Do you think cannibal!reader likes to be tickled while doing the deed?
Like she’ll ask Benjamin to do it and he just thinks “oh like a little brush under the arms” but she genuinely wants him to dig his fingers hard into her sides because it gives her the same fidgety, buzzing feeling that consuming human flesh does?
Idk just a random thought 😭
cw vivid descriptions of gore + knife play
This is so random and silly but it genuinely got me thinking and I do think it's completely plausible for cannibal!reader to need some sort of stimuli during sex to substitute that need to tear someone apart.
It’s more of a distraction than anything, sometimes that buzzing under your ribcage hums too loud to ignore, sensitive to every little thing. The thrum of your heart as it beats inside of your chest, inhuman hunger kneading in the pit of your stomach, an ache in your gums. It settles in your gut as Dex clambers over you, cock sheathing so deep you can only keen and scratch the pale skin of his rigid shoulders, your gaze set on the vein trailing up his throat, taunting you. Your mind resorts to memories, distant far away ones that stir the hunger clawing up from under your skin.
Thick blood that dots skin and seeps into the silk fabric sheets; a puddle of crimson beneath their head where your previous victim had laid. The blacks in their eyes are blown, sickly thin lips hung open, body limp and still. The sinews that bind them split horrifically, tissue bared openly through torn skin. On their face, flesh hangs off in thick flaps of muscle, where you had chewed down to the bone. Your victims' wounds are sticky and weeping, pooling and swallowed into the sheets. The weeping body, losing its shape on the sunken mattress, is nothing but heaps of flesh and gore, skin a sickly gray muted color.
I think overtime the hazy look in your eye is more than a tell, it had been an odd idea, tickling to subside the ravenous bare of your teeth as you subconsciously claw for Dex’s throat, desperate to tear into the marred skin while he rocked into you. Initially, sex had been the deterrent. But the proximity had proved an issue, several scars scattered across Dex’s skin in the shape of your teeth to prove such. Tickling, as surprising as it was, worked. His fingers dipping down into your sides to press into the sensitive dip of your waist, the sensation making his hips rut involuntarily when your pussy clenches onto him, velvety walls fluttering around his length, soft mewls slowly returning from your muted silence as the dull ache under your ribs subsided into something else. Though over time, that stops working too. Dull bruising fingers pressed into your sides doesn’t sway your blood thirst, canines dragging too close to the steady heartbeat under the veil of his skin. The pain stimulates you for only so long. He’d let you sink your teeth into him if he wasn’t so sure you might kill him,
“Can’t do that,” he drawls, guiding your pouting lips from his collar, your bare cunt seated on his lap, arousal coating his thighs and the aching hardness of his cock, “Got an idea. You trust me, don’t you? Just wanna be close?” You nod eagerly, hands coming to draw him closer, determined to draw him near, taste the sweat on his skin, the pulse of blood in his veins. He draws a blade from the bedside drawer, and it’s like your prayers have been answered. The pain of the blade shallowly digging into the soft expanse of your skin does wonders for your hunger, the sensation overpowering the hum of hunger. You rub yourself back and forth on Dex’s lap, cunt desperately swallowing him up while he tugs you onto him, pubes coated in the wet mix of your arousal. You whine as the blade dips up to your collar, eyes glassy with pleasure, clit bumping against his pubic bones with each roll of your hips, “See? My girl just needed a little distraction,” he hums, thick thighs bucking you up his lap, sly grin curling the corners of his lips when you keen forward, blade drawing beads of crimson from your smooth skin, a pitchy cry leaving your parted lips, “Fucking look at that," his fingers graze the cut, blade spinning in his palm, "Been saving this one just for you. Picked it out just for this. You like it? Your own little 'fuck me' knife?”
rafe turns obssesed for you when you let him drink your blood.
the first time rafe wanted to drink your blood, there’d been some hesitation. like a flicker of something human in those blue eyes. like he was fighting himself not to, but he needed blood, and he knew you’d be a good friend enough to let him.
but now?
oh, now he’s already grabbing your wrist before you even sit down. “you’re not saying no.” he says impatiently and you haven’t even answered yet. rafe’s fingers are wrapped around your wrist, thumb pressed right over your pulse like like he’s memorizing it. his grip isn’t painful, but it’s firm, and almost possessive.
“dude,” you warn, trying to pull back just a little, just enough to prove you can. but you can’t, he doesn’t even let you move an inch. his jaw tightens, eyes flicking up to yours, dark and glowing red. “don’t do that,” he mutters. “don’t, don’t pull away like that.”
“it’s my arm,” you shoot back, breath catching when his grip only tightens. “yeah,” he says immediately. “yeah, i know it is.” he agrees, “doesn’t mean i don’t need it.” your stomach flips at that, at how serious yet needy he sounds, so so desperate. “you’re fucking obssesed,” you annoyingly whisper.
something in the way he looks at you shifts. like he’s subconsciously confirming your statement, before he actually does. “i am,” he says quietly. “you did that. you made me like this.” and before you can respond, he pulls you forward so quickly you’re stumbling into him, landing halfway in his lap. his arm wraps around your waist instantly, locking you there like it’s second nature, like you belong there.
because to him you do, and you don’t even know it. “rafe.” you warn again. “stop talking,” he breathes, but it’s not harshly, it’s shaky, and frayed at the edges. “please just-” he starts with that pleading needy voice again. “just let me” he brings your wrist up again. his eyes don’t leave yours, searching your face like he’s waiting for you to stop him.
you don’t, because you never do, part of it is gratifying for you too. to know how much he needs you. the second you go still, he exhales with relief, like he’s been holding it in for too long, and his lips brush against your skin. your soft and floral scented skin. “say it,” he murmurs against your wrist. your brows knit, “say what?” you ask confused. “that i can tatse it again,” he says, his fingers flexing against your waist. “i need you to say it.”
“you already are,” you point out, breath uneven. his grip falters for half a second, just enough to show it hit something. “yeah,” he admits. “yeah, but i wanna hear it.” your pulse jumps under his mouth, and he makes this quiet, wrecked sound like he felt it more than you did.
“…you can,” you say finally. that’s all it takes before his control snaps. he pulls you impossibly closer, but he does it anyway, his other hand tightening around your arm as he presses his mouth to your skin, and the second the sharpness of his fangs pierce the skin on your wrist, he loses it completely.
he lets out a sharp inhale, like it shocks him every time, like it’s too much and not enough all at once. his fingers dig in, holding you there, grounding himself in you as his head tilts back slightly. “fuuuck” he groans out broken, barely there. it's like his whole body is convulsing.
his lashes flutter, then his eyes roll back completely, like he can’t hold onto anything, not himself but you. “rafe,” you breathe out, your voice breathy and filled with concern, but he doesn’t answer.
he can’t answer. his grip tightens instead, he leans back dragging you flush against him, like he needs your whole body there or he’s going to come apart. his breathing is uneven, shallow, lips still sucking your skin like he doesn’t know how to stop.
like he won’t. “don’t” he chokes out, barely coherent. “don’t move.” he demands. “i’m not.”
“don’t move,” he repeats, fingers flexing. “please.” please. you go still instantly. that word shouldn’t sound like that coming from him. after a few seconds, he finally pulls back, but not far. his lips are still brushing your skin, damp, lingering, like he’s not ready to lose contact yet.
his chest is rising and falling too fast. his mouth stained red with droplets of your blood leaking from the corners of his mouth. you tilt your head, trying to catch his gaze. “you okay?” he lets out a shaky laugh. “do i look okay to you?”
not at all. he looks so wrecked, and completely gone. his eyes finally meet yours, and there’s nothing steady in them anymore,just hunger, just need, just you. “you’re-” he starts, then stops, jaw tightening like he doesn’t even have the words. “you’re not real.”
“i’m literally right here.”
“i know,” he says quickly, almost frantic. “i know, i just-” his hand slides up your arm again, back to your wrist, like he can’t help it. “nobody should feel like this.”
“like what?”
“like i’d fuckin' lose my mind if you said no,” he answers immediately. “like i already did.” your breath catches. “rafe…”
“save it.” he cuts in, shaking his head, pulling you closer again until your foreheads almost touch. “don’t make it a thing. i don’t- i don’t care.”
“you don’t care that you’re addicted to me?” then he menacingly smiles, it’s unhinged. “addicted?” he repeats softly. “that’s a nice way of putting it.” his thumb presses against your pulse again, slower this time, almost thoughtful.
“i was thinking more like, i don’t function without you.” your heart stutters, your unspokedn feelings only enlarging. you subconciously squeeze your thighs from want and he feels it, fuck, he smells your arousal. forgetting you don't fully know how the bond between a human and a vampire works.
his entire expression darkens instantly, something greedy flashing across his face. “see?” he murmurs, already pulling your wrist back toward his mouth, already slipping again. “you do that and then expect me to just, what? sit here?”
“do, what? rafe, wait.”
“no,” he says sternly, breath hitching as his lips brush your skin again. “you said i could.”
“i said once-”
“doesn’t count,” he cuts in, eyes flicking up to yours, completely gone again. “doesn’t count anymore.”
“that’s not how that works.”
“it is for me.” and the way he looks at you when he says it, like nothing else matters. “tell me to stop,” he challenges suddenly, voice quieter now, almost dangerous in how calm it is. “go on, tell me.”
you open your mouth. nothing comes out. his lips twitch, just slightly, already pulling you closer. “you have no idea how thin the line is between wanting you, and fucking loosing myself in you.” and this time, when he presses his mouth to your skin again, he doesn’t even pretend he’s in control anymore.
and you're left with nothing but his venom, and the burning desire of wanting more of him.
based off this instagram video. something quick bc i've been nonexistent.
the way i found the whole sharing blood act was so intimate too! i was scared when i opened the link bc it turned out i already liked and reposted that reels 😭 need more concept like this ugh…
Smut +18: unprotected p-in-v, pain/pleasure blend, dirty talk, breath play (choking) nipple play/tit slapping, fingers in mouth both f and m (bring them back fr), double penetration and switched dom!
I had these characters in mind: Dick Grayson, Clark Kent, Matt Murdock, Benjamin Pointdexter, Bucky Barnes and Simon Riley. (You guys are welcome to send requests for any of these)
Your slick pussy gripped his thick, veiny cock as you slammed down onto him again, the bare length stretching you wide with every brutal drop of your hips. He lay flat on the cot beneath you, his abdomen a mess of bruises blooming purple and black, fresh blood seeping from the gash across his ripped muscles, cracked ribs grinding with each ragged breath but nothing stopped him.
His strong hands clamped onto the fat of your hips, fingers digging deep into the soft flesh, yanking you down harder to bury himself balls-deep inside your dripping cunt.
A groan ripped from his throat, pain lacing the sound as his abs flexed involuntarily, the muscles contracting in agony around the injury, yet his cock throbbed harder, pulsing against your inner walls like it owned you.
“Fuck... yes,” he growled through gritted teeth, forcing his eyes open in the dim light, pupils blown wide as he locked onto your bouncing tits. They jiggled wildly with each thrust, nipples pebbled into stiff peaks that begged for abuse. You arched your back, shoving them closer to his face and he lunged up despite the stab in his side, latching his mouth onto one, sucking hard enough to make you yelp.
Distant city horns blared faintly, a muffled roar from blocks away but here in the shadows, only the steady drip-drip from leaking pipes echoed your moans. Drip as you rose, drip as you fell, syncing perfectly with the wet slap of your ass against his thick thighs. Water pattered like a perverse metronome, urging you faster. His pain only fueled the fire, every wince twisted into a snarl of lust, his hips bucking up to meet you even as blood trickled warmer down his side.
You leaned forward, grinding your clit against his pubic bone and shoved two fingers into his mouth. He sucked them greedily, tongue swirling around the digits, teeth grazing the pads as he moaned around them with a deep, pained rumble that vibrated straight to your core. Spit dribbled from the corners of his lips, mixing with the sweat beading on his brow.
“That's it, choke on them,” you gasped, pumping your fingers deeper, fucking his mouth while your pussy milked his cock.
He released your fingers with a pop, trailing saliva strings and his hand shot up to wrap around your throat. Thick fingers encircled the column of your neck, thumb pressing into the frantic pulse hammering beneath your jaw. He felt it wild and erratic, matching the throb of his dick inside you.
“Feel that heartbeat?” He rasped, voice gravelly from the strain, squeezing just enough to make stars burst behind your eyelids.
Your vision blurred, breath hitching but the lack of air only sharpened every sensation, from the ridge of his cockhead dragging along your g-spot and heavy swing of your breasts smacking against your chest, to the way his abs clenched again, rippling under the bloody wound as he fought the pain to thrust deeper.
Your eyes rolled back, whites flashing as pleasure coiled tight in your belly. He grabbed your hips harder, nails breaking skin, pulling you down so viciously your ass cheeks spread wide around his base.
“Ride me harder. I know you can.” He demanded, groaning as a fresh wave of pain shot through his ribs.
Crack, grind, agony, grind again.
But his cock swelled thicker, leaking precum that slicked your walls even more. You felt every twitch, every vein pulsing raw against your bare pussy with the promise of his hot cum flooding you.
You bounced faster, thighs burning but growing stronger, pussy squelching obscenely around him. His free hand roamed up, pinching your nipple between thumb and forefinger, twisting until tears pricked your eyes before he slapped your tit, watching the flesh ripple, breast bouncing wildly back into place.
“They’re begging for my mouth,” He grunted, as blood smeared across his skin where your knees pressed into his sides, but he didn't care. His grip on your throat tightened incrementally, thumb stroking your pulse like a lover's caress.
The dripping pipes quickened in your ears or was it your moans?
Drip-slap-drip-moan, the rhythm was hypnotic.
City noise faded to nothing as you chased the edge, rolling your hips in filthy circles, clit grinding his coarse hair. His cock felt enormous now, battering your cervix with each downward plunge, the stretch burning so good you could almost beg for it. You clawed at his chest, nails raking over bruised pecs, drawing thin lines of blood that mingled with his own.
“Fucking hurts,” he admitted through a hiss, ribs protesting as he arched up to capture your mouth in a bruising kiss. Tongues tangled sloppy, teeth clashing, his groans pouring into you making pain and pleasure indistinguishable. His hips snapped up relentlessly, chasing the clench of your cunt and forcing you to break the kiss. Saliva bridged your lips as you moved to bite his shoulder hard, tasting salt and copper from a shallow cut there.
His hand slid from your throat to your ass, fingers prying your cheeks apart. One digit circled your tight asshole, teasing the puckered ring before pushing in knuckle-deep. You screamed, the intrusion sparking fireworks up your spine, pussy spasming around his cock.
“Grip it tight for me,” he snarled, pumping his finger in time with your rides, the double penetration making your thighs quake. His abs flexed again, bloody ridges contracting in torment yet his desire raged on, cock jerking inside you like it was invincible.
You came close once, hovering on the brink, eyes rolling fully back as your body seized but he slowed you, hand on your hip forcing a torturous grind.
“Not yet. Beg for it.” His voice cracked with pain but eyes burned into yours, forcing them open to meet his stare. In the faint glow, you saw the strain, the clenched jaw, sweat-slick brow furrowed but unyielding hunger.
“Please...Uh fuck! I need to–let me cum on your cock,” you whimpered, breasts heaving, nipples aching from his earlier mauling. He smirked through a wince, adding a second finger to your ass, scissoring them wide. The burn made you sob, pussy flooding him with fresh gush but it took him seconds to withdraw, hand finding home at your hip.
He flipped the script despite his wounds, gripped your throat again with his other hand, flipping you both so you were under him now, his weight braced on elbows to spare his ribs somewhat. Blood dripped from his abdomen onto your belly, warm and sticky, as he pounded down into you missionary-style, knees pinning your thighs wide. Each thrust jolted his injuries, eliciting sharp groans of “Nngh...shit” but he fucked harder, cock spearing your depths, balls slapping your ass wetly.
Your tits bounced up into your face with the force and he shoved his fingers back into your mouth, three this time, fucking your throat until you gagged, drool spilling down your chin onto your collarbone.
“Feels good doesn’t it? Suck,” he ordered, eyes half-lidded with agony-laced ecstasy.
He pulled fingers free, trailing spit to smear across your bouncing breasts, pinching both nipples in a vise grip. You bucked up, meeting his slams, pussy fluttering wildly. His abs flexed visibly with every drive, muscles bunching, wound gaping slightly and blood slicking the V of his hips but the pain sharpened his edge, made him feral. He panted, grabbing handfuls of hip fat again, bruising the meat as he yanked you onto him.
The build returned, coiling viciously. Your eyes rolled, vision whiting out, moans syncing drip-drip-drip. He felt your pulse race under his thumb and tightened his hand around your throat, cutting air just right. Pressure built, euphoric as your pussy clamped him like a vice.
“Go ahead. Cum for me,” he commanded, voice a pained roar, slamming balls-deep one final time. The world narrowed to his cock erupting but no, yours first. Choked gasps escaped your constricted throat in the most erotic pitch. It was a desperate, gargled keen, raw and animalistic, vibrating against his palm. Your orgasm crashed, pussy convulsing in violent spasms, milking him as waves ripped through you. Your eyes rolled back completely, body arching off the cot, tits thrusting up and nipples diamond-hard while juices squirted around his pistoning cock, soaking his balls and thighs.
He tightened his grip at the peak, thumb crushing your pulse, feeling it stutter and holding you there in breathless bliss as you shattered. The sound of it all pushed him over.
“Fuck...take my cum…There you go, don’t let it go to waste,” he bellowed, ribs screaming, abs seizing in fire but cock exploding untouched. Thick ropes of hot seed blasted into your womb, bare and deep, flooding you with pulse after pulse. He groaned loud, a mix of torment and triumph, grinding through it as your walls sucked every drop.
Spent, he collapsed half-on you, hand loosening on your throat, both of you panting amid the dripping pipes and faint city drone. Pain throbbed anew but satisfaction burned brighter knowing that nothing, not even agony, could kill that need for you.
A/N: If you liked this concept, let me know! I’m open to writing more for these new characters and requests are open. Likes, comments,and reblogs always help a lot and if you’d like to see more of my writing, feel free to check out my account and follow along.
A Clark Kent fic is coming later this week…and maybe something else too if time allows 🤍
⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ; A bit of Dex's sadism shows through despite his best efforts.
⋆ tags/warnings. benjamin poindexter x female reader. SMUT!!!! PURE PORN. im so tired of the "bullseye is innocent" crowd, that man is a SADIST, so warnings for sadism, lowkey sheltered dex, slightly rough dex, insecure dex, obsessive dex, you're his north star, he's having sex with the love of his life and lowkey doesnt know what to do, some HEINOUS things, dex is probably a virgin but knows how to use his talents during sex LMAO, swearing. i love this man, but he's such a hard character to write for. I hope i did him some justice.
♫ “What is mine, What is all mine. / Ain't a man in this world who can pull me down from my dark star. / Hold you just a little while, i'm gonna give her all my life.” Dark Star by POLICA
"Don't. Move."
The low, husky baritone of his voice commands just above a whisper. There's a tense expression on his face, one of his hands brought up to hold you still. Despite the bark in his words, the hold he has on you is weak. Like a fumbling boy trying not to damage a prized vase. A prized vase he just wants to throw against a wall and break.
Two of his fingers come up to spread the lips of your pussy with a swallow. His jaw is clenched so tight it might crack. His focus is unwavering, unable to be split on anything else other than that little sensitive bud of nerves of yours.
Intrusive thoughts rear their way through his head.
Touch her. Lick her. Fuck her. Shove your fingers down her throat. Take out your cock. Line it up like a shot. Just up until the head pops past that tight little ring of hers, and she spasms like you pulled the trigger.
His thumb brushes over your swollen clit- once, feather-light- and your hips twitch involuntarily.
There it is. No guesswork. Always so easy to find. You could pinch it until she screams. You could rub it until she blacks out. You could slap it raw. You could suck it between your teeth and finger-fuck her until she twitches. He thinks and thinks and thinks.
He doesn't register your pleas at first, trying to focus. Push these thoughts out of his head. But when he does, Dex’s eyes snap up to yours, dark and fixated.
“I said. Don’t. Move.” The words come out rough, but the warning is soft, almost gentle. It's that strict familiar edge underneath that makes your stomach flip. “You’re dripping down my fingers. And I’ve barely touched you. Look at this...mess.”
He says it like he's annoyed- but he's not. Not in a million years. But he takes the opportunity to degrade you, knowing it's one of the few times he'll allow himself to. God, if only he didn't feel guilty. He wars with himself most nights.
You are his North Star. He would kill any man, any woman, any child that looked at you wrong. He protects you. And you protect him from all these...impure thoughts.
So why is it, the more time he spends with you, all he wants to do is use that perfect aim of his to fuck you out so filthy he feels sick after?
The thought sits there, ugly and heavy. Dex hates it. He hates how hard his cock is, how his fingers are already soaked past the knuckle, how his mouth is watering at the thought of destroying the only person he’s sworn to keep safe.
His thumb stays glued to your clit, pressing with that terrifying accuracy. No wasted movement. He starts rubbing tight, mean, perfect circles that make your legs jerk.
“Stop twitching,” he mutters, voice low and rough. “I told you not to move. You can’t even do that right?”
Fuck. It gets him hot, talking to you like that.
His fingers curl hard inside you, stroking that same devastating angle with machine-like precision. The wet, obscene squelching fills the room.
"Look how easy you open up for me." He scoffs, but his lips twitch into a crooked smile. His voice drops even lower. “I could aim my cock right here-” he presses viciously against your g-spot, and out comes a groan from him.
He begins to abuse the spot uncontrollably, not even looking at his fingers ramming into that perfect place. No, his eyes are all on you, his breathing heavy and his teeth gritting, fighting for some semblance of composure. To make you proud.
But you're squeezing him so tight. And you're arching into his touch. And he's fucking his North Star. The thought makes his eyebrows pull together and a ragged breath fall from his lips.
“You want me to lose it? Huh?”
His thumb rubs your clit faster, merciless and accurate. Deep down, somewhere inside him, he knows you can't answer. He knows you can't do anything to resist even if you wanted too. And he likes that.
“Answer me.”
He pushes. Harder. Rougher. He hopes you know how sorry he is for this. But he knows that it would be all a lie. How can he feel sorry, when you're trapped up against him like this?
“Thought so.”
He yanks his fingers out, flips you onto your back with rough hands, and shoves your thighs wide apart. His cock is flushed dark and leaking as he lines himself up. No more waiting. He pushes in with one rough, thick thrust, jaw clenched so tight the muscle jumps as he stretches you open.
