, and Rafe full on grinned, briefly pulling his lip between his teeth as he brushed past you. You leaned away from him as he grazed you, and you didn’t imagine the way he’d turned his head to keep his eyes on you as he did.
“Just some water, thanks.”
Those words made your knees buckle, and you reached out, struggling to safely sit down on the couch. Your wallet fell from your hands as you heard him compliment her on the house, and the more he talked, the more your stomach churned.
“It’s so bright and cozy in here,” he praised. “I almost wish Y/N would lose her wallet again just so I have an excuse to come back.”
Wholly unamused by whatever he was doing, your tears spilled over, and you didn’t bother to make your exit known as you stood and stumbled through the front door.
“Hey, you mind if I can get some water?” Rafe said to you the moment he parked in your driveway, turning to you with a small smile. “I drank more than I thought I did, and I kind of want to sober up a little before I get back on the road.”
Your brows rose at that, stupidly under the impression that Rafe only had one beer, but there was no telling just how long he’d been at the party before bumping into you. You probably should’ve asked, and even though you knew Kiara—and maybe even your parents—wouldn’t approve of inviting a guy inside the empty house on a Saturday night, Rafe had driven you home. The least you could do was give him some water to make him feel better about driving.
“No, yeah, that’s fine.”
Rafe got out after you did, following behind you as you took your keys out. Saturday nights meant a packed restaurant, so you weren’t expecting anyone home for another few hours at the least. It wouldn’t take any time at all to give Rafe something to drink and send him on his way.
“It’s quiet in here,” he commented as you tossed your keys on the table by the door.
“The Wreck on a Saturday? Both of my parents kind of need to be there for that madness.”
Rafe amusingly agreed, and when you reached for a glass from the dishwasher, you glanced over to find Rafe’s gaze on you.
“What…?”
He was leaning against the entrance to the kitchen, arms crossed over his chest. You only just paid attention to his shirt and the way it pulled against him with every movement.
“Never pegged you as the type to sneak out. Seems more like Kie, to be honest.”
His comment made you laugh, and you tilted your head at him when you handed him the glass.
“One of us is just better at it,” you teased. “Besides, I snuck out for an hour and a half at the most. It barely counts.”
Rafe simply eyed you as he drank the water you gave him. You felt a tad awkward being alone with Rafe in your house, but it was only because you guys were far from friends, and you couldn’t recall a time you’d ever even had an actual conversation with him.
“I’m surprised you went to some Kook party,” he hummed, lowering his arm. “What? No boyfriend on The Cut you wanted to meet up with?”
Rafe’s gaze was so intense as he held eye contact, and it was then that you realized you didn’t think you’d ever been on the receiving end of it before. At least…not for an extended period of time like this. Having all of his attention felt strange.
“No,” you chuckled, shaking your head. “I don’t really date.”
Rafe blinked at you, folding his arms again as he tilted his head. There was a curious twinkle in his eye, and you didn’t miss the way he ran his gaze over your face.
“Why not?” he wondered with a frown.
“Um,” you said, rolling your eyes towards the ceiling. “…because a lot of you are assholes.”
Rafe laughed with you, nodding his head.
“That’s fair,” he admitted. “…and smart. A lot of guys wouldn’t know what to do with you, anyway.”
You gave a chuckle at that, not because you found it funny, but because you didn’t know how to respond. Your gaze traveled to his empty glass while his remained on you, and a silence descended between you that reminded you he shouldn’t be here.
“Do you want another before you go?” you asked him, trying to politely kick him out.
There was a faint smile on his pink lips as he stared at you, and when he handed it to you, the corner of his lips twitched.
“That’s sweet of you…”
His fingers brushed yours when you took the empty glass, and you could feel his gaze on your back when you made your way to the sink. Your own gaze was on the faucet, and you were thinking about the shower you were going to take when you felt something brush against your arm. The feel startled you, and the glass fell in the sink when you jumped.
You hadn’t heard Rafe move, so you were shocked that he was so close.
“What are you…?”
Your words died in the air when the blond kissed you, his lips covering yours so expertly that you might’ve appreciated the opportunity under different circumstances. When you reached up to push at his chest, Rafe only responded by backing you up against the fridge. The only way to get your words out was to turn your head.
“Rafe, what…? Stop,” you gasped, pushing at his chest.
You liked to think that he was more drunk than either of you realized, but when he reached up to grab your hand, holding you against him as he pulled his face away, that mocking grin on his lips told you otherwise.
“Why?” he asked you like it was the craziest thing he’d ever heard.
You ducked your head when he tried to kiss you again, harshly pushing at his chest, now, but Rafe was just as strong as he looked. When his lips met yours again, this kiss was rougher, and an uncomfortable gasp escaped you when one of his hands found the side of your neck. His teeth nipped at your lip, and following his lead, you bit him. Hard.
Blood welled on his lip when he snatched himself away from you, and the look he fixed you with broke you out of your momentary stupor. Your heart sank low in your chest, something in you screaming at you that Rafe wasn’t joking, and he wasn’t just trying to get handsy.
“Rafe, I think you should leave.”
Your words amused him, and he laughed to himself.
“…and if I don’t want to?”
You swallowed, and his eyes zeroed in on the movement.
“I’m serious,” you told him, voice cracking. “I want you to leave.”
Again, your demand clearly tickled him, and you realized then that this wasn’t going to work this way.
You made it as far as the hallway before his hand fisted your shirt, yanking you back so hard that the fabric pulled against your throat. The wind was knocked out of you when your back roughly collided with his chest, and once he got his arm around you, the door became farther and farther away.
“Rafe, you’re not funny,” you said to him, panicked and out of breath as you fought to get his hands off of you. “Rafe!”
Deep down, some part of you wanted it to be a joke gone too far, that maybe if he heard how scared you were then he would stop. To your horror though, Rafe seemed to like the fear in your voice, pinning you to the wall as he leaned in to press sloppy kisses to your neck. He was kissing you and yanking you up the stairs, and that only made your panic grow.
You hadn’t realized you’d started crying until your vision—and Rafe along with it—grew blurry. Your face felt cold as the air hit your wet skin, and in that moment, oddly enough, you were furious that yours and Kiara’s room doors were labeled because Rafe knew exactly which one to force you in. Your stomach turned at the thought of this taking place in your room.
