( 애인 ) 𝒾n which ︵ since you're afraid sex will ruin your relationship, your best friend promises you it'll be just the tip. well, guess what? he's kind of a liar. ⫶ smut mdni 277O dom!enha friends-to-lovers-esque very much strings-attached sex rough/mean sex implied no protection confessions not proofread (oops ><)
⌨️ like&&reblog for a kiss. ── #click4masterlist to see more.
LEE HEESEUNG ── "yes, baby, i swear. c'mon, jus' let me in you."
the thing with heeseung? you've never been good at denying him of what he wants. all it takes is one look, one pout, and you're caving instantly.
you tug your bottom lip between your teeth, hesitant, "hee, please don't... you said it'd be just the tip." thing is, he's your best friend. at least, that's all he's supposed to be—instead, he's lined up between your legs, the leaky tip of his cock tapping against your clit, practically begging to let him fuck you right.
heeseung's fingers brush your slick cunt, and you whimper, bucking your hips slightly up. "i know you want it, doll. lemme make you feel good, yeah?" he leans down, teeth sinking into the skin of your collarbone, making your breath hitch in a whiny moan.
his touch makes you melt. makes your brain short-circuit. makes you forget about any worries you have about ruining what you already have with him. he drags his tongue over the bite marks he's just made, soothing the spot.
he litters soft kisses all over your chest, and just like that, you forget why you ever held off fucking him like this in the first place. "okay," you whisper. "shit—okay."
he looks up quick, like he's not sure if he even heard you right. but there's this grin on his face. it's wide, toothy, and entirely too smug. like he knew you'd end up agreeing. if he wants to rub it in, he doesn't, which you're a little grateful for.
"fuck, baby, thank you. gonna fuck you so well, i swear you won't regret it."
yeah, just like he swore he wouldn't go past the tip. the retort dies on your tongue, because then he's pushing into you, the bed frame creaking in protest with every thrust. he's just so big, and he barely gives you a moment to adjust.
"mm, wait, hee—"
"sorrysorrysorry," he groans, the words falling from his mouth in a single string. "just spent so long dreaming of fucking this pretty pussy."
PARK JONGSEONG ── "y'know, you're not doing a great job at pretending you don't want this."
your face flushes, and you try to duck your head, but jongseong's hovering over your body. with the hand that's not on your bare hip, he pulls your chin back towards him, forcing eye contact.
"seongie," you whine, a tinge of embarrassment in your voice. "you promised we wouldn't go all the way."
"and you're making a mess all over my cock, baby. just give in. you know you want to." he doesn't say it like he's pleading or trying to convince you. he says it like it's a fact, which might be worse.
actually, it is worse.
because he can read your body. he can read the tremble in your voice as you try to hold your ground. the hitch of your breath when his tongue flicks against your nipple.
even now, when he's barely more than an inch into you, he doesn't miss the way you're squeezing him, practically trying to suck him in. and with how wet you are, it'd be so easy to just slip right in.
"i—i don't know," you stammer out, or try to, as he rubs slow circles onto your clit, smearing your messy arousal all over your thighs. you part your lips, like you're about to protest, but all that comes out is a moan.
"but we're friends—" you bite out, your arms around his neck, instinctively pulling him closer.
"so what? we'll be friends that fuck. or more, if that's what you want. that's what i want. we can work out the details later, can't we?"
the word more rings in your ears, and jongseong can hear the gears shifting in your cock-drunk mind.
"hey, hey. don't worry your pretty little head about that right now. just let me take care of you. it'll be the best you'll have."
you nod once, barely interceptable, but he shakes his head. "words, sweetheart. use your words for me, hm?"
you feel heat creep up your neck, but you nod again anyway. "yes, seongie. i... i want you to fuck me."
god, you really don't have to tell him twice.
it's when he finally bottoms out, that he has to stop and go though a roster of formula 1 teams, in order not to cum.
after all, might not have kept his initial promise, but he would be the best fuck of your life.
SIM JAEYUN ── "please, angel. fuckin' hell... you need this as bad as i do, don't lie."
jake's eyes are so innocent, though the intent behind them is anything but. his gaze, set firmly on you, makes heat pool in your stomach, adding to the wet mess on the sheets beneath you.
sure, you and jake had fooled around before. it wasn't rare. if anything, it was a daily occurrence. you'd humped him mindlessly on the couch before, sucked him off in his studio, and let him finger you for hours at a time. but this?
this wasn't the same. actually fucking him felt like crossing a line. like stepping over an already blurry boundary.
but he's adamant. so adamant. he's got his heart dead-set on this, pouting at you with those pretty pink lips, slightly swollen from kissing. as mentioned, however, it's anything but innocent.
he's spent the better part of an hour marking you up, leaving hickeys and bite marks all over your body. your neck, your chest, your thighs. shades of pink and red have bloomed all over your skin, and he's never looked prouder.
"jakey, 's not that i don't wanna," you say, soft and shaky. because of course you want to. it's all you've ever wanted. to feel his cock inside your cunt, for him to fuck like a dog in heat. "it's that i don't wanna mess this up."
"mess what up? us? angel, you could never. no matter what, okay? you seriously can't get rid of me that easy," he assures you, both efficiently and kindly. and in case his words aren't enough to soothe your doubt, he leans down to press a kiss to your lips, quick but lingering.
"really?"
"really. will you let me feel all of you now? hm? let me fuck you the way you deserve?"
"please," you murmur, looking up at him through your lashes. that's all it takes for him to ease into you slowly, like he's trying to memorize this moment and keep it with himself forever. the groan that jake lets out at hearing your soft whimpers—it's straight up pornographic.
"this pussy is so much fuckin' better than my fist."
PARK SUNGHOON ── "you're leaking all over my dick, and still... you're going to say you don't want me?"
one thing park sunghoon always found joy in was teasing you. it didn't matter what for.
whether it was pointing out every time you'd stumbled over a crack in the sidewalk, or still bringing up that one time from a year ago when you'd accidentally put the cereal in the fridge and the milk in the pantry—he was relentless when he wanted to be.
like now. especially now. just... instead of sidewalks and cereal boxes, it was the way you were a teary, needy mess, and still insisting that you didn't want any more than the tip of his thick cock.
you shake your head, trying to fight back a moan when he pinches your clit. "d—don't be mean, hoonie."
"i'm not being mean, sweets," sunghoon chides, but he presses a kiss to the tip of your nose nonetheless. "if anything, you're the one being mean. you're such a pretty little thing, thighs spread, all dripping for me... and you expect me not to want to fuck you all the way?"
he clicks his tongue, pushing a little further into you. he watches your eyes hit the back of your head, the cutest, breathiest sound leaving your mouth.
"please," you whimper, your nails digging into his shoulders.
"please, what? i can't even tell what you're begging for, baby. 'please, hoonie, fuck me?' is that what you're begging for?"
"fuck—yeah," you blurt, before you can even process the words that are leaving your mouth. it seems to surprise him just as much, because his eyes go a little wide, and for someone who's spent the last thirty minutes with sharp, quick responses, he seems a little speechless.
"well, damn, baby. thought we'd be going back and forth a little while longer," he chuckles, brushing a stray strand of hair away from your face. "not really complaining, though."
when sunghoon fucks into you, it's so him. harsh and cruel, but with loving intention. the pace he sets is rough, and he really doesn't show you any mercy.
turns out, being a little mean can get you a long way.
KIM SUNOO ── "so insistent on playing this game, huh?"
"sun, it's not... It's not like that," you protest weakly, but the way sunoo's looking at you—like a man who's got the world at his fingertips and knows it—has the rest of your sentence dying on your tongue.
"what is it like, then? you just feel like being a brat?" sunoo's words are sharp, they always are, but never sharper than the feeling of his teeth nipping at your collarbone. he doesn't seem annoyed by the waiting game. a little impatient? well, yes.
not annoyed, though. not frustrated. just... bored. it isn't disinterested-bored. more like give-in-already-so-we-can-cut-to-the-chase-bored. it's different. it's cocky. because he knows you'll end up submitting to him.
the feeling of his tip pressing against the entrance of your wet heat makes you flinch, and it takes everything in you not to beg him to fuck you right then.
"i—i feel," you stutter, "like not losing us over some sex."
sunoo's head snaps up. "some sex?" he asks, almost sounding offended. no, scratch that, he does sound offended. "you're seriously underestimating how good of a fuck i am."
"that's not the point!" if he didn't have your hands pinned together above you, you'd hit him, because he's being so... sunoo. misinterpreting your words on purpose, teasing you, seeing how far he can push you until you snap. and both of you know you're already reaching your breaking point.
he lowers his head to the crook of your neck, leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses all over your chest. his lips wrap around your nipple, sucking and biting, committing your soft whimpers to memory.
"nothing'll happen to us just 'cause we had some earth-shattering sex. i mean it. if anything, you'll just become more obsessed with me," he snickers, dropping a hand between your legs to slip his fingers between your folds.
"fuck you."
"i'm clearly willing."
you're silent for a beat, but the sheer need for him, for wanting to get fucked dumb on his cock, is overwhelmingly loud. "fine," you whimper, squeezing your eyes shut. he laughs, condescending, but it just makes you clench.
he pushes into you, and his dick fills you up, makes you feel so good, so full. sunoo's hips snap against yours, his fingers digging into the flesh of your hips. every thrust makes you cry out, and he drinks up the sweet sound.
"i'll show you some sex," he scoffs.
YANG JUNGWON ── "i know, pretty girl. i know. but you won't regret it."
his words are entirely too convincing. they fall from jungwon's mouth, easy and honey-sweet. there's a soft sheen of sweat on his skin, and the curve of his lashes has you melting into his touch.
"wonnie..." you whisper, soft and uncertain. like there's more you want to say, but can't find the words for.
jungwon just kisses you, his lips slotting against yours. and because he's him, your best friend for ages, you kiss him back. he tastes like strawberries and your coffee that he stole sips from.
he's already more than an inch in anyway, waiting for you to let him in all the way. "you're thinking s'loud," he murmurs, pulling away, a thin line of saliva connecting his mouth to yours. "i can hear you from here. don't overthink it. haven't even fucked you yet, and you're already squeezing around my cock."
his voice dips to a lower register, and he leans down by your ear, his breath hot. "just let yourself have it." the tone jungwon uses makes your face flush, and your heart skips a beat in your chest.
he always looks so gentle about everything, but there's a mocking lilt in his tone right now that makes you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer.
the movement makes him slip deeper into your cunt, and he groans, "fuck—fuck, princess. give a guy a warning, yeah? gonna make me cum just from that." jungwon's hips stutter as he readjusts, and he shifts his angle, needing more of you.
"sorry," you breathe, looking up at him. his hair is tousled, slightly unkempt from you running your hands through it. "i just... um, i like you. this. us. whatever 'us' is."
"yeah? same here, baby. i care about you too much to ever do anything to jeopardize us." he pauses, tucking hair behind your ear. "do you trust me?"
you don't hesitate. "yeah, wonnie. i do."
"good," he says, his lips meeting your temple. he looks at you, silently acknowledging what he's about to do. when you nod, he bottoms out, pushing himself all the way in. his cock drags against your walls, stretching you out on himself.
"mm—won—" you moan, grasping his arms to steady you.
"shit, you're such a good girl. feels nice, right? didn't i say it would?"
NISHIMURA RIKI ── "screw that promise, baby. to hell with it. this pussy's so perfect, s'begging to get fucked by me."
so far, riki's been true to his word. he's only an inch deep, but you know it's better than anything you've ever had before. he knows that, too—it's what makes him so confident.
"'ki, but you said—"
"angel, i say a whole lotta things. i definitely don't mean them all," he snorts, reaching down to rub your clit with his thumb. it makes your frown melt into an expression of bliss, the kind you only get from pleasure.
it doesn't help that riki's so pretty, and surely it doesn't make any of this easier. because he's the smug kind of pretty. the kind where he's fully aware and doesn't hesitate to use it to his own advantage.
it’s the way he looks at you like he already knows exactly what you’re thinking, and he’s just waiting for you to trip over your words first. it’s not even that he’s trying too hard; it’s just there, in that little tilt of his head or the way he lets a silence stretch out just a second too long.
he knows it gets under your skin. he knows it makes it impossible to actually stay mad at him, which is the worst part. you want to call him out on it, but then he smiles that specific way, and suddenly you’re the one who’s on the defensive.
trembling, you shake your head, though your resolve is wearing away. "friends don't fuck," you say, your tone hush.
"friends don't do whatever this is, either. if you're worrying about crossing some sort of line, i think we're a little far past that point."
you groan, burying your face in your hands. riki always has to go and make everything harder, doesn't he? in response, he just kisses your tit, and then your jaw, before finally pulling your hands into his.
"that doesn't make me feel better," you mumble.
"it wasn't really supposed to. i'm being honest, sweets. we're gonna be fine. we're gonna be okay."
finally, you sigh, "well, okay. i guess—"
you're cut off by his cock abruptly slamming straight into you, without so much as a warning. you cry out, back arching up as you sink your nails into the biceps of his arms.
mid-moan, you gasp, "what the fuck, riki!"
"sorry, fuck, sorry," he grunts, but by the way he isn't slowing down, you don't know if he means it. "ripped the bandaid off, angel."
riki leans down to capture your lips in a sloppy, wet kiss, swallowing the noises you make. with every ram of his hips against yours, you can feel his dick kisses your cervix, the way he throbs inside you, how his pelvis grinds against your clit.
he groans against your lips, "gonna make you cum so good, you'll forget to be mad at me."
𝐎𝐑 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄， jake loves you too much to take his glasses off
❪ MAGAZINE ❫ nerd!sjy x f!r 1OOOwc MDNI fluff ✿ oral (f. rec) fingering ˘ ˘ ♡
COMMENTS AND REBLOGS PLS ><
“jake— are you seriously— with your glasses on?”
jake looks up at you from between your thighs and if you weren’t already undone, seeing his lips glisten and his chin damp would’ve done the trick. his glasses cling low to the bridge of his nose, the black frames fogging with his breath.
“what?” he grins, and you find it infuriatingly endearing. “i need to see what im doing.”
