Can you write a smut about Rafe and reader are in an arranged marriage. How will their sex life be? Can you make up a story where they do it intensely?
notes. i def don’t think you wanted a fanfic that was this long, but i saw so much potential in this idea i just couldn’t help myself to write this for you. this took me days to do, so enjoy! this is for all of my lovers who love backstory & character development. i tried my best! this is so long but so cute and worth it (in my opinion)
content warnings. ⸝⸝ fem reader, arranged marriage, fluff, arguing, tad angst, cussing, so much backstory, no proof read, cuddling, slow burn, make up sex, tender mornings, rough sex, hair pulling, love making, rafe spitting in reader’s mouth, degrading, praising, showering together, wife!reader, husband!rafe, ass slapping/spanking, backshots, choking, slight wording of cnc(?), some intimate scenes, brat taming, edging
ward wants his son to have a good girl. he’s told rafe the standards he should look for, not a drug addict, someone sweet, someone good to him. simple enough, but rafe never followed through. he went for party girls who had no direction in life, fucked girls for drugs, and messed around with ones who’d been passed around so much they’d probably had every std in the book.
then you came along.
ward was immediately interested. he’d spoken to you before, when you were planting flowers in homemade vases along your front yard fence. you had this soft, sweet charm he’d never seen in any of the girls rafe usually brought around.
you didn’t expose yourself in everyday clothes, you spoke like you didn’t even know curse words existed, and you carried yourself with a modesty that felt rare. you were perfect for the cameron image. the kind of girl who could clean up rafe’s mess of addictions and reckless behavior.
when the wedding came, rafe had no real say. you were beautiful, sure, but he wasn’t ready to let go of his old life. so on your wedding night, after you were officially married, he didn’t say much. he was still adjusting.
you found him in the bathroom, a towel wrapped low around his waist while he brushed his teeth. you poked gently at his side. “hi,” you said, meeting his eyes in the mirror.
he glanced down at the spot you’d poked, then looked at you. toothbrush still in his mouth. “…hello.” you smiled, a playful little pout forming on your lips. “that’s all i get?”
he stayed quiet for a second, eyes now fully on you. “what am i supposed to say?” he asked and you shrugged. “i don’t know… we just got married!” excitement colored your voice. “yeah,” he replied dryly, spitting into the sink. “trust me, i’m aware.” he adds.
your smile faltered, and you swallowed. rafe sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “look, i’m not trying to be a dick. this whole thing is just… a lot.” he explained. you nodded, looking up at him. “is there anything i can do to help you relieve some stress?” your brows furrowed in genuine concern. “anything you need?” you ask.
he stared at you for a long moment. “a drink,” he said flatly. you frowned. “i don’t think that’s what you need,” you replied softly. his eyebrow lifted. “you’ve been my wife for three hours and you’re already arguing with me?” he asked, sarcasm thick in his tone.
you didn’t answer. instead, you gave a small, quiet nod and walked out of the bathroom.
the whole adjustment process to rafe was strange. one day, you were receiving nothing but attitude and toxicity, and the next, little moments of kindness that caught you off guard.
coming from a family who handled their feelings by sitting down and talking things out didn’t exactly prepare you for someone like rafe. he thought he knew everything, and even when he knew he was wrong, getting an apology out of him was like pulling teeth.
he wasn’t even close to what you imagined in a husband before his father came talking to you. you wanted someone sweet, mature, someone who didn’t treat every disagreement like a battle. someone who could tell you what was wrong instead of making you figure it out yourself.
just like the first night of your honeymoon, he was still angry. still angry at his father for putting him in this situation, for making choices for him like he was a kid. it was around two in the morning, and he was sitting out in the living room of the hotel ward had paid for in another country.
every now and then his voice would rise, frustration bleeding into every word as he talked on the phone about how he was sick of everyone deciding his life for him. his voice carried all the way down the hall to the bedroom, and you sat there on the bed with your hair in a messy bun, listening to every word.
when he kept going, something in you finally gave out. quietly, you got up and headed to the closet, pulling your suitcase onto the floor and beginning to pack the clothes you’d brought with you.
when rafe heard the movement, he ended the call and walked into the room, stopping when he saw you calmly folding your things into the suitcase.