Your safe space.
When it became clear that you wouldn’t be able to get away by fighting him off, you screamed.
Rafe had you pinned to your bed at this point, and he didn’t like the sound, fighting to cover your mouth. With one hand free, he could still pull at your clothes—the dress you’d warn to the party literally being ripped off of you. Everything was happening too fast, your mind fighting to understand how you’d just been downstairs getting him water not even fifteen minutes ago.
“Rafe, please,” you tearfully begged him, pushing against him and hitting him despite the little damage it was doing. “Get off, get off, please!”
The light from the hallway cast onto his face, and so you didn’t miss the sneer Rafe gave you. You didn’t miss the way his lip curled over his teeth, a look passing over his face like he couldn’t believe you dared to ask that of him. He even let out a soft laugh. He pushed against your chest as he reached between you, painfully holding you down, and your legs kicked around him, nails drawing blood on his arm.
You felt like you were having a panic attack when you felt the tip of him graze you. You couldn’t stop crying even if you wanted to, and Rafe didn’t kiss you again until he was inside of you, taking full advantage of your shock and agony. You felt frozen, eyes squeezed shut as the pain between your legs became unbearable, and when he tasted the inside of your mouth, you noted that there was hardly a hint of alcohol in his.
You sat behind some stranger’s car, arms wrapped around your knees as you fought to catch your breath. The sounds of the party on the beach reached you all the way to the parking lot, and you wondered why you fought so hard to act normal when nothing was normal. You weren’t okay, and it was growing increasingly more difficult to pretend you were.
You just wanted Kiara and your friends to stop worrying.
You hadn’t expected to see Rafe of all people on the beach when you joined the festivities. He tended to prefer a fancy house party with coke and other party favors. One look at him had you stopping in your tracks, and you’d made sure to look elsewhere before Cleo could notice.
“You okay?” she’d asked you, and unable to come up with a believable lie, you just told her you’d be right back.
That had to have been at least twenty minutes ago, and no matter how many times you started to, you couldn’t bring yourself to get up. Rafe was tormenting you…and you didn’t know why. You hadn’t missed the slight curve of his lips when your eyes briefly met his before you left the crowd. Before… Before you just thought that he’d sunk to a new low, just being an asshole about what he did. Now though…
Now, you were sure that he was seeking you out.
…but you didn’t understand why.
After that God awful day at your house, you rarely left it. Any annoyance your mom still had over that abrupt departure, it had long faded the more you holed away in your room staring at your wall. There were only so many excuses you could make, only so many times you could say you just didn’t feel good before someone demanded you go see a doctor.
Out of excuses—and just wanting to ease everyone’s worry—you tagged along tonight…and now you regretted it.
You didn’t know how to go back out there and pretend like he wasn’t in the crowd—watching you, no doubt. You wouldn’t be able to relax for a second, too busy looking over your shoulder and avoiding Rafe Cameron at all costs. You pressed your hand to your mouth, struggling to breathe as you cried and telling yourself that you had to do something because if they weren’t already, your friends would be looking for you soon.
With difficulty, you pushed yourself to your feet, thankful the car was an older model whose alarm didn’t go off at any mere touch. You didn’t know what excuse you were going to give to Kiara who’d no doubt been informed by Cleo that you’d been gone for too long. You wiped your face, and you told yourself that if anyone questioned it, you’d just claim you’d had some bad food that made you sick.
“Cute dress.”
No other voice could shatter any amount of composure you’d built up like that one. It was like being doused in cold water, all train of thought lost and only able to focus on how freezing and miserable you were. You didn’t even attempt to convince yourself you’d imagined it this time because you knew without a doubt now that Rafe was going out of his way to torture you about that night.
When you finally looked over, the man in question was leaning against someone else’s car. He was sprawled against it like it was his, and upon closer inspection, you recognized it as Topper’s jeep. You wrapped your arms around yourself at the sight of him, and you wondered just how long he’d been there…watching you.
“Rough night?” he quietly wondered, eyes raking over your frame, and you shuddered under his scrutiny.
“Leave me alone, Rafe,” you breathed, moving to go back to the beach when he blocked your path.
You tried to get around him, but Rafe wasn’t having it.
“Woah, hey, I just want to talk,” he laughed, reaching out to you.
You stumbled back away from him, fearfully eyeing him. You weren’t quite as alone with him as you were before, but it was just enough for Rafe to do whatever he wanted should he find himself determined enough.
“What could I possibly want to talk about with you?” you breathed. “…and what could you possibly have to say to me?”
You continued before he could say anything.
“We both know you’re not sorry,” you choked out. “You’ve done nothing but make my life hell…and I don’t know why because you got what you wanted.”
Trying to get by him only resulted in him reaching for you again, and so you reached for your phone. Rafe’s hand followed yours, and so as soon as your hand was around your phone, his was around your hand, and the fight over the device was quick. Tears of anger kissed your eyes when he held it out of reach, and your breathing was heavy when he leaned in.
His nose touched yours, and in your efforts to back away, you backed right into the car.
His eyes flickered between yours, and the more you leaned back, the more Rafe followed until he was practically on top of you. He shifted, and you both felt and saw both of his hands come down on either side of you to rest on the vehicle, effectively caging you in. He was so close that you could faintly smell the cologne he put on before he left the house, and when his gaze lowered to your lips, your heart sank.
You pushed at his chest, but Rafe wasn’t budging.
“Do you have any idea how hard it is to get you alone?” he murmured.
His words made you freeze, and your eyes widened.
“…and I guess that’s my fault,” he said with a shrug. “You’re always…in the house or…with your friends, now.”
He leaned in some more despite the pressure you put against his chest.
“You make it so difficult to get you by yourself, now,” he continued with a small smirk. “So, all I’ve been able to do is just dream about that night…instead of reliving it.”
His hand on your face had you jerking away, hands pushing against his chest as he leaned in to kiss you. You made a noise of protest, and Rafe only shushed you, lips grazing yours. One of his hands completely dug into your hip at your attempt to scoot back on the car.
“Relax,” he whispered in what was probably meant to be a soothing manner. “Just relax.”