“Don't… don’t move,” he hisses through gritted teeth, repeating, voice strained and mean. “Just take it. Take it.”
Every time you cry out, he has to close his eyes, still buried deep inside you. His intrusive thoughts tell him if he gets one more look at you, he might just give in and fuck you like the animal he really is.
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ » RAFE MAKES YOU SQUIRT FOR THE FIRST TIME.
"jus' lay there baby, yeah?" rafe cooed, pounding into you from behind, his hand bracing you on the small of your back. "gonna make you take it."
rafes stroke game is award worthy. he's rocking his hips back and forth, hitting all the right angles. "mmmmph" you sob out into the pillow where your head was buried.
"i know baby, i know." he comforts you as he thrusts deeper. you drool into the pillow as he drills you. "you like that dick in your guts? hmm?" rafe asks.
theres not a single thought in your brain. you moan in response to his question. "fucking answer me." he grunts, slowing his thrusts, making them deeper, harder.
"love it s'much!" you squeak out. he resumes his punishing deep, fast strokes. each thrust punching the air out of your lungs.
"can tell. your fucking creaming round' my dick." rafe mutters. he desperately tries not to look at where you connect, knowing he'll cum from the sight of your pearlescent cream collecting at his base.
after one particularly deep thrust you feel his mushroom tip thump against your sweet spot, over and over again. "that the spot? your fuckin' suffocating my cock baby." you nod feverishly, nearing your orgasm.
"cum baby. fuckin' cum around my dick y'hear me?" he thrusts harder and faster. the room now being filled with the constant sounds of plap plap plap plap.
"ohhhh" you shake, your vision going white hot as your toes curl and you squirt around rafe. "ohh fuck, s'so wet. im gonna cum, gonna-" rafe moans loudly as he plants one of his feet up on the bed to get a better angle, fucking you both through your orgasms.
his thrusts slow, before coming to a complete halt. rafe groans when he pulls out of you, his softening cock still twitching. he spreads you open as he watches your mixed cum leak out of you.
"m'sorry." you mutter, voice groggy from all of the screaming you'd done. "fuck are you talkin' about?" he sighs, laying down next to you.
"i've never- done that before. i didn't mean to-" you stutter. "are you fucking with me? that shit made me cum my brains out." he laughs.
That pleasing lack of boundaries — Ben Poindexter x Reader
📣 Notes: Dark content. Sorry for the delay of your request sweetheart.
Tags: Sub/top Dex - AFAB/GN reader - Age gap - Smut with angst (?) - Power imbalance - Manipulation - Conflicted Dex - Cruel reader - Unprotected sex - CNC if this counts as CNC
You play with him using things that crawl their way under his flesh.
With the soft little tilts of your head, the way you look at him like you’re studying a reflection in a mirror that only you can see. With your smile, that stays just a second too long, lingering like heat after a burn, daring him to wonder if it’s meant for him alone. With your fingertips brushing over surfaces, over him, staying a fraction of a second past polite.
And the worst part is that he lets you use every single one of those shameless moves covered in false innocence.
That’s the part that hurts him the most — that he let you in, that he let the thought of you crawl into his head the very first time he saw you. He thought he was clever enough to spot the game first, he thought he was the one watching you, the one pulling threads. But the longer he thinks about it, the more he realizes he was already caught, because it wasn’t him discovering you; it was you choosing him.
You’ve been watching, waiting. You’ve been circling in your own quiet way, and he walked straight into you.
Dex isn’t stupid, he knows what’s happening, and he knows what should happen instead.
You’re too young and unfortunately, extremely insufferable. You shine with that dangerous kind of energy that doesn’t care where it lands or who gets burned. He tells himself over and over that he should be the one in control, the responsible one.
But then you climb into his apartment like the lock on his door doesn’t mean anything, like boundaries are nothing but suggestions. You make yourself comfortable on his couch as if it belongs to you, sitting too close, letting your knee brush against his until he can’t tell whether it was an accident or a dare.
You show up at his work just to hand him his favorite coffee, even though he already had one cup in his home before arriving.
Smiling like it’s nothing, like you didn’t memorize his order, like you don’t know exactly what it does to him that you remember.
He should shut you down, he should tell you no, he should remind you of the line you keep trying to blur with every look, every touch, every word meant to test him. But that’s the problem, every time he thinks about the word no, his mind betrays him like it always does — by slipping in images he shouldn’t want, by replaying the sound of your voice calling him sir when you first met him, by letting the possibility of giving in taste sweeter than the safety of pulling back.
He knows better and yet, knowing doesn’t stop the fall.
He should have told you no the moment you showed up at his apartment at two in the morning, standing there like it was the most natural thing in the world with no apology, only that spark in your eye and a careless shrug when he opened the door, as if of course you were here. You didn’t even bother to ask if you could come in, you just stepped past him, barefaced and bold, heading straight for his couch like it was waiting for you.
He stood there in the doorway for a beat too long, every rational instinct in him screaming that this was where the line should be drawn. That he should shut the door, tell you to go home, remind you that people don’t just wander into each other’s apartments in the middle of the night because they’re “bored.” That you weren’t supposed to be here, and more than that — that he wasn’t supposed to want you here. But instead of saying any of that, he let the silence fill the room, he let you stretch out on his couch like you owned the place.
And by the time he finally forced himself to sit down beside you, the damage was already done.
He didn’t want to speak, because words once let out, had a way of twisting in the air, bending until they belonged to you instead of him. That was your talent, your dangerous weapon — taking whatever he gave you and reshaping it until he couldn’t recognize where it came from. He’d seen it happen before.
Tonight, of all nights, he wasn’t going to hand you that power.
For weeks now, he’d been on a good streak of holding himself together. Keeping his edges sharp and his impulses caged, he’d been proud of that — the restraint, the silence, the fact that he hadn’t let himself slip, and he wasn’t about to let all of it be destroyed just because of you, just because of the perfect manipulator sitting right beside him, legs tucked under yourself like you were comfortable here, like you were waiting for him to break.
“You look tired,” you say, your voice is soft and careless, like it’s just an observation, nothing more. Every syllable feels loaded, threaded with something meant to get under his skin.
You lean in without asking, your fingers hover near his temple, brushing the air just before touching the softness of his hair. A small, intimate gesture, so ordinary it could almost pass as kindness.
He doesn’t let you get that far, his hand snaps up, instinct driving him the way it always does when there’s a threat. He catches your wrist midair with the same precision he’d use catching a blade.
The warning is written into his grip, coiled tight around bone and tendon. It says stop, it also says you’re too close. For a moment, he doesn’t even breathe, and neither do you, your pulse ticking under his fingers like a drumbeat he doesn’t want to listen to.
He doesn’t look at you, his eyes stay pinned to the glow of the laptop balanced on his lap. Some old movie flickers across the screen, the kind with a plot so thin it can’t hold his attention for more than a minute. It’s awful, really — terrible dialogue, recycled tropes, forgettable characters.
But right now, it’s the safest thing in the room, because if he gives you even a sliver of his attention, if he lets his gaze slip to your face, he knows he’ll lose the control he’s been clinging to.
So he keeps watching, or at least pretending to, while that happens, every line of the movie feels flat, every scene stretched so fucking long to be interesting, but still — better this than you.
Better the noise of something meaningless than the danger of silence with you beside him.
He keeps his grip on your wrist just long enough to make the message clear, then lets go. He’s already burning from the heat of your skin, already betraying himself in ways you don’t need words to understand.
“What did I do for you to reject me but not push me away?” You say suddenly, the words leave your mouth softer than they should, your head tilted just enough to look like curiosity instead of calculation. Your eyes shine wide, bright, a little too open — the kind of look that would fool anyone else into believing you were fragile, confused, wounded by his silence.
The question sinks in, because it’s true: he hasn’t told you no, not really. He hasn’t shut the door, hasn’t shoved you out, hasn’t done a single thing to stop you from crawling deeper into him.
“Speak, Dex.”
His jaw tightens, he doesn’t dare to look at you. But still you can feel it, even without his gaze that he wants to look.
“Please, talk to me.”
The word please is the dagger you twist. It drips out softer this time, not a demand but a beg. You lean in, stretching your body closer until your arm brushes his, your hand reaching out bold enough to touch what he’s clinging to. The laptop — his last flimsy shield.
You press down on the lid, not closing it completely, and his frown deepens. For a heartbeat, you expect him to snap, to swat your hand away, to reassert the distance he’s been clawing to keep. But he doesn’t, he lets you shut off the distraction.
And when the screen goes dark, he finally looks at you.
His eyes meet yours, and it’s everything you wanted — all that intensity he keeps buried, the storm he thinks he hides so well, breaking loose in a single glance. You see it flicker there, dangerous and raw, and you know exactly how close he is to losing his balance. You know because you’ve studied him, traced every fault line, memorized which wires to tug and which nerves to press. He’s not easy to read, not for anyone else. But for you? He’s an open map, and you can follow every contour straight to the breaking point.
“Answer me,” you push, the sharp edge of your voice cutting through the heavy air between you. “Why do you reject me?”
The question hangs there, daring him to deny it. His mouth opens, closes, and for a flicker of a second he looks cornered once again because you're so wrong. His throat works as he swallows, forcing something out, something he’s been holding back for too long.
“I don’t—” His voice is low, rougher than he intended. He stops, steadies himself, then forces the rest. “I have never rejected you.”
The words slips into you like warmth in the chest, and you can’t help the little hum that escapes your throat, a sound caught between satisfaction and challenge.
“Yeah?” you lean in, your eyes narrowing, studying every twitch of his face. “So why do you flinch when I touch you? Why do you keep acting like I don’t mean it when I say I like you?”
Your voice rises without you planning it, raw with the words you’ve been choking on for weeks, or maybe longer. It’s the first time you’ve said it out loud and not hidden behind teasing or games. You see it land — because his eyes are filled with sudden conflict.
“It's not good,” he says at last, the words dragged out of him like they’re heavier than he can carry. He tries to make them firm, like a warning, but the wavering in his tone betrays him. “You should be with someone—”
He cuts himself off, jaw locking hard, like the thought itself is unbearable, “you deserve someone better,” he forces out. His eyes meet yours now, holding on like he needs you to understand.
“You’re too young... And you don’t know me. I’m not what you think I am and that's enough for you to understand this is not good.”
Finally stripped bare, unguarded, his voice carrying truths he’s never let slip before. And you know it instantly, the way you always do, that this is the moment. This is the crack you’ve been waiting for, the place where you can slip inside, and you don’t hesitate. You lean forward, closing the gap, your hand lifting to cup his cheek.
His skin is hot under your palm, tight with tension, and when his head tips ever so slightly into your touch, it feels like victory. A tiny, desperate surrender.
“Then let me know you,” you whisper, your tone dripping with need, your voice whiny, pleading. “Please.”
It’s all it takes, that sound of you begging. You move quickly, with purpose, dragging the closed laptop off his lap and setting it aside with more force than care. Then you climb into the space it leaves behind, crawling over him as though it’s where you belonged all along.
Your hands press down hard on his shoulders, pinning him in place. He gasps — thin and helpless. Something cowardly, his eyes widened, panic flashing in their depths, still, he doesn’t touch you. He doesn’t push you off, he doesn’t even try. His body stays locked in place, frozen in that trembling line between fight and surrender.
You fold yourself into him, arms wrapping tight, your lips pressing against the shell of his ear. Your voice spills there in whispers, in begs, soft enough to burrow but sharp enough to slice. Please, please, please. Over and over, your words worm inside, wearing him down.
At last, his hands lift. They settle on your hips pushing just enough to show resistance, unfortunately not enough to make you move. The effort backfires, dragging your body against his. Your hips press flush into him, and you feel it: the hard line growing against the front of his pants, the betrayal of his body against every warning his mouth has tried to give.
The reaction is immediate, you hear him hiss through his teeth. His face buries in the hollow of your neck, like he’s trying to disappear, like maybe if he hides in your warmth, none of this will count.
But the heat of his breath tells the truth just like the trembling grip on your hips does too.
“S-Stop it—” His voice cracks. “Fuck, stop it.”
As expected, you don’t. You only cling tighter, your litany tumbling from your lips in a rush. “Please, please, Dex. Let me know you, please” The words blur together, a chant, a prayer, a weapon sharpened by desperation. Your hands slide lower, moving down his torso, feeling every muscle tighten and lock beneath your touch.
He doesn’t throw you off. He just freezes, suspended in that moment, caught between horror and need.
And you understand what that stillness means, he’ll just let it happen, again.
You move before he can gather himself. One moment you’re pressed flush to him, clinging, the next you’re slipping off his lap, rising just enough to reach for the button of your pants to shove them down with need, dragging your underwear with them.
Naked now from the waist down, you straddle him with no hesitation. The heat of your core radiates between you, pressing insistently against the rigid line straining beneath his clothes and poor Dex squirms in place, every nerve lit, because he can feel it — the slick warmth of you dragging over him through the layers of cloth, the pressure of your hips making his mouth water. You’re rubbing yourself against him like you can’t help it, like his lap was made for this, and every shift makes his cock throb harder, trapped and aching inside its confinement.
His thoughts fracture under the weight of it. He wants to beg you to stop, he wants to push you off, reclaim the distance he’s already lost too many times. He wants to punish you for this — for forcing him into this corner, for dragging him over an edge he swore he wouldn’t cross. And he wants to punish himself for letting it feel so good, for wanting it so much, because he's never felt wanted or needed like this before, even if it's twisted.
While his thoughts overwhelm him your hands are moving again, slipping with bold confidence to the waistband of his pants. His breath catches when your fingers push inside, fumbling past fabric until you find him. One firm squeeze and the air is gone from his lungs, punched out of him in a sound that isn’t quite a moan, isn’t quite a curse. His head tips back against the couch as you free him from his confines.
And there he is — hard, dripping, swollen with raw hunger, the sight alone is enough to make your lips part, to have you licking them without thought. He looks devastated, torn open by guilt and desire, the expression on his face almost more intoxicating than the heat of his body. You curl your fingers around him, stroking once, then twice — slow, sweetly smearing the stickiness of his arousal along his flushed length and he whines, strong hands clenching hard against the couch, knuckles white, he feels the need to claw his way out of his own skin when his eyes betray him and slide downward. Your cunt hovering above him, aching for him. The sight knocks the breath out of him, his chest tight, his control disintegrating.
He separates his hands from the couch, trembling, just for them to end up on your hips as a poor attempt to stop this from happening, but he shivers when the blunt tip of his cock grazes against your puffy cunt. The contact is almost nothing — a brush, a tease — It feels like the start of something he won’t be able to stop.
There’s a moment where his conscience claws at him, shrieking in the back of his skull. One last chance, one single breath in which he could shove you off, tear himself free, salvage whatever boundary is left standing between you.
But it's too late, you drop onto him hard, too sudden, too forceful, your weight slamming down until he’s buried inside you in one violent thrust. The both of you gasp, the sound colliding in the air, because the contact is blinding, painful. You’re split wide around him, your cunt swallowing his cock so suddenly the stretch burns, raw flesh being stimulated in a way that irritates, your body clenching tight around him, throbbing in a poor, desperate attempt to adjust.
The overwhelming heat of you envelops him all at once, your hunger gripping him so tight it borders on unbearable.
His cock twitches inside you, nerves firing like they’re being scorched alive and he feels consumed, devoured, dragged into a place he has no way out of. His hips jerk upward, reflexive and pathetic — and you clamp down, clutching at him like you’ll never let go.
The line has been crossed.
You don’t give him time to think, to breathe, to settle. You don’t even give yourself time to adjust to the ache of his thickness stretching you. Your hips start moving immediately, sharp little rolls that grind your soaked walls along his length. Each thrust makes your body tighten around him, makes his cock throb harder, dripping inside you with every pulse of ruined restraint.
He’s unraveling too fast, his forehead drops to your shoulder, his lips brushing your neck as broken sounds tumble from him — pathetic moans, harsh and low, muffled against your skin. He clutches at you like a drowning man, his hands twitching against your body as though he can’t decide if he’s holding you close or trying to push you away. His voice is gone along with yours, only the wet slap of your hips, the choking noises forced out of his throat, and the twisted pleasure spiraling tighter and tighter between you both.
His hips buck helplessly, jerking upward, that sensation coils hot in his gut, a cruel, insistent tingle that drags down to the base of his cock to then go up and leak until he's soaked, winding him tighter with every thrust. He gasps, sobs tearing from him without permission, each sound raw enough to scrape his throat.
You feel his hands brushing your hips as he rocks you— rough drags back and forth, forcing you to grind down against him until you’re trembling. He can feel the slick heat coating him, feel the way your cunt clenches and throbs as you unravel on top of him.
You’re frantic, wrecked with need, your hand diving between your bodies until your fingers press tight against your swollen clit. The movement is messy, desperate, nothing elegant in the way you rub yourself for him, chasing the end. His eyes fall on the sight—those quick and needy circles, the shine of wetness clinging to your fingertips—and something in him shatters.
A broken whine spills from his lips, his head drops back against the couch. His throat arches, his chest heaves, and his body tenses so hard it feels like it might snap. Every muscle locks, his hips twitching upward against you as the pressure builds unbearably, too much, far too much.
He’s so close.
“F-Fuck—get off” His voice is shredded, panicked, every word trembling on the edge of a sob. “Get… please, get off—” His hands fly from your hips, fumbling, trying to push at your shoulders with a clumsy desperation, but the strength isn’t there.
You only crush yourself closer with your arms wrapping tight around him, refusing to let him escape, rocking yourself harder against his cock, faster, deeper, chasing that brutal friction that makes your whole body sing. He sobs when you don’t stop, causing those sweet tears to start spilling over, sliding down his cheeks in silence before his mouth opens on another ragged cry.
He clutches you back without meaning to, fingers clawing into your back like he’s falling and you’re the only thing holding him. He can feel himself tipping, the edge right there, a terrible, beautiful inevitability clawing up through his gut that he can't fight.
“Shhh…” Your voice is pure syrup, so cloying and thick, dripping into his ears. You pet the words against him, “shhh… let go. Come on, baby.” and his whole body tenses, cock buried deep as he spills inside you.
Pathetic and damaged, his hips thrusting embarrassingly upwards unconsciously chasing the throbbing need to fill you with everything he has.
It feels so good you whimper at the sudden overwhelming heat flooding your belly, and you clench around his length just to milk him, needing it all inside until the creamy mess makes the skin of your thighs feel sticky. The fullness is unbearable, too much and yet perfect.
That's enough to push you to your climax, and you stop moving your hips when the growing knot of pleasure breaks, trembling in his lap as you try to ride out your ecstasy. Holding onto him just like he does to you.
When your breathing finally slows, your chest rising in uneven gulps of air, you shift back and let yourself slip off his lap. His cock slides out of you with an obscenely wet sound, drenched in the evidence of what you’ve forced out of him. He gasps at the loss, and then immediately pushes at you.
He’s scrambling, shoving himself back into his pants with shaking hands, tugging the zipper up too hard so that it catches, and he curses under his breath. His other hand covers his face, as though hiding behind his palm will erase what just happened.
You watch him fold in on himself, and the sight almost makes you pity him.
Almost.
His chest is heaving, sweat sticking his shirt to his body, and he looks so pale you wonder if he might throw up. His lips are moving, barely audible, those words spilling out like prayers, like a man trying to claw back his soul from a place it no longer belongs.
You sit on the edge of the couch, slipping your underwear back up your legs before the mess escapes. So calm, like nothing earth-shattering just happened. After a moment, you tilt your head, studying him with an expression that could almost be tender if it weren’t so cold.
Enjoyment is the only thing you feel, because he looks ruined, broken. And all you can think is how easy it would be to climb back into his lap and destroy him all over again, those thoughts finally give you the force to speak.
“You wanted it,” your voice is soft, so kind it can't be something you should say after doing something so atrocious.
His hands tighten over his face until his knuckles go white, his shoulders curling like the words themselves were knives. “Don’t—” his voice cracks, and you smile. “Don’t say that. Don’t you dare—”
He cuts himself off, choking on the words that could condemn him. His chest rises and falls like he’s drowning. “I should’ve stopped,” he forces out, “I should’ve—God—I should’ve…” His words fall apart, swallowed by the thick weight of guilt in his throat.
“But you didn’t,” you cut in smoothly, merciless, leaning forward, letting your voice drop until it’s a whisper. “And you liked it.”
It carves through him like a blade, slicing something vital open. He flinches, as though you’d struck him, shoulders bowing under the unbearable truth you’ve handed him. His breath hitches, breaking in his chest, and he shakes his head, muttering something incoherent.
You’re relaxed as a response from his ruin, marked up with his fingerprints, his come coating your inner walls, raw lips curved into that sly little smile that screams victory.
A smile that tells him you’ve won, because that's exactly what happened.
Summary: You were so desperate to make Rafe Cameron yours that you never thought a day would come where you didn't want him to be.
Warnings: NON-CON, mentions of blood, loss of virginity, witchcraft, yandere behavior, morally ambiguous reader, pogue!reader
➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies
☾
You didn’t actually think it would work and that was your first mistake.
Rafe Cameron was the first and only son of Ward Cameron. He was handsome and rich and way out of your league, and you knew that he would never look at you in a million years. That didn’t stop your gaze from landing on him though anytime he was in the vicinity, and there was a point when you felt ashamed of your little crush, but now it hardly mattered to you. It’s not like he would ever actually be interested in you, so you saw no harm in indulging in silly fantasies.
…but then you started to wonder what it would actually be like.
What it would be like to be looked at by him like he looked at so many other girls—skinnier girls, richer girls, prettier girls. What it would be like to hold his hand and even kiss him. It was harmless, yes, but it was happening often enough to distract you, and you felt yourself being pulled from your thoughts.
“We’re about to head back to John B.’s for the night,” JJ told you after tapping you on the shoulder.
You gave him a nod, reluctantly following after him, but not without a last glance over your shoulder. You looked back just in time to watch as Rafe followed some girl up the stairs, one hand holding hers and the other holding a drink. Your heart skipped a beat as you watched them disappear, and you only forced yourself to move when JJ called your name.
You knew that your friends would think there was something wrong with you if you voiced these thoughts. The only one that might try to understand would be Kie. She was a girl like you who wasn’t related to him, and so she might be able to sympathize with why you couldn't just see him as some asshole.
And he was certainly an asshole.