“theyre fogging up!”
you try to press a giggle back, jake is funny sometimes. “they’re fine.”
he lowers his head to your core and you forget your complaints when his tongue glides flat and heated over your folds, dipping neatly inside.
you fall back onto the bed, fingers tangling in jake’s hair as he makes a humming sound against you, the vibrations sends sparks up your spine.
jake is good at this, always has been, but tonight he’s showing off. his tongue traces slow circles around you before flicking at your opening and dragging up, seeking out the place where you need him most.
“oh”, you whine. “oh fuck.”
“the clitoris”, he says against you, pulling his head back enough to meet your gaze, eyes becoming glossy as if he wants something more. “did you know it has over eight thousand nerve endings? the most of any part of the human body.”
“jake.” you threaten, fingers finding his temple as he continues to suck gently on your clit, his other hand splayed over the juncture of your thigh and hip.
“its educational,” he teases.
you laugh, a high pitched giggle that turns into a moan when jake sucks your clit into his mouth. your hips buck upwards as he braces himself over you.
“you’re such a nerd,” you manage to say through your moans.
“you are dating a nerd,” he says against your skin. “you knew what you were getting into.”
jake eases two fingers into you as you groan, your head falling back. he uses the stretch of his fingers to find the place deep inside you that makes your whole body twitch. his fingers are long and beautifully angled, curling in just the right way to send another pulse of sensation through you.
“see?” he murmurs, his mouth pressing a kiss to your inner thigh. “angles and vectors, all geometry.”
“shut up,” you gasp, your mouth forming an ‘o’ shape as you try to catch your breath. “ah— jake!”
“the g-spot is actually part of the clitoral structure,” he says, his fingers sliding in and out as his mouth finds your core again. “it all connects.”
“jake, i swear—”
“did you know that the clitoris is shaped like a wishbone?” he asks, tracing slow patterns along you with his tongue, working you over from bottom to top. you forget what you were about to say when he begins rolling his tongue over your clit in fast, shallow strokes.
you are so close, already writhing, and jake knows it, he always knows it. he knows your body the way he knows his textbooks, every little sound and reaction to a chapter he memorizes with devotion.
“you’re gonna come for me, baby?”
jake asks, his voice thick with something between amusement and need as his tongue skates over your thigh. “on my face? are you really going to do it? let’s test it, shall we?”
“your— fuck, glasses—!”
“forget the glasses.”
they are completely fogged over now, all opaque. its absurd, really, the way his tongue flicks over you in short bursts while his fingers curl inside you, making you dizzy with need. you can barely focus on what he says next.
“take them off,” you whine, practically begging. “jake— ”
“cant, im too busy recalling the theory of..” he says, practically purring. you find yourself laughing and whimpering at the same time.
“that doesnt even— thats not how it—”
“maybe physics isnt my strongest subject.” jake sighs dramatically before his tongue licks insistently at your folds, his fingers pumping in and out at a steady pace. he manages to ignore the fog on his glasses long enough for you to climax, shuddering and whimpering his name as your thighs shake on either side of his head. jake hums against your skin.
“come on, baby,” he groans, voice rough. “let me taste it. let me have it.”
“ah— jake!”
“i’ve got you. i’ve got you.”
your orgasm rolls over you, until you are gasping your release into the air, your back arching violently. your fingers dig into jakes scalp, his hair splayed out on either side of your hips. jake licks at you determinedly until your whimpers die down, your body limp, exhausted.
you push his head away weakly.
jake grins, finally lifting himself off of you, his chin glistening. he peeks up at you, the lenses blurred with condensation.
“see?” he says, sliding them up his nose. “perfectly functional.”
“you can’t see a thing.” you scoff.
“i can see enough, princess.”
jake leans over you, his head hovering just above your torso as he peppering kisses all over your body. you taste yourself on his lips when his glasses press against your cheek, warm and fuzzy.
you lift his head by the back of his skull, kissing him thoroughly before sliding his glasses off his face.
“hey,” he whines, blinking up at you. his lashes cast shadows across his cheeks. jake’s face is softer without the frames.
“i was going for a look.” he mumbles softly.
you raise your eyebrows, “the look was clouded nerd who cant see.”
“hey, that’s a classic aesthetic!”
you laugh, pulling him down on top of you. jake melts against you, kissing your collarbone, his fingers finding the sensitive spot at the juncture of your thigh and hip.
“i could go again,” he murmurs, voice heavy with intent. “we could run another trial. for science.”
“for science,” you repeat, laughing when jake’s fingers push into you once more, coaxing another moan from your lips as his glasses sit on the nightstand, forgotten.
스루 ܃ first time uploading smut im so scared TT could be my last too idk. but i would LOVE some feedbacks / suggestions on it tho! will kiss u heh :3
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 18+ mdni. therapist/patient relationship, unethical therapy, professional boundary violations, power imbalance, emotional dependency, obsessive thoughts, explicit sexual content, fingering, edging/orgasm denial, dirty talk, discussion of compulsive sexual behavior/sex addiction, unhealthy relationship dynamics, and emotional manipulation.
this work is entirely fictional and is not intended to romanticize or endorse therapist-patient relationships or unethical clinical conduct.
𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: seventeen sessions in, you're still pretending dr. cameron is just your therapist. he's still pretending he doesn't look forward to thursday evenings. you've told him everything except the truth, that every fantasy you've had for months ends with him.
𝐚/𝐧: a serious genius sent me this idea. i'm so so happy they did because i had a similar idea previously but didn't have the courage to pursue it due to... well. you know. which is funny because i've written much more taboo content. anyway, if you're reading this my love, thank you for the courage! this story explores quiet obsession and an intentionally unethical therapist/patient relationship. none of this is meant to reflect healthy therapy or healthy relationships. please read the warnings before continuing. ♡
𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 4.9k
you're fifteen minutes early. you're never early.
the waiting room is empty, which is good because you don't think you could sit here making small talk with another patient right now. the white noise machine hums from somewhere behind the reception desk, a constant static that's supposed to be soothing but just makes you more aware of every sound your body makes. your breathing. the rustle of your clothes. the tap of your shoe against the floor that you can't seem to stop.
you left your hair down even though you always tie it back for sessions because it feels too vulnerable otherwise. but today you want to feel vulnerable. you want him to notice.
you check your phone. 6:47pm. his last appointment of the day is always at seven. you know this because you've been coming here every thursday at seven for six months and you've never seen anyone leave after you.
six months.
you remember the first session. how you sat on that couch and couldn't look at him while you explained why you were there. "i have a problem with sex," you'd said, and the words felt stupid coming out of your mouth. so clinical and detached.
"tell me about it," he'd said, and his voice was so calm that you actually looked up at him. he was leaning back in his chair, one ankle crossed over his knee, pen in hand but not writing anything yet.
so you told him about the compulsion. about the way you'd fuck someone and feel nothing and then do it again the next night hoping it would be different. the way you fixated on people... strangers, mostly, and built entire fantasies around them until the reality of actually being with them shattered everything. how you were chasing something you couldn't understand or begin to grasp.
he'd listened to all of it. didn't flinch, didn't judge, didn't try to fix it right away. just asked questions. "what do you think you're looking for?" and "how do you feel in the moment, right before?" and "what happens after?"
you'd left that first session feeling raw.
the second session, you noticed his hands. the way he held the pen, the way his fingers moved when he gestured while talking. you told yourself it didn't mean anything.
by the fourth session, you were thinking about his voice at night.
by the eighth session, you realized you were dressing differently on thursdays.
and then one night, session eleven, maybe twelve, you were fucking some guy you'd met at a party and you weren't thinking about him at all. you were thinking about dr. cameron. about what his hands would feel like instead. about whether he'd be gentle or rough, whether he'd talk to you the way he does in sessions, that calm steady voice asking you questions while he—
you'd came so hard you scared yourself. that was a rarity. you never came.
after that, it was over. every hookup became a placeholder for him. every confession in therapy became a way to see if he'd react, if you could make him break that professional mask even for a second. you started telling him more explicit details. not because you needed to for therapy, but because you wanted to see what he'd do with the information. if he'd really look at you.
you're pretty sure he does. you've caught him sometimes, when you're in the middle of a story, and there's something in his eyes that doesn't really feel like clinical interest.
or maybe you're delusional and maybe this whole thing is just another fixation.
but today feels different.
last weekend you fucked someone in a bar bathroom and the entire time you were imagining it was dr. cameron. you’d said his name so quietly, barely a whisper, but the guy heard it. asked "who's rafe?" and you'd lied, said it was your ex, but the truth sat in your chest like a bag of heavy rocks.
you can't keep doing this. you can't keep coming here every thursday and confessing everything except the one thing that actually matters.
the door to the inner office opens.
dr. cameron steps out, holding a file. he's wearing a light colored button-down with the sleeves rolled up, and you hate that you notice. the way his forearms flex, and how his long fingers grip the file. he sees you and something flickers across his face. surprise, maybe, but it's gone so fast you might have imagined it.
"hey," he says. "you're early."
"yeah." your voice sounds normal. "is that okay?"
"of course. come on in."
you follow him into the office and the familiar space feels different today, even though its all the same. the couch where you always sit with his chair angled toward it. the desk in the corner with his laptop and stacks of files. the lamp that casts everything in warm light. the door closes behind you, and you hear the lock click into place like he always does, for privacy, but today the sound makes your stomach turn.
"how was your week?" he asks, settling into his chair.
you sit on the couch, your usual spot. nothing feels normal. your skin is too tight.
"it was fine," you say. "i mean, not fine. i don't know."
he waits. he's good at that. letting silence stretch until you fill it.
"i hooked up with someone last weekend," you say, and you watch his face for a reaction, but there's nothing. just that calm, attentive expression. "met him at a bar."
"okay," he says. "tell me about it."
so you do. you tell him about meeting the guy, about how easy it was to fall into that classic pattern—drinks, flirting, the bathroom with its flickering fluorescent light and the smell of cheap soap. you tell him about fucking the guy against the sink, your jeans around your ankles, his hands on your hips, and how the entire time you were somewhere else. you were here. in this office. with dr. cameron's hands on you instead.
he's leaning forward in his chair, elbows on his knees, and he's listening the way he always does, but there's something else underneath it. the lamp casts shadows across his face and you can see the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers are pressed together.
"and after?" he asks. his voice is steady but there's something underneath it now, something that wasn't there before. "how did you feel after?"
"empty," you say. the word sits between you like a stone. "like always."
"but you did it anyway."
"yeah."
"why?"
you shrug, but the gesture feels wrong, too casual for what you're about to say. "because... because i wanted to feel something? i guess? anything." the words come out uncertain, like you're testing them as you speak.
there's a pause that stretches way too long. it makes you aware of the distant sound of traffic outside muffled by the closed window, the fact that you're alone in this room with him and the door is locked. you can hear your own breathing. his too, if you listen closely enough.
and then you say it.
"i've been thinking about you," your heart is pounding so hard you can feel it in your throat. "since session six. maybe earlier. i don't know."
session six is definitely a lie. you’d been thinking about him since session two. but there’s no way you could admit something like that. telling him at all was more than enough.
his face changes. it's subtle, just a flash of something raw crossing his features before he can stop it. he looks away, down at his hands where they're pressed together between his knees, and for a moment he's just a man sitting in a chair. not a therapist. not someone in control. just a man who's been caught.
when he looks back at you, his jaw is tight, and whatever argument he'd been having with himself is over. you can see it in his eyes.
"session six," he repeats, and his voice is quieter now, rougher around the edges. "that's... that's a long time."
"yeah."
he's quiet for another moment. you watch him process it, watch the way his chest rises and falls a little faster than it should. his fingers unclasp and he runs one hand through his hair, messing it up in a way you've never seen before.
"why didn't you tell me?" he asks.
"because i thought it would go away," you reply. the confession feels like peeling off skin. "i thought if i just... maybe if i kept coming here, kept talking about it, it would stop. but it didn't. it got worse."
he nods slowly. you can see the conflict playing out on his face, the way his mouth tightens, the way he looks at you and then away and then back again like he can't help himself.
he stands up. the movement is sudden enough that you flinch, and for a second you think he's going to ask you to leave, going to tell you this was a mistake and that you need to find another therapist. but he doesn't. he walks away from you, toward the window, and stands there with his back to you, one hand coming up to grip the back of his neck. you can see the tension in his shoulders, the way they're drawn up tight. the way they rise and fall with his breathing. the office feels smaller suddenly, the walls much closer.
he's pacing now. not frantically or anything, just a few steps back and forth in front of the window, looking at the floor like he's trying to work something out. his hand falls from his neck and he shoves both hands in his pockets, then pulls them out again. you watch him, and you realize this is it. this is the moment where he decides whether to cross the line or send you away.
he stops so abruptly it almost looks like something catches him. his hand falls away from the back of his neck again and when he turns, he doesn't say anything right away. he just looks at you, and there's something in his eyes you've never seen before. something hungry and raw and completely unprofessional.
the way he looks at you... it's not the way a therapist looks at a patient.
"stand up," he says.
you do. your legs feel shaky, unsteady, but you stand anyway. your hands are trembling at your sides.
"come here."
he sits back down in his chair, and the distance between the couch and where he's sitting is barely a few steps, but it feels way longer now. each one gives you another chance to turn around, another chance to pretend none of this happened, to walk out and find a new therapist and never come back. you don't take it.
your shoes are silent on the carpet. you're standing in front of him now, close enough that you could reach out and touch him if you wanted to. close enough to see the way his pupils are dilated, the way his chest is rising and falling faster than normal. there's no trace of the careful distance he'd kept for six months. it's gone completely.
"sit," he says, patting his lap.
"dr. cameron—"
"sit."
you do. you lower yourself onto his lap slowly, your back settling against his chest. his thighs are thick and solid and warm beneath you, the muscle firm under the fabric of his pants. you can feel his cock, already hard, pressing against your ass through the denim of your jeans. the knowledge of it sends heat flooding through you. you want to shift, to grind back against him, but you force yourself to stay still because part of you still can't even believe this is happening.
his hands settle on your thighs. warm and heavy, the weight of them grounding you.
"keep talking," he says, his voice low in your ear. you can feel his breath against your neck, warm and slightly uneven. "tell me about the compulsion."
"i—i don't know what you want me to say."
his hands slide higher, fingers tracing the inside of your thighs through your jeans. the touch is light, almost teasing. "tell me what it feels like. when you're with someone. what are you chasing?"
you can barely think. his fingers are moving in slow circles on your inner thighs and it's making it hard to form words. "i don't know... validation, maybe? proof that i'm wanted."