One of his hands was behind your neck, the other kneading into your upper thigh when he kissed you. He swallowed any noise you attempted to make, and like before, Rafe didn’t seem to care that you didn’t want this.
“You should’ve told me you were a virgin before I fucked you,” he murmured against your lips, smiling into the kiss. “I would’ve been nicer about it.”
The reminder of the blood that night made more tears spill over, and you were in awe that Rafe saw that night as something to look back on with the idea of fun while it had completely turned your life upside down…but maybe that was the fun part for him. He had to know how much what he did affected you.
He wouldn’t stop kissing you—wouldn’t let you make a sound—and when the hand on your thigh settled itself on your back, you tripped over your feet when he pulled you away from the car. You could hear your phone going off wherever Rafe had abandoned it, and you had no doubt that all of your friends and Kiara were looking for you.
Unfortunately, Rafe was forcing you into the back of Topper’s jeep.
Your hand was on the opposite door handle as soon as you were inside the vehicle, but with one successful yank back, Rafe climbed over you and closed it. You heard the resounding click of the locks, and you pushed against the seat when you felt Rafe lips trailing along the side of your neck.
“I didn’t get what I wanted,” he whispered against your skin, making you tremble. “…because I still want it.”
Rafe had you completely pinned between him and the seat, and your struggle grew frantic when you felt how hard he was against the back of your thigh. One of Rafe’s hands snaked its way underneath you, circling around your throat as he left kisses along your skin. His other hand was trailing along your frame, and when it started to push at your dress, the hand around your neck tightened.
You could barely breathe properly now…let alone scream.
Rafe’s breathing was heavy, evident in the way his chest heaved against your back. It didn’t stop him from pulling your head back and kissing you though, all the while releasing himself, the sound of his zipper loud in the otherwise car. Your friends were long gone from your mind, now, with your only focus on how you were going to handle this again.
Tears kissed your face as you reached up to pull at Rafe’s hand, but his grip was tight, and your grip started to slip the moment you felt him press the head of his cock into you. Your toes curled, body going still as memories of the last time flashed behind your eyes. Your underwear pulled over his hand, his fist keeping them completely pushed to the side as he slowly pushed his way into you.
“Just like I remember,” he purred against your ear once he’d pushed his cock into you to the hilt.
His movements had you gripping the seat of Topper’s Jeep, your feet kicking back at the door. His thrusts were slow, reminiscent of the last time, but unlike now, Rafe had only slowed his pace then once he saw the faint blood on his cock. Now, you didn’t know if he’d meant what he said earlier about being gentler or if he was simply trying to savor it.
When his hand finally let your throat go, you greedily sucked in air, but your relief was short-lived when his whole arm found its way around your neck. You had no choice but to hold onto it as he snapped his hips against you, the slow plunge of his cock forcing a whine from you. Rafe’s forehead rested on the back of yours, and you could both feel and hear how much he was enjoying this.
“I almost didn’t want to leave that night,” he breathed, a gasp escaping when he curved his hips against you. “I could’ve fucked you all night.”
The inside of the Jeep was filled with the sound of your reluctant moans and Rafe’s heavy breathing and words. You could feel your body becoming lighter and lighter, and you knew it had nothing to do with Rafe’s arm around your neck. The feel of his thrusts became easier to bear, and like that night, you found your gaze focusing on the door…just as you’d done with the ceiling.
The knowledge that he hadn’t just been tormenting you but had been seeking you out for a reason left you feeling a little numb. The whole reason you hadn’t done a thing about it in the first place was because you just wanted to avoid Rafe Cameron at all costs. He was violent and terrifying, and those two things had scared you into simply scrubbing yourself raw that night before crying yourself to sleep. You thought that he’d gotten what he wanted and would leave you alone.
…but you never considered that it wasn’t about the sex or the power, at all.
It was about you in particular and the power he wanted over you, the gratification he wanted from you.
It was why he boldly acknowledged you knowing exactly how terrified you were of him. It was why Rafe dared to enter your home once again, knowing exactly what the sight of him in there would do to you. It was why he taunted you and challenged you to even dare to retaliate. You didn’t know if Rafe was just some bully who decided you were it, or perhaps something just a tad more sinister.
When he flipped you onto your back, he didn’t like the blank look in your eyes.
“Uh uh, look at me,” he softly demanded, lightly tapping your cheek. “Look right at me.”
When you refocused on his face, more tears spilled over, and you were sure Rafe liked the sight of them. He leaned down with a hand on your throat, your knees to your chest and your feet resting against his stomach as he leaned over you, stuffing you full of his cock. The sound of it sliding into you over and over again was loud in the vehicle.
Your eyes were on Rafe’s, and his blue gaze never left you, lips parting as he watched your face. He slowed his hips down, thrusting into you at a languid pace, and when you clenched around him, a slow smile danced along his lips—crooked and taunting. He studied your face like he was fascinated by it, and you were reminded of that night at the party.
He’d looked like the cat who caught the canary. In your own house, he’d reminded you of a wolf toying with some poor deer before putting it out of its misery when you looked back on it. Every time your eyes had met his in public—including now—Rafe looked like nothing would be more fun than taking you between his teeth.
As he continued to fuck you in the back of his best friend’s car, you had the realization that around Rafe Cameron, you very much felt like prey, and the man on top of you had long come to that same conclusion before you did.
…and he’d pounced the moment your back was turned.
aerion being horny for his pregnant wife and feeling embarrassed about it….?
⋆˙⟡ aerion and his pregnant wife headcanons
⋆˙⟡ notes need a man like this oh my god why isn't he real? and that gif oh my god I am ovulating.
⋆˙⟡ warnings sex, 18+, p in v, dragon imagery, breeding kink
MASTERLIST
𝜗ৎ now he would be absolutely obsessed with you. more than he had been already, taking you as a wife.
𝜗ৎ you hadn't even started showing yet and his hands would be glued to your stomach.
𝜗ৎ lots and LOTS of talks about you growing his dragon, not another woman in the realm worthy of such a role.
𝜗ৎ would become so protective of you from the moment the maesters confirmed you were with child.
𝜗ৎ like a puppy at your feet, making sure you were feeling well, would bring you a cushion for your days in the library or the gardens.