There was never any wool over your eyes about that. You’d witnessed enough of his interactions with your friends to come to that conclusion yourself, and you were sure you too would've been on the receiving end of his ire if he ever took the time to actually notice you. As it were, you were practically invisible to the blond, and you still couldn’t decide if that was a blessing or a curse, but that indecisiveness didn’t last much longer as you later came to the conclusion that it was indeed a curse.
A curse you could no longer live with.
“This is so stupid,” Sarah laughed one night, flipping through the book Kie had thrifted. “Look, look, this is one for how to get rich.”
“It’s not like you need that one,” the dark-haired girl teased, snatching it back.
“Neither do you,” you told her, reaching for it.
Kie laughed at you as you stood shoulder to shoulder, flipping through it. Her mocking gasp made you pause at the page y’all flipped to, and you didn’t join in right away as she laughed again.
“Look at this one,” she grinned, facing the pages towards Sarah. “A love spell!”
Sarah found it just as funny, taking the book and smiling at the page.
“Are you and John B. having any problems?” Kie joked.
“Are you and JJ having any problems?” she threw back, tone just as light. “...because now we know how to fix any.”
You were quiet as you took the book from the blonde, looking over it as Kie stood over your shoulder.
“Huh,” she commented. “It’s surprisingly simple. A little blood, their name on some paper, and a red candle and boom!”
“Sounds too easy to be true,” Sarah replied, taking the book back with a sigh. “You think they have one in here for a fat ass?”
You all laughed at that, but your mind was still stuck on that silly love spell. While Sarah found one for longer hair that she was willing to try, you kept thinking about Kie’s comment. You’d read it yourself, and it was surprisingly simple—easy to do—and it wasn’t like you’d be going completely out of your way to try it. It would take what? All of five minutes? Sarah was certainly having fun with it, currently brushing cinnamon through her hair, so why couldn’t you try some silly little love spell?
Worst case scenario, nothing came of it.
It’s not like that would be some devastating loss for you. Rafe already didn’t notice you, and it wouldn’t hurt you if he continued to not notice you. You’d learned to live with it for years, now, and it’s not as if you were expecting some miracle from some book Kie bought for laughs. You just wanted to try it, wanted to see what would happen.
“If my hair is down to my butt in two weeks, I owe you twenty dollars, Kie.”
Kie responded with something you couldn’t quite make out, your attention on your phone as you flipped through the book she’d left on the couch. They were none the wiser as you took a picture, telling yourself there was a chance you wouldn’t even do it, but wanting the option in case you changed your mind. Deep down though, you knew that you were lying to yourself.
Over the years, your harmless crush had morphed into something just a tad more desperate, and you couldn’t ignore the small voice in the back of your mind whispering to you what if it did work. What if you could make Rafe see you? Talk to you? Pursue you like you often dreamt about? The possibility filled you with butterflies, and you ignored the silly spell in your phone for all of a week.
You told Sarah that you weren’t feeling too well when she invited you to stay over. She hoped you felt better and asked you if you needed anything, but beyond that, she didn’t find your sudden ailment suspicious. Only you knew that you would never pass up an opportunity to see Rafe, even in passing, health be damned.
You felt somewhat foolish as you sat on your bedroom floor, a red candle lit next to a bowl of water. Truthfully, you didn’t know why. It’s not like anyone was around to witness this, but you would be lying if you said your desperation didn’t make you feel just a tad pathetic. Either way, it’s not like it stopped you from writing his first and last name on that paper, hand shaking as you did.
You thought that the blood would be the hardest hurdle to jump through, but it turns out that little thing in your brain that made it hard to hurt yourself decided to take a break for the night. Or maybe your desperation was just stronger. It took nothing at all to press a safety pin into your finger, and moments later Rafe’s name was covered in both your blood and the red candle wax.
You only started to feel unsure when you picked up the slip of paper.
What if it did actually work? While you weren’t sure what you believed in exactly, you did believe in something. You believed that some higher power did indeed exist and played a part in everything that happened in this world…and what if that higher power made this work? What if you woke up tomorrow and Rafe was knocking on your door to take you out on a date? What would you do? Your desires were so beyond out of reach that it had never occurred to you what you would actually do should you get what you wanted.
Your train of thought made you chuckle, rolling your eyes in the quiet room. You believed in something, sure, but magic didn’t exist. You believed in energy and faith backed actions, but you didn’t think you believed in magic. Either way, telling yourself it was pure curiosity, you held the piece of paper over the flame.
“We’re looking for John B.,” Sarah told you with a sigh. “Pope drank too much, so we gotta call it a night.”
“I think he was in the kitchen,” you let her know.
“Can you check the backyard just in case he had to pee or something? I’ll text you if I find him so we can go.”
You both went in opposite directions, and you squeezed your way through bodies as you made your way outside. Mostly everybody seemed to be inside though with the exception of a few people, so it wasn’t hard to see pretty quickly that he wasn’t in the backyard anywhere. Not wanting to push your way past bodies again, you made the decision to just make your way to the van.
Your trek was interrupted by a very familiar blond.
“Woah,” he drunkenly said, having almost run into you. “Someone’s on a mission.”
You were stumped.
Not once had Rafe Cameron ever spoken to you—not even a word—and you couldn’t stop yourself from staring at him in a mixture of shock and awe. You felt your lips part, and you knew that you were staring at him like some kind of idiot, but you were finding it really hard to fathom that Rafe Cameron was talking to you.
The guy in question frowned at you, eyes narrowing a bit as he snapped his fingers in your face.
“You good?”
Acknowledging that you needed to speak and that you probably looked all kinds of unwell, you blinked.
“I..I’m sorry, I… What?”
He thought you were funny, apparently, chuckling at you with this haughty drunken smile on his lips. He tilted his head at you, dirty blond strands falling onto his forehead.
“I said are you good,” he slowly repeated.
“Yeah,” you hurried to reply, not wanting to look any more foolish in front of him. “Sorry. My friend…he’s kind of not feeling good, and I’m just trying to round everybody up.”
You felt like you were standing on air, having a somewhat out of body experience. Were you actually holding a conversation with Rafe Cameron? Someone who had never acknowledged you a day in your life? It felt like a dream, and you could only stare at him as he softly laughed to himself. You only noticed the blunt in his hand when he brought it up to his lips.
“Sarah drink too much?”
You frowned at him, and you felt confused. You and Sarah were friends, but you didn’t know that he knew that. You didn’t even know that he knew you knew her. Your silence must have stretched on for too long because he was speaking again.
“You are one of her little friends, right?”
For the second time that night, you were stumped.
“Yeah…I am,” you slowly told him, hurrying to defend Sarah after you processed what he said. “...and no. We’re looking for someone else.”
Feeling completely out of your element, you started to walk past him, wondering if you were hallucinating. Rafe Cameron never talked to you, never even so much as looked at you, and in one night you’d had a whole conversation with him.
“You don’t seem like the partying type.”
Make that two.
“What?” you wondered, facing him again.
You watched smoke swirl between his lips for a while before he exhaled.
“You don’t seem like the partying type,” he repeated. “You seem like you’d rather have your head in a book somewhere.”
You didn’t know how to respond to that so you simply said:
“I can’t like both?”
Rafe’s only response was a slow smile, and something about it made your stomach twist—in both a good and bad way. Before he could say anything else thoguh—and before you could further embarrass yourself—you heard your name being called. It sounded like Sarah, and giving Rafe one last look, you ran off to find her.
It turns out she’d texted you that she found John B., and you’d been so distracted by Rafe that you hadn’t felt the vibration. You were distracted by him for the rest of the night in fact, even as you rubbed Pope’s back as he threw up in the toilet. Rafe Cameron had talked to you, and it still didn’t feel real. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say that you dreamt the whole thing up, but the goosebumps still on your skin said otherwise.
A brief thought of a red candle and some blood passed through your mind, and you shook your head. You actually scoffed out loud to yourself, telling yourself that Rafe was drunk and high out of his mind, and he just happened to run into you outside. Even if magic was real, it wouldn’t be in the form of some spell done by some silly nineteen year old girl. That’s what you told yourself anyway, but you were having second thoughts about that when Rafe Cameron stood at your door only a few days later.
“I just wanted to do the old fashioned and respectful thing…”
You stood in the living room with your lips parted, looking over your father’s shoulder as he faced the blond—the blond who had shown up at your doorstep with flowers and candy and a charming smile on his face asking your father for permission to take you out on a date. It was so outdated and so unlike him, and you could only avoid your mother’s gaze as she looked at you in confusion.
“Well, that’s…that’s very admirable of you, Rafe.”
When your father turned to you, you didn’t need to be a genius to see that Rafe’s chivalry had gotten to him. Normally so over protective, your father instead stepped out of the way for you, and you remembered that it was you Rafe was asking out. It was your response he needed, and you cleared your throat.
“We’ll be on the porch,” you softly said to the older man as you moved past him, quietly shutting the door behind you.
You took the flowers and the box of chocolates, but frowned when you did. The box felt weirdly light, but before you could comment on that, Rafe was speaking.
“It’s old school, I know, but…” he shrugged at you. “My ego can’t take not being liked by your parents.”
“Rafe, what are you doing?”
You jumped right to it, voicing your confusion and uncertainty and questioning his actions.
“Asking you out,” he said like it was obvious.
It was.
“Why?” you wondered, a deep frown between your brows.
“...because I want to take you out.”
Again, he said it like it was obvious.
“Why? We’ve had two conversations, including this one,” you reminded him.
“...and I can’t want to change that?” he wondered, voice dropping, and you hated the way your heart skipped a beat.
You looked down at the flowers in your hand, completely in shock.
This wasn’t like Rafe, at all, and you’d watched him enough to know. The entire thing was strange and unsettling, and you almost wanted to reject him but… Wasn’t this what you wanted? Hadn’t you watched Rafe for years just wishing that he would see you? Talk to you? Hadn’t you fantasized to have him look at you as he was currently looking at you?
Hadn’t you bled for that wish?
The thought that that silly little spell actually worked made your head spin, and even still, you didn’t want to believe it. There just had to be some other explanation, but nothing else made any sense. Didn’t this bring his consent in the matter into question? Wasn’t this beyond ethically bankrupt? Did you care?
It was wrong, so wrong, because deep down you knew where all of this was coming from. You’d wanted this for years, and here it was literally at your doorstep. Rafe Cameron was asking you out and wanting to pursue you and you were questioning it because of the ethics of witchcraft? Who were you to say no? It was so beyond selfish, but if Rafe could be selfish his whole life, why couldn’t you for five minutes?
You bit your lip and tightened your grip on the flowers.
“Okay,” you whispered, lifting your gaze. “I’ll go out with you.”
The look on Rafe’s face was one you’d wanted to see for ages, and any guilt that you felt was forgotten as he leaned in and pressed his lips to your cheek.
Rafe’s lips were harsh against yours as he kissed you on the bed of his truck. The cool night air was barely felt as he ran his hands over you, unable to keep them in one place and you were glad for it. The blond moaned into your mouth as he pressed himself against you, fitting comfortably between your legs. You felt like you were living in your wildest of dreams, and you couldn’t believe it.
Sarah had said something similar only days earlier.
“I don’t believe this,” she’d scoffed. “You and Rafe are going on a date?”
“He asked and I said yes. It happened so fast that I didn’t even consider how it might make you feel until after,” you’d honestly told her.
If all of this was really the result of some stupid book, you didn’t want to sell any more of your soul by being a bad friend too. You’d watched as the blonde ran her hands through her hair, seemingly in shock. She seemed like she had a lot she wanted to say, but she probably kept it to herself for your benefit.
“If this is what you want, what can I even say, you know? I didn’t even know you liked him like that,” she murmured to herself. “Although I suppose I can see why you never said anything.”
“I just wanted to make sure you were okay with it.”
“I don’t know if okay is the right word, but…” she shrugged. “I can’t tell you or him what to do.”
Your talk with the other blonde definitely made you feel better about answering the door when Rafe arrived at your house. The date went well enough, Rafe taking you to some restaurant you’d never be able to afford, and giving you his undivided attention the entire time. His heavy gaze kept your face warm the entire night, and you reminded yourself that this is what you wanted and you got it.
“I don’t want to take you home just yet,” he’d murmured outside of the restaurant, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand.
You hadn’t wanted to go home just yet either, not wanting this night to end.
“Okay.”
…and that was how you found yourselves parked in some abandoned field with Rafe on top of you in the back of his truck. A thick blanket was underneath you, and it was hard to remember how long you’d been kissing him. His tongue tasted the inside of your mouth and his hand was on your jaw. Every so often you’d lift your hips and he’d groan against your lips. Two weeks ago you had never said one word to him, and now here you were.
Rafe’s lips traveled to your neck, giving you a moment of reprieve, and you gasped for air. Your heart was racing in your chest, and you ran your fingers through his dirty blond strands, head thrown back. Every open mouthed kiss he left on your throat made your heart flutter, and you once again couldn’t believe that this was your life.
When his hand reached for the top of your dress, however, you reminded yourself that not only was this the first date, but that your mother was no doubt waiting up to make sure you made it home safe. As much as you wanted all of Rafe, the speed at which this had all progressed was definitely making your head spin.
“It’s getting late…”
Your words didn’t affect Rafe none, and you gasped when he nipped at the top of your chest.
“Rafe,” you said, reaching for him.
Only then did he pause, looking up at you from his position, and it took everything in you to keep your head on straight. The blond looked like he wanted to eat you alive, and that made your stomach twist in ways you weren’t used to.
“I think I should head home, now.”
He stared at you for too long to be comfortable, but he eventually moved.
“You want to go home?” he asked you, running his hand through his hair.
At your nod, it was like something in him shifted, and he became a lot more relaxed. His shoulders dropped, and he looked between your eyes, and Rafe appeared a lot more docile in the span of a second. It was crazy to witness the sudden shift, and in that moment you accepted that you had done this. There was nothing natural at all about any of this, and you swallowed, hating that you didn’t care.
Rafe was the perfect gentleman as he righted your dress and helped you down. The ride home was silent yet comfortable, his hand on your thigh the entire way, and every so often you felt his eyes on you. On the occasion you met his gaze, he always returned it with a smile. Rafe seemed happy to be here, so how awful could this really be?
You glanced down at the diamond bracelet on your wrist, recalling the shock you’d felt to find it inside the box of chocolates instead of candy. Rafe had said something about wanting to impress you when you brought it to the date, unable to find it in yourself to stop him when he took the box back before putting the jewelry on you himself.
You’d looked at him in a mixture of awe and worry. You should’ve accepted then that nothing about this was natural, but you were still in denial. After all, if what you did was actually real and all of this was the result of that, what did that make you? How far were you willing to take this?
Those questions were still on your mind when he walked you to your door, and again, Rafe was the perfect gentleman as he placed a kiss at the corner of your mouth. You stared after him as he walked back to his truck, tugging his jacket closer. You liked to think that you weren’t some horrible person, and you told yourself that you’d enjoy this for a little while longer before finding a way to undo what you’d done.
Rafe Cameron was your boyfriend, and you liked it.
You didn’t just like that he was your boyfriend, but you liked what that meant for you. You liked the privilege that came with the relationship. You liked walking into doors you would’ve never been able to walk through otherwise. You liked when he spent money on you and bought you the kinds of things you could only dream about owning.
…and the girls.
You liked the way they looked at you.
It didn’t take long for Rafe’s exclusiveness to become noticeable, for it to become apparent that the once ladies’ man and heavy partier had done a 180. Girls he used to spend every weekend with no longer got so much as a glance from him. Phone calls and texts went ignored before those numbers were eventually blocked altogether, and when you were out and about, it was clear that you were to blame.
Rafe was absolutely obsessed with you, and you relished in the way some of his former lovers looked at you.
You, who had never so much as had a single boyfriend, was now on the receiving end of the most envious looks you’d ever seen in your life. You knew that if any of those girls had access to the kind of magic you had, you would’ve been dead a long time ago. You were always overlooked by boys and barely even seen as a woman in their eyes, and now you were with Rafe Cameron and he looked at you like you hung the moon.
“I won’t lie…I definitely expected this to crash and burn,” Sarah admitted. “Through no fault of yours, of course.”
Kie snorted at that, and you took a sip of your drink.
“I’m serious,” she said, “He’s like a completely different person. Part of me wants to ask what you did, but another part of me is scared of the answer.”
Her and Kie thought that was funny, and you could only hold back your smile.
“He literally worships the ground you walk on,” Kie commented, slightly disgusted. “...and that’s the only reason the guys are even respectful about any of this.”
It was true.
Rafe gave into your every whim and he answered your every beck and call. Sometimes he felt more like a servant than a boyfriend, asking you what you needed and running you hot baths and kneading his fingers into your shoulders after you had a long day. With that kind of behavior, how could you deny him for much longer?
You hadn’t planned on sleeping with him, telling yourself it was a line you just couldn’t cross considering the circumstances, but it happened so seamlessly. One moment he was kissing your face and telling you how beautiful you were, and the next his fingers were inside of you and massaging your walls so good that it had you clinging to him.
Rafe was a man starved.
“I’ve never…” you had trailed off, somewhat embarrassed to admit to him your lack of experience.
Rafe had only grinned at you before kissing you.
“I feel honored,” he’d whispered against your lips. “To be your first and your last.”
His words had given you pause, but then he was pushing his cock into you, and your nails were digging into his skin, and they were forgotten.
You’d anticipated the pain, and that surely didn’t disappoint, but you hadn’t anticipated just how good it could feel. That honestly could've just been Rafe though. It’s not like he didn’t have a reputation, and you quickly realized that it was not without reason. His lips stayed on you the entire time you had sex, and it was just enough to not be overstimulating.
Every curve of his hips into yours had you gasping, and you were so happy that your parents wouldn’t be home for hours. Having him inside of you felt nothing like your fingers or his. It was a different experience entirely, and Rafe was ravenous as he fucked you and tasted you. One of his hands was behind your neck as he repeatedly pressed his lips to yours while the other was tight on your waist.
“Do you like that?” he whispered, and you could barely get a word out.
You could only nod, and that seemed to satisfy his curiosity, and you swore that you heard a low growl escape his throat as he stretched you around his cock. He looked down between you where you connected, his hair hanging onto his forehead, and you couldn’t hold in your moans. You’d been dating for months, but it was finally setting in.
Rafe Cameron was yours.
You’d daydreamt about it for years—harmless and silly fantasies—but now it was your reality. Rafe held your hand and kissed you and paraded you around town for all to see, making you the envy of just about every girl who’d ever so much as looked at him. He doted on you and called you beautiful and said all of the things and looked at you in a way you wanted him to for years.
…and now he was in your bed and making love to you and giving you your first experience.
You were on cloud 9, and you allowed yourself to bask in it. You threw your head back as he bit at your neck, and your chest arched up into his as he thrust into you. You wrapped your arms around him, holding him closer, and Rafe moaned at the action. It seemed like he wanted to be as close to you as possible too, and he slid his knees underneath your thighs.
“Rafe,” you sighed, breath hitching as he filled you to the hilt.
Every time he pulled his hips back, only the tip of him remained, and when he surged forward he filled you up again. It was driving you crazy in the best way, and your nails scraped down his back and arms. The blond hissed at the action, and his teeth grew rougher on your skin. You came around him once, but that wasn’t enough for him, and you swore that when you came around him for the third and final time, he told you he loved you.
Rafe was obsessed with you.
It was like once he had you, it was never enough. The first night you slept together blended into one long night. You came around him too many times to count, small naps in between, and he only left a few minutes before your parents came home, but you were sneaking him back in a few hours later as soon as they were asleep. He wouldn’t stop kissing you the moment he climbed through your window.
“Are you going to chew it for her too?” Sarah wondered one day when Rafe cut up your omelet for you.
Her tone was teasing, and you threw her an equally teasing glare, but Rafe hadn’t responded outside of a scathing look towards his sister. His behavior was glaringly obvious for all to see, and you couldn’t say you hated it. Your life had become a fairytale overnight, and you’d happily ate your food while he sat next to you, his seat so close to yours that his arm rested over your shoulder as he watched you eat.
“Honey, I’m just worried,” your mother had said another day. “It just seems like you spend all of your time with him these days and you hardly see your friends.”
Her concern was understandable, but you assured her that you were fine.
“I do see them,” you’d told her. “Rafe has just never gotten along with them too well, and it’s not like that’s changed now that we’re together.”
It wasn’t a complete lie.
Your friends were cordial with Rafe, now, and you appreciated that, but Rafe loved having you to himself. Any time you convinced him to be around your friends, it never lasted long before he was convincing you to sneak off with him somewhere, and the blond could be very persuasive.
“Five more minutes,” he said to you in the middle of the night.
His head was between your legs and your thighs were aching from being bent so long and a thin layer of sweat covered your skin. Rafe’s fingers were pressed into you as he held you in place, and you shuddered when his breath blew along your folds. You’d never been this wet in your life, and you were scared to look at the time and see just how long he’d had his mouth and tongue against your cunt.
You were exhausted and out of breath and Rafe refused to let you go.
You told yourself that it was fine, that it was just what came with that honeymoon phase of every new relationship. Granted, it’s not like you would know, but you figured that things would calm down between you the longer you were together. A time would come where you were more normal about each other and he didn’t want to spend every waking moment on you or in you.
You thought that, at least, but you were woken up in the middle of the night a month later. The knocking on the door was incessant, and you’d thought that something was wrong, that some kind of emergency was happening. Your parents beat you to the door, and no one was more shocked or horrified than you to see that it was Rafe on the other side.
Your father glanced at you with the kind of anger you’d never been on the receiving end of, and your mother looked between you with a disturbed frown.
“Rafe?” you wondered in shock. “What…?”
“I had to see you,” was his only excuse, and you shrank under your father’s withering gaze.
“Dad, I… I don’t know what’s…”
Your words died in the air, unable to understand what was happening. However, despite how much he’d grown to like Rafe, you could see your father’s patience thinning. You hurried to deescalate something before it began, profusely apologizing to your parents as you told them you’d handle this.
“Something could be wrong,” you hurried to say to him. “Five minutes and then I’m inside.”
Your father didn’t say a word, but the way his mustache twitched told you enough. Your mother was the only one to linger a bit before eventually leaving too.
“Five minutes,” were her soft parting words.
Rafe’s hand was tight on yours as you forced him off of the porch, wide eyes on him.
“I wanted to see you,” he said, and you blinked.
“Is something wrong? Is it Sarah?” you worriedly asked him.
His scoff made your frown deepen.
“No, Sarah’s…fine,” he waved that off. “I was thinking about you and…I just had to see you.”