“what are you doing?” he asked, but he could obviously see what you were doing. you didn’t look up instead just continued. “packing.” you reply. rafe stared at the suitcase for a second. “i can see that.” he said and you folded another shirt. “then why’d you ask?” you interviewed, and he went quiet. his jaw tightened, like he was holding back a groan. “where are you going?” he asked, looking at everything about you.
your hair, clothes, skin. “home.” you stated, dryly. the answer came so easily that it caught him off guard. “what?” he said. “you’ve spent the whole trip talking about how much you don’t want this. i figured i’d make it easier for you.” you replied.
“that’s not—” he started and you scoffed. “not what?” you cut him off, as you looked at him. “i heard you, rafe.” you mention and you got nothing but silence.
he then shifted his weight. “you’re seriously packing because i was pissed off?” he asked and you let out a small laugh mid sentence. “because you were pissed off? no.” you correct, another shirt landed in the suitcase.
“because you’ve made it very clear you don’t want me here.” you said and it was visible that something uncomfortable settled in his chest, that wasn’t what he’d been trying to say. at least, not anymore. “stop.” he demanded.
you ignored him, adjusting your shirt on your shoulder. “i said stop.” he repeated. “why?” you ask, looking up to meet his gaze. the question hit him harder than he expected, because he didn’t have a good answer at all to give you, because a couple days ago he would’ve gladly watched you walk away, but because now that you were actually doing it, he couldn’t stand the sight of it.
“just…” he rubbed a hand over his face. “stop packing for five seconds.” he told you, approaching slowly as if you were an angry animal that would pounce any moment. you scoff as if he had asked you something insane, the audacity he had making you began to get angry.
“no rafe!” you say, looking at him, your volume catching him off guard. “you don’t like me, so i’m leaving. simple. i don’t need your permission.” you stated, keeping eye contact with him. his face went cold, staring at you. “i’m not stupid, nor am i gonna waste my time! i’m leaving.” you yelled, and he didn’t even react. but he did scoff when you told him you were leaving.
because he knew you weren’t, you can pack all the shit you want but he knew in his head, you weren’t leaving him. not him.
“you’re not leaving.” he stated, and you looked up at him and laughed. “watch me.” you told him, moving to the nightstand and getting your phone charger out and makeup. “i’m serious.” he told you, standing still while watching you, his tone spoke for itself. “so am i.” you flash a fake smile before rolling your eyes, putting your charger in your pocket and makeup in the suitcase. “you’re my wife.” he stated.
“a wife you don’t even want!” you correct. “i didn’t say that.” he responds, and you looked at him as if he wasn’t crazy. “yeah right” you say, rolling your eyes with attitude. his expression darkened, anger lingering in his eyes. “quit putting words in my mouth.” he demanded and you turned to him fully, crossing your arms.
“then tell me i’m wrong, rafe.”
and he couldn’t, he just sat there looking fucking stupid. “that’s what i thought.” you said quietly now, nodding in acknowledgement and you continued packing.
for the rest of the night, he left you alone. at least, mostly. after another pointless argument, he stormed back into the living room and dropped onto the couch, rubbing a hand over his face. every few minutes he’d hear another zipper, another drawer opening, another reminder that you were actually packing. it got under his skin more than he wanted to admit. twice he got up and walked toward the bedroom, only to turn around before he reached the door.
by three in the morning, he was still sitting awake on the couch, staring at nothing and listening to the sounds coming from the bedroom. he fucked hated hearing the suitcase’s wheels rolling on the floor, and the zippers bit at his patience.
he drifted off on the couch, and by the time he woke up, he heard the sound of the suitcase wheels. at first, he didn’t react, then he looked up to see the bags, all of them. his stomach dropped. “what are you doing?” he asked, but you didn’t answer. you just kept walking toward the door.