𝜗ৎ he would observe your stomach nigh on daily, in the mornings as you were dressed, in the evenings as you undressed.
𝜗ৎ you thought it sweet, your otherwise tight-fisted husband had become so doting.
𝜗ৎ but it had only escalated after a few moons passing, when your stomach had started to swell.
𝜗ৎ the feeling he harboured had mutated, grown stronger, he would wake up achingly hard at the sight of you.
𝜗ৎ would watch you with such intense desire as you cradled your stomach, wanting to swipe the contents of his bureau onto the floor and take you against it.
𝜗ৎ this feeling would bite at him for days, only vexing him that he must perform his duties as a prince and not a husband.
𝜗ৎ how could he ignore you as you waddled over to him, kissing his cheeks in passing, then disappearing before he could admire the sight of you?
𝜗ৎ the nights were worse than the days, for he could not find sleep when you laid beside him.
𝜗ৎ your hands on your stomach to settle yourself, inviting him to feel his dragon move inside you.
𝜗ৎ "come on, husband. you must feel him move."
"you think him a boy?"
"this dragon is mighty, it can only be a boy."
𝜗ৎ when he settled his hand on the underside of your stomach, his boy kicking back at him, he had come undone.
𝜗ৎ "i must have you." his words fell from his lips, startling you as you had finally found comfort.
𝜗ৎ "what?" you gasped, your hands upon his face as he hovered above you.
𝜗ৎ "you look divine carrying our child, wife. it... has perturbed me as of late." he would admit, thanking the gods for the dim light between you.
𝜗ৎ you only laughed at him, grazing your thumbs over his lips. wet, warm, quivering to attack your neck, most like.
𝜗ৎ "and you laugh at my unease?" his tone was amused, for only you could get away with such an act.
𝜗ৎ "is that what has been troubling you? if you are aroused by me carrying your seed, husband. you must do something about it." you ordered, your voice so light, so sweet, inviting him to satisfy the heat inside him.
𝜗ৎ his eyes were widened with a twisted tale of madness and lust. he ripped at your nightgown, careful of your stomach as he wasted little time entering you.
𝜗ৎ you felt better, if that had even been possible, tighter, more sensitive to how he thrusted into you.
𝜗ৎ your moans were like poison in his ears, his grip firm on your hips now where it would usually be your waist.
𝜗ৎ he grunted as he drew closer to his release, gripping at your swollen breasts.
𝜗ৎ you hadn't looked better than you did in this moment, completely bare, taking him, filled with him.
𝜗ৎ he tried to stifle his release, to keep you both hostage in this moment, but it had grown too much.
𝜗ৎ you took him too well, he lost control of his seed inside you once more.
𝜗ৎ and even as he laid beside you, hand fastened to your stomach to feel his dragon kick back at him, he was not satisfied.
𝜗ৎ it was an insatiable need, to keep you full of him, pushing out his horde of dragons forever.
I have a request so Rafe and reader are together and Rafe is very sweet at the start of their relationship, but then he starts turning creepy and a stalker and follows her everywhere without her knowing and just gets very possessive and controlling when she confronts him he always denies it
⋆˚࿔ girlfriend¡ reader && obsessed¡rafe cameron
YOU'LL ALWAYS BE HIS.
Rafe was golden back then—clean-shaven and smelling like sea salt and sun. He’d drive out to your place just to sit in your driveway and leave notes in your mailbox with folded little hearts. He memorised your coffee order, kissed your hands, and made you playlists like it was 2010. He’d look at you like you were it. Like every other girl, she disappeared when you walked into the room. He’d tear up during sex sometimes—whisper how you were everything he never thought he’d deserve. ❝Don’t ever leave me, okay?❞ he’d say, his voice cracking. ❝I won’t survive it.❞ And you believed him.
You miss that version of him sometimes. The soft one. The sweet boy who sent you songs at 2AM and held your face like you might break. But now, all you feel is this constant pull in your chest—fear laced with something darker. You borrow his laptop. Just for a second. You weren’t snooping—you swear. But you click the wrong folder and see pictures of yourself. Hundreds. Some from weeks ago, some… from moments you never even noticed being watched. Your bedroom. Your dressing room at the boutique. In your towel. Asleep.
You freeze.
Your throat tightens, heart thudding so loud it drowns out the world. You can barely breathe. You want to scream and throw something, but your hands just tremble over the keys. He’s behind you suddenly. You don’t even hear him come in. ❝Why are you looking through my stuff, baby?❞ he asks softly, voice low and measured.
You change your locks. You ghost him for a week. You need time. You need air. You barely sleep, your heart racing every time you hear footsteps behind you, every time your phone lights up. You tell yourself you're overthinking. You want to believe he didn’t mean it. That you’re just imagining things.
But Rafe shows up at your job with your favourite drink, smiling like nothing’s wrong. ❝Thought you’d need a little pick-me-up, angel.❞ You force a smile, but inside, your stomach churns.
When you get home that night, there’s a gift waiting inside your apartment. A necklace you mentioned once in passing. A note in his handwriting that reads, ❝I missed you.❞
You know you locked the door.
Your heart is in your throat. Your eyes sting, your hands shake. You press your back to the door and slide down, trying to breathe, trying not to fall apart. You don’t call the cops. You don’t tell your friends. Because you don’t know how to explain it. Because some small, sick part of you still remembers the way he used to cry when you kissed him.
The next night, you hear something. A creak. The tiniest sound. And when you turn around, Rafe is standing in your kitchen like he’s always belonged there. Like he never left. Like you didn’t ask him to. ❝Don’t push me away again,❞ he says sweetly, like you didn’t just cry the whole cab ride home.
❝You’re just anxious. I hate when you get scared. Come here.❞ You back away, voice cracking as you tell him to leave. But he doesn’t. He tilts his head, that soft smile stretching into something darker.
❝I’d never do that to you. You know me, baby. You trust me, right?❞ You try to break up with him. You cry, gently, like you’re scared he might shatter. You say it’s not working. That you need space. He listens and nods, eyes glassy but calm. Doesn’t yell. Doesn’t grab. Just nods. But that night, your bedroom window creaks open. You wake up with Rafe in your bed, holding you like nothing happened.