You stared at him for a long time, mouth falling open when you processed his words.
“You were thinking about me and you just had to see me? Rafe, it’s three in the morning. You woke up my parents—they have jobs they have to go to tomorrow,” you told him, voice rising in pitch.
“I wanted to see you,” he repeated.
“I get that, but…this isn’t okay. You have to go home, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Technically you’d see him later on today, but that didn’t need to be pointed out.
“...but I don’t want to go home,” Rafe said with a frown, and you blinked at him.
“Rafe…”
“I’m not going home.”
His tone was strong with conviction, and you swallowed. You looked over your shoulder before glancing behind him. You didn’t see his truck, so you guessed that he’d parked it somewhere before sneaking over here. His hand was still tight on yours, and when you looked at him again, he hadn’t looked away from you once.
“I’ll meet you at my window…okay…?”
That was the right thing to say, and Rafe gave you a crooked smile before kissing you. You pulled away before it could become heated, and you hurried inside, sure that your five minutes was up. Your mother was in the hall as you locked the door, and you apologized to her several times before wishing her a good night.
Like you agreed on, Rafe was at your window when you shut your room door, and he didn’t hesitate to climb inside the moment you opened it.
“Rafe, my parents are home, okay? Do you understand what that means?”
The way you were talking to him felt strange.
“Of course,” he said with a nod and a small smirk. “I just wanted to see you.”
He kissed you again, arms wrapped around you, and you kissed him back after a while. His hold on you was tight, and when he broke the kiss, he briefly kissed your cheek.
“Just want to sleep next to you, tonight…”
His words made you less tense, and you felt your face soften as you separated. You helped him get undressed, only his boxers remaining, and you watched him slide into your bed after you. He didn’t give you any time before reaching for you and pulling you closer, and Rafe only seemed to relax when your head was comfortably on his chest.
You traced patterns into his skin, and you bit your lip as you told yourself this was nothing.
“Rafe,” you warned, but he didn’t hear you.
Or chose not to, it was hard to tell these days.
One of his hands was curved around your throat while the other held your wrists against the small of your back. The sound of skin slapping against skin was loud in the kitchen, and you squeezed your eyes shut from both the pleasure he was giving you and the nervousness that filled you. Rafe was getting harder and harder to say no to, and he didn’t seem keen on listening to your concerns when he started kissing you in his kitchen.
“No one’s home,” he’d said.
“...but they could walk through that door,” was your response.
“...but I need to be inside of you,” he replied.
The blond loudly groaned behind you as he filled you up, slowly pushing his cock into you as he held you down against the counter top. Every dip of his cock past your folds had you gasping, but despite how good it felt, you couldn’t stop worrying about someone walking through that door. Everyone was out, now, but it wouldn’t be the first time Rafe was inside of you in a not so private place when someone came home.
You’d never been caught yet, but you never liked to chance it.
He pulled you back until his chest was against you, and the strain in your arms made you wince. Rafe hummed, leaning over and pressing his lips to yours. You were dripping around him and the sound it made every time he pushed his cock into you was loud in the otherwise quiet room. You whimpered when he tightened his hold on your throat, and you both knew that he was the only thing keeping you upright.
This was the fifth time you’d had sex today.
You were worn out—and even a little sore—and it seemed that it was never enough for Rafe. He liked to get his hands on you at every opportunity, and what you thought was a honeymoon phase turned out to be something beyond that. Every day several times a day was the new normal for you, and when Rafe couldn’t be in you, he had to be with you and touching you in some way.
…and he was the only one allowed to.
You still thought about the boy whose arm he broke only last month for pulling out your chair. It was a terrifying and embarrassing debacle, one that was solved with a little bit of money from Rafe. You’d stared at him in horror, and he’d acted as if it was the most normal thing in the world. Or when he’d rammed his truck into Topper’s jeep, citing it as a drunken accident, but you knew better. You’d seen the look on his face when Topper gave you a hug goodbye.
Rafe was equally possessive as he was obsessive, and the more it escalated, the closer you were pushed to facing the truth.
Nothing about his behavior was normal or explainable, but you didn’t want to accept that this was your fault. When he snuck into your room in the early hours of the morning or when he picked out your clothes and put them on you or when he cut the brakes on some guy’s car who’d looked at you for too long for his liking.
You didn’t want to accept responsibility for any of this.
…but when you woke up in the middle of the night to find him staring at you in the darkness for the umpteenth time…you knew. You knew that this was all your fault, and you stared back at him with a sinking feeling in your heart. You’d played God, and you’d had your fun, but now you had to find a way to undo this.
“Kie…what happened to that book you bought a while back?” you asked her the next day when you finally had some time to yourself.
The other girl frowned at you, and you elaborated.
“You know, the one with the love spells and stuff.”
Her face evened out as she remembered.
“Oh, that thing? I tossed it,” she waved off.
You stared at her, stomach dropping.
“You what?”
Your tone must have given her pause because she looked at you.
“It was bullshit,” she shrugged. “Something somebody made when they were bored, because it’s not like it worked. Sarah’s hair is shorter now than it was then. I keep telling her she needs to just cut those split ends…”
The rest of Kie’s words were lost to you as you looked away, mind going a mile a minute as you thought about what you were going to do. You had long accepted that you did this to Rafe, and you’d told yourself you were only going to take it so far, but you’d loved being Rafe’s girlfriend and loved having him all to yourself as you’d always wanted. Now, you had him all to yourself, and you were terrified out of your mind.
“I was only at Kie’s for an hour,” you told the man in question later in the day.
His arms were wrapped around you from behind and his face was pressed into the crook of your neck.
“I know…but I missed you. I always miss you,” he murmured, kissing your skin.
“Do you ever think about why you miss me so much?”
“Because I love you,” he said to you as if you were silly for asking.
With difficulty, you pulled away from him, facing him. You looked into Rafe’s eyes with worry, and you noted that they were completely dilated. You pulled your lip between your teeth, at war with yourself.
“...but why do you love me? Do you ever think about that, Rafe—why you love me so much? Don't you think it came out of nowhere?”
The blond seemed to think on it for a minute.
“No,” he answered, and you frowned. “I woke up one day…and you were just there.”
You swallowed as he touched your cheek.
“...and I couldn’t stop thinking about you, and I had to have you and I did.”
You blinked at him.
“I always get what I want.”
He didn’t take his eyes off of you as he said that, and he grabbed your arm before you could take a step back. He threaded his fingers through yours, and he brought the back of your hand up to his lips. Rafe’s eyes held yours the entire time, the blue of them hardly visible, and the gravity of what you did finally settled on your shoulders.
“...and I’ll never not want you.”
You stared after your friends through the crowd, Rafe’s arm feeling like a weighted belt around you. There was hardly a difference between his arms and chains these days, and you forced yourself to look away from their fun. You hadn’t hung out with them in what felt like ages, and while Kie and Sarah assured you there was no hard feelings—seeing firsthand how needy Rafe could be—you still felt like shit in more ways than one.
“You okay? Are you cold?”
Rafe didn’t give you a chance to say no, already slipping out of his jacket. You accepted it with a small smile, and he returned it before giving you a heated kiss. His friends were used to his public displays of affection by now, but considering your relationship at the moment, you were beyond uncomfortable.
You needed to break up with Rafe…and you were terrified to do so.
Kie had thrown out that book, and everything you looked into that didn’t seem like some cheesy gimmick all basically said the same thing—you had to let it run its course. What did that even mean? Did it mean he’d eventually get tired of you? How long would that be? Did it mean you had to tell him the truth? Get him to break up with you? Break up with him?
In the beginning of all of this, you felt so…powerful. You’d snagged the Rafe Cameron, and you’d had him eating out of the palm of your hand and hanging onto your every word. You’d had other girls green with envy, and you'd been basking in all that came with being his girlfriend. Now, though?
Now, you were frazzled and drained. Rafe was fucking you and kissing you more often than he was not. You spent more nights at his house than your own despite what you wanted because he was going to get what he wanted regardless if your parents were home or not, and the Camerons were much more relaxed about certain things than your parents. He stuck to you like a shadow, even leaning against the door and talking to you when you had to go to the bathroom.
You never thought you’d long for the day when you could cut up your own food and dress yourself and speak for yourself. He was doting and sweet yes, but Rafe was also insatiable and violent and suffocating. It was driving you to your breaking point, and you were silent the entire ride home.
When you asked him to take you to your house, he obliged, but you should’ve known that he expected to come inside with you.
“Rafe, I…I think I want to be alone tonight.”
It was like he didn’t process your words, at all, staring at you with a blank look, and you sighed.
“My parents are going to be home in like an hour…”
Again…nothing.
You glanced away, feeling completely unnerved, before taking his hand. The corner of his lips curved upwards into a small smirk, and he walked you inside. Your thoughts seemed so loud in the quiet house as you considered what you had to do. There was no hesitation in Rafe as he walked towards your room, and you eventually followed him.
You pulled your lip between your teeth as you took off his jacket.
“Rafe…I don’t think that we should see each other anymore.”
It was the nicest way you could say it, and Rafe still looked at you like you’d told him the craziest thing. The snort that left him made your jaw clench, and you took a deep breath.
“I’m serious,” you said, voice shaking. “You’re not in love with me.”
“Of course, I am,” he fired back.
“No, you’re not. Rafe…”
You felt like you were going to be sick, and you were acutely aware of his heavy stare.
“I did something to make you love me.”
“I know you did,” he said with a smile, reaching for you.
“No!” you moved away from him. “I did something wrong, okay? I made you love me. I had a candle and I had some blood, and I made you feel how you feel about me…”
Rafe was frowning at you, now, and you hoped that he was getting it.
“Before this, you never even looked at me, Rafe. Remember? I was invisible to you—I was nothing! Nothing, and then you suddenly can’t stop thinking about me? I’m the only girl you want to be with? Doesn’t that seem odd to you?”
The room was silent as you just stared at him, gaze pleading as you hoped and prayed you got through to him. Rafe slowly blinked at you, and in a matter of seconds, you watched his expression shift. It was hard to place, but you knew that it made you uncomfortable, and a shiver crawled up your spine.
“What’s odd is you coming up with this nonsense—this bullshit—to try and leave me.”
You let out a sigh of defeat, pressing your hand to your forehead.
“Rafe, please hear what I’m saying–.”
“I hear you.”
“No, Rafe, no. This isn’t natural. I…I messed up,” you tearfully said. “I was wrong, and I shouldn’t have done it, but part of me didn’t think it would work and another part of me hoped it would, but now… I don’t know how to undo it.”
He was moving towards you, and you stumbled back.
“You’re not leaving me,” he quietly told you.
“Rafe, please hear what I’m saying. Please, fight it because I don’t…I don’t know how to make it stop,” you cried. “...but you’re so you, and you have to still be in there. You have to be!”
You felt like you were talking to a wall, and you pushed at his hands as he reached for you.
“Rafe, please,” you begged.
When his hand pulled at your shirt, tearing it, it was sinking in.
There was no leaving him, no getting away, and you brought your knee up. You didn’t stay to see if he was okay, stumbling into the hall and running for the door. Your name was loud in the air as he shouted it, and it made you flinch. You were running past his truck when you heard the door bounce off of the wall, and tears blurred your vision as you ran across the yard.
You’d never run so fast in your life, but Rafe’s legs were longer—or he was simply more determined, fueled by something other to catch you—and he caught up with you sooner than you would have liked. You both fell to the ground, a grunt leaving you as he tightly held onto you. Your hands pulled at the grass to get away, ripping out a few blades as Rafe pulled you back.
You kicked at him, crying and screaming, and Rafe yanked you back so hard that it hurt your hands. One of his hands was tight in your hair, pulling your head back before slamming it back down. The action made you see stars, damn near knocking you out, and you groaned in pain. The sound of that seemed to trigger something in Rafe, and he let you go.
“I’m sorry, baby,” you heard him whisper, turning you over.
Your vision was spinning, and you could just barely make him out as he leaned over you.
“I’m sorry,” he quietly said to you, leaning in to press his lips to the corner of your mouth. “...but you can’t leave me.”
His hands were all over you, now, and you felt him press kisses to your chest, your shirt tearing some more to make room for them.
“I love you,” he breathed, kissing you. “...and you love me.”
You weakly pushed at his chest.
“Why would I let you leave me? Why would you want to?”
“Rafe…I’m sorry,” you mumbled, trying to sit up.
The blond shoved you back down, and your struggle continued.
“I forgive you,” he hummed, nipping at your skin and settling in between your legs.
“No, no….”
He thought you were apologizing for something else, and you couldn’t stop crying. You shoved at his face and tried to back away, but he gripped your wrists, moving his mouth against yours. The breeze from the water cooled your skin, and the clouds hid what little light there would’ve been from the moon. The sound of tearing fabric made your heart race, and you cried harder, unable to get him off of you.
Rafe moaned like a man starved when he finally managed to sheath himself inside of you, holding himself there with parted lips before pulling his hips back. One of his hands held your wrist to your stomach, and the other slid behind your head as he pulled you in for another kiss. The kiss was salty from your tears, but Rafe didn’t mind it.
He fucked you against the grass, unconcerned about where you were. If you didn’t know any better, he was more hungry for you now than he was the first night you slept together. His grunts and moans were loud in your ear, and you squeezed your eyes shut.
“What were you thinking, baby? Hmm?”
He slammed his hips against yours, letting your wrists go to reach underneath your thigh.
“Rafe,” you gasped, trying one last time to undo what you did. “This isn’t you.”
He only pushed your leg back, hungrily kissing at your jaw and neck and chest.
“Please, listen to me,” you sobbed.
Your words went ignored, and more tears fell as he thrust into you, losing himself in the feeling. His hand behind your head slid to your neck, and it tightened around your throat as he lifted his head to look at you. His blue eyes did not look away from yours once.
“If you try to leave me again,” Rafe quietly started, blond strands kissing your forehead. “I might have to lock you away until you come to your senses.”
He said it with a laugh, but you knew he was entirely serious, and you blinked back tears as he kissed you again.
yes babe you’re so bunny a certain hunger my year of rest and relaxation boy parts the pisces gone girl milk fed nightbitch the bell jar the virgin suicides earthlings pizza girl vladimir motherthing chlorine and ily for it
cw: p! link below, established relationship, teasing, doggy, unprotected sex, sex in someone else's bed, breeding, overstim, messy sex, degradation, mean bf, smut, mdni
summary: this is what happens when you tease your man too much in your cute little sundress
masterlist
he watches you intently from his spot across from you at the patio table as you bounce one of your friend's babies on your lap. the hand holding his red solo cup squeezes around the plastic in an attempt to lower the urge to snatch you up. you keep giving him that innocent smile in your form fitting dress, looking like the picture of domesticity and a wet dream of his come to life.
he shifts in his chair, cup warping beneath his grip, jaw tight as he drags his gaze slowly down the line of your thighs, then back up to your tits, which keep bouncing just a little with the soft motion of your body while you entertain the child. "you seem to know what you're doing." he grunts.
you have that one look on your face you always get when you're teasing him. you hand off the baby to one of your friends so the poor thing isn't involved in the intense stare-off you and him have going on, and you grin, leaning forward and tipping your head to the side, fluttering your lashes at him. "yeah, it feels natural, hm? bet i'll be real good at it when you put a baby in me."
he shifts in his seat and spreads his knees further like it'll calm the way his cock is hard and pushing against the zipper of his jeans. you haven’t touched him once and his cock is already uncomfortably swollen just from watching you be sweet to everyone else in. "don't talk like that." he says sternly, unable to handle your dirty talk while in public.
"your face is warm, are you alright?" you smile innocently, your big eyes sparkling sweetly. you tug your hair up off your neck with a soft, whining sigh and his breathing picks up sharply. you did that on purpose. it's not far off from the sounds you make when he's balls deep in you, which doesn't help his situation. " 'm fine, baby. 's just hot outside."
he wonders if he made the right choice to come. he was debating dragging you back to bed and away from the car the second you chose that sundress, form fitting and showing a questionable amount of cleavage for a barbeque in your backyard where you'd intended for your man to meet some of your friends and their husbands; a group date, if you will. now, you've stood up and started moving around the barbeque, and he feels like he's being tormented on purpose. the way you stretch when you reach for the cooler, arms overhead, back arching, your dress straining against your ass.
he hasn't spoken in a while now, to any of your friends. he just nods or shakes his head or clears his throat any time he's addressed, because he cannot think right now. you keep drifting past him like you're checking on something, brushing your fingers along his shoulder, placing a very calculated kiss right to his sweet spot; the area right under his ear.
you keep pretending not to notice how wrecked he looks as his jaw keeps flexing, throat working every time he swallows, like he's physically trying to restrain himself. he watches your ass bounce and hips sway when you walk. "oh fuck me," he mutters low to no one in particular. he catches your arm the next time you walk past him, dragging you close to him so he can lean forward and whisper in your ear. "you like being a fuckin' menace, huh?"
and you do, that's what makes this so fun for you. you keep doing that little pout, bottom lip soft and pushed out, head tilted like you're confused when you're really not. he grunts, hand coming up to wrap gently but very firmly around the base of your throat, thumb just under your jaw as he tilts your head up, and his voice lowers. "you keep lookin' at me like that. walkin' around like that. can't you sit still?"
you blink up at him with a little grin. "i thought you said it was hot outside, baby. 'm just trying to keep cool." he scowls at your bullshitting and squeezes your neck.
"yeah? y'wanna see how cool i can be when i stretch out your sloppy lil' pussy?" your breath catches in shock at his tone, but your cunt gives a dull throb nevertheless. he continues, clearly fed up with your antics, leaning in so his mouth brushes against your cheek.
instead of backing down, you just reach down and take his hand off your throat, kiss the inside of his wrist before glancing around, voice sweet and breathless. "stop being so needy, babe. i'm sure you can behave yourself for a few more hours." you say, your voice soft and patronizing.
he's furious. his eyes rake over you, slowly, hand moving to the small of your back, holding you closer to him now. "i'm sick of you being such a little brat, y'hear me? do you wanna be punished?"
you scoff, and pull back just enough to give him a smug grin. "mm, you're so dramatic," you murmur like it's cute and he isn't five seconds from fucking you on the grass like a wild animal. "chill out. 'm gonna go get a popsicle. i'll grab one too so your mouth has something to do other than talking."
he stares after you, stunned while you walk away with your hips swaying. his cock is throbbing, nearly painful in his jeans now, the cotton of his boxers chafing into skin in the worst way possible. he would get up after you, but his cock is so fucking swollen that he cannot get up without causing a scene, and you know it.
he watches as you pull open the cooler lid, lean all the way over to dig through it, your dress riding up just enough to send another wave of fury through his bloodstream, before you pull out a popsicle and rip it open with your teeth, lips closing around it. your man exhales through his nose, pushing his hand over his lap in an attempt to hide his problem, watching you lick and suck and slobber onto that popsicle like it's his cock. not helping. "she can't be fuckin' serious..." he mumbles, his pulse spiking. his gaze focuses on you, lashes flickering as he tries to prevent the stupid glassy eyed expression he gets whenever he looks at you.
damn him for having such a big crush on his girlfriend.
you stroll back to him, still licking at your popsicle, and lower yourself onto his lap, right onto his cock. and with how thin your dress is, he can easily feel your plump pussy lips and folds against his jeans. you're... not even wearing panties.
you know there’s nowhere else for you to sit, and he knows you timed it like that on purpose. you wriggle like you're just getting comfortable onto his cock, and the noise he makes in response is feral. his hands fly to your waist on instinct, and his whole body jerks under you, hips twitching up against your bare cunt even though he's doing everything he can to hold still. he squeezes you, hard. "you. you've got five seconds to get off me."
you giggle and roll your hips instead so your pussy grinds down on his bulge, and he groans, squeezing you tighter and putting his face in your neck. he needs you to stay still before he creams himself, but you're a fucking brat with no self restraint. "don't think i will," you hum petulantly, reaching up to play with the hair at the nape of his neck. "you're so comfy."
his hand comes under your shirt to squeeze at your flesh, he's so swollen and pent up that he's started leaking steadily now, his body begging for release. you won't sit still either, continuously grinding on him as he moans into you skin, biting into your throat to muffle his noises. "mmngh... 'm gonna fucking ruin you, you goddamn brat," you smile in response, all saccharine and smug. "in front of my friends, baby? don't think so."
he lifts his head slowly. "say one more fuckin' thing. go ahead. see what happens."
"you're hard as a rock, baby." is the last teasing remark you make before he gets up, dead silent, and yanks you up with him, his hand sliding around your waist. you stumble a bit in your sandals, but he catches you with no effort, one strong arm across your back to hold you close enough to him that his soiled pants and erection aren't visible. his free hand squeezes your upper arm firm enough for you to know he's done with your shit.
-
"baby, fuck! slow d-down, mmmh, oh my god,"
he's got you down on a bed in one of the rooms upstairs, the music coming from the speakers down at the barbeque the two of you abandoned now faded and replaced by the sound of your heartbeat pounding in your ears. you're laying down with him plowing into you from behind so roughly your vision is swimming, and one of his huge hands is splayed on the back of your neck to keep you down while the other squeezes your hips. he's grunting and panting harshly behind you, eyes blazing with anger.
"slow down?" he spits, voice rough as he bends down to talk against your ear. his chest is heaving, sweat sticking to his chest as he ruts into you from behind uncoordinatedly, thrusts hard and sloppy and inconsistent like he's lost the ability to pace himself. "you want slow now? after all that bullshit downstairs? after grinding on my fuckin' cock in front of everyone like a needy little slut?"
his hips snap forward hard and you cry out as he starts fucking his cock deep inside you, your walls stretched out around his cock close to unbearably. his hand at your neck doesn't let up either, making it impossible to lift your head and do anything but take his cock in your soaked, puffy little pussy. he keeps you pinned down like you're a wild, untamable animal. "told you not to fuckin' play with me." his voice is low now, rasping through clenched teeth, "i told you to sit your pretty little ass still, but no. and now look where you are, hm? getting fucked like a whore."
he pounds into you, his bulbous head swollen and pressing down heavily at your sweet spot, too much, too long. you're seeing stars each time he bottoms out and kisses the gooey spot in you so rough that you scream, and tighten up so much that it feels like you're milking his cock. you try to squirm and lift yourself up a little to get away from the overwhelming amount of pleasure just for a second, but he slams in harder, shoves you back down, and you whine loudly, legs quivering weakly.