"and do you get it?"
"no. never."
his fingers pop the button on your jeans. the sound is loud in the quiet office, the snap of metal against fabric. you lift your hips slightly so he can pull the zipper down. the rasp of metal teeth separating sounds almost deafening in the silence.
"why not?" he murmurs, sliding his hand inside your jeans, over your underwear. you're already wet, soaked through the fabric, and you know he can feel it. his fingers press against you through the damp cotton and you gasp, your hips jerking forward involuntarily.
"because... because it's never enough," you whisper. "it's never—fuck—"
he presses against your clit through the fabric and your hips jerk forward again. his other hand comes up to grip your jaw, fingers splaying across your cheek and throat, holding your head back against his shoulder. the grip is firm and feels like a gentle anchor.
"keep talking," he says. "you're doing so good."
"dr. cameron, please—"
"please what?" his thumb catches the edge of your underwear, easing it aside. his fingers find you almost absently, like he's waiting for your answer more than your reaction, but you can hear the wet sound of it when he slides through your folds. "use your words."
you can't answer. your eyes are squeezing shut and it feels like you're hardly breathing. he circles your clit once, twice, and you're already shaking. the jeans are tight around your hips, constricting, and his hand is trapped inside them, the denim pressing his knuckles against you in a way that's almost uncomfortable but also perfect.
his fingers stop circling. they just rest there, warm and still against your clit. the sudden absence of movement makes you whimper, a sound you didn't mean to make.
"the guy from last weekend," he says. not a question. his breath is against your ear, warm and steady. "tell me what he did."
"he—" your voice cracks. you can't think. his fingers are right there but not moving and it's worse than if he'd pulled away completely. the stillness is torture. "i don't—"
"you don't remember?" his fingers slide lower, just barely, teasing your entrance. you can feel the tip of one finger pressing against you, not pushing in, just resting there. "or you don't want to tell me?"
"no, i—he fucked me. in the—" you're breathing too fast. the words won't come out right. your brain can't form complete thoughts with his hand between your legs. "backseat. i was—"
his fingers push inside you. just the tips, just enough that you can feel the stretch, the intrusion. you gasp and lose the sentence completely, your mouth falling open.
"you were what?"
"on top," you manage. "i was on top."
he pushes deeper. not all the way, just enough that you can feel the stretch, the promise of more. his fingers are thick and you can feel every ridge, every knuckle as they slide into you. then he stops again and holds still inside you, buried to the second knuckle.
"did you cum?"
"no."
his fingers don't move and he’s silent for a moment. you can feel your pulse around them, can feel yourself clenching involuntarily, trying to pull him deeper. the stillness is maddening.
"why not?" he asks, and his voice is so calm, so steady, like he's asking about the weather while his fingers are inside you and you're falling apart in his lap.
"because i—" you're shaking. "i never—with them, i can't—"
"can't or don't?"
"both? neither. i don't know." the words come out frustrated, desperate.
his thumb brushes your clit. once. the lightest touch. you jerk against him and he pulls it away immediately, denying you.
"but you want to," he says.
"yes—fuck—yes."
"what do you think about?" his fingers curl inside you slightly, pressing against that spot. not enough pressure. just enough to make you aware of it. "when you're with them. when they're inside you... what's in your head?"
you don't answer. you can't. your breath is coming in short gasps and his hand is still gripping your jaw, holding you in place, and you can feel the heat of him against your back, the solid weight of his chest. the hardness of his cock pressing into you through your jeans, and you wonder if he's as desperate as you are, if this is killing him too.
"answer me," he says, and his fingers push deeper, all the way now, buried inside you to the knuckle. you cry out, the sound echoing in the small office.
"i can't—"
"yes you can." he starts moving them. slow, methodical thrusts that make you see stars. his thumb finds your clit again and circles it once, twice. the dual sensation is overwhelming. "tell me what you think about."
"i—" you're climbing already, way too fast. the pressure building low in your belly, spreading through your thighs. "i think about—"
he stops. completely stops. his fingers buried inside you but motionless, his thumb lifting off your clit.
this broken and desperate sound falls from your mouth, something you'd never even heard before.
"say it," he says.
"you," you gasp. "i... i think about—fuck—i think about you."
"me." his voice is rough now, the professional veneer cracking. "you think about me while some stranger fucks you in a parking lot."
"yes."
"what am i doing?" his fingers move again, just slightly, just enough to remind you they're there. "in your head. what am I doing to you?"
"this," you whisper. "you're—you're doing this."
"yeah?" he pushes deeper, curling his fingers inside you. you can feel every ridge, every knuckle, the stretch of it. his thumb finds your clit and he starts moving in a rhythm that has you climbing fast. too fast. your hips start to move, grinding back against his cock, and you can feel how hard he is, can hear the way his breath catches. his other hand tightens on your jaw, fingers pressing into your skin hard enough to leave marks.
"stay still," he says.
you try. you're shaking so fucking badly, your thighs trembling. you're right there, right on the edge, the pressure building and building and—
he stops. his fingers stay inside you but they don't move. his thumb lifts off your clit.
"no—please—"
"tell me more," he says. his voice is steady but you can hear the strain in it now. "you think about me. what do i do? in your head?"
you're gasping. you can feel tears starting to form, burning in your eyes. "i can't—"
"yes you can." his fingers move slightly, just a tiny curl, pressing against that spot inside you. "tell me what i do to you. in your fantasies."
"you—you touch me like this," you say, your voice breaking. "you make me—you don't stop. you let me cum."
"do i?" his fingers curl inside you again, harder this time, and you cry out. "what else?"
"you fuck me," you whisper. "you fuck me and you—and you tell me i'm good."
"you are doing good," he says, and his thumb presses against your clit again. you're climbing again, faster this time, the pressure building impossibly fast. "you're being so good for me right now."
"dr. ca—"
"tell me why you chase validation," he continues. meanwhile his fingers are moving inside you, pumping in and out, and you can hear the wet sound of it, obscene in the quiet office. you can feel yourself dripping, soaking his hand, soaking through your jeans. "what are you trying to prove?"
"i don't—i can't think—"
"try."
you have actual tears on your face now, hot and wet and streaming. "that i'm worth something. that someone wants me."
"and do you feel that? with the men you fuck?"
"no—never—please—"
you're right there again. your whole body is tense and shaking and his fingers are moving faster and his thumb is circling your clit and you're so close, so fucking close, the pressure building to an unbearable peak and—
he stops again.
you actually sob, the sound wrenching out of you.
"not yet," he says. "we're not done talking."
"please," you beg. "pleaseplease let me cum. i can't—"
"you can." his voice is firm. "breathe."
you try. the jeans are soaked now, the denim dark with wetness. you can smell it, the smell of sex starting to fill the office, mixing with the scent of his cologne and the faint smell of coffee from earlier.
"why do you think you fixate on people who can't give you what you need?" he asks.
"i don't know."
"yes you do."
"because—because it's safe," you gasp. "because if they can't give it to me then i can't be disappointed."
"and me?" his thumb brushes your clit, so light it's almost nothing. "am i safe?"
"no."
"why not?"
"because you could actually—fuck—you could actually hurt me."
"how?"
you're crying. "because i actually want you. not just—not just the sex. you."
his fingers start moving again. slow, and you're climbing again, faster now. you grind back against his cock and he doesn't stop you this time. you can feel him hard and thick against your ass, can hear the way his breathing has changed, rougher now.
"say it again," he says.
"i want you."
"louder."
"i want you," you say, your voice breaking. "i want you so fucking bad. please- please let me cum. i'm so close. please."
he's building you up again. his thumb on your clit, his fingers inside you, and you're climbing so fast you can't breathe. his other hand is still on your jaw, holding you in place. you can feel his breath against your ear, the slight hitch in it, and you realize he's as affected as you are.
"that's it—" he whispers quietly. "take what you need."
you're right there. right fucking there. the pressure is unbearable and—
his fingers go still.
but this time he doesn't pull away. just... stops. his fingers stay buried inside you, his thumb resting against your clit. completely motionless. completely silent.
the silence is worse. you're right there, right on the edge, and he's not moving and he's not saying anything. you can feel your pulse in your clit, can feel yourself clenching around his fingers, your body begging for more. the stillness is psychological torture. you need it so bad you could honestly cum right then and there without him touching you anymore. your pussy is clenching around nothing, beggining for it. but god, what a waste that would be.
so you wait. five seconds. ten. fifteen. your breath coming in short gasps.
finally, he speaks.
"why do you think you're here?" he asks, and his voice is quiet. "really here. not the answer you gave me in session one. the real answer."
"i don't—"
"yes you do." his fingers curl slightly inside you, just enough to make you gasp, but then he goes still again. "why are you here?"
"because..." you whisper. "because i don't know how to want something without destroying it. because i'm afraid if i let myself actually have something real, i'll ruin it."
"and me?" his thumb presses against your clit, just barely. "what am i?"
"real," you say. you're crying again. "you're real. and i'm terrified."
"good," he says, and his fingers start moving again. slow at first, then faster, harder, and his thumb is circling your clit and you're climbing so fast you can't breathe. "you should be terrified. because i'm not going to let you run from this. i'm not going to let you turn me into another fantasy you can chase and never catch. this is real."
"yes—fuck—yes—"
"knowing you go home and touch yourself and imagine it's me?" his fingers curl inside you, hitting that spot, and he doesn't stop this time. his thumb is relentless, circling and pressing and you're climbing higher and higher. "knowing you're so desperate for it you'll fuck anyone just to feel something?"
"oh my... god, please—"
"you don't need them," he says. his fingers are relentless now, pumping in and out of you, the wet sounds loud and sloppy and obscene. "you need someone who knows what you need. someone who's been listening. someone who's been paying attention for six fucking months."
"i—i'm—i'm gonna—"
"then do it," he says. "cum on my fingers. right here in my office. show me what you look like when you finally get what you need."
and you do. you cum so hard you can't breathe, can't think, can't do anything but feel. it hits you like a wave, starting deep in your core and radiating outward. your body convulses in his lap, every muscle tensing and releasing. your hips grinding back against his cock, and his fingers don't stop moving, drawing it out, prolonging it. the orgasm tears through you in waves, each one crashing over you harder than the last. you can feel yourself clenching around his fingers, rhythmic pulses that seem to go on forever. the wetness gushing out of you, soaking his hand, soaking your jeans, probably soaking through to his pants.
you're aware of everything and nothing—the way your thighs are shaking uncontrollably, the way your breath is coming in broken gasps, the way you can hear yourself making sounds you've never made before, desperate and raw. his fingers keep moving, keep curling, keep hitting that spot inside you, and just when you think it's over another wave hits and you're crying out again, your back arching, your head thrown back against his shoulder. it goes on and on, longer than ever before, until you're begging him to stop, until it's too much, until you can't take anymore.
when you finally come down, you're crying. actual tears streaming down your face, your breath coming in gasps. he pulls his fingers out slowly and you whimper at the loss, at the sudden emptiness. your jeans are soaked, the denim dark and wet, clinging to your thighs.
"shh," he says, wrapping his arms around you. "you're okay. you did so good."
you're trembling. you can still feel his cock hard against your ass and you want to turn around, want to touch him, want to make him feel what you just felt, but you can't move. your body won't cooperate.
"that's what you needed," he says quietly. "someone who knows you. someone who listens."
you nod, still trying to catch your breath.
"next session," he says, and his voice is back to that calm, professional tone, like he didn't just make you come apart in his lap, "we're going to talk about why you keep choosing people who can't give you what you need. i think we made some progress today on identifying the root of the compulsion."
you almost laugh. the absurdity of it.
"okay," you whisper.
"good," he says. "now go clean yourself up. there's a bathroom down the hall."
you stand on shaky legs. your jeans are dark with wetness and you have to button them with trembling fingers. when you look back at him, he's watching you, his fingers in his mouth, tasting you. the sight of it sends another jolt of heat through you.
"same time next week?" he asks.
"yeah," you say. "same time."
you walk out of his office on legs that barely work. in the bathroom, you look at yourself in the mirror. your face is flushed, your eyes red and glassy, your lips swollen. there's a mark on your neck from where his hand gripped your jaw, dark and obvious. you reach up to touch it. the skin is tender, slightly raised. you stare at it for a long moment, and then you notice something else in the mirror's reflection: your therapy appointment card, sticking out of your back pocket. the next date is already written on it in his handwriting. thursday. same time. you pull it out and look at it.
he wrote it before today's session.
you tuck the card back into your pocket. look at yourself in the mirror one more time. the mark on your neck. your flushed face.
Info - pet names, roleplaying, established relationship, impact play (spanking), calling Clark sir and papa, hands free cum, fingering, finger sucking
We weren’t dressed in appropriate clothing for the scene. We’d been in bed imagining this together before we’d gotten too excited to not try it. Clark should’ve been in a suit to play the strict older boss, but he was in his boxers and nothing else. As the young, naughty secretary I should’ve been in a pencil skirt and blouse but I was naked.
I was bent over Clark’s knees. His meaty thighs held me up well. My cunt was slick and I subtly ground it down against his muscles.
“Ah, ah, ah, be good Darlin,” Clark purred. I whined needily. The haze of lust was setting in. All I could see, smell, or feel was him.
“I’ll be good, just need you,” I responded in a small voice.
Clark lifted his hand up. We’d talked about safe words, about him measuring his strength, but I trusted him so deeply. A rough smack landed on my ass. I moaned, eyes rolling back in my head. It was a great feeling. This super powered man treating me roughly, just like I wanted.
“You are going to behave better in the office aren’t you pretty girl?” Clark crooned, taking on the role perfectly.
“Yes,” I promised, though I wouldn’t mind another hit.
I watched him lovingly as he stuck two thick fingers into his mouth and slobbered over them. He smirked at me around his digits. I felt my own mouth grow more damp. I was salivating at the taste of his skin.
“Is this what you were thinking about when you wore those tiny skirts baby?” He asked me and moved his hand down.
One finger entered me fist. I whined. I buried my face into his thigh. I could feel his heavy cock nudging my side already. He curled that thick finger, pressing right against the gummy spot I needed touched.
“Mmm, Ning, Mr. Kent,” I squirmed in his lap. I needed my clit to rub on something. I was spreading a pathetic amount of slick on him. He just chuckled.
“Another finger darlin?” He nearly slurred. I felt it too, the intoxication of the scene. The air was thick. I could smell myself.