❝You don’t mean it,❞ he whispers, brushing your hair back. ❝You’re just upset. You’re mine, baby. You’ll always be mine.❞ You try to pull away, but his grip tightens around your waist. ❝Don’t make me remind you who you belong to.❞ And he will—slow and rough, all night long, until you’re too wrecked to argue. Until your body remembers what your mind wants to forget.
You’re at a party. You swore Rafe wasn’t invited; you made sure. You laugh too loud at some guy’s joke and sip a drink someone else poured. And then you see him—leaning against the wall across the room, watching you. Not blinking. Not smiling. Your blood runs cold.
You check your phone. A text lights up: ❝Funny joke. Not as funny as I’ll look with my cock in your throat tonight. Leave now.❞
You freeze. He shouldn’t know you’re here. But he always knows. When you finally run outside, heart racing, he’s already waiting by your car—smiling like he’s been there the whole time. ❝I told you, angel. You’re mine. I’ll always know where you are.❞
You try to scream, but the sound catches in your throat. You want to run, but you know it’s pointless. He’ll always find you. And the worst part? Some part of you still remembers the boy who used to cry when he kissed you. The one who called you his miracle. The one who held your hands like they were made of glass.
But that boy is gone.
Now you’re left with this.
── ⋆ 𝐲𝐚𝐩 : hey guys, i’m feeling a little unmotivated right now, not gonna lie . . . this piece was a bit of a struggle for me. i had a hard time with it and honestly, i hate it a little because i feel like i should’ve just picked one section and made it its own fic. but i still really wanted to get it out there for you, so thank you so much for the request and for being patient. i really hope at least some of you like it
Summary: Just two shy oblivious fools in love.
Tags: f!reader, no use of y/n, pure tooth-rotting fluff
Note: i imagined the reader here being the same one from my other fic “Good Mornings”, so this can be read as a continuation to that, but can definitely be read as a one-shot too!
A now familiar sight greeted you as you stepped into the kitchen of the Thousand Sunny – Sanji, his back to you as he tirelessly worked on preparing today’s breakfast. It had fallen into your routine to join the blonde chef in the kitchen every morning, yet no matter how many times you've seen it, you never got tired of watching the man cook.
They say the way to one’s heart is through the stomach. You never truly understood what that meant until you met Sanji. You fell in love at first bite with his cooking, but the more you got to know him, the more you found yourself falling for the blue-eyed cook himself. You were captivated by his charm, his kindness, his gentleness, and the way he deeply cared for each of his crewmates – yes, even the mosshead.
A cup of coffee awaited you on the kitchen bar, steam still billowing off the mug. Sanji had memorized by now the hour and minute you usually come into the kitchen. He had gotten the timing of serving your coffee down to a science, making the drink just the right temperature for your first sip of the day – not too hot that it would scald your tongue, but also not left on the table long enough for it to be unpleasantly lukewarm.
You took a deep breath through your nose, savoring the usual aroma of coffee and bacon, but there was also a hint of something else wafting through the air today. Something sweet – a delicate blend of vanilla, butter, and sugar.
“Oh, good morning, sweetheart!” Sanji called out as he noticed you, and you felt your heart involuntarily skip a beat.
The nickname didn’t use to affect you this much. Sanji had been calling you sweetheart since the very first moment he saw you, eyes full of hearts and arms waving to grab your attention. Truthfully, you found it annoying at first, even more so when you realized he acted like that with every single woman he met. But, somehow, somewhere along the way, you found yourself addicted to hearing him call you the term of endearment, even when you thought he didn’t actually mean it. How could he, when he called every other woman that?
Little did you know, somehow, somewhere along the way, Sanji had miraculously found himself looking less and less at other women. He didn’t even notice it until one day, Nami asked if he was feeling sick, thinking something was wrong because he hadn’t flirted with her for a record three days straight. Nami eventually figured out that Sanji hadn’t dropped his lovesick act, he was just reserving it for you. She didn’t say a thing, though, secretly entertained by your and Sanji’s obliviousness to each other’s true feelings.
Sanji set down a plate of heart-shaped sugar cookies next to your coffee and winked at you, “Something sweet for someone sweet.”
He really needed to stop saying lines like that before you end up in the sick bay with heart failure.
A little peek at the jar on the counter showed you that the rest of the cookies he had set aside for your crewmates were all round-shaped, unlike the hearts he gave you. You tried not to read too much into it, lest you get your hopes up.
“Try dipping them into the coffee, dear, it’ll balance out the sweetness,” Sanji suggested as he returned to the stove, flipping some more bacon and adding them to the already massive pile on a plate.
You took a cookie and dipped it into your coffee, as per Sanji’s instruction, and you couldn’t stop the moan rising out from your throat as the bittersweet taste mingled exquisitely upon your tongue.
Sanji froze at the sound, before clearing his throat awkwardly, “Enjoying the cookies?”
He turned off the stove and started wiping down the oil splatters off the counter.
“They’re perfect.” You told him as you popped another one of the buttery goodness into your mouth. Jokingly, you added, “I’m afraid you’re gonna have to make these for me every day for the rest of your life, Sanji.”
You couldn’t see his face, but you could hear the sincerity in his tone when he replied, “That would be my greatest pleasure, sweetheart.”
His heartfelt remark caused a tightness in your chest, and you were suddenly awash with an irresistible wave of affection for the cook. You got up from your seat, your feet unwittingly carrying you toward the man still clearing up the countertop.
Once you were right behind him, you wrapped your arms gently around his slim waist and rested the side of your face against his back, “Thanks, Sanji. You’re always so sweet to me.”
Sanji’s whole body stiffened under your touch, and you felt your heart drop. What were you thinking, suddenly hugging him like this? Of course he’d feel uncomfortable.
You immediately started to remove your arms, but he urgently grabbed onto them, stopping you from letting go of the embrace. You looked up at Sanji curiously, only to find him tilting his head up toward the ceiling to prevent a nosebleed from streaming down his face.
“Oh, shoot, Sanji!” You yanked your arms away from him, grabbing a dishcloth and pressing it up to his nose.