"couldn't help yourself, huh?" he growls, dragging his hand down your spine to slap your ass, hard, making you jolt and clench. "wanted to make me mad. wanted to see what i'd do if you were a little slut in front of everyone." your mouth hangs open as you pant and drool, fingers clawing at the sheets for something to hold. "baby fuuuuuck, please! i didn't-"
"don't fucking lie to me." he says quietly, his thrusts now quicker and rougher, his heavily balls slapping against your ass while he grinds deep inside you. you sob, twisting under him. "yes, yes, baby, i swear fuck, i'm mngh, sorry, 'm sorry,"
his cock twitches and throbs inside you with enjoyment at your pitiful sounds, and he thrusts into you from behind hard enough to watch your ass bounce and jiggle. you try to fuck yourself back on his cock to try and guide the pace or maybe encourage him to let you do the work but he squeezes the back of your neck in warning and pushes down on your back so you can't move anymore. you mewl pitifully, unable to gain any control. his length, thick and veined with a curve that hooks inside you at the perfect angle to kiss your cervix and your g-spot in every thrust, scrapes at your walls mercilessly. he's pounding you as a punishment.
"sh-shit... yeah?" he breathes, voice shaking slightly. "you're sorry now? while you're soaking my cock like this? fuckin' pathetic, baby, you're not sorry at all." he slams forward again, hard enough to make your whole body jolt, and you fist at the blankets for dear life, getting fucked into oblivion while your pussy clenches around him weakly. he hisses through his teeth, cock grinding down into the slick mess between your thighs deeply.
his hips buck sharply, cutting himself off with a guttural moan as he fucks into you so rough and uncoordinated that you feel like he wants his cock molded into the shape of your cunt. "bet you were wet the second we got here," he growls, leaning down to lick at your shoulders and bite your throat, laying on you from behind so you're now in prone bone, the new position making you both moan loud as his cock shoves into you impossibly deeper. one hand is sliding fingers into your mouth so you slobber around his fingers, while the other holds your wrist down. "oh fuck, baby... this pussy's so fuckin' good... fuck..."
you're sobbing now, the overwhelming fullness, the tight stretch, the pounding driving your brain to mush. "please," you whimper, barely able to speak around your cries. "i-i can't... too much, it's too..."
"shhh" he snarls, tugging your hair back a little so you're forced to arch for him, your hole spread for him. his cock shoves so deep inside you, and your walls pulse and flutter around him as the buildup of your orgasm coils up in your tummy. "you wanted this," he murmurs. "y' fuckin' asked for it. grinding on me, teasing me, sittin' on my lap with that messy little cunt, this is what you get."
he rams into you harder, strokes mean, and your slick makes filthy squelching noises with each sloppy, animalistic thrust. his cock drags against every soft, sensitive spot inside you like his cock knows instinctively exactly where to hit to make your toes curl. he pushes into you harder, putting just enough of his weight on you to be shy of smothering. "baby, i c-can't, 'm gonna cum," you sob, your voice wrecked and desperate, your voice is slurred and muffled around his fingers pressing down onto your toungue.
"yeah?" he pants into your skin, slotting hot, open mouthed kisses to your shoulders and throat. "you gonna cream on my cock like a good little girl? gonna soak me while everyone outside's thinkin' you're sweet and innocent? fine, nasty lil' thing. cum on my cock." he then turns your head, taking his fingers out of your mouth so he can kiss you deeply, his tongue immediately connecting with yours to kiss you filthily and messily, capturing your moans with his mouth.
you come apart by screaming into his mouth, your body clenching and trembling as the orgasm rips through you, your cunt squeezing him in pulses so tight he chokes on a loud groan. his hips jerk up ino you as he fucks you through your orgasm, thrusts sloppy and urgent. he pulls back from your mouth a little, licking your swollen lips and tugging your hair to make eye contact. "look at me. 'm gonna fuckin' breed you, baby. gonna stuff this messy lil' pussy full and make it mine."
you're still cumming, overstimulated and sobbing into the sheets when he slams in one last time with a ragged growl and spills inside you, his cream hot and coming out in languid, thick splurts. you feel every twitch and pulse of his cock as he empties himself into you, his whole body shuddering above you while he groans loud and unashamed.
he doesn't pull out right away, just stays buried deep, breathing ragged against your skin with his hands coming around to squeeze your breasts under you to ground himself. he exhales shakily and presses chaste little kisses to your shoulder, cock still rock hard inside you. he absently ruts into you, laving his tongue over your sweat slicked skin while you twitch under him weakly. some of his cum leaks out of you, but his fat cock keeps most of it stuffed inside. he pinches your swollen nipples and moans against your neck. "fuck, this perfect fuckin' pussy, baby. wanna go for one more?"
⊹ unprotected sex, somnophilia, mentions of drugs.
rafe was the last person you'd imagine being close to. he was... well, rafe. sarah was sweet and you two loved to chat, and wheezie was the reason you moved into the island, leaving your life behind — you didn't want to be away from your mother and lost your sister's childhood, so you left your life in the city. and well, a little bit of sun and salty water in a millionaire mansion wouldn't be that bad.
it surprised you when you realized how close you'd become, you thought you'd hate him at first. rafe was problematic, a troublemaker and... he wasn't very friendly with the idea of an outsider in his house, using his father's money. he wasn't friendly with anyone at all, except with his little sister wheezie, and that was one thing you had in common.
you began to exchange some greetings here and there, then he'd barge into your room without knocking, asking you for silly things as an excuse to see you laying there in your pajamas. "have you seen my charger?", "think I lost my phone... can you call me?", "party at topper's place. don't be late or you're staying here".
and without realizing, you were a hundred percent inside his world, that complicated and messy little world. your room was the coolest place in that house for him, so cozy and welcoming and somehow nostalgic, sunrays seemed to hit different trough your lacy white curtains, with cigarettes after sex playing in the background while you layed in your pale pink sheets in your pajamas to read a book, smelling like fucking strawberries.
it all seemed to turn quiet in there, like there was nothing in the outiside of that room but clouds. the atmosphere changed completely once he stepped in, and he loved that you'd accept to have him in there for hours without bothering to even say something; his mind was so filled with shit and he needed some silence. you just layed there, doing your girlie shit like he wasn't there. and when he felt like, he'd talk to you about his problems with his dad, or about business shit you didn't quite understood, or simply do drugs with you and stare at the ceiling of your room as his mind went blank.
then, he began to step into your room to give you a goodnight kiss after coming home late at night, and trough kiss after kiss, you reached for him and locked him into your arms. of course he'd stay. because your mattress felt somehow even more comfortable than his king sized bed, and you would always feel so warm under the blankets. god, he loved your scent. strawberries and vanilla, always clinging to your skin, and pillows, even in the air he could feel it. and you were always so warm, his hands touched every inch of you. your back, your legs, your stomach. he couldn't get enough.
such a sweet, protective big bro.
and before the sunrise, trough that lazy fog, he unconsciously rubbed his hard cock against the flesh of your ass, your bodies always pressed together in your sleep as he had the sweetest dreams of you. he went crazy when all you did was lift your hips even more until he came on his boxers after rubbing himself against you, quickly coming back to sleep with your back pressed against his chest.
you'd let him use you without caring about anything. it was your little secret, always so cozy and intimate. you lowered your pajama's shorts to your heels for him and went back to sleep while he stroked himself while looking at your pretty ass, at the curve of your back. he touched your breasts under your shirt, squeezed your asscheeks and parted them to spill all his cum and watch it slide down your skin.
then you couldn't jerk off without eachother, always sneaking under eachother's sheets and touching yourselves together. he loved to watch that blush take over your cheeks, the roll of your eyes as you came in front of him, legs open to that pretty cunt for him to soak with his cum.
but he couldn't fuck you. it was okay to just jerk off with you, right? you were just helping eachother, but fucking you seemed like a limit for him not to cross. but it turned more and more difficult. you were dying to feel how his perfect cock would feel inside you, and you were the perfect image of an angel, so pure and oblivious to your surroundings, probably dreaming of something sweet.
so one night you didn't wake up to his kisses, or the touch of his slender hands as he touched himself. it was his cock, stretching out your tight and warm walls. fuck, it was so good. you gasped, immediately lifting your head from the pillow. rafe was already fucking you slowly when he reached out to shush you, to stroke your scalp and slide his thumb over your flushed cheek, then down to your parted lips. 'shh, 's okay sis. i'll be quick, 'kay? just have to be quiet... fuck— can you do that 'f me?'
you nodded, resting your head against the pillow again as he muttered a sound of approval under his breath. fuck, it finally happened. he didn't even have to do much, his dick already filled you with a gentle roll of his hips, with his hands keeping your own hips lifted for him at the perfect angle. without mucb you were already making a mess on his dick, wet sounds coming out as discreetly as your soft sighs, muffled against the pillow, your eyes shut while you found yourself stuck between the feel of his thrusts and the sweet haze that made you a sleepy mess. rafe knew exactly what to do, how to do. you didn't make a sound, didn't even move.
he'd mutter a breathy 'fuck' or just hum, making sure you two wouldn't be discovered in the intimate of that moment. he rushed just a bit, and the constant rubbing of his tip on your soft spot made you curl against him, pussy contorting so sweety it made him come right after you, finally, finally spilling ropes of cum inside you just like he always wanted to. he stayed there for a bit, and the struggle to let go made one thing clear; now that the line was crossed, he'd come for more. again and again.
notes: tysm for reading! please support a writer by liking and reblogging if you enjoyed. english is not my first language so pleease sorry if there are any mistakes, just wrote this in a hurry. i dont know if i should keep writing only for rafe in this blog or also keep writing about the other characters at my blog... anyways, ill keep posting, byee xoxo
synopsis: being in a relationship with rafe, things are always easy on you and your bunny brain. until they’re not.
cw: butt stuff, violence, blood, alcohol mentions, reader is kind of a bimbo, kind of dumbification? mean!rafe, canon spoilers, shoupe, criminal activity, manipulation/threats, slut shaming, mentions of drugs. the ‘dad’ nickname and daddy kink ♡
Your vanity table was your place of peace.
Pink powder puffs and abused beauty blenders. Shimmery MAC gloss. That one blush pallette with the rabbit engraving that was too pretty to use. When you were sat at that table, everything was okay. You were in girl world, with glitter particles floating like fairies in the air around you and that one lipstick swatch on the back of your hand. It was easy to lose time, there were just so many important decisions to make. What lipliner with what gloss? Are you doing glitter in your inner corners today or not? Probably yes, there was never a wrong time for glitter. However it was only the country club you were visiting, and you were meant to be there twenty-five minutes ago. Being a girl is hard.
The country club was where you and Rafe had locked eyes for the first time. You remember it so clearly, not so much like a fairytale but more so like a sexy 2000s movie where the hot people end up together. You were new to the neighbourhood, a pretty young thing wandering into the Kook club with nothing but a shoulder bag and a skirt that clung to your ass cheeks.
Rafe did a double take when he first saw you, the sort they do in cartoons. You were the first girl he’d seen that dressed skimpy and yet still looked expensive, all dressed in virginal white with endless amounts of skin on display. He’d licked his lips, squinting across the golf course as he aimlessly swung his club in circles, tuning out of whatever-the-fuck it was Topper was complaining about this week. At first, for a few seconds anyway — he didn’t know if he wanted you or hated you for walking in here looking like that, knowing you’d be the talk of the town and the visage behind every guy at the country clubs wet dreams. You’d looked back at him and nervously bit at your manicured finger nail, offering a demure smile. There was something unsure and innocent about you, which confirmed how he felt — if his dick jumping in his pants wasn’t enough. He had to have you.
He vowed to get to know you, force his way into your life — and that’s exactly what he did. He would have felt like a creep, eyeing you from across the bar and asking everyone he could what they knew about the new girl — if you didn’t make it so apparent you were doing the same. You made friends quickly with that bubbly, ditsy, happy-go-lucky attitude of yours— and were soon to sit at the tables outside overlooking the golf course in clusters, whispering through cupped palms and giggles when Rafe and his crew would pass by. He’d act all nonchalant at first, but as he chews at his gum obnoxiously, he couldn’t stop the smirk from curling his lips up. Even his friends would shove at his shoulders excitably. This shit is so high school, he’d think. It was time to make a move.
And so he did — he made sure everyone saw too. Pulling up in his truck out the front of the club, graciously turning down the Future song booming from the speakers to wind his window down and lean out of it with that million-dollar Cameron-man smile. “You leavin’ here by yourself? Look, let me drive you, ‘kay? Been meaning to talk to you anyway, beautiful.”
He’d made sure everyone saw you climbing into the passenger seat of his car. Rafe and the new girl. If Rafe had swooped on her, she was pretty much off the market. Word spread fast, and you were his before he’d even asked you to be. Things took off fast, and with Rafes status came your own. You were untouchable, unpunishable, Kildares sweetheart. A mystery to some. Where did she come from? Is it true X tried to take a shot at her? Everyone knows she’s Rafe Cameron’s girl.
The rest is history — dates, excessive spoiling, meeting The famous Ward Cameron, Rafe breaking that virgin cunt in the same night. Things moved at the perfect pace and you couldn’t be happier. Rafe just made life so easy for you, to the point where around him — you were completely on auto pilot, letting your boyfriend do all the thinking. You figured that’s where you earned your nickname and likeness. A bunny, he’d always compare you to.
Whilst you had this Marylin Monroe sort of allure about you that never failed to draw him in, you were wide eyed and innocent like a bunny rabbit. That, and the way you bounced on his cock, and lest he forget the way your nose twitches when you’re upset. Those were recognised as bunny-like tendencies, so for Rafe — the designer shoe just seemed to fit. You sigh, reminiscing on when Rafe had pushed that bunny tail plug into your ass for the first time as you walk through the gates to the County club. Clearly, you were in a mood today.
“People are lookin’ at me.” You giggle with your cheek to his chest once you find him, careful not to smear your blush on the delicate fabric of his polo once more.
“Maybe it’s ‘cos they can practically see your tail stickin’ out the bottom of your skirt. Pull that shit down, would you?” He complains, but does it for you all the same— ringed hands sliding round down your ass to yank the material down enough for him to be satisfied. You let him, enjoying the feeling of his coarse hands on you— knowing the material was only due to slide right back up as soon as you take a few steps.
The sun burns bright that day, and as Topper approaches the two of you on the grassy hill of the golf course— he holds his golfing glove above his eyes as a makeshift protection from the sun. He wears that expression that’s 90% teeth, smiling as he slides over. “And will I be seeing this lovely lady at the party down at Crystals tonight?”
“A party?” Your back straightens in excitement, neck craning to look up at your boyfriend, who’s jaw tightened at his friend.
“I’m there on business, remember Top?” He blinks a couple of times like he was trying to send a message telepathically, and Toppers face falls a little. Your boyfriend looks to your hopeful expression, sighing a little exasperatedly. “Gonna be there for like an hour. Max. Just pushin’ product, baby. Shits boring.” He waves you off and your brows furrow, following him when he peels away to line up his ball.
“But I like parties! What product Rafey?” You mewl, laying a gentle hand on his playing arm, making him briefly stuff his tongue between his lips to concentrate extra hard. He looks around for listeners before turning his attention back to you.
“Got some yayo on me. ‘Kay? Gonna make us a shit tonne of money.”
You furrow your brows. You couldn’t remember which drug ‘yayo’ was, and you wasn’t even aware of the fact he was selling again. He said he was stopping all that, but as he constantly drilled into your head — you supposed Rafe knew best. It wasn’t your business, and wasn’t anything you had to worry about. Truthfully, you cared more about putting together an outfit to wear to the mentioned party in question.
“Can I still come? I wanna come.” You bounce on your glittery sandals with a ditsy smile, the action making your tits jostle in your little top. Perhaps that was what convinced him, the boy squinting thoughtfully out across the golf course.
“Aaah…” He stresses quietly, lifting his arm to scratch the clammy skin of his forehead beneath his floppy bangs.
“Please dad, won’t get in the way.” You pout, standing on your tiptoes pleadingly. Topper coughs awkwardly at the nickname, still standing near by, rifling through his clubs. Rafe licks his lips before rolling his eyes.
“Alright, okay. But no gettin’ involved, a’ight? Got a little chatty with my customers last time. No more of that, got it?” He warns, throwing you a look over his shoulder as he begins to stance up, gesturing for you to move back so he wouldn’t hit you with his club.
Truthfully, Rafe didn’t like bringing you to parties. As much as he loved parading you around, he knew what he was like — and seeing tens of guys ogling what rightfully belonged to him got tiring. Especially when you were so oblivious, bouncing around pool parties with your tits nearly escaping your bikini, or dancing with your friends to the point of your skirt flipping up — giving everyone a show. He knows you didn’t mean it, you were ditsy as it was so with alcohol added you were a complete loose cannon. However, with each sip he’d take— his rage would only grow, always having to deal with your pouting when he’d make the two of you leave early so he didn’t pummel someone’s face in.
Plus, he was trying to mature now. Step into his father’s shoes. He didn’t even like partying at all the way he used to— it was strictly business now. An in and out job. Was harder to do that with you there.
You always forgot how well loved Rafe Cameron was until he brings you along to a function. His hand staying glued to the small of your back as he walks you through, heads turning — his name being called from all angles like he’s a celebrity. It made you snuggle up harder to his side, which he was alright with — he had no problem being extra touchy with you tonight whilst you wore that baby pink IAMGIA Demie set like you were doing it a favour. It shows more skin than Rafe was okay with people that weren’t him seeing, but he’d be with you all night, so he assumed it would be fine.
You fiddle nervously with the diamanté Hello Kitty sat on your chest when your boyfriend started to pull out the small bags with white powder inside. You didn’t quite understand the whole drug thing, but you knew for a fact you wasn’t the biggest fan of the way people acted when they were on it. They were loud, too grabby, scary. You push your cheek against Rafes side as people swarm him, asking for his supply. He’s cool and calm as ever, smirking in that way that made you want him all to himself.
“No hogging my shit this time a’ight? You get what you pay for.” He drawls playfully to the crowd, his hand thoughtlessly sliding to your waist to drag you gently out the way of the group that was forming near him. He turns his body a little, leaning down to your ear. “Wouldn’t mind grabbing me a beer would you baby? Got big boy business to attend to.”
You swan off to complete this task in a bit of a haze, you always got sort of dazed when you were with Rafe— mostly because being with him meant you got to switch your brain off and have him do all the thinking for you. It was a blessing and a curse, because now it’s been an hour and you forgot all about getting Rafe his drink, having found some friends to take some shots with instead.
You’re warm, stumbling giddily away from where everyone else is dancing as you approach the drinks table, pondering another. As you feel a presence appear up by your side, you tug your top up thoughtlessly, humming as you rub your glossy lips together. The strangers eyes fall to your little get-up, lip clamped beneath his top set of straight white teeth like a predator.
“I really love that little outfit. Looks great on you.” He calls out, with a friendly voice matching a friendly smile. It captures your attention and you whip your head to him, earrings jangling from the movement. You take the chance to look down at your ensemble before raising your glassy gaze up to him, ends of your lashes kissing your eyebrows.
“Oh my gosh, thank you!” You grin, wiping your clammy hands on the ruffle of your skirt. It was a compliment, sure — but in the back of your mind you surveyed the situation and he truly seemed like he liked the outfit, and didn’t seem creepy at all. He’s polite, keeps his gaze respectful (until you turn away, and he can catch a glimpse at your cleavage.) and friendly. You exchange names, before he ensues with the conversation.
“So where’s your friends? Left you all by yourself?” He reaches forward, pulling a piece of rogue fluff from your hair, chuckling adoringly at your carelessness as he tosses it aside. You spin around to where they previously were, met with no familiar faces and an empty space. You frown, glossy bottom lip sticking out when you turn back to him. Of course, it’s adorable.
Too adorable, thinks your boyfriend who watches you from across the room. He’s tightly clutching his own beer, stood chatting with his friends as he observes the situation — losing interest in the surrounding conversation all together. It had been an hour since he’d last seen you, and now here you were — parallel to him with some guy in your ear, making you laugh, fluttering those eyelashes like you always did. He ticks his jaw, tongue in his cheek as he stares you down. Waiting for you to come running over all guilty, ready to fawn over him.
The guy is suggesting your friends disappeared upstairs, perhaps a bathroom, a bedroom — anywhere he can get you alone to eventually work you out of your panties. You’re totally oblivious to it, shaking your head — having a reason against each of his suggestions. It’s frustrating, the way you won’t take the hint— but also the whole ‘bimbo’ thing was kind of doing it for him, unable to work out if you were a total slut or a total virgin, those doe eyes and innocent aura contrasting too heavily on the way your tits practically spill out of your top for either to give him a clear conclusion.
Rafe is mildly irritated, watching the way you bounce with each move you make— one wrong pose from your ass cheeks spilling from the bottom of your skirt. He keeps a watchful eye, until finally — your dopey expression meets his and your face lights up, traipsing over. Much to the Cameron’s surprise— you audaciously loop your arm around the guys bicep, dragging him with you.
“Rafey! Hi! Sorry about your drink, I forgot all about it.” You blink up at him, happy as a clam as you free your arms to affectionately stroke at his chest. He nods, lips parted as his eyes flicker over to the guy at your side— who’s face is slowly dropping in realisation.
“Yeah.” He responds, and doesn’t get to say much else because you’re dropping this sucker in it.
“This is my new friend! He’s helping me find my girls ‘cos I lost them.” You pout, and Rafe’s lip curls up into a smirk— gaze now completely fixated on the stranger.
“Friends huh? You uh, you makin’ friends with my girl, man?” He smiles, but it’s malicious— taking a step forward causing you to move aside. Your brows furrow, sensing the sudden shift in atmosphere, especially when Rafes two Kook attack dogs, Topper and Kelce tune into the conversation, which attracted even more eyes.
“I didn’t know, dude.” The boy seems to have lost all his confidence from before, shrinking several sizes as your tall boyfriend closes in on him.
“Ah, he didn’t know.” Rafe shrugs theatrically before turning to his friends— smarmy smiles on both of their faces at the interaction. “Guys he didn’t know.”
“Come on, man.” The stranger seems uncomfortable with the amount of attention the scene is already creating, more and more heads turning by the moment. You fiddle with your necklace again, twirling the thin chain around a manicured finger as you watch— unsure just what was happening. Your boyfriend claps a seemingly friendly hand onto the man’s shoulder, holding him tightly.
“Nah, man— tell me. You usually walk around at parties… alone… making friends with drunk chicks? That’s uh, yeah that’s a little weird man.” Rafe laughs, so naturally everyone laughs. It’s clear your boyfriend is set on humiliating this guy for talking to you, and you’re not quite sure how you feel about it.