I nodded eagerly, wanting so much to feel full. I arched up so he could press more into me.
“Uh uh, princess I need words,” Clark purred. He took my chin with gentle dominance, and turned my face so I looked at him.
“I-I want another finger s-sir,” I said carefully. He let out a breath and smiled.
“Keep calling me that and we’ll have a fun time darling,” he promised. The blue of his eyes was swallowed up by black. I stayed facing towards his as he pushed another finger inside me. I let a small squeal. He was smiling even larger now, his gorgeous teeth gleaming.
“That’s it pretty girl,” he purred as those fingers began to pump. He spoke to me like he’d talk to a prize pet, and I couldn’t deny that I liked it.
Fuck it felt so good to feel him inside me. My juices ran down his fingers. I ground back against him. I was having trouble breathing. I was so warm and wet and I felt like I could almost cry it was so pleasurable. The pressure was building inside me as I thought of how taboo this scenario would be.
I wanted to be naked in his office, sucking up his fingers just like I know all my coworkers wanted to as well. I’d be his good girl; the best girl. His other hand traced down my spine. He gripped my ass, and ran his hand through my hair.
“Doing so good f’me. Gosh you’re pretty. You take everything I give you so well,” He hummed.
“Sir w-will you, will you spank me again? I’ve been so bad,” I asked, voice cracking.
“Is that what you want honey?” He asked so sweetly you’d never think he was talking about hitting me.
“Yes,” I whispered.
Clark pulled his fingers out with a delicious squelch. He sucked them into his mouth, tasting my nectar. I could feel his cock bob as he sloppily lapped up my essence.
“Alright Angel, prepare yourself,” he warned. His hand rose again, and it harshly whipped across my bare ass. I was leaking all over Clark.
Another slap, and another, and I was so desperately close. I finally felt my walls close around nothing. My walls fluttered and I let out mewls and keens of gratitude. I was so loud Clark put his fingers in my mouth to quiet me down.
I suckled like they were my only anchor. I sucked them down until I choked and gagged and tears ran down my face. I was humping him like a bitch at his point. He was talking me through my peak, but I could hear in his voice that he was surprised by my reaction as well.
Finally, I was coming down. My muscles unwound. I relaxed in his lap, my thighs sticky with my release. I turned my blurry eyes to him. Tears streamed down my face and spit dribbled down my chin.
“Papa,” I moaned.
His eyes seemed to blow up to three times their normal size. He cursed and his cock began to go off. Ropes of white hot cum began to coat my back all from the word I’d uttered.
“S-sorry, sorry, I’m sorry, that’s just so, nggg, that was so-“
He could apologise all he wanted but it didn’t stop him from tugging himself through his orgasm. He was squeezing every last drop out of his cock. When he’d finished emptying his balls on me I still felt dreamy. I wanted more no matter how messy.
When he's a golden retriever in public but anything but that in bed
He's always had a personality in the public of oh he's too sweet and charming, the golden retriever, cutie who helps old ladies cross the street, the one who crams his girlfriend's family members names and birthdays, the one who carries all your shopping bags and never let's you lift a finger, who takes you out on dates to celebrate any achievement, who drives you everywhere. He's the perfect text book golden retriever boyfriend in public but in private it's a whole different story
When he has you face down in the bed sheets crying from over stimulation as he plows back and forth into you whilst you're shaking and barely staying up on your knees if not for his hands keeping you on your knees and arching your back perfectly so he can fuck your cunt just how he wants.
"S'too much" you slur out whilst squeeze the sheets beneath you to get a sense of stability "sorry love it's just that you look so good today─ and everyone kept looking at you and nngh fuck" he rasps when you squeeze around his swollen cock, the compliments going from your head all the way to your cunt.
Nobody would think that it's your boyfriend who couldn't hurt a fly that has his hand squeezing the fat of your hips and fucking up into your ass and rearranging your guts.
"S─shit right t─there" you whine while he pistons into your with his balls slapping against your clit driving you crazy, every thrust sending closer and closer over the edge.
The sheer size of him overwhelming you backed with how many times he's made you cum has tears running down your face and ruining your makeup
"S──so tight, all mine fu─ck... No one else mine mine MINE nghh" he's so fare gone after going about this for hours his cock twitching inside you.
"I'm gonna, I'm c─cum─" you cry into the pillow body shuddering all over, eyes rolling back hips snapping back into his cock, spasming and gushing all over his cock. Finally you felt his cum flowing deep into you fill you up to the brim the frothy mix of both of your releases forming a ring at the bottom of his dick.
Still recovering from the high you notice he hasn't stopped moving in you, his cock is still going at that punishing pace, like he doesn't even realize he's still fucking you and talking to himself in a daze "ah fuck so good baby , too good your pussy feels too aghh"
everyone thinking clark and his girlfriend are the most vanilla, sweet, innocent couple because of how they act around each other and present as a team — never cursing or fighting, never drinking or getting belligerent, never lying or betraying anybody including and especially to each other. they were the golden couple. they only amp up that image to everybody even more when clark buys them promise rings. everyone thinks it’s sweet, cute as a button how virginal they both are and are waiting for marriage. they’ve only ever seen him give her a kiss on her cheek or her forehead, rub her arm, hug her in a warm embrace and whisper their adorable inside jokes.
but in the private space of their bedroom, they’ve done just about everything but.
even before clark got them the rings.
every night, he whimpers her name and ‘please’ on repeat right in her neck, wearing nothing but his glasses. grinding his cock up and down the front slit of her pretty, glistening pussy like he’s a horny little bunny that couldn’t ever be sated.
“it doesn’t count, right? if I don’t put it in, mmmmuhhh— oh, god — if I don’t put it in then we’re still virgins,” he pants. still humping her up and down, their parts rutting up against one another as they both implode from the friction. she grinds her clit back, bumping it up against his head and all his throbbing veins, and nods her head up and down, agreeing.
“of course baby, just keep going, we can cum like this as much as we want. it won’t count.”
“oh, oh my, yes, yes please! I have to keep going. I’m about to cum. it’s gonna get all over your pretty little pussy.”
he learns all his dirty talk from the dirty movies they’ve watched too. apart from his instincts and his imagination, and of course all his grunts and movements were purely primal.
“it looks so big when you press it up against me. I don’t know how it’s gonna fit when we get married,” she gasps, watching him rut like a dog and how it goes past her belly button. it’s sloppy, slippery, jutting around from all the blood that’s filled up. his sac is even heavy against her too. the way it bounces against her hole, gives her another part of him to clench onto too.
“shhh, we’ll make it fit. I won’t let it hurt you. we’ll be nice and wet together, just like this, then it’ll just… it’ll just slide right in,” he gulps. losing any other words that are left to say the more he thinks about it. “we’ll feel so good. and you’re gonna be my wife.”
“keep — keep going baby, don’t stop now,” she pleads. clark nods immediately, kissing on her neck while he humps her even faster. the slick is audible, gushing in between them as they whimper and slide.
“they think I don’t even touch you,” clark hums a laugh, slobbering on her throat through a wet, lazy kiss. “mmm. they think I haven’t even seen you naked. they don’t know I can still make this pussy feel good without even putting it in.”
she sprawls out her legs even wider, mouth open as she has her toes further up in the air, letting him take over their gyrating completely as they both leak all over each other.
“let’s cum together, honey. let me make you feel good. let go for me, cum on me. I wanna make this pussy feel nice and happy.”
clark ruts harder, faster. kisses her chin and swallows up his favorite noises that leave her mouth when they both feel the electric dip in their bellies. both of them clench, clark’s tip stills and presses up right against her clit while he lets out his long, gushing first spurt. she cums just as he’s creaming all over her clit, making a mess of her mound and even up to her stomach. they both roar and hum and whine as they rub out their highs, the splatter of all the evidence of their innocent fun coated all over her as they catch up to their wild heartbeats.
he kisses her and hums all his praises right into her mouth, some of it even nonsense as he slaps his filthy, heavy wet tip back on the lips of her pussy and the hood of her clit.
“you um, felt good? jeez, it’s so wet….”
clark is in awe at her shiny center, enthralled while he plays with the mess a little more. he gets shy and ducks his head back with a laugh and says he’s sorry if she’s too overstimulated. she laughs right back at him and shook her head, wrapping one leg around his hips to trap him back in.
“you can keep playing. it’s all yours.”
“it’s ours. our mess… and gosh is it pretty,” he breathes, rolling his head and tapping the sopping wet folds. “prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.”
“I can’t wait to be your wife.”
“well I can’t wait to be your husband,” clark retorts, pointedly looking at her and leaning in to give her a warm, selfish kiss.
“can’t wait to feel you inside me. all the way,” she whispers. holds onto his face.
“I’ll make you feel so good. I already can’t keep my hands off you.”
“and they’ll never know.”
“nope,” clark grins.
eventually, shortly after clark proposed they graduated to ‘just the tip’ making both of them cum after only a few shallow pumps of clark tearing her open with just his crowned head. and he grazes her g-spot with the most perfect angle to drive them both crazy. but in public, with their matching shiny engagement rings gracing their fingers, they still are perceived as modest as can be.
thinking about cowboy!clark kent talking you through riding him in his awfully charming southern drawl.
"yeah, there ya' go, honey," he's guiding your hips on his cock with big, warm, calloused hands heavy on your skin, his tip hitting that sweet spot inside you with each bounce.
there's an obvious bulge in your tummy from just how big he is, disappearing and reappearing with every shift of your hips.
"ohgod–" you choke out a whine, resting your sweaty forehead on his broad shoulder, letting him do most of the work by manually moving your hips. "s'big, clark" you bite down on his shoulder, his salty skin coating your tongue. that pulls a groan from him, he's rubbing the fat of your ass tenderly.
"i know, baby. i know" he's so loving, so incredibly doting that you can't help but cry out his name, wrapping your arms around his neck and clinging to him as his cock nearly splits you open.
"feels good though, don't it?" he drawls, gripping the hair on your head gently and pulling your face from the crook of his neck so he can pepper reverent kisses on your flushed, damp skin. "my pretty baby, jus' want t'make you feel good" he coos, head lolling back as your pussy flutters around him in response to his sweet words.
"fuck, clark" your face twists in pleasure, limbs turning into puddles as you feel that knot in your gut tightening impossibly. greedy hands roam his body, your fingertips running over his tanned arms and squeezing at his biceps. "m'close" you breathe out, looking down and literally moaning at the sight of the creamy white ring at the base of clark's member.
"i know it, sweet girl. can feel ya' milkin' me" he shakes his head, huffing a chuckle that shifts into a groan as you dig your manicured nails into his shoulders, leaving crescent-shaped marks in your wake. he doesn't mind when you mark him up, if anything it makes him twitch inside of you.
his balls tighten up, heavy with cum as you grind down on him a few last times before your orgasm washes over you, leaving you moaning whorishly into his skin as he fucks up into you. "aw, there ya go, s'good h-honey, love you, sweetheart" he praises you for cumming, as if he didn't just do all of the work. "claaark" you breathe out, collapsing on top of him as a post-orgasm calm washes over you.
he finishes shorty after you, as he always makes it a goal to get you to finish before him. he thrusts up into you sloppily and shoots his warm release deep inside of you, making you squirm on top of him from the strange sensation. "i know, baby, feels weird..." he groans lowly, rubbing soothing circles into the small of your back.
he lets you collapse on top of him, basically a puddle from how fucked out you are. he's pressing little kisses to your bare shoulder every so often, making sure you're as comfortable as you can be. "did so good for me, honey." he's just the sweetest cowboy. <3
synopsis ; You and Martin were inseparable as kids. but ever since he got a girlfriend, you decide to put your feelings aside and cut him off, focusing on your own idol career.
But now that he's also debuted—meaning that you'll be seeing him often in the building, Martin refuses to stop bugging you he finally finds out why you ghosted him in the first place.
ss count ; 12 pictures
word count ; 700 words
featuring ; LNGSHOT members (ohyul, ryul)
warnings ; profanity
taglist ; closed !
MASTERLIST | OO4. | OO5. | OO6.
[ NEW PROFILE UNLOCKED ᝰ.ᐟ ] — Y/N'S PRIVATE TWITTER
Your eyes felt heavy. Well, that was the least of your symptoms. After following your words (aka not eating any meals for a scheduled day) for a good month, you'd been more tired, your legs heavy and your head felt like it was a big weight on your shoulders.
But you refused to show the recording camera catch your lethargy, masking on a cheery smile as one of the members of the group explain their new debut concept.
The last group left to be interviewed by you and Martin was LNGSHOT. They were just about your age range, so you were thankful at how quickly they assimilated to the banter and scripted jokes you and Martin had thrown around in the interview.
As Ohyul, the leader of the group had explained with the camera zoomed into him, you take the chance to flit your eyes away from looking straigh to look at Martin, his gaze already on you before you had even thought of glancing at him.
He smiled crookedly, his brows raising exaggeratedly as a way to make you break your 'commercial' smile. It worked. You even let out a small chuckle that thankfully wasn't caught by your mic.
Shaking your head at the disbelief of his humor, you look away now, suddenly focused back into going into a professional MC. But as you place your eyes on Ohyul, pretending to be intent on listening on his words while he kept talking, you could feel another pair of eyes on you.
It wasn't Martin. Martin's gaze felt warm. Familiar.
This one made your heart shiver, and surprisingly? It was in a good way. It felt new. Foreign.
Following your gut, you sense where it was coming from, only to meet dark colored irises boring into your soul.
It was Ryul.
Not wanting to seem as delicate as you assumed he would think, you stood your ground, not breaking his gaze as you smiled, trying hard not to breath out shakily.
For a quick second, he looked away with a mischievous grin, before his gaze stuck back to you, his eyes doing a quick once-over down your figure before meeting your eyes again.
His smirk was chesire-like, nodding slightly in some sort of weird agreement, tongue poking in cheek.
You aren't sure how to respond, smiling bashfully without you even registering that you registering doing it, nodding back at him in recognition.
Fuck, he was really attractive.
Like, extremely hot. I mean, obviously. The basic pre-requisite of being a K-Pop Idol is to be conventionally attractive. But there was something about how Ryul looked, and how he looked at you with that gaze, that just made your cheeks warm, and the nape of your neck sweat—even with the air conditioning blasting on high.