Sanji’s face was bright red with embarrassment as you wiped the blood away. A laughter tinted with mortification bubbled out of you, “Sorry, sorry! I won’t do that again!”
His hand swiftly reached up to grab your wrist, and you stared at him in confusion. He refused to meet your eyes, and his voice was small when he finally said, “I don’t mind if you do that again.”
You stood in stunned silence, processing his words. Did that mean he liked that you hugged him?
Sanji took a deep breath, looking oddly determined as he finally made eye contact with you.
“No, actually, I want you to do that again. Please.” His voice cracked slightly with nerves as he hurriedly added, “But only if you want to.”
His shyness, so different from his usual over-the-top flirting, surprised you. It felt like he was giving you a peek at his genuine feelings that up till now had been thoroughly disguised by layers of exaggerated acts.
“Just, uh, give me a warning next time, maybe?” Sanji chuckled nervously, “Sorry, it just felt like my heart was going to explode.”
“Right.” You said, trying to supress a grin at how adorable he was being right now, “Consider this your warning, then.”
You tossed the bloody dishcloth into the sink and placed your hands on either side of him, looking right into his eyes as you announced, “I’m gonna hug you again, ‘kay?”
This time, when you pulled him close, Sanji’s arms moved to wrap around you too, one snaking around your waist, while the other cradled your head into his chest.
He sighed in contentment at the feeling of you against him, marveling at the way your bodies fit perfectly like puzzle pieces — like you were made just for him.
This close to him, you could feel his heart pounding a million beats per minute, and you wondered if he could feel yours racing at the same speed.
After a few minutes — or hours, you couldn’t tell — Sanji admitted, “Still feel like my heart’s gonna explode.”
You chuckled and confessed, “Mine too.”
Sanji pulled away slightly from the embrace but kept you close, not intending to let you go anytime soon now that he finally had you in his arms. A speck of insecurity was evident in his expression as he searched your eyes, looking for validation that you wanted this as much as he did. Yes, Sanji blatantly flirted with you all the time, but at this moment, faced with the real possibility of something more, he was terrified. He was scared that you would regard his actions as unserious or thought that his feelings were a mere infatuation, when in fact, it ran so much deeper than that.
Sanji started to tremble, and your grip on him tightened, steadying him. You caressed his back in a soothing motion and gave him an encouraging smile, while he observed you for another long second. Your eyes must have conveyed to him what you were too shy to profess through words right now, because Sanji inched the slightest bit forward, seemingly emboldened by what he found in your gaze.
“Can I-” He gulped and cleared his throat before trying again, “Can I kiss you?”
You felt your heart drum more erratically against your ribcage, if that was even possible. If he couldn’t feel it before, then he definitely could now.
Warmth rushed into your cheeks as you nodded. Sanji tentatively brought his hands to your face, while yours found a home on his chest. You closed your eyes as he slowly leaned in, and finally, his lips met yours.
Sanji’s kiss was gentle and soft, but electrifying at the same time. Full of passion, but also slow and unhurried, just like all these mornings you two share together.
It was everything you ever imagined, and more.
“You taste sweet,” he mumbled against your lips, “Like sugar cookies.”
He pressed his forehead against yours, still in disbelief at how lucky he was to be here, having this moment with his precious sweetheart at last.
You both were quiet for a short while before letting out relieved laughs, simply exhilarated at the thought of your long-held feelings being reciprocated.
“Can we do that again?” Sanji asked hesitantly.
You fondly laughed and reassured him, “Sanji, you can kiss me anytime you want.”
He grinned widely, before closing the gap once more. His lips had barely grazed yours when the door to the kitchen burst open, “Good morning, yo ho ho ho!”
You and Sanji immediately leaped apart from each other as if poked by a hot iron, a space far too wide for your liking suddenly materializing between the two of you.
“Ah, my apologies.” Brook said with a hand covering his mouth, though he sounded more amused rather than sorry, “Am I interrupting something?”
Your face felt like it was burning, the heat spreading quickly down your neck as you awkwardly folded your arms across your chest, refusing to respond to the musician’s question.
Sanji’s face was similarly flushed, but he also looked absolutely furious that someone dared to interrupt a scene that he had been dreaming about day and night for a very, very long time.
The cook quickly took the kettle off the burner and poured some hot water into a teapot he had already prepared earlier in the morning.
“Here’s your morning tea.” He thrust a tray with the teapot and a cup onto Brook’s bony hands, before shooing him out, “Now get out, you creepy skeleton!”
He kicked the door shut in Brook’s face and sighed, rubbing his temples while grumbling about the geezer’s awful timing, before turning back to you.
Sanji’s bashful smile slowly returned when he saw you giggling in amusement at his outburst, which, he admitted, was a tad excessive. Oh well, he’d apologize to Brook later, but right now, he had something more important to get to. And no, it wasn’t finishing breakfast prep. That could wait — he was nearly done anyway.
Your heartbeat picked up all over again as he strode purposefully across the kitchen toward you,
“Now, where were we, sweetheart?”
a/n: yes i stole that “something sweet for someone sweet” line from opla sanji - couldn't get my mind off it. anyway, all of my fics so far have been platonic (or romance-adjacent at most), so this was actually my first attempt at writing a more romance-centric fic. i hope that was okay?? feedback and constructive criticisms are always welcome!
Caution: this text includes graphic descriptions of involuntary violence and abuse (themes of mind control). Be mindful of your media consumption.
[When Miss Goldenweek paints you angry and vicious, Sanji has to be the one to wipe the paint off. There's one problem: he absolutely refuses to use force against you, even when you ask him to.]
a/n: let me know if you want Zoro's version!
It started with annoyance. Like the buzzing of a fly or a mosquito over your head, keeping you awake on a fine summer night. The moment you get up and turn on the light, the buzzing stops. The insect is nowhere in sight. Once you get back in bed, it roams your room anew, expertly escaping deadly swats.
Except Sanji was not an insect. He was a dashing young man, always willing to lend a hand and anticipating your needs in hopes of earning your favour. Additionally, he was about to get his jaw relocated with your fist if he didn’t stop talking about being the one who did, in fact, kill the T-rex instead of Zoro, who was nowhere to be seen.
You heard yourself finally yelling at him. “Will you just shut up?!”