“Maybe you shouldn’t let your girl walk around dressed like a hooker if you don’t want guys—” The boy doesn’t get to finish his sentence, because in a moments notice — Rafe has swung his fist back and pummelled it into his face, hard. A crowd forms, and you nearly get shoved out the way by the sudden rush of jeering, drunk party goers. You gasp, watching the way Rafe straddles his squirming body, a meek attempt at fighting back.
“What was that? You wanna say that shit again, huh? Huh?” Rafe continues to beat on the guy who insult you, teeth grit, jaw tense. The victim attempts to push Rafe off, but Rafe pins him again — bigger and stronger by a mile. This only seems to anger him more, and you watch as Rafe wraps two hands around the guys neck, holding down until his face turned pink.
That’s when you notice that Topper and Kelce aren’t smiling anymore, instead pushing through the crowd suddenly to grab a hold of their friend, yanking him off the man on the ground. Rafe only shrugs them off once before letting them drag him away.
“Yeah? Yeah? Maybe you’ll think next time you try ‘n make some fuckin’ friends, bitch.” He spits as his farewell, before shaking free of his friends and grabbing a hold of your upper arm, all but hauling you out of that party at a speed and strength to where you were certain your feet were barely touching the ground.
The drive home is silent, and only then you start to realise that you might be in trouble too. You didn’t like when Rafe got like this, mad and scary. His temper was no surprise to you, he was always storming around with a sour look on his face, or slamming doors after the daily argument he’d hash out with Ward. All of these examples seemed like mild irritation in comparison to the rage you saw him succumb to only moments prior. He had this look in his eye when his hands were around that man’s neck, his pupil overtaking his iris. It was like he really didn’t mind hurting this guy real bad, and you wondered what would have happened if no one stopped him. Usually, for the most part he kept his anger relatively far from you. Now, with just the two of you alone— you were facing it head on.
The car is even more silent once he puts it in park on the Tannyhill drive. Both of his hands are on the steering wheel, knuckles split and bloody still from his attack, and you notice a speck of blood that didn’t belong to him on Rafes cheek, making you pout— fighting the urge to reach out and brush it away. Instead you stare, waiting for him to speak.
“You know, you — you really gotta be more careful with who you make friends with, baby. Look at this shit I… I had to beat his ass because of you bein’ too friendly. Me. I had to handle shit.” He bites, and you sink back into the seat, ashamed and upset. Perhaps he was right, maybe you did need to keep your wits about you more.
“Oh…” Is all you manage, sad and whiny like a kicked puppy. He licks his lips, shaking his head and finally turning his body to face you.
“What did I say about making friends with guys? Huh? Tell me what I said.” He tilts his head, blinking at you with wide impatient eyes as he waits for an answer. You suck in a shaky breath, wracking your brain for the last time you’d had this conversation.
“Um… I don’t—” You swallow thickly but it’s cut off by your boyfriend grabbing your jaw, forcing you to look at him. As if he’d hit some kind of panic button, two fat tears roll down your cheeks, bottom lip wobbling.
“What did I say?” He raises his voice and you let out a sad sob, sniffling as you try to compose yourself— speaking as clearly as you can.
“You— you said— any guy that approaches me doesn’t wanna be friends. He just…” You sniffle.
“He just what? Go on, finish that shit.”
“He just wants to fuck me.” You cry and he nods, letting go of your face to push his floppy, slightly sweaty bangs away from his face, puffing out a breath through his mouth.
“Get your ass inside.” He mutters, and you’re quick to do so, hopping up out your seat and to the front door, fumbling for your obnoxious keychains in your shoulder bag.
He follows closely once you’re by the door, oddly gentle hands on your waist from behind that guide you all the way to the stair case, giving your ass a pat as he sends you off to his room. You’re standing pathetically when he enters a moment or so after you.
You clasp your hands at your front, the picture of innocence. You weren’t crying anymore, but still looking devastated by Rafes unfortunate mood. He approaches you, looming over you with an unreadable expression and you yearned to reach out and touch the warmth of his skin through his shirt, or to kiss his naturally flushed lips— but you wanted to be a good girl for him. Make things right.
“Y’know the polite thing to do is apologise, sweetheart.” He drawls and you nod vigorously, words taking a moment to find you.
“M’sorry daddy! Really didn’t mean—”
“Actions…” He cuts you off, eyes fluttering. He places two hands on your bare shoulders. “Speak louder than words. Understand?”
“Huh?” You pout, and he presses on your shoulders just a little.
“You know what to do. On your knees.” One hand leaves you, beginning to work at his belt making you have a Pavlovian-like reaction, mouth filling with drool. You realise you’re just staring and he blinks at you. “What are you waiting for, huh? Now, please.”
You quietly drop, shuffling to get as comfortable as possible and begin eagerly fumbling to help with his belt, blinking up at him with wet doe eyes. You were surprised to see that your boyfriend was already hard — not just a halfie as things begin, fully hard. Maybe something to do with the adrenaline, maybe he thought you were sexy when you cried— who knew.
His pants drop to his ankles and he widens his stance a little, licking over his sore lips and softly grasping the back of your head, easing you closer to press kisses to his covered cock. Your need to please got the better of you and you impatiently tugged off his boxers too, starting to leave a trail of glossy pink kiss prints all over him as you let out your own moan of relief.
You were thrilled he was letting you do this. You didn’t like arguing, never able to think of the right words and always crying too much just like a baby. You couldn’t stay cross with Rafe, you simply loved him too much — so you were happy to skip all the hard parts and head straight to the end, where you got to make it all better and earn his forgiveness. Rafe was always happy after you gave him head, especially when you worked super hard, giving him plenty of attention where he needs it. You couldn’t wait to watch him relax.
It wasn’t long before you had the tip of his cock bruising your throat, spit bubbling at the corners of your mouth when you gag around him, trying your very best to get him to cum. It seemed he was close, letting out quiet groans and even stroking your cheeks with his thumbs soothingly which was your favourite thing he did. Your nose twitches, sore and watery as you pull back once more — gazing up at him with gloopy eyelashes and flooded eyes, all sweetly, searching for his approval. He gives you a lazy smile and it’s enough to encourage you to head back down to take him as deep as he’ll go.
You clutch his balls and massage as you deep throat him once more, and this time — the burning of your mascara infiltrating your eyes gets too much to handle and you close them, squeezing them tight as you pull back ever so slightly to work your tongue over his shaft. You’re met with a light slap on the jaw, causing your eyes to spring open— staring up all wide like you’d been caught with a hand in the cookie jar instead of wrapping round his ballsack.
“Open your eyes, yeah— fuckin’ look at me. Good girl.” He grits his teeth, and you know he must be close. You keep sucking until he’s milked dry, Rafes pretty bunny and her favourite carrot — swallowing every drop he had to offer.
All is forgiven, and the incident is forgotten about within a few weeks. It was a hectic time, Rafe barely having the time to bring up something that seemed so menial whilst dealing with the death of his father and the feud between his sister and the ‘pogues’ he always seemed to complain about. Rafe seemed to believe there was something gold that he was owed, a cross or something like that. You wasn’t sure. You’d only picked up enough information through overhearing phone calls to his old dealer Barry, in which he’d promptly close the door to obstruct your thoughtless eavesdropping when he’d realise you might be listening.
He seemed to have moved on very quickly from his father’s demise. Oddly enough, his grieving period only seemed to last a few days. You didnt press him on it, it didn’t feel right to do so. You’d learnt from some reality TV show about rich housewives that sometimes when someone loses a person close to them, they don’t even act that sad at all because they don’t want to deal with the big feelings. You wondered if that’s how Rafe was feeling. However, you couldn’t help but also wonder if your boyfriend was in a way relieved to finally be the man of the house. Maybe that’s why he’d started wearing some of Ward’s clothes, demanding you call him ‘dad’ more often.
♪ ‘WHEN I SUCK IT I LOOK IN YOUR EYES
YOU BETTER FUCK ME LIKE YOU MEAN IT!’ ♪
You hum along happily the song you’d grown so fond of playing from the AUX of Rafes truck. Saturday, your favourite day of the week. Your boyfriend had been doing a lot of stuff, lately. Going to a lot of places without you. There was something secretive about the way he’d disappear into his father’s office with Barry, ‘handling business’ for hours and hours on end. Again, it became clear that all of this kerfuffle was clearly about the mysterious gold you’d hear about. Honestly, you didn’t care to ask questions. The only gold you cared about was the glitzy gold chain delicately wrapped around your ankle, a sparkling ‘RC’ pendant dangling off it, Rafes initials. You stretch your leg out in the car, admiring the way it hangs off your smooth limb.
He could spend all week handling business and getting shit done, but Saturdays? They were your days. Days and nights spent out together, always winding up back at your place where he’d stay round. You always had a free house at the weekends, so what better way to spend it than wailing into a pillow with your boyfriend balls deep inside of you?
The journey is cut short when Rafe slowly pulls up outside your house, putting it in park and yet making no move to even remove his seatbelt. You look out the window at the familiar setting before whipping round to look at him in confusion, batting your fluffy eyelashes.
“I’m… afraid you’re gonna be on your own tonight, bun.” He scratches his cheek, a guilty habit you were usually too flustered to pick up on.
“Huh?” You mewl, brows furrowing, body sinking down into the seat in refusal. “But… it’s Saturday. Did you forget, silly?” You pout, your words doing nothing to convince either of you that he had simply forgotten.
“I’ve got business to handle tonight. Really important stuff that you cannot get involved in. Okay? Need you to be at home, and stay out of it alright?” He’s serious, wide eyed and speaking slowly to ensure not a drop of information slips away from you as you blink at him all lost and sweet. He didn’t like disappointing you, and sure — he would rather spend his evening with his dick nestled in your wet warmth, but this was something that had to be done— whatever it was.
“But Rafe—” You go to protest, but he cuts you off with a firm hand on your jaw stopping your speech all together.
“Alright?” He searches your eyes for confirmation. The way he grabbed you reminded you of the time he was mad at you, and if he was really going to leave you lonely tonight — you figured it was best you leave things on a positive note and behave yourself. You blink sulkily at him and nod.
“Yes, dad.” You sigh out your nose and his expression softens, nodding in approval with a small smile.
“Thats my good girl.” He uses his grip on your jaw to pull you in, delivering a sloppy kiss to your lips and even rewarding you with the wet warm muscle of his tongue rolling over yours a few times for good measure — yet pulling away before you got too needy, because then he knew you’d never let him leave.
You’ll admit, you started to huff and puff once you’d left his side. It was Saturday, your Saturday — and maybe you were spoiled, but going out for brunch with your boyfriend and then having him drop you home was not nearly enough to satisfy your needs, especially after he’d been gone so frequently lately. You’d gotten yourself into quite a mood, nearly stomping right past the package that had arrived through your door.
You tear it open, alone in your house and for a brief moment your face lights up — the new butt plug Rafe had purchased for you online after you’d begged and begged sat in the cardboard box. Much like your other one, it was a bunnies tail— but instead of pink, the obnoxious puff on the end was fluffy and white, like a real Easter bunny. Your grin melts off your face right back into a sullen pout when you remember that Rafe wasn’t here to help you put it in, or play with it, or tell you how pretty it looks in your ass. You stomp your foot, anklet jangling. This wasn’t fair.
The sun goes down after hours upon hours of boredom, and you try to preoccupy yourself. You redo your hair all pretty, you fix up your makeup, you play dress up in your closet. The new plug is slicked up between your fingers, your bottom lip tugged between your teeth as you ready yourself. You never had to put your own bunny tail in, Rafe was always around to do it for you — have you sprawled over his lap, his hand pulling your cheeks apart and saying “Good job, stop tensing up would you?” You’re squirmy and whiny all alone, upset and petulant about the fact he wasn’t around. You felt… what was the word again? Neglected.
You press your cheek to your pristine bed covers, arching your ass in the air with an arm snaked uncomfortably round yourself, the difficult angle making it hard to push your tail in. You groan at the stretch from the cool metal, pussy drooling as your eyes flutter closed and you imagine your boyfriend doing it all for you, as intended. When it was snugly pressed inside of you, you giggle hazily — waving it in the mirror to get a good view. Pretty, you can almost hear his voice tell you how pretty that tight ass is, and you yearn to hear it in person.
You decided you weren’t going to take no for an answer. Rafe needed you, you knew it — perhaps he’d been isolating himself to deal with his big feelings, and you couldn’t take it any longer. You’d come to the decision that you were going to dress up so sweetly for him, march over there and make him feel all better with the warm embrace that was your cunt— or your mouth, or even your hand. Whatever your man needed, you would deliver.
You slide on some white, lacy lingerie. When you’d purchased it, you’d hoped it would remind him of wedding-wear, planting the idea that he should totally marry you, put a big glittery rock on your finger. Something that signified that he never, ever wanted to lose you. It was bunny-like in nature too, a hole slotted in the panties especially to fit the puff of your bunny tail through it— perfectly cohesive with your whole look. You’re quick to drag on more white, taking the form of a tight crop top and a skirt that unsurprisingly barely covered the fold of your ass cheeks where your thighs begin. In no time, you’re tottering down the street in kitten heels, clutching your purse to your side. You’d decided to walk— and by decided, you meant you didn’t have much choice — bound to being Rafe’s pretty passenger princess, full time.
An all white outfit was innocent, virginal, wedding-like. He couldn’t say no to you like this, surely not— you convince yourself as you stride street to street beneath the lights of street lamps. Kildare was safe, you seemed to think so anyway. Rafe disagreed, said there was lots of stuff you didn’t know— but you’d never seen anything too bad with your own two eyes.
Half way into your journey, your quiet muttering to yourself going over what you’d say when you got to Tannyhill was interrupted by your surroundings suddenly being tainted with a flashing blue and red glow. The rumble of a car pulling up beside you alerts your attention and you whip around to look, being met with the concerned gaze of Shoupe in his Sheriff car.
“Hi officer.” You wave politely.
“Can I ask what you’re doin’ wandering the streets at night by yourself? Not safe to be walkin’ about with next to nothing on, young lady.” He appears stern and your brows furrow, wondering if you’re in trouble. You hadn’t been questioned by a police officer before, they had come sniffing around after Wards death, but Rafe was always there to answer all the tricky questions for you. You whimper like a confused puppy.
“I—I missed my boyfriend so I wanted to go n’see him.” You whine, fists balled nervously at your side. It probably didn’t help that you were already riled up, so this was just immediately too much for you.
Shoupe recognised Rafe Cameron as your boyfriend and his eyebrows raise, purely at the fact that whilst he respected the Cameron family — he couldn’t fathom missing a spoilt brat like that.
“You know I got a niece of my own, about your age — I wouldn’t be lettin’ her walk the streets like this alright? Why don’t you give someone a call? Where are your parents?” He shakes his head, and now you’re super fed up.
“I don’t — am I in trouble? I had to walk because I failed my driving test and— and my parents go away on weekends I— I just miss my boyfriend and I want to go to his house! I don’t understand why you’re asking me stuff—” You start to cry, stomping a mini heel on the ground making the officer sigh, closing his eyes for a moment regretting stopping all together.
“Not my circus, not my monkeys. Don’t get paid enough for this crap.” He mutters to himself before opening his eyes and plastering on a forced smile and leaning his elbow out the open window. “‘Know what? Don’t you worry that head, young lady. Be safe, I’ll let you get on with it.” He waves before pulling out the parking space, leaving you waving him off tearfully— continuing your journey.
You wipe your tears, happy that you’re finally approaching Tannyhill— not long now until you’re back in your boyfriend’s arms. Sure, you were directly disobeying his one rule to stay home and mind your business tonight, but it wouldn’t be the first punishment you’d faced from Rafe — and the thought of having his hands on you in any way was delightful — so you’d be more than happy to pay the price.
Your shoes crunch carefully down the drive, blinking up at the grand historical home before you. You always loved being there. Being at Tannyhill with Rafe made you feel like he was the president and you were his first lady, ruling over Kildare in your very own White House. The fantasy whisks you away for a moment, and it takes you a couple of slow seconds to realise no one has responded to your knock at the front door. You wiggle the handle, and for once — it doesn’t open. You frown. Rafe was home, right?
You hum in confusion, trailing around to each window — looking for any signs of life as you call his name. “Rafey, are you home? It’s me…” You all but whine, growing increasingly more frustrated. Had you really walked all that way in the dark for nothing?
You puff out a dramatic breath, gathering yourself. Take a look around, you command yourself — use your big girl brain for once. Rafes truck was on the drive, and the lights were on in the house — so you figured it was fair to assume he was indeed home. The only thing out of place was the large van parked haphazardly on the drive. It wasn’t unheard of for unknown vehicles to be at Tannyhill. All sorts of people were in and out the gates for transport purposes whenever Ward would find something new and extravagant to auction off— but Ward wasn’t around anymore, and something tickled your curiosity enough to step towards it, questioning what it contained.
The large back doors are left ajar, so nosily you tiptoe over— fingers wrapping around one to pry it open some more, standing on the toes of your kitten heels to look at what would remain inside. It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust, and for a few seconds you’re not met with anything of interest. Boxes, crates— nothing extraordinary. Your eyes drop down to the floor of the van, and you freeze. Surely not.
The body of a man lies dormant in a pool of distinctive crimson. He’s frozen up, like he’s scared or had been turned into a statue. His skin is pale, and his eyes are open— unblinking. You hadn’t seen many bad things in your life, hell— Rafe had even put you on a restriction from horror movies because you just couldn’t handle them — but what you were looking at was unmistakable. You were staring at a dead body.
You draw in a shaky gasp, and a heat wave of panic overcomes your body. It begins in your chest, and spreads through you like a virus — to your stomach, and then your arms and legs all the way to frozen stiff fingers and toes. You jerk back, hand flying up to cover your mouth as you stumble back a few steps, fresh hot tears brewing in your waterline. “Oh my g—”
Your whimper is cut short, the sound punched right out of you when you back up into something hard and firm. You jump out of your skin, yelping as what you walked into sprouts arms and whips you around at lightening speed to face it. Rafe, your boyfriend holds you infront of him, enraged. For the first time in your life, he terrifies you. “Told you to stay home, kid.” He spits out before spinning you back around and manhandling you into a lift, arms round tightly around you as he lifts you off the ground.
You go to scream, you even go to run— from your own boyfriend, something even a few moments prior you wouldn’t be able to fathom. He only grips you tighter, and this time covers your mewling mouth with a firm hand as he wrestles you inside, dragging you through the house.
As he tugs your flailing, panicking body up the stairs — you catch sight of Rose who lingers on the stairwell, watching with wide eyes.
“Rafe? Rafe what did she see?” She hisses urgently, alarmed by the way her step-son was handling his girlfriend.
“I’m handlin’ it.” He drawls out, seemingly irritated by her presence as he pushes you down the hallway.
“Don’t hurt her, Rafe.” Hurt her?
He all but launches you into the bedroom and you fly away from him, on the verge of hyperventilation. You paw at your eyes, wiping away the tears as you sniffle watching his every move. He moves slower now, locking the door which causes your heartrate to spike once more.
“Why the hell are you here?” He blinks at you irritably. “Huh? After I specifically told you to stay home.”
“I missed you.” You cough out a wet sob, trying to gather your thoughts enough to ask the valuable questions. Like, what was going on? Who was the dead body?
“You missed m— so we’re just… disregarding my rules now. The — the shit I tell you to keep you safe? Keep you out of allllll the dirty work I gotta do to keep shit afloat?” He’s mad, squinting and shaking his head.
“Did you kill that man?” You raise your voice ever so slightly, coming right out with it. The forwardness shocks you, but Rafes expression simply flattens, shoulders dropping a little before he sighs, shaking his head with his hands on his hips.
“No, I didn’t.” He makes a point to emphasise the ‘I’, which only reels you off into more confusion. “But… it’s my problem now. A’ight? So — so I gotta step up and handle it alright, look at — hey, look at me baby— okay, I’m a proactive person — I — I was handed a problem, and now I’m fixin’ it. Me. You understand that?” He’s walked right over to you now, and you’ve backed up away until your legs hit his bed causing you to sit down with a bounce. He crouches over you as he rambles, a hand on your shoulder to keep your attention. He has thrown a lot of information your way, and you try to follow along — eyes wide and head shaking slightly in response.
“Rafe— you’re scaring me. That person was dead you — you have to tell the police! I saw Shoupe on the way here, even talked to him — why — why don’t you just call him up n’tell him?” You whimper, breath catching in your throat between every couple of words.
Your boyfriend stands up straight suddenly, blinking like he’d been snapped out of his wide, watery eyed trance.
“You— you saw— what do you mean you saw Shoupe on the way here?” He glares and you shrink, feeling like you’ve done something wrong but not quite knowing what.
“He stopped me on the way here n’I told him I was comin’ to see you.” You pout.
“Oh, that’s…” He begins to pace, before barking out a soft laugh, hand rising to scratch his cheek. “Yeah that’s uh, that’s perfect really.”
You tilt your head, jostling your hoop earrings in the act. “What are you talking about?” You felt nervous for his answer, and unsure as to why that was.
He stops his incessant pacing, turning to you with an amused and yet somewhat deranged grin. “You’re in this now, baby. You n’me.” He gestures to the two of you with a finger as he slowly prowls closer. “So— so Shoupe knows you were on the way here at,” he lifts his arm, checking the watch beneath his Northface fleece. “Around this time frame. Right? So really…” He closes in on you fully once more, bending at the waist to look at you eye to eye. “If… if you turn me in, we’re goin’ down together. How’s that sound, huh— think you could handle jail baby? You think they do mani-pedis in prison?” He jokes, smirk only growing when your eyes widen. He was being cruel.
“Stop! I— I would never tell on you Rafey!” You start to cry again, and he nods slowly in approval, licking his lips. “Don’t wanna get locked up.”
“Yeah, well. All you gotta do is keep that pretty mouth shut. Think you can do that for me baby? Think you could… keep this little secret just for me?” Even now, he had a way with words. He made you feel special, like teaming up with him was something to be so proud of. There’s a warmth in your chest from the way he speaks to you, but a pit in your stomach at the guilt from feeling this way. You were dizzy with conflict.
“S’just too much, daddy. I dunno, what if I make a mistake? Just so dumb sometimes.” You sniffle, going to cover your face but he bats your delicate hands out the way with his own palms, cupping your cheeks to force your attention on him.