Ohyul finally had finished explaining, the camera zooming back out again to capture the original shot of the MC's once more.
You only registered that you were supposed to talk after half a second, quickly remembering you were here to do your job, not to play eye tag with a boy. A really, drop-dead handsome boy at that.
You looked away, and he did too.
You continue your dialogue, slipping back into the professional role you were supposed to be in, completely acting like nothing had happened in the span of a sew seconds with you off-camera.
But Ryul remained smug, his grin cheeky and vague.
That small, electrifying moment between the two of you, you both came to an undisclosed agreement that it would just be a little thing.
Just a passing nod at one another. Nothing else, probably.
Little did you both know, you had an audience.
That audience being Martin.
The tall boy was thankful he was a professional, because if he wasn't after seeing that small interaction, he isn't sure if he could hold back the subconscious furrow of his brows.
But what he couldn't avoid was the weird flip in his stomach. Not the kind where you get butterflies, or where it feels warm and fuzzy. But the unwelcome kind, the one where you feel like you might throw up.
He doesn't feel good about it.
Hmm.
He isn't sure why.
HAHSHDAHA this scene is very heavily based on that one video of ryul checking a shottie out UGH if i was that girl i would've pounced at him like a fnaf 2 jumpscare idc-
also sorry for the late post, uni just started and we already have an exam we have to prepare for so i'm advance studying now :[ idk if i picked the right course fam. . . pray for me !!!
"Look at you looking so pretty with my cock stuffed in you." Rafe said with a smirk as he slammed into you. You cried out when he slapped your ass roughly. Your cheek and chest were pressed against the bed, sticking to the sheets because of your sweat. He had been fucking you pretty much all morning.
He snaked his hand around your throat before he forced you to look at him. You eyes began to flutter closed but a rough thrust forced them open again and you yelped.
"Keep those pretty eyes on me, baby." He said as he continued to thrust into you. "Fuck, you're such a pretty girl. Such a pretty little slut." He murmured. His dick was hitting your g-spot over and over again causing you to become a moaning mess.
"Ah- fuck, Rafe!" You moaned loudly as your pussy clenched around his cock.
"God I love this pussy." He groaned. "Gonna stuff you so full, make you all swelled up with my baby." He groaned as he shot his load deep into you. "Gonna fill this pussy up more than once, make sure everyone knows that you are mine."
❀ end note: thank you for reading!
❀ if you liked this fic then i would really appreciate it if you liked, or commented, or reblog it! thanks for reading! ❀
bless your kind heart. you patched up and comfort your bsf after he had a rough night with his dad. but you dont know it was all fake & lies, do you? (wc: 12k+)
“are you fucking kidding me? get off the property, you filthy pogues!”
topper shouts out, rolling his eyes when he saw jj maybank and pope heyward sitting on the bumper of the country club golf carts, trespassing and drinking stolen kook beer. laughing without any guilt.
topper and rafe were just walking out of the back kitchen doors of the country club after a kook dinner. they walked through the dark alleyway until topper spotted them.
after topper spoke up, pope stood up from the bumper. ready to leave and avoid any conflict. “alright, were leaving. c’mon, j.”
but as pope tried to walk past them, rafe steps directly—blocking the path with his massive frame. he tilts his head, a terrifying smile slowly spreading across his face.
“whoa, wait a second.” rafe grabs pope by the shoulders. he looks back at topper, “where are your manners, top? you dont just kick guests out.” rafe grins. “not when theyre enjoying our world-class hospitality.” he continued, glaring at jj and pope.
jj stopped in his tracks, eyes narrowing at rafe. he already knows whats gonna happen. rafe takes a slow step forward. trapping both of them.
“so?” rafe crossed his heavy arms, looking down at the half empty beer can jj is holding on. “how is it? the imported stuff. tastes better than the swamp water you guys drank down at the cut, aint it?”
pope stays quiet. but he sure looks back at rafe in disgust. while jj cant keep his mouth shut.. “nice golf cart,” he looks back at it. “does it come with a pair of balls, or do you have to borrow your dad’s?”
rafe’s jaw clenched. face getting blank, but the smile doesnt leave him. his fist shoots out, hitting jj directly across the jaw. its sharp and fast. jj stumbles back, and holding his face.
“wrong answer, maybank.” rafe chides softly. head shaking in fake dissapointment. “lets try again. d’you know how much a membership costs here? take a guess.”
jj spits a wad of blood onto the asphalt, glaring back at rafe. pausing in between his breaths, “go to hell, rafe.” he lunges over, throwing a hook straight into rafe’s head.
the punch grazes rafe’s cheekbone, snapping his head to the side. rafe’s eyes go dark. before jj can swing again, rafe dodged. he punched straight into jj’s stomach.
jj folds, clutching his stomach while gasping for air. but he immediately smashed rafe’s nose, causing a little blood to spurt instantly. jj later tried to tackle rafe by the waist.
“hey, back off!” pope yelled, rushing in to pull rafe away from his friend. but topper was faster. he grabs pope by the collar of his jacket and slams him hard against a bricked wall. “stay out of it!” topper yells back.
jj threw elbows and kicked—but rafe is bigger and more aggressive. rafe grabs the front of his shirt, shoving jj backward.
jj’s body slammed hard into the side of the golf cart and down to the asphalt. jj pushed himself up on his elbows, clutching his ribs. he stares up at rafe.
jj lets out a breathless laugh “you got alot of anger for someone who pretends to be sweet around your bestfriend, rafe. does she know youre a fucking psycho? bet if she does, she wont let you get in her pants.”
the alleyway goes completely silent. topper flinches, knowing what his crazy friend will do. pope closes his eyes, knowing jj went too far.
“keep my girl out of your fucking mouth!” rafe roars.
he lunges forward, grabbing jj by throat and slamming him so hard against the asphalt. rafe doesnt fucking care. he could just kill him right now. rafe punched jj three times, his gold ring slices jj’s eyebrow open.
pope breaks away from topper and tackles rafe from the side. only for pope to get another punch by rafe in the jaw.
topper grabbed rafe’s forearms and shoulders to stop him. “dude, stop! youre gonna kill him! if the cops come—”
rafe firmly shrugged him off. but he stopped punching jj. rafe shot a warning look to topper. then, he gets up and goes back inside his truck, slamming the door shut.
his chest heaving. breath getting ragged. the adrenaline’s still there. rafe holds his nose to prevent from bleeding further after jj’s punch. his knuckles hurt from bruising. fuck, he needed an escape. anything. to make him calm down.
he searched for coke in his truck. his movements getting sloppy. “no no no, where is it?!” he remembers well last week he snorts some and getting high inside his own truck.
shit. he forgot ward had caught them. his dad threw the cokes away and threatened him to stay out of it. called him a dissapointment.
he cant help, a frustrated sob escapes him first. tears of anger and exhaustion wetting his face. theres nothing he could do to make him relax again.
until then, rafe remembers something.
you. his bestfriend girl.
he remembers exactly your soft hands were. he remembers how you always try to take care of him when he complains about a headache. and how gentle your hands were running through his hair.
you were so sweet and grounding. why didnt he think of you earlier? you were better than any coke he had snorted anyway.
hes thinking about coming over to your place. but its midnight already. are you asleep yet?
rafe reached for his phone, opening your contact to text you. he found something. yours and his texts from today, hours ago from this noon:
“imma watch ‘about time’ tonight! :) guess ill stay up late haha. have you watched itt??” and he replied exactly: “stay up late? really? you should sleep. and no, not interested.” he forgot.
thats it. hes gonna come over now.
your eyes stayed focus on the tv screen infront, mind absorbing in the movie youre watching. body laying relax on bed. you were so peaceful in your brand new pajamas that rafe bought days ago.
until, you heard a heavy tapping on your second story window. you paused the movie, leaving your bed and pulling the curtains up. a gasp left your mouth. rafe, his nose bleeding, cheekbone bruised and hair messy. hes clinging to the trellis with his broad shoulders hunched.
he wasnt the rafe you usually see. he doesnt look like a cocky kook prince.
you immediately unlock the window, pushing it open. “ray?! oh my god, what happened?” rafe gets inside your room and sat on the carpet.
well.. lying a little wouldnt cause any problems, right? this might be the perfect time. hell, theres no way hes gonna tell you that he almost killed the pogues. not when youre so sweet and looks at him like a god. he couldnt imagine if one day, you looked at him as the way everyone does.
“dont.” his voice is broken. he looks up at you, eyes red and glassy with tears. “just dont look at me now, please..”
“your nose..” you moved closer to him, putting a hand on his shoulder. “who did this to you, ray? you can tell me everything.”
rafe lets out a pathetic exhale. “it was ward.” he lies admits. “he screamed at me, telling me that im a dissapointment and ruining the family name. i didnt see it coming, he just suddenly swung.” voice cracking, his fingers wiping his tears.
“he told me he wishes sarah was his only kid. its always sarah. and im just a liability he has to pay for.” he drags a palm across his tear filled eyes.
your heart sank listening to his story. “thats horrible. im so sorry, ray. c’mere.” you pulled him closer, giving him a warm tight hug. fingers gently running through his hair and you rub his wide back to soothe him.
over your shoulder, rafe’s fake tears and expression faded. a sinister smile coming through. he hit the jackpot. he could just beat the pogues until they die and still get some comfort from you.
“hes wrong, ray. dont listen to him. ward is miserable and he takes everything out to you. youre not a liability.” you pulled away from him, he quickly changed his expression again. you put a hand over his left cheek, wiping his tear. and then you both go silent for a moment.
he needs to stay here. and sleep with you. he misses you.
his blue eyes watch your face intently. “you look beautiful. go have fun.” he said softly, trying to stand up. “ill just.. ill probably go back home. if my dad starts up again, dont worry.” hes pity baiting hoping you could let him crash here.
your eyes going wide in panic. before he could walk away, you grab his wrist. “n-no. dont go back there. you can stay here for the night.”
“here, sit.” you stood up and bring him closer to your bed. he sits in the middle of it. with you on the edge of the bed. you stare at each other, making a long eye contact. he kept watching you with his half lidded gaze.
you clear your throat, feeling awkward under his gaze. “your nose, ill take care of it. wait here.” you rushed out of your bedroom, looking for some ice and a thin towel. after a minute passed, youre back inside.
you slowly get on the bed. moving closer to his spread thighs, pushing yourself down. rafe let out a grunt. he couldnt bear the feeling of your soft ass pressing against his thighs. or that your warm pussy is sitting right on top of his throbbing dick, just fabrics separating you. he wishes he could just dry hump you right there until youre soaked.
since you sit on his lap, his face is met with the sight of your tits. without any shame or awkwardness, he pressed his face right into your tits. feeling how warm your body is. fuck, did your tits get bigger? uh, maybe not, his mind is hazing over.
you giggle against him, patting the top of his head. “ray, youre so clingy.” not even thinking anything dirty about it, hes just your rafe. you bring the towel-wrapped ice pack closer to him.
“look at me.” you whisper softly. he stops nuzzling his face, looking right up to you. youve never been this close to him. and you cant help but to secretly admire his handsome features.
you pressed the cold towel gently to his swelling nose. but your hands shaking slightly, dont know why. you carefully wipe the smeared blood off his top lip.
rafe looks up at you and down lazily. “youre shaking.” another cocky smirk escapes him. this jerk. hes literally in pain and got the audacity to be annoying!
“n-no, im just mad at him for hurting you this bad.” you lie. well, not really cause youre actually upset with ward. “yeah?” he replied back. you only have one weakness. holding a long eye contact with rafe cameron. hes your bestfriend, yeah, but.. still! hes so intense. his gaze wont even look away from you now.
“you wearin’ the pajama i bought, huh?” a small smile escapes him. you smile back softly while holding the towel against his nose. “its.. comfy.”
you swear to god, you feel his big hands dropping down slowly from the sides of your waist to your ass.
he just taps the cheeks of your ass with both of his hands, humming slightly. you feel your face burning.
and just then, he admits something in between the silence. “i miss you.”
you stare back at him with a raised eyebrow, chuckling. “rafe, we just met yesterday. its only been a day.”
his thick fingers slowly cupping the fat of your ass. he didnt hesitate to grind his fat cock against you, seeking the warm feeling between your legs. “i know. i still miss you.”
you bit a lip to supress a moan. and youre also still focusing on his broken nose. you cant say anything. because if you do, you dont wanna be the person that oversexualize everything or being a pervert in the room.
but rafe watched you. he knows your body language well. he slowly grinds his clothed dick again, back and forth. his fingers are almost squeezing your ass now. “you dont miss me?” he tilts his head, trying to tease and get a reaction out of you. he loves how youre trying to act normal.
“i.. miss you too.” you spoke back. you dont even look at his eyes, gaze focusing on his broken nose. feeling your body stiff. and god, you never realized youre that small compared to his frame.
you hate to admit that youre slightly wet.
but desperately trying to change the convo, you stopped pressing the cold towel against his nose. getting up from his lap. “your shirt’s dirty. ill go check if my dad have some for you to borrow.” you smile awkwardly before leaving your bedroom.
the second you leave, rafe smirks. he didnt give a shit about the pain. he only cared that you were actually affected and trying to fetch him clothes like a perfect trained doll. he had beaten up the pogues, weaponize his trauma, and crossed your boundaries without you even protesting.
he knew with terrifying certainty, that he owned you.
ⓘ do not copy/repost my work or use my idea to ai. likes nd reblogs are appreciated! dividers by @/cursed-camine.
cw. canon rafe, unhealthy obsession, stalking, rafe and a one-sided crush (at first), angst, kissing, needy rafe, masturbation (m), meltdowns, confessions, lots of dialogue, inebriated sex, drugs, unprotected sex, semi public sex, breeding, size kink (rafe has a huge dick), dom/sub, possessiveness, light cumplay, reader is often pressured into acts with rafe. it is not entirely consensual.
synopsis. rafe has never had such intense feelings for someone until he met you. his problem is that he doesn't know how to get you to want him back.
Rafe watches you intently as you flit around the snack bar at the country club, serving a rich family overpriced ice creams. You'd been working at the concessions stand since summer started. No doubt a seasonal job to pay for college. He could pay your whole tuition and not bat an eye, and it's not like he hasn't offered on multiple occasions.
He'd been strangely offended when you'd gotten defensive and angry. You accused him of throwing money at you like you're a whore. You think the worst of him. He knows you do. He can see the way you behave around him.