“hey.” he said, louder. but he still got nothing. “seriously, where the hell are you going?” he asked while you reached for the handle. “home.” you finally answered. rafe stood up so fast the coffee table rattled. “you’re actually leaving?” he questioned. you laughed, but there wasn’t any humor in it. “what did you think i was doing all night?” you asked.
his jaw tightened, he didn’t have an answer, because he didn’t want to come to speak out loud about this view and also truthfully he’d thought you’d calm down, he’d thought you’d unpack, he’d thought you’d stay.
“so that’s it?” he asked, and you looked at him. “what do you want me to do, rafe?” you asked. he hates that questions like that, because when he’s asked questions like that, most of the time he doesn’t want to answer… and also because for the first time since the wedding, he knew exactly what he didn’t want. he didn’t want you walking out that door.
“don’t go.” he told you. the words came out rough, almost angry, like they had been dragged out of him. “don’t go.” he repeated and you stared at him, your hand still wrapped around the suitcase handle as you searched his face for something real, something that would make any of this make sense.
“give me one reason.” rafe looked away immediately, like he couldn’t stand being pinned down by the question. “i don’t need a reason.” he defends. “yes, you do.” you follow up quickly. “no, i don’t.” he said. you slowly let go of the suitcase handle and shook your head.
“that’s funny.” his eyes narrowed. “what?” he asked. “because every time you want something from me, there’s supposed to be a reason. every time you expect me to understand you, forgive you, follow along with whatever you decide, there’s always some explanation i’m supposed to accept. but now suddenly you want me to stay and i’m just supposed to do it because you said so?” you ask, staring at him.
“what are you talking about?” he asked. “you want me to stay? okay. why?” you question, letting your hands drop to your sides. “because i said so.” he told you. you let out a laugh that held no amusement whatsoever. “that’s not an answer.” you say. his jaw clenched hard enough that you could see the muscle jump.
“can you stop doing that?” he requested. “doing what?” you ask. “turning everything into an interrogation.” he explained and you rolled your eyes. “i’m not interrogating you, rafe. i’m asking a simple question.” you gestured toward the suitcases sitting by the door, packed and ready to go. “you’ve spent this entire trip acting like i’m a burden, like my presence is something you have to tolerate instead of something you actually want.” you stated. “that’s not true.” he continued after you quickly.
“really?” you ask. he went quiet, and that silence told you more than any argument ever could. you nodded slowly. “that’s what i thought.” you repeat again tonight. “i never said you were a burden.” he corrected. “you didn’t have to. you made it obvious enough without saying the words.” you said, flashing a fake comforted smile.
“for fuck’s sake—” he groans. “see?” you interrupted him abruptly. “there you go again.” his hands flew up in frustration. “what do you want me to say?” “the truth.” you yell. “i am telling the truth.” he yelled back. “no, you’re not.” the room fell silent after that, the tension stretching between you until it felt impossible to breathe around it. you took a step closer, refusing to look away from him this time.
“if you want me to stay, tell me why.” rafe looked frustrated enough to punch a wall, his entire body rigid with the effort of holding something back. “because.” he said dryly. “because why?” you ask. “i don’t know.” he swallowed.
“that’s a lie.” his eyes snapped to yours instantly. “you think you know everything, huh?” he questioned bitterly. “no. i think you’re scared to say it.” you mention and his expression hardened. “say what?” he asked. “that maybe you don’t hate me as much as you wanted to.” for a moment neither of you moved. neither of you spoke. the words hung heavily in the air between you.
“i never said i hated you.” he corrected. this time his voice was quieter, stripped of some of its usual anger. you swallowed hard. “then stop acting like i’m impossible to keep around.” rafe looked down at the floor, staring at it for several long seconds before finally lifting his gaze back to yours.
when he spoke again, there was something different in his expression, something tired and honest and completely unguarded. “i got used to you being here, okay?” it wasn’t a grand confession. it wasn’t romantic or dramatic or anything close to the kind of speech people gave in movies. but somehow that made it feel more real.
it was probably the most honest thing he’d said since the wedding, and you could tell how much it cost him to admit it. “and?” you asked softly. he rubbed a hand over his face and let out a slow breath. “and i don’t want you to leave.” he said, finally.
you stare at him. “keep that attitude up, and i’ll stay.” you tell him, opening the door. “you have my number, prove you don’t want me to leave, rafe.” you continue and he rubbed his face, he was livid.
his eyebrows furrowed. “what?” he asked, looking back at you as you open the door wider. “you heard me.” you said. for a second, he just stared. then his expression hardened. “that’s bullshit.” he said, aggressively. “is it?” you respond, sarcastically. “yeah, it is.” he said. “why?” you questioned.