The silence that followed was unbearably loud. The foliage surrounding you rustled in a questioning manner. What on Earth just happened?
Your footsteps came to a halt. Both of you just stared at the other, quietly asking yourselves whether you really had just screamed at Sanji to shut up. You watched him press his lips into a tight line, jaw clenching hard enough to cause a headache in the near future. A sorrowful glisten appeared in his eyes and you couldn’t be sure whether he was angry or on the verge of tears.
Sanji was about to say something, no doubt to reveal his breaking heart, when you beat him to it:
“I’m sorry,” you squeaked out before covering your mouth, eyes large with horror. “I-I don’t know what-”
A painful groan cut your sentence short. The sound came from your throat but it was in no way yours. It felt all too foreign, as though you were suddenly sharing your body with a beast far too old and primal to have a name. Your heart began hammering against your ribs, the echo of its rhythm rang in your ears. Blood rushed to your face. Hands trembled as they balled into fists. No matter how hard you tried, you could not stretch out your fingers. In a matter of seconds, the fighting stance started to feel good. Right. It was like finally giving in to an old, unending urge. The freedom this rage offered was nothing short of blissful.
“What’s going on?” asked Sanji. His hand lay reassuringly on your shoulder. The warmth coming from him was infuriating. What palpable audacity to patronise you like that. “Are you okay? Come on, talk to me.”
Your fist came in contact with his jaw rather quickly. Unfortunately, as you thought to yourself, not a crack was heard.
Sanji stammered backwards, holding the side of his face. Glistening blue eyes met yours. The look of hurt and betrayal on his face was sweet to you. It was exactly what people of his kind deserved and it was high time he learned that. There were enough sleazy, pig-headed men in this world. One less would do everyone a lot of good.
“I won’t waste my breath on a vermin like you,” you spat out. The voice belonged to you, yes, but you had no will in uttering those words. They came from deep inside – somewhere too out of reach even for you. It was as though you suddenly began rotting from the inside.
Another groan bordering on a growl tore from your chest. Your hands shook, aching fingers slightly opening tight fists. This wasn’t you.
“I don’t know what’s happening to me!” you called out to Sanji. He must have noticed a significant change in you as he once more reached out towards you. You stopped him, taking several steps back. “Don’t come any closer,” you warned. “I... can't... control it!"
Sanji’s eyes took in your hunched physique. There was a burning urge in him to defy your order, to hold you in an embrace so tight no other living thing could ever make your acquaintance. The man, however, was no fool. Despite what some green-haired swordsman might claim. Sanji was disillusioned about something being amiss.
His gaze stopped on a red mark right above your ankle. It was easy to miss among the large foliage and shrubbery surrounding you.
“The paint,” he whispered. “Love, there’s paint on your leg.” Sanji was trying to keep his voice calm, more for you than himself. In slow, short steps, he was making his way towards you. “We need to get it off. Now.” Despite the gentle sound of his voice, the grave seriousness of its tone was unmissable.
Normally, you would have agreed with him and devised a plan. But that required time and clarity of mind you didn’t have. Feeling the enraged beast inside you coming to take over control, you had to limit yourself to the necessities. "Just…” Another groan. “You stupid, little, man-thing!” you growled at him. The wrinkle between Sanji’s eyebrows only deepened his worried frown. Fighting against the paint’s maddening properties, you doubled over. It was physically painful to defy the chemicals. “Knock me out or something!” you gritted through your teeth.
Sanji took a deep, ragged breath. How brilliant of Miss Goldenweek to ask him to do something he simply couldn’t. And how pathetically lovesick of him to let his heart decide.
"I would rather die than hurt you,” he stated. His words sounded more like an oath than a personal preference; he announced to all malice residing in this world that there is only one weakness he shall suffer.
You wanted to tell Sanji that it really wasn’t the right time to be chivalrous. Instead, it was the frenzied beast inside you that answered him:
“Then you will perish.”
Sanji expertly evaded your swinging fist. Making true to his vow, he never parried or answered the attack. His body contorted in all sorts of ways to escape your punches. The assault was fast, without a sign of slowing down anytime soon. As Sanji continued to waste your efforts, it appeared that your rage only grew.
The insect is perfectly escaping the deadly swats.
If he were asked on any other occasion whether he likes being intimately known by you, Sanji would deem that question completely obsolete: of course he enjoyed it. What else could he answer? That if you stabbed him through the heart, he would be eternally grateful for being allowed to admire you one last time before he dies?
As things were at the moment, being so well-known by you could cause Sanji’s demise. You’ve seen him fight, you know his skills, tendencies and strategies. Which is why you did a small feint before hitting him right in the centre of his stomach. His diaphragm spasmed, he couldn’t take a breath. Another powerful punch made him fall, hitting the ground with a loud, muffled thud.
Sanji had no time to wrap his head around the turn of events. You sat on top of him, clenched hand flying down to make a dizzying impact with the side of his face. Unbearable, loud ringing filled his ears. His vision became spotty but remained clear enough to let Sanji turn his head and evade your continuous assault. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the red paint above your ankle. If he could just reach it…
One of your hands grabbed his throat. It was more surprising than painful, yet all the more terrifying for him. He gasped for air but his lungs remained empty. Another of your fists hung high above his head, ready to strike down with viciousness unknown to humane creatures.
Is this really how this ends?, he thought.
Still, he couldn’t force himself to overpower you, to fight back whatever malice resided inside you. Part of him started to accept the impending doom. In some other, less dire and heartbreaking circumstances, he surely would have made a joke about happily dying under you.
Your fist was coming closer and closer to his face.
He didn’t close his eyes. He wanted to see you.
But the impact never came. Your hand, as if held back by an invisible force, stopped a mere inch away from him. Sanji looked at you, not quite understanding what was happening. His eyes met yours. There was a sense of awareness in your stare. Tears were streaming down your face. Anger remained in your glistening gaze but it was much different. Sanji recognised it. He’s seen it a thousand times, whenever it took considerable effort to wake up Zoro; whenever you had a bad day and wanted to be left alone; whenever you crossed paths with petty bullies and their senseless violence.