He noticed your smile always faded when he entered your line of sight. You usually bolted with a weak excuse of being busy, or gave him clipped, terse responses if he managed to get you to speak to him. Even then, it felt like he was talking at you, and you were responding like you had a gun to your head.
Perhaps you thought you were too good for him. That fancy college you were going to was getting to your head. Maybe you were dating some douchebag econ major... He didn't even realize the family left and he was just staring at you. You're probably even more creeped out by him now. You have this odd look on your face and there's a stiffness in the way you stand now, like you're trying to shrink yourself without being obvious.
He takes a sharp breath in and walks over to you, hands sliding into his pocket to hold out the pretty necklace he bought you today. He was planning to ask you out. For the second time this week already.
He fidgets with the necklace in his pocket, running his thumb along the delicate little charm he'd picked out earlier that day. It reminded him of you, all soft and bright and way too expensive for someone scooping sherbet in the heat. He'd thought about just leaving it in your locker. But no, that'd be weird. Creepy, even. He wasn't creepy.
Your shift is almost over. He can tell by the way you've started glancing at your phone, counting down minutes. You don't look up when he stops at the counter. But you freeze for just a second. Your hand lingers too long on a napkin dispenser.
"I g-got you something," he mumbles, voice low and a little nervous, like a child speaking to their first love. He pulls the necklace from his pocket slowly, afraid you'll turn him away. You finally look up. Not at the necklace but at him. Your face is guarded.
"Rafe…" Your voice is soft, but there's weight behind it. You sound tired. "I told you not to-"
"You didn't let me finish last time," he says, setting the little box a little too hard onto the countertop. "You never… you never let me finish. I'm not trying to buy your attention. I just… think about you a lot." He swallows, tongue darting across the inside of his cheek. "You don't even have to wear it. I just thought it was pretty. Like you."
You blink, eyes scanning his face. It almost sounds like he's rambling, and your cheeks warm up at the compliment. Still, wearing something a man bought you is far too intimate for your liking. He notices your hands twitch slightly at your sides.
You shift your weight like you want to step back but don't want to make it obvious. The silence that follows is thick. Your eyes drop to the box, then lift again to meet his. You're not smiling. He wishes you'd smile at him. The cute one with a hint of a dimple. You're so adorable.
"I don't want to owe you anything," you say quietly. "And I don't want you thinking that this means anything. Because it doesn't. I don't feel that way towards you."
Rafe's feels his heart sink like a rock in a body of water, his eyes trained on you as you lower your head, gnawing on your plump lower lip. You're a coward. He thinks to himself. Mumbling that to him while being incapable of looking him in the eyes. He reminds himself that this happens every time he makes a move on you, but it still stings.
"Why not? How do I make you want me?" The words tumble out before he can stop them. He feels like such a loser. He's practically begging for your attention.
"You dont, Rafe." You mumble. You don't meet his eyes again as you gather up your things, shifting uncomfortably as you turn away. There's no venom in your voice, like he's not even worth the time or energy to get mad at. "Stop wasting your time with me and go hang out with the girls your speed."
He frowns, pushing his body against the counter as he watches you lock everything up. His eyes drift to the way your tits push against your thin polo when you lean forward to grab your phone charger. Fuck, he wants you.
His mind returns to your last couple words. "What do you mean my speed? You're my speed. I want you to be my speed."
You scoff lightly, shaking your head. You think he's clueless. He knows you do. As you slide out of the concessions stand and come around to roll down the security shutters and lock it. He stares down at you, admiring the way your body moves. You're not answering him, so he holds onto your upper arm and turns you with little to no effort so that he can look at you. You're just… so out of his league, and yet, he can't let go of this hope. This stupid, selfish hope that you'll turn to him one day. That you'll see him the way he's seeing you now.
"I don't know why you're doing this," he continues, his voice rougher than he means. "But I'm not the bad guy here, alright?" He steps closer to you, leaning in. His heart races, his voice low but urgent. "I know you... you don't want me anywhere near you. But I can't stop thinking about you. Every damn day. Every time I see you, I-" He pauses, his breath catching in his throat as the words spill out before he can stop them. "It h-hurts. It fucking hurts, you know?"
The silence between you two stretches, and Rafe's chest rises and falls rapidly like he's been holding his breath for too long. His hands shake. He's not sure if he's angry or desperate, but either way, he can't let it go. He needs something from you but he knows it's not something you can give so easily. You stare at him silently through long lashes, your brows furrowed. You hate him. "I'm going home, Rafe," you say, not acknowledging his desperation. "I suggest you give this a rest."
He watches as you tear your arm out of his grip to brush past him and head toward your dingy little car, hips swaying as you walk. The pretty necklace he bought you is still in his possession. Like he's out of his mind, he stalks after you from a distance just as you get into your car. He walks to his own truck and decides to tail you to your home.
-
Rafe shows up the next morning like he didn't follow you home the night before and sit in his truck outside your house for hours with his hands clenched tight on the steering wheel, replaying your voice in his head on a loop.
"I don't want you." "Stop wasting your time."
He'd been a fight with his dad this morning, and that, paired with yet another day going by with you refusing to open up to him, had pushed him over the edge. The fight had been loud, ugly, and violent and had left his voice hoarse and his knuckles raw from punching drywall. He'd stormed out without a plan, just his keys in hand and the necklace in his pocket.
You're working in the stupid concessions stand again, your face a little sleep ridden, but so so cute. He stares at you like it hurts to look and hurts worse not to.
When you see him storm up to the front, you frown immediately "I told you to stop coming here," you murmur softly, stepping back just a little, but you don't yell or swear at him.
"I know, I know," he rushes out, his voice low and breathless. "But I-I need this. I'm going through some shit right now, alright? I'm not okay. I swear I'll leave right after, I just.. fuck, I just need to hold you right now. Please."
You blink, staring at him from behind the counter with furrowed brows and pursed like you're unsure. Your voice is soft. "Rafe…"
He talks over you before you can turn him away "I'm not trying to pull anything. I'm not here to freak you out. I…" He drags a hand through his hair, pacing outside the snack shack like he's going to have a meltdown. "Please. I really, really need this. God, I miss you and I don't even have you yet."
That makes you pause, your brain scrambling to process the sheer desperation in his words. Your face is warm for a reason you don't comprehend right now. Your eyes flick up to his, and you sigh. "Fine," you whisper, stepping aside to move to the side door and open it. "Just for a bit." He's inside before you finish the sentence.
He practically throws himself on you, arms around your waist, head buried in your neck as he exhales into your skin. You stumble a little because he's so big and heavy, but he wraps his arms around you tighter to keep you steady. Your hands go instinctively to his shoulders, and he relaxes, grounded against you the second he has you in his arms. You're so warm and soft and you smell sweet, causing his body to relax against yours. He can finally breathe.
You tentatively reach up to touch his hair gently, voice unsure. "Did… something happen?"
He just hums, not answering right away, eyes fluttering shut against your collarbone. "You feel so good," he mumbles. "Shit… I don't know what's wrong with me…"
You don't respond. You just let him hold you, fingers threading through his hair, and for a moment, he actually feels calm. He doesn't even care that you're not kissing him or telling him you feel the same. This is enough for now.
He holds you for a long time. Too long, probably, but you don't push him off. Your fingers are still gently threading through his hair, and Rafe presses himself against you tighter like he can fuse the two of you together if he tries hard enough. Feels like he wants to be in your skin. He doesn't say anything for a moment, just soaks in the warmth of your body, the comfort of your scent, the softness of your voice when you ask, "Are you feeling any better?"
He is, really. Much, much better. So much better that he forgot all about Ward and all his other stupid problems, but he needs more. You've got him hooked. "Can I come hang out with you in the stand today?" he asks quietly, nuzzling into your throat. "I'll sit in the back, I swear I won't bother you, I swear."
You hesitate, and he feels it immediately in the way your fingers pause in his hair. You pull back slightly, and he lifts his head to meet your eyes, already expecting the no before you whisper it. "I can't, Rafe. I'll get in trouble. I can't have people hanging around,"
"But I'm not just people," he interrupts, frowning. "I'd be quiet. Just… just let me be near you, please. I can't go back there. Can't go home. Just wanna be with you."
"Rafe…"
"Okay," he says quickly, licking his lips and pulling his hand from his pocket. "Okay, fine. What about the necklace, then?" You blink as he holds out the box again, careful this time, not slamming it on a counter or shoving it in your hands. Just opening it slowly, almost reverently. "Will you wear it? Please?"
There's a pitiful look on his face that makes your resolve falter. His eyes are shiny, lips red and swollen from biting and licking, his face flushed. He's holding you tightly with his free hand. You sigh softly, giving in. "Fine. Just… just for today."
His whole face lights up. "Really? You will?" You nod, reaching for the box, but he stops you gently, one hand brushing yours. "C-can I put it on you?"
You hesitate again, and he's already behind you before you can think of a reason to say no. His fingers tremble a little as he pushes your hair aside, letting the soft strands fall through his hands like silk. You smell like something clean and dreamy, like vanilla and sunlight, and he swears it makes his head spin.
He hooks the necklace around your throat, clasping it carefully, and then just lets his hands rest on your shoulders for a second too long. You're wearing his necklace. Surely that means you're closer to becoming his, right? You're being so nice to him today, he thinks. "You look s'pretty, angel" he murmurs, eyes trained on your skin. "It looks perfect on you."
You turn to face him, not frowning so much anymore. "Thank you… but, seriously. You should go now, my boss does rounds in the morning, and-"
"I know, I know." He nods quickly, eyes dropping to your lips, voice barely above a whisper. "Do you... do you think I could kiss you? Just once?"
You pull back slightly, unsure. "I don't think that's a good idea…"
"Please," he breathes, his hands grabbing onto your arms to make sure you don't run from him. "I swear I won't ask again. Just once. I'm not okay, alright? I need to know what it feels like. Just one. I'm begging you."
You pause. He's looking at you like he's breaking and one kiss could fix something inside him. You furrow your brows, caught between your own better judgment and the way his voice sounds all wrecked and shaky when he speaks, and you know that he won't let this go, so yet again, you give in. "…Just a small one."
He doesn't wait, pressing his mouth to yours with such desperation it makes you reel back slightly. His hands come up to your face, thumbs grazing your cheeks like you're made of glass. He makes sure not to go too fast or try to shove his tongue in your mouth. He wants to savor every last bit of this before you pull away and go back to ignoring him. When his lips move against yours, it's reverent, and his lips seal around yours, making soft smacking sounds. He can't help the breathy groans that leave him. When you finally pull back, he's not all there.
You're warm in the face, wide-eyed, and still close enough that he can feel your breath fan against his lips. "Rafe…" you whisper, gently guiding him back by the shoulders. "You should go." He doesn't say anything, just nods, eyes still glassy and dazed, letting you push the door open and give him a soft little smile, biting your lip to hold it back, as he stumbles outside, like he's in a fog. The door shuts behind him.
He walks to his truck like he's drunk, heart pounding, lips tingling, mind still wrapped around the way your mouth felt on his. He's never felt this before. Not with anyone. He sits in his truck for a long time after that, tasting you on his lips and listening to his heart drum in his ears.
-
Rafe doesn't leave his room for hours after the kiss.
He's lying on his bed, shirt thrown onto the ground and breathing way too hard. The way your mouth felt on his feels like it's been carved into his brain. Burned into it, more like. He can't stop thinking about how it felt to hold you and press his lips to yours all desperate and sloppy no matter how many times he tries to get it together. He can still faintly taste your strawberry lip gloss on his mouth and hear the soft little moans you made when you kissed him back, even if they were quiet. Next time, he'll make you scream.
He turns over in his bed, running his fingers through his hair. He wonders if he's drowning. Nothing feels real right now. You kissed him. He didn't force himself on you or make you do anything you didn't want to. You gave yourself to him, and now he needs more, but you're so difficult. Sweet and soft but just out of reach like you like watching him go crazy.
He sits up too fast, legs bouncing with nervous energy as he grabs his phone and opens your social media so fast it feels like muscle memory. He scrolls through your posts until he finds one he's seen many times before. One where you're at a kegger with friends in a little crop top with shorts where he can see the bottom piece of your bikini underneath.
You look like his wet dreams come to life. He likes this picture because it looks like you were made for him. All sunkissed, wearing his favorite colors, smiling all cute and innocent, fuck…
He tosses his phone to the floor like it burns to hold it and closes his eyes until all he can see is your mouth parting against his, the way your lashes fluttered. The heat of your body under his hands, how easy it would've been to just keep going, to press you up against the wall and devour you like he wanted to. He can't breathe.
He's sliding his hand into his pants before he can think, not bothering to take off his shorts or boxers, just easing his cock out of their confines and groaning at its sensitivity, hunching forward and slowly beginning to pump his hand up and down. He thinks about you in his necklace, bending you over the counter of your dumb little snack store, kissing you again… God, he thinks you're it for him. You're all he wants..
He moans softly, quietly, the sound muffled into his pillow. His hips buck up into his fist, and it's not just lust driving him, it's panic. It feels like you crawled into his veins and rewired every cell of his body. "Shit… can't last…"
He fucks into his hand harder, chasing the feeling with a frustrated groan. It's not enough. It's not enough. He wants your voice in his ear, wants your thighs around his waist, wants your little breathy moans right against his mouth.
His hand moves faster, messier, thumb dragging over the tip just to feel the way his cock twitches, but it's not the same, not even close to how it felt when you touched him. He tightens his grip on his cock a little to try and imagine how it would feel being inside you for real. Wetter, he thinks, and he leans back to spit in his hand, then going back to milking his cock with his hand, forehead pressed into his pillow. His voice is quiet and wrecked, whispered little groans into the pillow as his hips twitch, fucking up into his fist like your pussy's the only thing that could calm him down. "Fuck... fuck... want you s'bad, angel, mngh"
His hand stutters, hips jerking, and he cums with a low, guttural groan that's more desperate than anything, thick, creamy spurts coating his fingers, his chest, his boxers, but the second it's over, the second he catches his breath, the ache only sharpens.
When he checks up on you the next morning like a routine at your place of work, he swears he's gonna puke when he pulls up to the country club and you're not there.
At first, he tells himself maybe you're just late. Maybe you overslept or your car broke down or you're inside and he didn't see you. But after he walks in and asks your manager, only to be told with a shrug that "she's taking a chill day," it's like the floor falls out from under him.