“Hey, hey. Gotta… use that bunny brain sometimes baby. Yeah? Gotta think about what might happen… if anyone finds out.” His voice softens with each word, invading your personal space until his warm breath fanned over your face comfortingly. He had a way of breaking you down to something so regressed and yet primal, pure putty in his criminal hands. Somewhere in the back of your hazy brain you felt this might be a tactic to get you on his side with all of this, but the words wouldn’t find you. “You’re my good girl, alright? Know you can do it…” His lips softly press to yours, and he starts to kiss you slowly, sensually, like he had all the time in the world.
You get lost in the kiss, it’s only natural — with the way his tongue wrapped itself skilfully around yours. He finds himself sat on the bed beside you, pulling you to perch on his leg as you succumb to the makeout session. He was really good at it, so talented at getting you wet and squirmy with just his mouth on yours. It feels like ten minutes of this have possibly passed by when your brain starts to ring out the alarm bells once more, warning you of your predicament. Your heart starts to pound and you pull back a little, eyes shiny and wide as they gaze into his lustful pair.
“M’scared.” It comes out quiet and he shakes his head, in total refusal of this.
“Shh, shh. How ‘bout you turn that brain off for a while. Yeah? Let me handle it.”
You suck in a shaky breath, swallowing thickly as you try to keep the panic at bay in his tight hold. “Can’t.”
“Yeah. You can. Can start by taking all these clothes off.” He drags his hands over your body, messing up the fabric in its wake. “Came over just lookin’ all pretty… would hate to ruin a night like this, right?” He talks slowly like you’re dumb and it only makes you ooze more, finding yourself nodding eagerly, sniffing back the tears and hopping onto your feet to kick off the kitten heels, dropping an inch or so in height.
Rafe tugs your skirt down as you pull your top over your head, and he hums in appreciation at the white lace adorning your body. “Mm, s’fuckin’ sexy.” He whispers, turning you by your hips to do a little spin for him, not able to help himself from giving your ass a sharp little smack and jiggle when he spots the new bunny tail poking through. “This one’s new, huh?” He drawls, giving it a little tug making your knees buckle, turning to clamber back onto his leg.
“Mhm.”
“Yeah. Wanna keep these on, yeah?”
You nod, and he’s kissing you again, handsy as ever as he caresses your soft skin. He’s being nice, for now. It usually started off this way before he’d get too impatient but you knew he was being extra nice for the purpose of persuading you to side with his unforgivable actions. Your criminal boyfriend drags his hand down your stomach, two finger pads rubbing circles over your clit through the lace making you groan out a cracked and desperate sound against him.
“Turn around.” He whispers, aiding you to sit between his legs, leaning back against him. Once in this compromising position, he peels your soaked underwear to the side— sliding his fingers through your messy folds. “God damn, weren’t lyin’ when you said you missed daddy— that right?”
“Just… just missed you so much.” Your eyes flutter shut, and you do find yourself relaxing more and more against his warm body, a clammy hand clutching the zip of his grey fleece, shuddering from his skilful touch.
After stroking your clit, causing you to clench and cream around nothing for a while, desperate moans sure to be heard by Rose if she was worriedly lurking in the hallway, Rafe started to push his thick fingers in, humming and licking his lips hungrily as your greedy hole swallowed him up, the long digits squelching from your copious tsunami of arousal.
“Oh daddy!” Is all you can say as he curls them just right, working you quickly towards your finishing point. As you drop into that Rafe-obsessed headspace, nearly at the crowning of your orgasm— his deep nasally voice rumbles from behind you, attracting your attention. As he speaks, he pulls his fingers back just so only the tips still remained inside you, and kept them there even when you wriggled your hips trying to get them in further.
“So… what are you gonna say if someone asks you where you were tonight? Huh?” His voice carries a threatening tone, which makes you pout at how totally unfair of him it was to work you into brainless mush and then ask you such an important question.
“I— uhm, I don’t—” You whimper as you writhe in his lap. He pulls his fingers out of you completely and in one fluid movement slaps your pussy, causing you to cry out in sensitivity at the harshness on the cunt he had spread open on top of him.
“Where?” He grits his teeth and you pant.
“At home, daddy!”
He seems satisfied, and slowly he sinks his fingers back inside you, causing you to release a relieved whine, liquifying against his body once more. “See? Not as dumb as you look, bunny girl.”
The words cause tingles to run through your very being, and as he continues to finger fuck you— you’re brought very close to the edge, very soon.
“Mmph— dad, g’nna cum!”
“Yeah? Gonna cum just for dad?” He lilts sympathetically in response.
“Yeah!”
“Yeah?”
Just like that, he pulls his fingers out of you — and before you have the chance to complain or even let out a petulant whine, he’s forcing your mouth open and stuffing his soaked fingers inside, all the way down your throat.
You slap at his wrist, gagging wetly as he holds your head against him keeping him still. “Yeah, that fuckin’ hurt? They’ll do a lot worse to you in prison, sweetheart. Can tell you that for free.” He finger fucks your throat for a few quick beats before drawing them out, letting you suck in harsh breaths. He wipes his fingers on your cheek before giving it an affectionate pat. “Haven’t earned the right to cum just yet. You understand right?”
You sniffle, starting to cry again. This whole ordeal was clearly upsetting to you, and Rafe was just treating it like it was one big loyalty test. All you wanted was to be with him, kiss him, touch him — and he was just being so mean.
Your tears do nothing for your case. Suddenly and aggressively, your boyfriend grips the back of your neck and forces you down into the mattress on the bed, your ass lifted obscenely in the air — panties still forced to the side with your tail-stuffed hole and drooling pussy on full display to him. Glitter refracts off your cheek when you turn your head on the bed, trying to get a look at him.
“Would you look at that?” He twiddles with the fluffy tail and you groan, body softening slightly and pussy dribbling. “Doesn’t take much. Does it baby? Yeah. Dressed up all sweet for me, you uh—” He chuckles at the cruel joke before it leaves his mouth. “Wouldnt take you for an accessory to a crime.”
You let out a pitiful sob and his jaw ticks in irritation, leaning right over you, jostling you a little so he could talk right in your ear. “Quit. That guy you saw in the truck was a bad man, alright? Worlds better off without scumbags like him. I don’t… I don’t wanna hear you’re feelin’ all bad about it. I always make the decisions, right? Daddy always knows what to do, right?” He demands aggressively, spanking your ass hard when you don’t respond immediately.
“Yes daddy you— you always know!” You wail, distraught and he nods, lips parted and jaw slightly agape — fighting his belt off his body to yank his pants down just enough to pull his dick out.
As much as you enjoyed showing your tail off to Rafe, wiggling it against his pelvis, tickling his tanned skin with the fluff each time he draws his hips in — you were actually a little disappointed you weren’t getting to be on your back today. You craved the closeness, the kisses, getting to see his pretty cock collect all your glittery slick as he fucks into your glossy hole. Instead, he pushes in from behind and sets a punishing pace, balls slapping against you as he holds you down, forcing your arch into place. With each thrust, comes a quiet grunt of his own exertion — the days frustration being worked out on you.
This lasts for a few minutes, Rafe slightly changing things up like adjusting your position or putting a foot up on the bed to dig you out even deeper. Your cunt was so sloppy it was audible, squelching with each roll of his agile hips. From the way he had previously stolen your much needed orgasm, you could tell you weren’t going to last much longer, fucking desperately back against him as you sobbed.
“Shit, why you fuckin’ crying so much huh? This not enough for you, princess?” He taunts breathlessly, squeezing your hips for an answer.
“Miss you Rafe, want you— want you nice!” You’re shaky, forcing in a painful breath as you cry— mascara making a mess of his sheets but he didn’t care about that right now— too focused on the way your ass jiggled against him with each thrust. As perfect of a view this was, he couldn’t tolerate the tears and flipped you onto your back, forcing your legs up over his shoulders.
As he slots himself back in, he shakes his head— floppy hair sweaty, some of it stuck to his forehead. “There? Happy? Y’gonna stop cryin’ now, hm?” He drawls, speeding up his pace once more, indulging in the way your tits are escaping the lacy cups of your bra. He palms at them greedily, helping free them out the top and he disappears into your neck, groaning as he hits a new spot, your hole sucking him in like it had a mind of its own.
He sucks marks on your neck. Proof you were here, he thinks in the back of his mind. He draws back to admire his work and is met with your tear-stricken, devastated face. All pretty with doe like eyes, gloopy runny mascara framing them, a single mink lash on your cheek. He swipes it away, unable to control the urge to press his body right onto yours and envelop your lips with his own.
He sucks on your tongue, holding you there with a hand gently round your neck as he possesses you entirely. The continuous slapping sound of his cock bruising your insides becomes music to your ears as you float away on a cloud, eyes struggling to stay open from the sheer amount of pleasure you were facing. As he softly holds you by your throat, like a farmer handling its first baby bunny — he feels that remaining amount of tension coursing through you. That last inkling of resistance, even if you didn’t know it was there. He slows his pace, grinding his cock inside you, massaging the tension out.
“Oh, little girl. Poor bunny, huh?” He coo’s, cradling your shaking, clammy body as you whimper, puffy walls spasming around his length. “All caught up in big bad Rafe’s problems, aren’t you. Yeah… well, it’s okay. I got you baby. You’re never gonna lose me, okay? You’re all mine.”
With your bodies connected, you gaze up into his eyes. All his, the words you adored more than anything. Your eyes drift over to his left shoulder where your anklet swings with each jostle of your body. ‘R.C’, the initials catch the light through blurry tearful eyes. All his.
A hand snakes between you, and when he presses down on your clit — your body finally gives in and you squeeze out a gut wrenching moan, legs shaking violently as you grip him, cumming hard and abundantly around his slick cock. He’s talking you through it, rolling his hips determinedly as you cum. You briefly catch his voice groaning out a “Thats my good girl. S’me and you baby. Don’t you forget it. Me n’you.”
You squirt out around him, soaking his abdomen, and whilst you might usually be concerned and embarrassed— you can’t think straight enough to consider that. He doesn’t seem to mind either, fucking into you as he chases his own high, mumbling words you couldn’t hear into your neck or mouthing at the fat of your tits as he’s spurting out his own thick, hot release.
Everything feels dreamlike after that, from the way he pulls out and smothers your hot face in sloppy kisses — to the way he lazily mops you up with a towel. You can’t process the pleasure you endured, and soon you fall asleep right there on Rafe’s bed, hot and feverish.
It must’ve been a good few hours you slept for, because when you wake to the soft warm touch of your boyfriend and his rings gliding up your back— your bleary eyes find the clock at his bedside to read 5:30AM. Rafe is dressed differently to how he was before, a black shirt you recall noticing in your immediate vision. He’s scooping you in his arms, sitting you up as you let out a disorientated whine, having trouble letting your brain catch up.
One hand strokes your cheek, to keep you awake— and the other strokes the fat of your hip, self indulgently. “So turns out, we’re uh— goin’ on a little trip. You like vacations, huh?”
You blink your sticky eyes at him, hand grazing the buttons of his shirt as your voice attempts to croak out a response. “Rafe, what’s —” Your brain starts to catch up, an unfamiliar and harrowing feeling spreading through your stomach— sinister and dooming as you remember the events that occurred before he’d fucked you and gotten you to fall asleep on his bed. Where had he been? So many hours had passed.
He cuts you off with a smile, a relieved smile — like all his problems had vanished, the corpse you’d found having just gotten up and walked away.
“Goin’ on a big boat. How’d you feel about the Bahamas, baby?”
we often talk about jj and lamb!reader, and how those interactions go down. but we forget that rafe too has his feet planted firmly in the equation.
he’s so much worse. so much more manipulative. whilst jj drives you away from those toxic idealisms the strict church that raised you had you believing, rafe leans right into them. upon limbreys request he’s up early every sunday no matter what coke-fuelled-party he found himself at on saturday night to drive you all the way to church, the kook poster boy ushering you inside whilst you wear those pretty little pastel dresses— often getting through the service by wondering just what you’ve got on underneath. ♱ ⋆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆
tw: dark themes! blasphemy, catholicism, rafe disrespecting readers faith. i have catholic trauma so this was healing in a weird way to write — but don’t read if you feel you are to be bothered by this content. you are responsible for your own media consumption.
in moments of silence amongst rafes mental spiralling — he’d come to the conclusion that you were sent to save him like an angel. he’d done so many bad things, lead astray by his father and the pogues and whatever else he could blame. but you, you were pure and untouched by this cursed island. if he had you by his side, he’d be forgiven for all the bad he’d done before.
that being said, he couldn’t help his lecherous gaze. his boyish tendencies and moments of self indulgence unsurprising to the addict himself. he wanted to see you on your knees and no not before a wooden pew — wet mouth and cross necklace glistening as you look up to the only lord you should know and worship. him.
there was so much that went over your head he found himself having fun with it. pretending he’s helping out around the house by leaning against your doorway and watching you organise your dresser for a moment before speaking.
“hey, uh— m’doing the laundry for your mom. gimme those.” he nods to your white tights and you furrow your brows.
“my tights?” you feel a little flushed at the mere mention of them. you might have scoffed if it were one of those pogues, but rafe was a good boy— he did good by you, that’s what your mother always told you anyway.
“yeah.” he nods like it’s obvious and you’re silly for even asking. “hand ‘em over already.”
a silence washes over the room, and you timidly slip them down beneath your thin little dress. rafe presses a tongue between his lips as if to act as some kind of glue to stop him from smiling but he does so anyway, scratching his cheek before stepping into the room with his hand extended to retrieve them. you keep eye contact with him the whole time too, you teasing little thing. it must’ve been a respect thing. you were raised that way. always look someone in the eye. it’s polite, and you’re a polite young girl.
he crowds your space before you’d even gotten them off, looming over you when you place the limp hanging fabric into his outstretched palm. he’s insatiable and he hasn’t pushed it far enough, so with his other hand he hungrily approaches once more. “yeah uh, look. m’washing all the delicates here so uhh… i’m gonna need…” he lowers his tone into a raspy drawl as a hand disappears up the hem of your dress to find the waistband of your panties, rubbing a thumb between the space that connected your skin and lace. he wishes he could play the shudder you let out on repeat. “these.”
you make no move to remove them, so being the kindhearted citizen that rafe cameron notoriously is— he stares right down into your eyes as he pulls them down for you slowly, lowering himself just enough so you can step out of them. “theres a good girl.” he praises and somehow it feels dirty and rude. you frown, because you hate the way it makes you clench around nothing though you knew he was somehow probably insulting you. he’s smirking obnoxiously when he backs up, looking down at the girly panties in his hand before walking out.
and of course he does wash them for you, but not after he’s jerked himself raw into the lace of your gusset.
another day rafe is around at the house, this time helping your mother with things regarding this magical cross that held the cure to her illness. it almost felt too good to be true, and you knew for a fact rafe felt that way too — but you defended her with each slight remark he’d make about it, as you felt it was your duty. who were you to believe rafe cameron over the lord himself?
one of limbreys wealthy friends arrives bearing gifts, and hands you holy water from a far away church she visited on her travels. it was packaged in a glittering cross bottle, and you marvelled at its beauty— vowing to save it for when you really felt you needed it.
of course, rafe had already come up with ways to mess with you regarding the gift. the two of you are left alone in the living room while your mother fills her friend in on all the exciting life updates she had to share.
“you know, uh— the most effective way to feel god… inside you and stuff, is to ingest the holy water.” rafe wanders around the table to you casually, reaching and gently grasping the bottle in your hand. “give it.” he orders quietly and you let go on instinct, turning to look at him.
“thats mine.” you argue and he scoffs out a chuckle at your childishness as he uncaps the lid.
“cant believe you didn’t know this.”
“thats not how holy water works, you’re just making things up.” your voice raises in pitch as you watch him pour some into the lid like he was pouring a shot of vodka. your brows are all pinched and he thinks it’s adorable how worked up you get about these things.
“yeah?” he smirks, dipping two fingers into the water before setting it down to grasp your jaw with his hand, gently prying it open. “open.” he demands, and once more you can’t help it. weak in the knees, you fall submissive to his commands and open your mouth, feeling the liquid coating your tongue through his coarse fingers. he rubs your tongue in circles and you suck off the water, hating any to go to waste. your eyes flutter like his touch is addictive.
he’s enjoying himself too much, dips his fingers again and stuffs them back in— and you’re just as hungry, grasping his wrist and letting out a greedy little groan as he strokes your tongue and stuffs his digits further until you gag. there’s drool on your chin and he’s chuckling now, giving it one last go before he’s pulling back to the sound of approaching footsteps. he doesn’t seem as frantic as you when you’re wiping your mouth free of drool, in fact— he openly laughs. “bet you feel Him in you now, huh?”
the final straw comes when the ever trusting limbrey asks rafe to stay with you whilst she’s off chasing whatever with big john routledge. you’d already told her you didn’t need a babysitter — coming up with just about every excuse to not be left alone with the cameron boy. you weren’t scared of what he’d do, no — he was predictable. you knew what he had planned. you were scared that you’d give in, unable to resist temptation.
only three days in and he’s cracked you, something about him having spoken to a priest who told rafe to pass on the message that you must cure him of his devious ways by sharing your body with him. it sounds bad when it’s put simply like that, but it was a whole thing — rafe can be super persuasive. you started off in outright refusal, but he kept chipping away at you until he was slowly approaching you with a trusting smile and a hand undoing his thick leather belt, and soon you were mushy in the brain. too mushy to deny him any longer.
before the end of the week he’s got you brainless and well trained, milking him of every last drop of the devil until you’re limp on the bed — legs over his shoulders. you were doing this for him. you were doing this for him.
plap, plap, plap — the sound of your sticky walls swallowing his cock with each full thrust harmonises perfectly with the sound of each creak your wooden bed frame makes. you’d never heard your bed make so much noise, probably because it’s never seen so much activity in your whole life. rafes above you now, hands gripping on your tits and rolling his thumbs over the nipples and you truly can’t see how that’s supposed to be helpful to the cause— but can’t bring yourself to care with how good it feels.
you’ve made a milky ring around his tip, so soaked with your own completion from his relentless thrusting that it’s created a puddle beneath your ass on the bed. you couldn’t believe yourself, if your mother could see you now she would surely disown you.
“ra—rafey!” you hiccup, grasping at his broad shoulders when it gets all too much.
“yeah— hey, shut up okay? you’re okay.” he pants, trying his hardest to be sweet and keep up the act still, quickly silencing you by cupping your clammy cheek and slowing down his thrusts. “you’re fine.”
“this isn’t right.” you’re incoherent, and it takes rafe a moment to figure out what you even said.
“oh yeah?” he asks, uninterested as he rolls his hips. he glances up at you, lips parted and wet from your greedy kisses. “that why you just locked your legs round me? huh?” he teases, carelessly and you whine, throwing your head back petulantly.
“uh huh. y’know why you get so — so fuckin’ wet? huh? s’because you’ve been holding out on me. why the hell would god create this fuckin’ perfect body if it wasn’t meant to be used by me, huh? answer me that.”
“i cant!” you cry, no— sob, because you couldn’t argue. rafe was too clever for your arguments, a rebuttal to every worry in your head. it still felt wrong and dirty, but yet you clung to him— indulging in your pleasure as you fall hopelessly towards another orgasm from the way his pelvis scrapes your exposed clit.
“shit… yeah, y’cant.” he’s close too— and when he leans down close to you, he wraps his fingers around the glittering cross necklace that lies against your breast, lifting it and pressing a kiss to the centre, before bringing it to your own lips. you weakly kiss it, struggling to keep your eyes open on his and he hums in approval, dropping his hands back down either side of your head to work on fucking you quicker. “should be worshipping me, kid.” he speaks between grit teeth.
trying to be quiet, fighting to see who’s loudest first like does this make sense 😭😭
— trying to keep quiet w. stepbro!rafe
warnings — p in v, stepcest, unprotected sex, lewd language
the headboard thuds softly against the wall with each deliberate thrust. rafe's hand is clamped firmly over your mouth, fingers pressing against your lips, muffling the desperate gasps threatening to escape. his other hand grips your hip, anchoring you as he drives into you, slow and deep, then faster, harder, deliberately testing your control.
"shh," he breathes against your ear, his own breath coming in ragged bursts, betraying his effort to remain quiet. "don't want our parents hearing this, do we?" there's a challenge in his low murmur, a competitive glint in the dark eyes boring into yours over his hand.
you shake your head against his palm, squeezing your eyes shut as he hits a particular sensitive spot, a strangled whimper vibrating against his fingers. it's a game you both play sometimes — who can last longer, who breaks first, especially when your parents finding out about your taboo relationship is on the line. tonight, with thin walls and proximity to your parents fast asleep in the other room, the stakes feel higher, the challenge more intense.
rafe changes the angle, grinding down, eliciting another muffled sound from you, a desperate plea trying to push past his hand. you bite down on his fingers slightly, not hard, just enough to register your rising desperation. he groans softly, a low rumble in his chest, accepting the challenge. his thrusts become more punishing, aimed at shattering your composure.
his thumb strokes over your lips, still pressed firmly against them, a strange intimate gesture amidst the raw intensity. "shit- think m'gonna lose too fast," he growls, his voice strained. he pulls back almost completely before slamming into you with devastating force.
that's what does it. the sudden, overwhelming pressure breaks through your defences. a loud, choked cry rips past his hand, undeniable, echoing slightly in the tense quiet. your body arches sharply, convulsing around him as your orgasm hit like a tidal wave.
a triumphant, guttural groan tears from rafe's throat almost simultaneously, his own control shattering as your climax triggers his. he collapses against you, pounding into you with a final few frantic, unrestrained thrusts before spilling his seed deep inside of you. he buries his face in your neck, his ragged breathing loud in the otherwise quiet room. he pulls his hand away from your mouth, leaving your lips wet and tingling.
"fuck, sis," he pants against your skin, a low chuckle vibrating through his chest. "think you lost this round."
you were lying on your stomach on the living room couch, your feet up in the air and swinging as you kept reading one of the romance novels you'd bought earlier that day, sabrina carpenter's juno playing in your headphones. you were so immersed in the book, right in the middle of a scene that was turning spicy that you hadn't noticed the figure looming in the doorway.
rafe stood there, his head cocked to the side as he leaned on the doorway, a smug grin on his face, watching you rub your knee-socked feet together. you were wearing an oversized hoodie that had ridden up to show the shorts that clung to the curve of your ass.
he pushed himself away from the doorway and started walking towards you in short strides; rafe could hear the song that you were listening to as it leaked through your headphones. he let out a low chuckle once he finally reached the couch; he thought you were so adorable when you were utterly oblivious about the fact that he was standing there.
when his calloused finger met the back of your thigh, you let out a startled gasp, your eyes widening as you turned his way. rafe simply grinned down at you, his brows raised in feigned confusion. you pressed your hand to your chest and took a deep breath, closing your eyes for a moment before looking at him. "what are you doing, rafe?" you sighed, putting your bookmark at the spot you were at and taking your headphones off, putting them aside.