“because you’re putting me in some stupid test.” he responded and you sigh. “no, rafe. i’m leaving.” you stated, and the words hit harder than he expected, so hard that he shifted his weight and his voice was quieter. “then leave.” he said, gesturing toward the door with his hand before letting it drop back down to his leg.
you simply nodded. “okay.”
he didn’t say anything to you after that, you bought a plane ticket back home and you arrived home some time later. you didn’t receive any calls from him when you were boarding the plane and the time prior, but when you got on the plane he started to text you, and call you.
you decided to make him wait, so you turned your phone off. when getting home, the scent of your favorite candle still lingered. the sunlight pouring through your glass french doors stretched across the hallway that you passed from the front door. it was so beautiful, and so much calmer than hanging out with your new husband.
you let your hair down from the bun, your hair touching your skin as you swayed your hips to the kitchen. you made yourself some food, the calm morning still having a warm embrace on you. you sighed, your chest becoming more comfortable and not tight and stressed out.
once you finished making your food and eating it, you headed upstairs. when you reached the second floor, you stripped out of your pants and took your shirt off just for preparation for bed. your bed was calling you, so you made it easier for you.
you opened your door, tossing the clothes to your floor, and you looked at your bed, suddenly realizing rafe sitting there.
“jesus!” you yelled, rushing to cover yourself with the door and peeking your head out to look at him. “would you stop yelling?” he asked, rolling his eyes. “you’re in my house rafe.” you defended, before squinting your eyes at him. “why are you here?” you asked.
“you turned your phone off, what the hell was i supposed to do?” he asked, looking at you. “oh, i don’t know, maybe tell me if you’re on the way?” you offered, and rafe scoffed. “right, because you were doing such a great job answering your phone.” he replied, getting up from the bed and you stared at him.
“that’s not the point.” you stated. “it is the point.” he shot back. “no, rafe, the point is i came home and found a man sitting in my bedroom.” you said to him. “your husband.” he corrected.
“don’t do that.” you scoffed. “do what?” he asked. “use that whenever it’s convenient for you.” you replied and his jaw tightened. “i called you.” he admitted. “and i didn’t answer.” you replied. “yeah, i noticed.” he replied, walking toward the door. “that doesn’t mean you get to break into my house.” you mentioned.
“i didn’t break in.” he said, lifting a brow. you then folded your arms. his hand went to the door, opening it fully to look at you.
“then how did you get in?” you asked and he went quiet for a second. “your spare key.” he admitted. “rafe.” you started. “what?” he asked. “that’s creepy…how the fuck did you even get a spare?” you asked, brows furrowed now. “you getting on a plane and disappearing was crazy.” he mentioned, ignoring your question.
“i told you i was leaving.” you replied. “and i told you not to.” he continued. you rolled your eyes dramatically and pushed past him. “you win.” you said as you rubbed your face with a soft sigh. “i’m so done arguing with you.” you said.
rafe didn’t have a comeback. it was like he didn’t even want to say anything to end the conversation. he wanted you to stay, to talk to him, but you walked past him and sat on the edge of the bed.
“seriously. i’m tired.” you assured and watched as he watched you pull the blankets back.
“that’s it?” he asked.
you looked over your shoulder. “what else is there to say?” you asked. he opened his mouth, then closed it again. there was that fucking question again. you sighed.
“if you really came all the way here just to sit in my bedroom and be angry, you can sleep here if you want.” you said. rafe stared at you. “maybe argue with me in my sleep.” you laughed softly, but he didn’t laugh. he rolled his eyes.
“that’s not why i came.” he said.
“okay.” you replied softly, providing him a soft and gentle out to this argument. but the fact that you didn’t argue made the situation worse to him. the way you just simply laid down and turned away from him made the room fall quiet.