Why didn't you tell him? You gave him no explanation, no warning, no clue about what you're doing or or where you are or who you're with and his brain is going fucking crazy. He drives around for thirty minutes, chewing his nail and shaking his leg and refreshing your socials like a psycho, until finally he pulls up outside your house, parks crooked, throws it in park, and marches up the steps like a man possessed.
He knocks once. Then again, and quickly, he's pounding on the door, then with both fists. His heart is racing. His hands are sweating. And then you open the door and he just sags, a shaky breath leaving his chest. You're in a giant t-shirt with and little shorts, holding a spatula in one hand and blinking up at him like you just woke up. "Rafe?"
He's already crowding the door, peeking behind you like he's trying to find a way to barge in. "Why weren't you at work?" You frown up at him, still surprised at the sheer unexpectedness of his arrival. Why is it that he shows up wherever you go? "I... I just took the day off."
"Took the day off?" he echoes like you just told him you're moving to another continent. "Why?" You blink, stepping back a little because of how close he is. "Just wanted a day to myself. I'm going to a bonfire later and didn't wanna be tired."
"A bonfire," he repeats, stepping over the threshold without waiting for an invite. "With who?" His gaze flicks over to your exposed legs, then your thighs and your lips, plush and a little swollen. "You never take days off. Since when do you go to bonfires?"
You furrow your brows, confused and still kind of sleepy. "Rafe, what's going on? Are you okay?"
"No," he says immediately, eyes flitting over your face, down your neck, lingering on the dip of your collarbone, where the charm of the necklace he bought you is still resting. "No, I'm not. You weren't there. I-I didn't know where you were, cause you never told me."
Your expression softens as you see that he's not doing so good right now. Feels like he needs you. "I'm fine. I was just making pancakes."
"Who else is going?" he asks, voice hard and words coming out fast. "To the bonfire."
You pause. "I dunno. A few people."
"Guys?"
You blink. "Probably?"
His jaw clenches. "What are you wearing?"
You splutter again, this time caught off guard. "To the bonfire?"
"Yeah."
"Ah... not sure yet, I guess"
He stares at you like he doesn't believe you. Like you're lying just to mess with him. "Are you gonna drink?"
You finally realize the absurdity of his comments and scoff lightly. "Why are you acting like my boyfriend?"
Rafe takes a step closer to you, his breath coming out shaky, his jaw tight. His eyes are dark, gaze heavy with something you can't quite place. "Because I will be," he says, low and determined, like it's a promise. You're caught off guard, but you don't let him see that. You cross your arms over your chest, clearly trying to hold on to your composure. "What?"
His eyes never leave you. He looks dead serious; there's not a single flicker of hesitation in his voice. "I'm gonna be your boyfriend," he repeats, firm this time, almost like he's daring you to contradict him.
You stare at him, the weight of it settling over the room like a thick fog, and Rafe takes a step closer, like he's trying to prove something just by you letting him be so close to you.
"You can't just disappear like that, okay?" he says, sounding bossy. "I thought you were gone. Like...gone gone. I had to talk to your boss, cause I don't like when I don't know where you are," he rambles, eyes locked on yours. "I don't like not knowing who you're with, or what you're wearing, or if someone's getting you drunk and trying to take you home."
Alarmed by how he's starting to sound frantic, you think this would be a good time to give him some space and angle the door just enough that he can't get past it. "Rafe, go home." you say quietly, not looking him in the eye as you tuck the spatula behind you and lean into the door like a warning. "You're freaking me out."
Rafe's face twists, first in confusion, like he's still catching up to what you just said, and then in disbelief, then anger.
"How am I freaking you out, huh? You're just overreacting, like always. Trying to treat me like I'm a goddamn basket case."
"I don't like this," you continue, more firmly now, your pulse speeding up. "You show up at my house and start asking all these questions like you own me or something,"
"It's cause I care about you," he snaps, voice rising a little as his eyes burn into yours, his chest lifting with every breath. "You don't get it, do you? You think it's nothing, but it's not. You disappear, you don't text, and now you're telling me you're going out to get wasted with God knows who." His hands are clenching and unclenching rapidly and he keeps raking his hands incessantly through his hair.
"I don't owe you an explanation."
"Yes, you fucking do!"
You flinch, just slightly, and he sees how your fingers curl tighter around the edge of the door, and it makes him panic. He steps forward like he's going to force his way in and you push the door tighter with a hard look, shaking your head.
"I'm not doing this," you say, voice cold now, your tone clipped and unfamiliar. "I'm not gonna let you guilt trip me just because I wanted one night to myself."
"You're not just trying to have a night to yourself," he says bitterly, jaw tight as he takes a shaky breath, eyes wide and manic-like, as though he's about to unravel right in front of you. "You're going out so you can slut yourself out, right? So you can get drunk and let some random guy put his hands all over you, and then you're gonna let him fuck you."
"Excuse me?" you hiss, eyes wide as your entire body goes still.
"You think I don't know?" Rafe seethes, running a hand through his hair, pacing back like he's physically trying to keep from grabbing you. "You think I haven't seen the way you look when you're flirting? You get that sexy little look in your eyes like you're begging to be bent over. Like you want guys' attention. A-and you post shit, you wear tiny hooker shorts and laugh at every guy that breathes near you and then act like I'm the one who's crazy when I don't want to fucking lose you!"
"You are crazy," you snap, voice rising for the first time. "You're out of your fucking mind. You don't get to walk into my house and tell me what I can wear or who I can be around just because we kissed."
"IT WASN'T JUST A KISS!" he roars. "DON'T YOU FUCKING GET IT? YOU'RE EVERYTHING TO ME!"
You flinch back when he screams at you, and your breathing goes shallow, lips parting like you want to say something else, but nothing comes out. "Rafe," you say instead, voice low, scared. "P-please, you need to go."
"No," he whispers immediately, shaking his head like a child. "No, don't shut me out. Don't do this. You don't mean that-"
"Go away, Rafe!" you cry out, and slam the door in his face before you can change your mind. The sound echoes through your house, bouncing off the walls and rattling your chest. You lock it.
On the other side, you hear nothing for a long moment. And then the soft thud of his fist hitting the door once, twice. Not to knock, just because he doesn't know what else to do. Then footsteps. Then silence.
You slide to the floor and stare at the spatula still clutched in your hand, heart thudding against your ribs like it's trying to claw its way out, meanwhile he storms away to his truck, immediately driving at an obscene speed. He cruises down the road with one hand gripping the wheel and the other twitching restlessly on his thigh, his head pounding. The sun's going down and the sky is darkening, and all he can think about is you in some tiny little outfit, smiling at some guy who doesn’t fucking deserve it.
He goes home to pass the time with whatever helps take his mind off you. Lifting weights, doing jobs for his dad, golfing...
By nightfall he's buzzing and out on the road, headed to your stupid bonfire.
He hits the brakes too hard pulling into the dirt road leading to the beach. Gravel kicks up under the tires and his pulse doesn’t slow. He leans back in his seat for a second, staring out at the distant flames and silhouettes gathering around them, and he mutters under his breath.
He's met up with some friends, his pupils are blown wide and there’s a girl clinging to his arm, some mutual friend who laughs too loud at everything he says and keeps taking hits to impress him. He doesn’t even remember her name.
He’s already smoked, he did a line back at the house, and now everything feels loose and hazy except the fire and the blurry shape of you. He spots you instantly. You’re standing near the fire, laughing with someone he doesn’t recognize, hair tucked behind your ear, drink in your hand, face lit up by the flames.
He drops his arm from the girl like she’s heavy and annoying, snatches the joint from someone's hand without acting, and leans back into the circle of guys while his eyes never leave you.
Every time you smile, or tilt your head to listen to someone who isn’t him, it feels like his skin is burning. He’s bouncing his leg. Grinding his teeth. His fingertips twitch like he’s about to do something reckless, like walking up to you and grabbing your wrist and dragging you off to somewhere private.
The heat of his stare pricks at the back of your neck, even as you try to ignore it and keep sipping your drink, laughing with your friend and pretending you don’t feel your skin flush for no reason at all. But it gets worse with every passing minute. Every little sound around you starts to blur and all you can feel is him staring.
When you finally turn your head, you find him sitting with a group of guys by the fire, his legs bouncing.
You tear your gaze away and pretend you didn’t see, but it only takes a little while before you go off to talk to your friend and there's a warm, huge body pressing against your back, hands snaking around your waist. Music thrums in your ears, and you feel him nudging his hips against your ass as the scent of weed and expensive cologne fills your nose.
Rafe's voice comes out as a quiet slur against your ear. "M'sorry, angel" he mumbles, pressing his face into your hair. "Don't... d-don't want you mad at me. Couldn't stay home. You're not a slut, I didn't mean that...I swear I didn’t mean it."
You push his arm off, stepping away and whirling around to face him. "Rafe! Are you serious right now? You show up here with some girl all over you and now you’re grinding on me like nothing happened?"
His face twists up in shock or hurt. You can't tell. "No...no, what? No!" he says, voice cracking. "I'm not playing you, why the fuck would I be? I did not do anything with her, I just...fuck, I needed to see you. You slammed the door in my face and I thought-"
"Thought what?" you snap. "That you could get a rise out of me and show me how replaceable I am?" Your words make his eyes go all glassy, just for a second, then they darken. He looks feral. He's tired of you and your inability to understand him or his feelings. His jaw tightens and his breathing spikes, and all of a sudden, he snatches your wrist.
"Come here."
"Rafe, let go of me!"
He doesn’t listen. He’s pulling you off the beach, down the sand while ignoring your scattered protests, all the way until you’re stumbling up the wooden steps of a closed lifeguard shack just off the edge of the bonfire. You yank at his grip but he’s too strong, too frantic, like if he lets go, you’ll disappear entirely.
He opens the door and drags you inside, then slams it shut and locks it behind him. The noise of the party dulls outside. Inside, it’s just heavy silence and the sound of both your uneven breaths. You shove at his chest, not a fan of being in such an enclosed space with him. "You're being just as insane as you were at my house, Rafe. You're not even sober right now, are you?"
He stares at you like you just stabbed him. "You don’t get it," he mutters, almost to himself. "You don’t fucking get it."
"I do get it!" you bite back. "I get that you're a manipulative and controlling bast-" That’s when he loses it.
"You think I'm playing games with you?" He screams, grabbing you and shoving you up against the back wall. Your body slams back against the solid surface, and he gets up in your face, nose pressed into yours. "You think I'm playing games? You think this is some fucking joke to me? You have no idea what I feel when I look at you. I can't eat, I can't sleep, I can’t fucking think without you taking over every single last FUCKING one of my thoughts. I've never..!” His voice catches, and his breathing picks up so much that he sounds like he's hyperventilating. "I've never needed someone like this."
You gasp out loud, heart doing a little jump at his words. You dont know if you're confused or nervous or flustered, but he's starting to panic all over again, like he didn't mean to say that. Not in the way he did, at least.
Rafe stares at you like he’s just realized what he said. Like the words ripped out of him before he could pull them back. His eyes are huge, chest rising and falling fast.
“You need me?” you say, and your voice comes out soft. Disbelieving.
His lips part, and he nods, just once. "Yeah. Yeah, I do. I need you so fucking much I think it's killing me. And I know I act like an asshole, I know I say shit I don't mean, but when you slammed that door in my face I thought I was gonna lose my goddamn mind." His voice breaks at the edges again, cracking away. "And then I saw you laughing with someone else and I wanted to kill him. I couldn't take it. You're supposed to smile at me. Only me."
You're quiet for a beat, not knowing what to say. You know you should be more angry and hold your ground, but he's looking at you so desperately. Like always. He squeezes your shoulders and looks intently into your eyes. "I didn’t touch her," he says again, voice barely above a whisper. "I...I-I didn't kiss her, didn't want her. She was just...there. I didn't even look at her. I was looking for you."
Your heart pounds and he comes closer to you, needing a response. Your reaction is difficult to read for him, filling him with uncertainty. He knows you probably don't feel the same towards him, and it crushes him. The silence between you stretches long enough to make him nauseous. But then you ask, in a quiet little voice, "Tell me again."
His brows furrow. "What?"
"That you need me."
He steps in again, and this time his hand comes up, shaking slightly, to brush your cheek. "I need you," he says, firmer now. "I w-want and need you so bad it makes me do stupid shit. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry baby, I just... fuck-" He trails off by attaching his lips onto yours to show you how bad he needs you, lips slotting over yours as he moans at your taste. His hands slide up under your shirt like he has to feel your skin, making their way to your bra, which he lifts up over your breasts to squeeze the soft mounds under your shirt.
You whimper softly against his mouth at the suddenness of it, the heat of his palms rough and eager as they mold over you, and that sound makes Rafe groan from somewhere deep in his chest, kissing you harder and messier. He tastes faintly of mint.
"Missed you," he slurs into your mouth, thumbing over your nipples with clumsy desperation, like he's trying to memorize the shape of you through touch alone. His forehead knocks against yours as he breathes you in, the two of you barely able to catch a breath between kisses.
You jolt, moaning and halfheartedly pushing at his chest, but he pinches your nipple as a punishment, needing you against him. "Mnh! Rafe, we shouldn't," you gasp when his mouth moves to your neck, trailing open mouthed kisses over your pulse, and you feel him nodding against you like he agrees, even though he's still doing it.
He kisses a path down your throat, dragging his nose along your skin. His hands stay under your shirt, squeezing and cupping your breasts. You feel him shudder when you don't push him away again, when instead you tilt your head to the side, granting him more access to your neck. He groans low and desperate, hands smoothing down your waist to your hips, pulling you closer until there's not a sliver of space between your bodies.
You feel how hard he is, grinding against you with slow, needy rolls of his hips. His cock strains against his pants, pressing hotly against you through your clothes, and it makes your breath hitch in your throat.
"Fuck," Rafe hisses into your skin, voice wrecked. "Fuck, baby, please..." He presses his forehead against your shoulder, panting, grinding his hips against yours again like he physically can't help himself. "Want you so bad. Been losin' my mind thinking about you, can't stop." His hands grab at your hips, your ass, trying to feel everything he can at once, desperate and frantic.
He pulls back enough to catch your face in both hands, making you look him in the eye. His pupils are blown wide, hair a mess, chest heaving. "Tell me you want it," he says, low and rough. "Tell me you want me, angel. Please." His thumbs stroke your jaw.