A growl escaped your throat. In one moment, you let go of Sanji’s neck and hit yourself square in the jaw. Another punch met your nose. Blood streamed down your face. You felt dizzy but so did the relentless rage inside you. Using the last bits of your remaining strength and resolve, you rolled off of Sanji.
“Do… it!” you managed to say through clenched teeth.
Sanji didn’t waste time. Not when you were on the right track to knocking yourself out. Still coughing and trying to catch his breath, he reached down to your legs, wiping off the red paint in one swift motion. Momentarily, your body went limp. Sanji sat next you, pulled up your upper body by your shoulders and settled you against his chest. His hand was trembling as he gently, almost fearfully, caressed your face. The other palm rested on the back of your head, allowing him to see all of you. And as much as he loved taking his time admiring you, the sight before him was not one to behold. Blood that dripped from your nose was already drying on your lips and chin. Some drops stained your blouse. Red, bruised face had swollen in the past few minutes.
He whispered your name in a questioning manner, as if checking whether you still belonged to the land of the living. You slowly opened your eyes and met his gaze. Sanji was crying, doing his best to keep his body from shivering with every sob. It was an image of a man broken. Was it his heart that broke? Or his spirit? Perhaps his own humanity had shattered when he had to bear witness to cruelty beyond imagination.
“Sanji…” you muttered, voice hoarse and shaking. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t-”
“I know,” he interrupted. His face became all blurry and you couldn’t be sure whether it was because of your own tears or repeatedly punching yourself in the face. “I know, love.”
“I could have killed you.”
“Me?” Sanji laughed but there was no happiness in the sound. It was the amusement of a sole survivor; the chuckle of a man executed by a blunt guillotine. “You would never do that. You- “ A violent sob escaped his throat. “You love me too much.”
Your shaking hand slowly reached up to Sanji’s face. Cautiously, you touched his already bruised cheek. His slight wince didn’t escape your attention.
“Why would you let me do that to you, Sanji?”
His heart broke yet again, hearing your voice crack with emotion. What devilish sins had he committed in his previous life to be subjected to this suffering? What absolution was there in such agony?
Sanji’s hand left your face and gently grabbed your wrist. He lowered your palm to his lips, placing a chaste kiss on the knuckles.
“Because I love you too much,” he forced a smile on his face. It was in no way comforting. His expression contorted into an even deeper image of a soul torn apart and sewn together with little care or expertise. “How could I ever hurt my princess?"
It was impossible to say how much time had gone by while you and Sanji were silently holding each other. No words were spoken because what words were there to say? What should be said in such circumstances? Although words had failed you, that shared silence wasn't exactly quiet. Each gentle caress, a kiss left on the bruised skin, exchanged tears and glances - all of them told stories too grand for any known language.
How silly of Miss Goldenweek to forget that there are things much stronger than angry fists and blind rage.
summary: the cops pull rafe over for speeding and erratic driving, but things only escalate when they find you crying in the passenger seat.
JAILED (PART 2) — LINK HERE ༊*·˚
summary: rafe gets out of jail the next morning after his dad bailed him out, and he is forced to apologize to you.
BABY TRAPPED — LINK HERE ༊*·˚
summary: rafe purposely gets you pregnant against your own will after you choose the pogues instead of him.
BABY TRAPPED (PART 2) — LINK HERE ༊*·˚
summary: you finally gain the courage to tell rafe the news, but things turn aggressive once you find out he replaced your birth control pills.
BABY DADDY — LINK HERE ༊*·˚
summary: you have a baby with your ex, rafe, but when you arrive early to pick her up from his place, you discover drugs on the table…
BABY DADDY (PART 2) — LINK HERE ༊*·˚
summary: after rafe refuses to let you take the baby home, you call his dad and ask for his help. ward is the only person you know that can take control of rafe and calm him down.
BRUISES (ft john b) — LINK HERE ༊*·˚
summary: your brother sees a bruise on your neck, but it isn’t a hickey. he questions you about it, but it quickly turns into an argument when he discovers exactly who hurt you.
TENNIS COURT — LINK HERE ༊*·˚
summary: you beg rafe to play some tennis with you on your private tennis court, but he gets tired of losing and fucks you right there instead.
GUESS WHO (ft barry) — LINK HERE ༊*·˚
summary: after fooling around with both rafe and barry at separate times, you fall pregnant and have to figure out which of them is the father. you gain the courage to tell both of them with sarah’s help.
GUESS WHO PART 2 — LINK HERE ༊*·˚
summary: after going for an ultrasound to see the baby for the first time, you argue with rafe, get kicked out by your parents and discuss your options with barry.
MY GIRL — LINK HERE ༊*·˚
summary: rafe tracks your location and follows you to the beach, watching you and your friends from a fair distance. he butts in once he sees you and jj flirting, resulting in arguments and rafe forcing you home to fuck you.
EXES BEST FRIEND (ft topper) — LINK HERE ༊*·˚
summary: rafe is your ex boyfriend and you decide to get revenge on him by sleeping with his best friend topper at a party, but you didn’t expect him to walk in on you both…
⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆ 𝓼𝓱𝓸𝓻𝓽 𝓸𝓷𝓮𝓼𝓱𝓸𝓽𝓼;
DRUTHERS — LINK HERE ༊*·˚
summary: rafe sees you and sarah sunbathing on the druthers and makes an excuse for his sister to go away for a moment so he could talk to you alone.
STEPPED IN — LINK HERE ༊*·˚
summary: ward separates a fight between you and his son after rafe physically puts his hands on you. you leave and find comfort in the pogues.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆ 𝓻𝓮𝓺𝓾𝓮𝓼𝓽𝓼;
HANDCUFFS — LINK HERE ༊*·˚
request: rafe has his friends over like kelce, topper, etc. & has been ignoring reader all day, even when she’s asking questions. so she’s fed up slowly, takes his phone & smashes it on the floor in front of all of his friends. he’s screaming „wtf is your problem?!“ „oh so now i got your attention?!“ it ends it with a screaming match, kicking out his friend & reader domming rafe hehehe after being an ass all day he’s her bitch now🎀🤭
turnnoffyourmind
stormborns
gummygunk
izzy806
kaledo-art
tangentwithtanner
andulkaphoto
theartofmadeline
jbbartram-illu