"just keep reading, pretty girl." rafe chuckled softly as his hand got closer to your inner thigh. "you look so cute when you read, your brows all furrowed 'n your tongue sticking out..." he cooed, his fingers drawing small patterns on your soft skin, creating goosebumps in the wake of his touch.
"i can't read when you're touching m-"
"keep reading, cutie." rafe said sternly, and when you looked back at him, his smile had disappeared, his mouth now in a straight line, even if his fingers kept drawing patterns on your thigh and his voice was still smooth and sweet, "or i'm gonna stop touching you."
you took in a deep breath as you opened your book once again to the page you'd left off on, and even though you tried to keep reading, your concentration was now entirely on the tiny sparks you felt in your lower abdomen the closer rafe got to the hem of your shorts. his fingers trailed over your ass, snapping the waistband of your shorts.
he tugged down your panties along with your shorts, delivering a sharp smack to your ass, the surprise along with the slight sting causing you to let out a gasp. you could hear the clink of his belt as rafe unbuckled it, peeking at him out of the corner of your eye.
"eyes on your book." rafe tsked and shook his head. you let out an exasperated sigh, turning back to the book and trying to focus on it. you felt his finger run a trail up your slit. "damn, you're so wet." he let out a rumble of a laughter, causing a shiver to run up your spine. rafe settled his body over yours, and you could feel his warm breath on the back of your neck, making you hold your breath in anticipation.
and then you felt him.
he teased your entrance with the head of his throbbing cock, making sure to smear your obvious arousal all over your hole teasingly, you let out a slight whine, so desperate from some friction that you were trying to wiggle your hips in a way that made the bastard laugh.
"so fucking desperate…" rafe mumbled against the back of your neck, kissing the sensitive skin. "y’gotta part your legs a bit more…" the boy guided his hand to the back of your thigh, gently prying it away from the other one, and you could feel the smile gracing his lips against your skin.
rafe gripped the base of his cock, watching satisfiedly as you clenched around nothing. letting out a tsk, he started pushing his cock into you, letting a groan when he felt your cunt envelope the head of his cock, a small whine leaving your lips at the stretch of him pushing in deeper.
you couldn't help but close your eyes, listening to rafe's ragged breathing as one of your hands gripped the pillow tightly, only for rafe to pull out of you completely, a needy whine leaving your lips, "rafeee..."
"read." he said in a low, rough tone, making it clear that it wasn't a question, but an order.. you frowned, peeking through your eyelids, rafe thrusting his entire cock into you, making you let out a squeal, feeling his head greet your cervix, "s'good... keep reading, baby..."
rafe kept thrusting in and out of you, the tears that started to gather in your eyes making the pages of the book so blurry you were barely able to read a few words per minute, your grip on the pillow tightening.
"feel s'good around me..." rafe murmured into your ear, suckling on your earlobe, "think that's enough reading." he chuckled darkly into your ear, taking your book and throwing it onto the floor; and if you didn't feel so good, you'd admonish him, but your mind was flooded with nothing but rafe; the way he felt, the way he tasted, the way he pulled out of you, flipping you over onto your back on the couch with ease.
rafe moved your legs to rest on his shoulders, giving him more access as he continued pounding into you, the room filled with grunts and the plap! plap! plap! of his cock diving in and out of your wet heat.
arching your back off the couch, you brought one of your hands to your chest, rolling one of your nipples around with your index finger and thumb, thrusting your hips into his.
"nghh, rafe..." you mumbled as you felt yourself getting closer, the boy letting out a chuckle on top of you as he sped up his thrusts, holding onto one of your thighs with his hand, digging into them.
"yeah?" he tsked, "what's the matter, huh? can't take it?" his mocking tone made you whine, "gonna come 'n my cock like a desperate slut?"
you nodded your head, closing your eyes, "y-yeah..." you mumbled, rafe letting out a breathy laugh on top of you, "alright, come for me, pretty girl. make a little mess of yourself on my cock, yeah?"
and when you felt all of the pressure inside of you leave and your walls started clenching around rafe, he let out a grunt, still continuing to thrust, his cock throbbing inside of you as the tip of it pressed repeated kisses against the spongy spot inside of you.
"'s tight..." rafe grunted, and once you stopped fluttering around him, rafe took his cock out of you, continuing to stroke himself, throwing his head back. pretty groans left his lips when spurts of cum left the pink tip of his cock, the boy aiming so it landed onto your pussy. you looked down, feeling as some of it leaking down your slit.
rafe gathered his cum off your slit with the tip of his cock, a shit-eating grin on his face as he pushed it back inside of you, a gasp leaving your lips.
pairing: nerd!rafe x pervert!reader
synopsis: all about nerd!rafe and his popular, secretly pervy girlfriend ૮꒰ ྀི >⸝⸝⸝< ྀི꒱ა
warnings: smut, masturbation (f), implied virgin!rafe, MDNI! wc: 500
a/n; this is the first rafe fic on this account that isn't a repost! anyway lmk if you want to read more about them, this was sort of a 'morning thoughts' kinda post i wrote within an hour of waking up ໒꒰ྀིっ˕ -｡꒱ྀི১
masterlist ♡ pervert!reader masterlist
when you first met rafe, he was tutoring you for math and the moment you saw him, you thought he looked downright edible in his little specs and his slicked-back hair. he wore baggy hoodies and sweatshirts adorned with your college's name, but one time, you grabbed his bicep to 'steady yourself' (to feel him up) and you felt the hard planes of muscles hidden under his clothes that immediately gave you filthy thoughts.
from then on, you'd do anything to see that pretty blush that'd sometimes grace his defined cheeks, and it wasn't even a difficult thing to achieve. really, most of the time calling him cute was enough to get him turning as bright as a tomato.
you always wore something low-cut and tight to your tutoring sessions, biting down on your lip and shamelessly pushing your cleavage together as you pretended to listen to him explain statistics, your panties getting wetter and wetter the more and more he stumbled with his words.
when he finally gathered enough courage to ask you out on a date, you took him to see a movie, keeping your arm around his shoulders the entirety of the movie, until the final thirty minutes when you pretended to stretch and yawn, moving your hand to rest on his thigh.
rafe stiffened in his seat, a bulge starting to form in his jeans that you pretended not to notice, all the while drawing hearts on the inside of his thigh with your long, pretty nails.
when you two finally started going out officially, you could tell that he didn't have much experience with relationships, his kisses were clumsy and he kept apologizing if he was 'doing it wrong' and you thought it was the most adorable thing ever.
the first time he let you into his dorm room, it was like his personality had been transformed into a bedroom. when he slipped off into the bathroom, you rolled around in his sheets, smelling his shampoo on his pillow, your hand going to rub yourself over your leggings.
you giggled when you saw all the different boxer shorts neatly arranged in his drawer, grabbing a blue plaid pair and slipping them into your bag.
later that night, you called him, wearing his boxer shorts, your arousal soaking them the moment you put them on. he answered in a groggy voice that caused another pang of arousal to go through your body. he'd been up late doing homework, explaining the subject of his essay while you simply 'mmhm'ed and 'oh?'ed at everything the boy said, too busy rubbing yourself to pay any real attention.
you were looking at a picture that you'd secretly taken of him as you worked yourself closer and closer, picturing his hand was the one getting you off, thinking about what it'd be like to jerk him off with your favorite strawberry-scented lotion.
when you finally felt your orgasm rock through you, you bit down on your pillow to muffle the moans and the 'nngh!'s that escaped you.
and for the next ten-or-so minutes, you just listened to him rant about his classes, your hand still in his boxer shorts, a satisfied smile on your lips, thinking of all the ways in which you wanted to defile his innocence.
✮⋆˙ getting high with stepbro!rafe and finally letting him hit.
warnings — 18+. MDNI. stepbro!rafe x stepsis!reader. stepcest. drug usage (cocaine).
cherie’s note — hihiii i’m back !! c:
you’d been asking for weeks — after parties, during late-night drives, curled up next to him on his bed while he chopped lines like it was just another part of his routine. you wanted to know what it felt like, what part of it made him disappear into himself and come back grinning like he owned the world.
he always said no. told you that you couldn’t handle it — said you were too soft, too good, too fucking sweet for this kind of thing. his, kind of thing. but he made sure to do it in front of you. he made sure to cut lines slow — to snort it with his head tipped back and exhale with a guttural groan like it felt too good to resist.
he knew how your mind worked.
curious. tempted. easy.
but maybe that’s what made you keep asking. and maybe, that’s what made him say yes tonight.
the dull hum of the air conditioning barely drowned out the faint rustling of the trees outside, the wind slipping through the cracked-open window. it’s late. too late for you to be in his room. too late for this to be anything but trouble. but when you sit on your knees, in the mess of his blankets and bedsheets, your eyes too big and too curious, he’d finally given in. he watched you lean down, shaky, then come up blinking and laughing like the high had hit you faster than it should’ve.
it hadn’t taken long after that.
now, your cunt practically chokes him, the squelching undeniable, and glistening under the cool-blue hue of the idle television soaking the entire length of him. your head spins in the most delicious way, each thrust of his hips meeting yours, the muffled sound of your cries against his hand echoing off of the walls making your eyes roll to the back of your head.
you’d been so needy.
the way you let out soft whimpers with each peak of your cocaine-induced high. the way you had been absentmindedly rubbing your thighs together without realizing, only minutes after you had consumed the drug. you were so impressionable — so easily corruptible.
and he’d be a terrible stepbrother if he hadn’t at least offered some help, right?
“high for five minutes and already acting like a fuckin’ slut.”
you whimpered, didn’t deny it. just looked at him with those big, drug-dazed eyes and nodded. your voice cracked when he pulled out just enough to run the thick head of his cock between your sticky folds, body shuddering against the feeling. “high and soaking through your panties for your stepbrother.”
you kissed him. sloppy. a poor excuse to shut him up before you became too flustered and ruined the high, but neither of you were complaining. your lips were syrupy-sweet, a little too eager, like you didn’t know what you wanted but you knew you wanted it. rafe didn’t move at first — let his sweet little stepsister beg silently for entrance with her tongue, desperate to taste him.
you'd lived in the same house for two years — shared dinners, shared holidays, shared space and silence and too many looks that lingered too long. but you didn't feel like family. not tonight. not with the coke still buzzing beneath your skin from the drugs, not with the way you were looking at him like he was the only thing tethering you to the floor.
"knew you'd like this, baby. you just needed a little push." he whispered against your skin, the tip of his cock nudging delectably against that gummy spot deep inside of you. “knew you wanted this just as bad as me, pretty baby.”
Warnings: noncon (rape), somno, incest (step siblings), loss of virginity, unprotected sex, unwanted creampie, drugs, drinking, possessive behavior, controlling behavior, mentions of previous male masturbation
A/N: in my mind, Rafe is like 2-3 years older than Reader (everyone is 18+ and college aged)
Rafe’s knuckles were turning white as he gripped the steering wheel. The speedometer was flirting with triple digits but his eyes still flicked back and forth between you and the road.
He should have known better, he did know better, and still he let you walk out of the house wearing that sad excuse of an angel “costume.” In reality it was just tiny white ruffle shorts paired with a white corset along with angel wings and a halo top headband.
Any other night if you had tried to walk out the door in lingerie in front of your step brother, he would have told you to change, but because it was halloween, and seeing you dressed up like that made him so hard he couldn’t think straight, of course he had said ‘yes’ knowing he’d be walking into the party with the hottest girl on the island on his arm.
What he hadn’t anticipated however, was the number of guys (especially his friends) who had the balls to flirt with his little step sister right in front of him.
Even Topper and Kelce had been eyeing you differently and it pissed Rafe off to no end.
You followed him to the kitchen where he grabbed drinks for both of you and he tried to ignore the eyes that were raking up and down your exposed body.
“Are any of your friends here yet?” He asked as he passed your drink to you.
“I don’t think so,” you answered, fishing your phone out of your purse to check your texts.
He hadn’t planned on letting you out of his sight, much less 5 feet from his side, but when he felt someone tap him on the shoulder, he spun around to see a blond girl in a Tinkerbell costume.
“Are you one of Topper’s friends?”
“Yeah.”
“Hi, I’m Tiffany,” she flashed a smile as she drank him in with her eyes.
“Rafe.” He responded dryly, taking a swig from his solo cup.
“What’s your costume supposed to be?” Her voice annoyed Rafe and he looked down at his blue jumpsuit for a second to remind himself before answering.
“Cornelius Snow, I think? Um, from the Hunger Games? I don’t know, it was Y/N’s idea.” He mumbled, looking past the girl to check on you, but when he realized you were no longer standing beside him, or even in the same room, he quickly brushed past her without a word.
Luckily you didn’t travel too far, but Rafe’s relief upon finding you was short lived.
Two kook guys were standing next to you, practically eating you with their eyes, and sweet, oblivious you were none the wiser.
“I love your costume,” one said.
“You look fantastic tonight.”
“Aw thanks!” You beamed.
“Looks like your cup is getting empty, you want me to grab you a refill?”
“If you don’t mind-” you had begun handing your solo cup to the guy but you stopped yourself when Rafe appeared to your right, snatching the cup out of your hand and wrapping his arm around your waist possessively.
“It’s okay, I can take care of her,” he snapped at the two guys, shooting a deadly glare at them as he led you away.
“Rafe, what was that about?” You complained, completely confused by his behavior.
“Are you stupid or something, Y/N? Because I just watched you try to hand your drink over to two complete strangers at a fucking frat party.”
“They were just being nice-”
“They could have been trying to drug you for all you know,” Rafe chided you sternly and you couldn’t shake the feeling that he was talking to you like you were a little kid. “Rose put me in charge of taking care of you tonight, and you’re not exactly making it easy on me by disappearing without a word and accepting drinks from frat brothers.”
The two of you arrived at the kitchen and you silently handed your cup to him to refill your drink.
“Just… be careful, Y/N/N, okay?” You had turned away from him and he couldn’t help but eye the way your corset showed off your perfect tits, and he dryly swallowed, hoping that his hard on wasn’t too obvious.
You turned to look at him, sighing like you were annoyed, but you nodded your head as you grabbed the drink from him, “I know, Rafey, I know.”
“Where are your friends at?”
“They should be here by now, but I haven’t seen them just yet.” You looked around the room you were in, still not finding them. “I need to pee, where’s the bathroom?”
He took your drink, pointing towards the hallway where the restrooms were.
“Come right back here, okay?”
“Mm ‘kay,” you responded, heading to the bathroom.
Rafe didn’t want to be so worried about you, he didn’t want to be so over-protective, but he couldn’t help how possessive he felt over you, and the thought of any other man talking to you, much less touching you, was enough to have Rafe itching to grab a gun.
He hadn’t realized how long it had been until he checked the time and realized you had been gone for almost 10 minutes, which seemed unusual.
Rafe went to the bathroom, knocking on the door only to find that it was empty.
He cursed under his breath, angry that you had snuck away from him again, and he closed the door behind him as he anxiously pulled out his small bag of coke, using his key to bring a bump to his nostril.
Shit like this was the reason he did so much blow.
Rafe left, slamming the door before turning to look throughout the large house party.
You weren’t in the first crowded room that he checked, or the second, or the third; and by the time Rafe finally found you with Topper, watching him set up a line for you before handing you a rolled up dollar bill, he was seeing red.
He watched as you leaned over the table and sniffed the white powder into your nose, his knuckles curling into fists when Topper draped one arm over your shoulders.
When you looked up and locked eyes with him, your face dropped in an instant.
“What the fuck are you doing, Y/N?”
“Rafe-” Topper jumped in his seat, removing his arm as his face turned red when he realized how pissed off Rafe really was.
“Shut the fuck up, Top.” He snapped, never taking his burning gaze off of you. “What the fuck are you doing, Y/N?”
“I- Top was just showing me how to…”
“No.”
“What?”
“No, you’re done. Party’s over.” Your step brother stalked closer, wrapping his hand around your arm and harshly yanking you up off the couch.
“Rafe, you can’t be serious, you do it all the time!” You protested, trying to pull against his tight grip as he forced you through the house and toward the front door.
“I said, no. We’re going home. Now.” His voice was practically shaking with rage at this point, the effects of the bump he took in the bathroom settling in.
“You’re being so unfair! My friends aren’t even here yet!” Your voice slurred and Rafe realized how drunk you were.
“Did you have another drink?”
“Topper made me one,” you answered, and now Rafe really wanted to kill him.
What the fuck was he thinking getting his little sister drunk and giving you coke? Apparently Sarah wasn’t enough for him, he wanted another Cameron sister as well.
He could have Sarah for all Rafe cared, but you were his.
“Are you even sober enough to drive?”
“Yes,” he snipped, pulling open the passenger door of his truck and roughly pushing you in before loudly slamming it shut.
The drive back to your house was filled with a tense silence, and you were too drunk to realize just how fast Rafe was driving.
Rafe just stewed in his anger and frustration, equally pissed off at you and all of the jackasses who had been hitting on you.
Especially fucking Topper.
He should have known better.
Rafe pulled into the driveway, mentally preparing himself for the explanation he was going to have to give Rose if she was still awake, but when he glanced over at your seat, you were fast asleep. He sighed, partly in relief that he wouldn’t have to explain himself, but also frustrated that he couldn’t chew you out more.
He got out of the truck, coming around to your side to scoop you into his arms and carry you inside. Rafe cradled you in his arms, careful not to wake you as he brought you up the stairs and to your room, closing the door before softly laying you onto your bed.
Rafe leaned over, his fingers found the straps of your shoes, undoing them before pulling your heels off your feet and laying them onto the floor, where he took off his own boots as well.
When he turned his attention back to you, you looked so peaceful and beautiful it made his cock throb and Rafe suppressed a groan as he brushed a stray hair out of your eyes.
His gaze landed on your soft lips, and before he could stop himself, before he even knew what he was doing, really, Rafe leaned down, pressing his lips to yours for the very first time.
Rafe’s hand came to your face, softly stroking your cheek as his lips moved against yours. You tasted like alcoholic punch and cherry lip gloss, and Rafe could feel his hard on straining against the material of his jumpsuit.
He pulled away, head spinning as he mindlessly unzipped the top of his jumpsuit, pushing the fabric off his shoulders before reaching for the zipper on his pants.
All he could think about were all of the frat guys at the party eyeing you like you were a piece of meat they couldn’t wait to sink their teeth into. Like you were some prize to be won.
At the same time, the thought of someone else being your first ignited a blind rage inside of Rafe, one that festered in his brain and mutated into an ugly, twisted desire.
He wasn’t going to let his sweet angel of a step sister get taken advantage of or corrupted by any of the awful guys on the island, kooks or pogues.
If anyone was going to be your first, it was going to be him.
Rafe looked down, surprised when he realized he had been leaning over your sleeping form, pumping his hard cock with his hand.
He stopped himself for a moment, afraid that you might wake up, but you barely stirred, too deep in sleep to register your older step brother leering over you.
The blond took a shaky breath as he reached out towards your hips, his fingers brushing along the soft material of your shorts before finding the waistband and slowly pulling them down your legs.
“Fuck,” he softly groaned as he took in your matching white, lacy panties beneath.
Admittedly, Rafe was no stranger to going through your underwear drawer and stealing a pair of your underwear to jack off into as he fantasized about hate fucking you every time you did something to piss him off.
These were unfamiliar to him. You must have bought them just for halloween, he thought, a new wave of possessive jealousy coursing through him.
Were you seriously thinking about fucking someone tonight? Maybe your friends were never even coming to the party, and it was all a ploy for you to slip away from Rafe and hook up with some asshole.
Rafe’s large hands came to your hips, grabbing your panties and yanking them down your legs. His heart was beating so loudly in his chest he was afraid you might hear it, but he couldn’t stop himself.
He had to know how good you felt, he had to make sure he was your first.
He guided himself to your core, cursing under his breath as he rubbed the tip of his cock along your messy slit. You already felt so wet, he barely had to touch you, and he wondered if there was some part of you that subconsciously knew what was going on, that wanted this to happen.
His hands found the back of your thighs, spreading your legs further apart so he could get closer to you.
When he rubbed his cock against your clit, you squirmed a bit and a soft hum that sounded suspiciously like a moan fell past your lips.
He felt his cock twitch, aching to fill you up, and Rafe finally lined himself up with your slick lips before planting his arms beside your waist and pushing his leaking tip inside of you.
You felt so warm and tight, and the feel of your silky walls squeezing around the head of his cock was better than anything he could have possibly imagined. He slowly began moving, not going any deeper, but just creating a friction that made his jaw clench as he held back groans.
“Shit, Y/N,” he whispered, leaning over to press his feverish lips to yours again, the feeling of your cunt pulling him in making him feel dizzy.
He hadn’t intended to go any further, that’s what he told himself. He thought if he just got a taste, he could be satisfied and he could wait until later to have all of you.
But when his eyes flicked down to where your bodies connected, he was surprised to find half of his length disappearing into you.
You whimpered in your sleep as your walls pulsed around him, distracting him from his moral quandaries. Rafe reached a hand to your chest, cupping one of your tits over your corset as his pace slowly increased.
“God you’re fucking perfect,” Rafe murmured, his lips finding yours again. All the while, he pushed himself deeper and deeper inside you until his tip kissed your cervix.
Far too gone to turn back now, and spurred on by your soft whimpers and gasps, Rafe’s hips were snapping against yours faster now, channeling his frustrations into punishing you for the way you acted tonight.
You wanted to lose your virginity so badly? Fine, Rafe thought, he would take it from you to insure he would be your first and only.
He knew it was wrong, god, it was sick how deeply he needed to ruin you for daring to disobey him. Rafe was well aware that he crossing every boundary in the world, that you would hate that he had robbed you of this experience if you ever found out; but maybe that’s why he was so painfully hard as he rutted into you over and over.
And imagining sitting across from you at the dinner table, knowing that his sweet, innocent sister would have no idea that her older step brother was her first was almost enough to make him cum.
But the thing that really sent him over the edge, what had him spilling himself deep inside you and filling your walls with his hot, sticky cum, was your soft, angelic voice moaning his name in your sleep.