You blink up at him, chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. You don't say anything at first, and that moment of silence just makes him even crazier, and he lets out a broken noise, grinding against you harder, hips stuttering like he's about to lose it just from this.
"Say it," he begs again, voice breaking. "Say you want me."
You finally oblige with a little nod, head spinning. "I-I want you, Rafe. I want it..."
The second the words leave your lips, it's like something inside him snaps. "Fuck," Rafe groans, diving back in to kiss you feverishly, his hands already fumbling at the hem of your shirt, yanking it up over your head. He's frantic, crazed, muttering under his breath: "so pretty, so fucking pretty", as he tosses your shirt somewhere behind him. His hands are everywhere, roaming your skin like he's starving, like he’s trying to devour every inch of you.
He makes quick work of your bra, practically ripping it off and letting it fall to the floor. His mouth drops open when he gets a look at you and he immediately ducks his head, mouthing hotly at the tops of your breasts, whining against your plush tits, moaning at the taste.
His hands can't decide where to stay, cupping your breasts, sliding down your sides, gripping your hips, your ass, he's frantic like he's scared you'll disappear if he lets go even for a second. His mouth trails desperate, sloppy kisses down your chest, tongue flicking out to circle one nipple before sucking it into his mouth with a greedy groan, like he needs it to breathe.
Your fingers find his hair without thinking, threading through the soft strands, and he moans into your skin at the contact, bucking his hips into you harder, unable to stop himself.
He ruts against you like he's in heat, hips grinding up into yours in slow, messy rolls as his cock strains painfully against the fabric of his shorts. Every desperate push of his hips presses his hard length right up against your core, and you feel the heat of him even through all the layers between you.
"Fuck," Rafe gasps, drooling on your tits. His hips jerk forward harder, and the friction makes you both groan. He drags his mouth up your chest, laving his tongue over your breasts and sucking hickeys onto your cleavage, all while rutting against you like he's trying to get off just from the contact.
You feel him shudder, breath hot and shaky against your throat, and his hands fumble clumsily at the waistband of your shorts. "Need you," he mumbles. "Need you now."
He doesn't even try to be smooth, just yanks your shorts down your hips in a couple frantic tugs, letting them fall around your ankles, tugging your panties next. You're helping him too, panting and moaning against his face as you tug down his pants and his boxers, freeing his fat, leaking cock, flushed an angry red from built up arousal. You give pause at the sheer size of his cock, resting heavily against his tummy, looking up at him with wide, glassy eyes. "I-it's big, Rafe... " You trail off, nervous.
He shakes his head and pushes you back onto the wall and hovers over you. "It's okay, it's okay... I'll make it fit. Won't hurt my angel." He slides a hand under your thigh, lifting it so you have no choice but to let him grind against your bare pussy, the length of him dragging right along your slick folds.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he groans, rutting against you slow and messy. He's trying to savor you but can't stop how badly he wants you, and so his cock ends up slipping and sliding against you, catching between your wet, flowery folds with every other thrust. "Rafe" Your eyes flutter as you call out his name, clinging onto him. It feels so good that you're starting to leak wetness down your thighs. "You feel that?" Rafe pants, forehead pressed to yours, eyes fluttering closed as he rocks against you harder. "Feel how bad I want you? How fucking crazy you make me?"
You nod, breathless, overwhelmed, and Rafe lets out a wrecked little moan, rubbing his cock along your soaked slit again and again, like he's trying to carve the feeling into his memory forever. "Angel..." he moans out, voice loud and unrestrained. You wonder if people can hear you two inside the shack.
He continues holding onto your thigh with one hand and his cock with the other, sliding back and forth against your sopping little pussy. "I'm gonna put it inside you, okay?" He whispers, making direct eye contact with you. "Won't hurt you," he restates, voice low and sincere. You don't see how excited he is deep down to finally have you to himself. He's going to finally fuck you. Then, he's going to make you his girlfriend and never let you out of his sight again. You nod, whining softly and angling your body so he's lined up completely with your pretty pussy.
When the tip notches in your tight hole, you cry out at the intrusion, tears sparking in your wide eyes with the discomfort of having something so big beginning to fill you, so he presses his forehead against yours and coos softly, stroking your hair. "I got you, I got you. Shh... almost halfway," he uses the phrase to coax you, even though he's only got his bulbous head and an inch of his length in you. By the time it's really halfway, you can't take anymore and push on his shoulders. "Rafe! 'm too full, I can't..."
"You can, see? Look at me, look." He cups your cheek, nodding to you and slowly thrusting in and out to get you accommodated, nearly bottoming out entirely. Then, he shoves and stretches you out inch by inch, kissing you deeply to keep you distracted, and he feels you squirming and whining loudly as he gets deeper and deeper, and then he feels the wet squelch of his pelvis against your pussy, and he knows he's filled you up all the way.
You're so goddamn tight, and he lets out a low, drawn out moan. He looks down at where his cock disappears into your stretched out, dripping cunt. He can't believe he actually managed to fit the whole fucking thing inside you. Your little pussy is so goddamn tight, gripping him like a vice now that he's buried to the hilt inside you. Your thighs are trembling, and your back's arched off the wall because of the fullness of him inside you.
Rafe grunts as he slowly starts to thrust, his hips jerking forward to spear his rigid length deeper into your pliant body. Your slick walls flutter around him, trying desperately to accommodate the thick girth stretching you out. The way you feel is incredible, your pussy gripping him like you never want to let him go.
"That's it," he grunts, his voice rough and gravelly with arousal. "Angel, shit... your pussy was made for my cock." He starts thrusting faster, driving into you with more force as he enjoys the way your tits bounce with each snap of his hips. You're barely holding yourself up, legs quivering as he spears into you and angles you so he can hit every sweet spot in your warm, gummy pussy.
The thick length of his cock, pulsing and throbbing, spears into your soaked, gripping walls over and over again. He slams into you and grinds his pelvis against yours, his heavy cock burying to the hilt with each thrust inside your flutter walls. "Feels so good, Rafe," You whines softly, panting into his ear. Your praise fuels him and encourages him to fuck you harder, better. He rolls his hips against yours, stirring his huge length around in your stuffed hole.
Rafe fucks into you deep and you can feel him in your stomach, stretching you out, claiming every inch of your body. He's fucking you like he wants to fucking destroy your pussy and rebuild it to be a perfect mold of his cock. "Mhm? Feels good?" He pants, fucking into your cunt and grabbing your jaw with his free hand so he can see your cute, fucked out expression.
"You feel so good. So fucking good...only for me, right?" He demands, wanting your reassurance, and you nod, throwing your head back and moaning when he bumps against a really sensitive spot way too deep inside you.
He grits his teeth, sweat dripping from his forehead, his whole body working just to keep himself from cumming too fast because you're squeezing the life out of him. "You're fuckin' mine," he rasps against your cheek, thrusts getting sharper, rougher, more desperate.
His cock drives deep, grinding right against that sensitive spot again and again until you’re crying out for him, fingernails digging into his shoulders, your eyes glossy with unshed tears. "Say it," he breathes, grinding his hips up into you so deep you swear you can feel him in your ribs. "Tell me you're mine, angel."
"M'yours," you mewl helplessly, clinging onto him, and Rafe groans louder. He keeps pounding into you with a rough, messy pace, dragging his cock against every sensitive spot inside you. Your pussy clamps down harder around him, spasming, and Rafe lets out a wrecked moan, feeling you start to fall apart around him.
"Shit, gonna cum, angel. Gonna cum inside you so everyone knows who you belong to," he says, thrusts getting sloppier as his balls hit your ass slow and lazy, and he moans, eyes fluttering shut as he spills inside you, heavy, thick cream filling you completely. He doesn't stop until every last drop is buried inside you, and even then, he's still thrusting all rough all slow so you feel every ridge and vein on his heavy cock as he pumps you full. He won't stop till you cum too, and he rolls two fingers over your hardened clit, licking up your throat until he gets to your lips, and slides his tongue over yours.
One last bump of his fat cockhead on your womb has the coil in your tummy snapping, and with a loud moan, you cum all over his cock, splurting pearlescent juices on his cum covered cock. He groans, feeling his cock twitch inside you as you squeeze him impossibly tighter while you cum.
His eyes are glassy as he looks at you, lips parted, and he's still buried deep inside your pussy and holding your jaw, but his voice is gone. During the silence, you notice a flicker in his eyes, the way his pupils dilate as his eyes bore into yours. His mouth keeps opening and closing, making it clear he wants to tell you something.
He wants to say he loves you.
But he doesn't.
He pulls out, making sure your panties and shorts are on as he pulls out, letting his cum slip out of your pussy and rest in your clothes. He grins at the mess between your thighs, wiping off any residue to ensure that it isn't too obvious that you've got his load in you. He kisses your forehead and grins through low eyes, nuzzling your forehead. "Keep it in so you've got a part of me in you all through the rest of this fucking party."
slow, sleepy makeout sesh with heeseung where you’re both feeling subby and horny. i just know his introverted self is exhausteddd after a day of promotions & what better way to wind down than having you in his bed?
it starts off with grinding against each other in a gentle, unrushed rhythm. you on his lap while he kisses you like a starved man, hips bucking to meet your slow grinds.
that lasts for a pretty good while before it eventually evolves into mutual masturbation; your hand sliding down to feel him through his pjs. it takes a bit of energy for him to pull back and look at you, but you’re just so pretty that he needs to see you! you grasp him gently before working him through the thin fabric of his clothes, enjoying the way a small wet spot forms on his pants. his breaths grow labored, watching you through glossy, pleading eyes.
he shakily moves to cup your pussy through your shorts, whimpering at the feel of the damp fabric. you’re quick to grind against the palm of his hand, growing desperate as your own hand fumbles under his waistband. heeseung whines when your thumb brushes his tip, smearing small beads of pre-cum over his cock. he’s practically fucking your hand now, hugging you close and moaning in your ear as his fingers tease your clit.
seeing him like this has you soaked, so it’s no surprise when his fingers slip into you with ease. and all the foreplay has you soo worked up :( it doesn’t take him long to find that one spot, abusing your spongy cunt while you whimper and twitch on his lap.
your orgasm hits you hard and you bite down on his shoulder, definitely harder than you mean to, but the way he immediately spills in your hand with a loud groan leaves you wanting more. you continue to work yourselves towards overstimulation, eyes brimming with borderline tears at the sweet pleasure. you know you should stop but it just feels so good, you don’t think you could even if you tried.
being pregnant with rafe’s baby meant being treated like a princess from sun up to sun down, the man not allowing you to do a single thing that may cause any kind of physical strain. unfortunately that meant no cooking or baking since it made you stand up for long periods of time— it really didn’t, but that was rafe’s claim. if you wanted to do any of those things you had to do it while he was gone at work, and even though you’d hear a never ending lecture about it later, rafe still enjoyed your surprise dinners you made for him throughout the week. tonight, however, you realized rafe would be pretty much eating by himself. despite making this very dish for him hundreds of times, you still managed to mess up and accidentally under buy everything needed to feed you both.
instead of buying two steaks, you only bought one. instead of making a fair amount of mashed potatoes, you made just enough for rafe to have a second serving the way he always did. you didn’t think about yourself once while you were out shopping for tonight’s meal. “god, i’m such an idiot!” you whispered to yourself once you put together rafe’s plate. glancing to see what was left on the stovetop, you laughed. of course, you could leave it up to your pregnancy brain to not think clearly of all days. before you could dwell on your mistake for too long, the sound of the front door opening made you snap out of your thoughts. “it smells good in here!” rafe strolled into the kitchen, his eyes growing wide as he immediately zeroed in on the plate waiting for him at his spot at the table.
wrapping his arms around your waist, you leaned into his kiss as he softly rubbed your belly. “you look gorgeous as always.” you smiled, your eyes fluttering closed as you breathed in his scent. “i missed you.” you hugged his arm, your lips pressing another peck to his chin. rafe hummed, muttering a ‘i missed you, too’ before he placed his keys down on the counter. “everything’s ready!” you chirped, “go ahead and sit down, i’ll come back with my plate right now.” rafe nodded, making his way to the dining room. panicking, you tried your best to serve yourself a little bit of everything you made, your plate still looking empty and void of food even though you packed all that you could without taking from rafe’s portion.
all hopes of rafe not noticing your poor excuse of a ‘plate’ was deemed useless as soon as he gave you a double take as you were taking a seat. “what the hell is that?” he looked up at you, a mix of confusion and concern lacing his tone. “i’m not that hungry, i—” rafe was shaking his head immediately, his eyes traveling over to the kitchen. “baby, where’s the rest of your food? it looks like you got free samples on a plate and called it a day.” you sighed, your eyes watering as you reached for your plate that was now in rafe’s hands. “i just— ugh, i feel so dumb!” you pulled your plate back, “when i went grocery shopping for dinner earlier, i didn’t account for myself on accident and i only bought enough food for just you to eat, so obviously now there isn’t enough and i hate losing my train of thought—”
before you could keep rambling on, rafe was already cutting his steak in half to place on your plate, in which you tried to deny but it was no use. “here,” he scooped his mashed potatoes next, and then it was the corn and his favorite bacon wrapped asparagus, “i can’t rest or even be remotely comfortable unless i know you’re in perfect condition.” rafe stood up, kissing the crown of your head. “don’t you worry, baby, i’m gonna have whatever is left over and if i’m still hungry i’ll just order something. it’s no big deal.” he reassured you, kneeling down so he was eye level with you. “i didn’t want you to get takeout though, this dinner was for you!” you sniffled. “you do a lot for me already, sweetheart, please don’t let this upset you.” rafe pleaded, genuinely stressing at the sight of you shedding tears.
“i just wanted to do something nice—” you hiccuped, “but nooo, i just have to forget something all the time!” rafe shushed you, his hands enveloping your own as he let you bury your face in the curve of his neck. “i think you’re being way too hard on yourself,” he thumbed your chin, “it was an honest mistake, babe, i promise you it’s not a big deal. the guys treated me to lunch earlier, i was eating the snacks you packed for me throughout the day, now this. i’m not starving, okay?” you finally met his gaze, your teary eyes tugging at his heartstrings. “you swear?” you sat up straight, picking up your fork. “i promise. now, please help me feel better by just digging into your food, yeah?”
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