“you’re just gonna go to sleep?” he asked.
you let out a tired laugh. “what do you want from me, rafe?” you asked once more and he didn’t answer. because that was the problem, he wasn’t entirely sure. he was never sure when that question came out.
all he knew was that seeing you leave had felt wrong, and now that he’d found you again, the fight suddenly seemed a lot less important than it had a few hours ago.
after a long moment, he looked away. “move over.” he said roughly. you raised an eyebrow. “thought you’d never ask.” you said, moving over. “don’t make it weird.” he muttered, laying down next to you.
“you’re sitting in my room.” you said, turning to look at him. “our room.” he corrected, and to that admission, he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close. the most physical touch he’s given you is from you giving up on an argument. you laughed at that thought. he was impossible, and so annoying.
you woke up gently, you could hear the sound of his phone faintly. you stretched lightly on the bed, getting up and sitting on your knees on the bed, hair falling loose as you finally looked at him properly.
he glanced up from his phone, his eyes meeting yours. “what time is it?” you ask. “three.” he responded and your eyes widened a little. “i should probably get up and make us lunch.” you said, as you shifted forward on your knees, then leaned toward him like it was the most normal thing in the world.
he stiffened slightly, not pulling away, just surprised by the sudden closeness after everything. but you came from a family of affection, of tender love. so a kiss after you wake up was mandatory. you brushed a soft kiss along his jaw, then another near his neck. his hand paused mid scroll on his phone.
“do you want that? or do you want delivery?” you asked, your eyes meeting his again. he stared at you for a second, confused if he should be upset or happy you’re acting this way. “…why are you acting like yesterday didn’t happen?” he asked, you hummed softly, still close. “did it change what you want to eat?” you ask, and that caught him off guard.
his jaw tightened like he was trying not to react too much. “that’s not the point.” he commented. you smiled a little, backing up from him. “okay. then what’s the point?” you asked, he didn’t answer immediately. because the truth was, he didn’t know how to respond to you being soft with him again after everything.
he set his phone down. “i don’t know what’s going on with you.” he stated. “i’m just being nice, rafe.” you respond and he let out a short breath. “yeah. that’s the problem.” he said. you pushed your lips into a thin line, running your hand through his hair as you get up. “so, you want me to make it?” you ask.
he looked at you for a second longer than necessary. “i didn’t say that.” he said, you sigh and you tilted your head slightly. “you didn’t say anything.” you stated. that got a reaction out of him, but just a faint shift in his expression. “…just don’t burn anything.” he said. you smiled, getting up from the bed and already moving toward the door. “that’s not an answer.” you said.
he exhaled through his nose, setting his phone down on the bed. “yeah, fine. make it.” he said, a pause settling between you two. then, he spoke up quietly. “i’m not trying to fight with you.” he said, his tone unrecognizable because of how sweet it was. you glanced back at him. he wasn’t looking at you anymore, instead looking at the bed. “i know.” you gently responded.
you finally leave the room, making your way down to the stairs, the cold air biting at your skin, your eyes looking out your glass french doors and seeing ward and some random guy. you pause, looking down at your body that only had a bra and panties on.
you go back upstairs calmly, luckily they hadn’t seen you, despite your french doors being so open to the house. you go to your walk in closet, putting your hair up before putting on a top and shorts, and making your way to the bedroom to rafe. “uh. your dad is outside with some guy.” you told rafe, rafe lifted a brow.
“what guy?” he asked. you shook your head slightly, shrugging. “i don’t know. i just saw them through the glass doors.” you responded. his expression changed immediately, it was subtle, but sharp. ward seemed like he was a trigger for him, judging by how tense he got.
he sat up a little straighter. “he didn’t call.” he mentions. “does he ever?” you jokingly respond but that made his jaw tighten. rafe pushed himself off the bed. “yeah, okay.” he mumbled to himself. he grabbed his phone off the nightstand, already unlocking it. “he’s probably trying to turn this into some kind of meeting.” he mumbled to himself once more.
it seemed like he was trying to calm himself down, by his own voice and words while you watched him. “you want me to go downstairs?” you ask. he glanced at you for half a second. “no.” he said firmly. then, he swallowed. “just… stay here.” he added, his tone less strict.
there was a pause before he added, quieter, like it slipped out without thinking. “i’ll handle it.” he assured you, before brushing past you. you bite your cheek and sit on the bed, holding your face.
you spent a couple minutes up there, hearing quiet voices that stretched upstairs, you couldn’t hear them completely but rafe was mad about something. then you hear rafe coming back upstairs, when he found you, he didn’t say much.
“my dad’s downstairs.” he started, and you looked up. “yeah, i know.” you responded back and he hesitated. he shifts his weight. “he wants you down there.” he told you and your brows furrow in confusion. “why?” you question. rafe exhaled through his nose.
“just come on.” he told you, you studied him for a second, then followed. the moment you walked into the dining room, you felt it. too many chairs, it was too formal just for a quick chit chat. ward sitting like he owned the air itself, and someone else. a woman you didn’t know.
rafe stopped behind you. “what is this?” he asked, and ward gestured lightly. “sit down.” ward said but rafe didn’t move. “no. what is this.” he asked once again. a pause settled, and then ward leaned forward slightly.
“this is a marriage counselor.” rafe’s expression went completely still. “…you brought a therapist.” rafe started, glaring at ward. “for you and your wife.” ward explained, staring at rafe. rafe let out a short, disbelieving laugh.
“without telling me?” rafe asked. ward’s voice stayed calm. “you weren’t going to agree if i asked.” he explained. rafe looked at him for a long moment, then glanced at you, then back at ward.
the anger he was feeling wasn’t loud it was controlled, and dangerous underneath.
“you don’t get to manage my marriage like a business deal.” rafe stated and ward didn’t flinch. “then start acting like it isn’t one.” ward clapped back.
rafe stood, arms stiff at his sides as ward looked up from his seat. ward didn’t look at him, his eyes went straight to you. a soft smile settled on his face. “hi sweetheart.” he coos. you blinked, a little surprised but you smiled back automatically.
“hi.” you reply, giving him a soft wave. ward’s tone warmed just slightly. “how are you doing?” he asked, you hesitated for half a second, then answered honestly, still polite. “i’m okay… a little confused.” you say.
“understandable,” he said smoothly. “this is a lot for you.” he gently said. rafe’s jaw tightened behind you. ward gestured toward the empty chair. “why don’t you sit down, sweetheart.” he offered. you glanced back at rafe briefly, then sat.
rafe didn’t move, which made ward finally look at him now. “you too, rafe.”
rafe let out a short breath through his nose. “no.” he said firmly but ward’s expression didn’t change. “sit.” he commanded, silence stretched then rafe slowly pulled out the chair and sat, but his posture stayed rigid. ward folded his hands. “i wanted to talk to both of you properly.”
rafe cut in immediately. “you could’ve told me what this was.” he said. ward tilted his head slightly. “you wouldn’t have come.” ward stated. rafe scoffed. “yeah. because it’s insane.” ward ignored that, eyes shifting back to you.
“i just want to make sure you’re settling in alright, sweetheart.” he explained to you, which you nodded softly. “i think i am… it’s just been a lot of change.” you describe with a smile. “of course it has,” ward said gently. “you’ve been very patient with everything.” he compliments, rafe looked between you two, disbelief flickering across his face. because he knew that tone.
it wasn’t real warmth, it was strategy. and seeing it directed at you made it worse for him, his anger started to boil even more than before.
then counselor offered a polite smile.
“thank you both for sitting down with me today. i know this probably wasn’t how either of you expected to spend your afternoon.” she said. “you got that right,” rafe muttered.
ward shot him a look but the counselor ignored it. “why don’t we start with something simple? how has married life been so far?” she asked, her eyes on you. you smiled politely. “it’s been an adjustment.” you answer. “that’s a very mature answer.” she complimented and you smiled once again. “thank you.”
“and for you, rafe?” she asked, writing down something before looking up at him. he leaned back in his chair. “it’s been great.” the deadpan answer made the counselor pause. “great?” she echoes. “yeah. fantastic.” he repeated. you closed your eyes briefly. “rafe.” you said.
“what?” he asked.
the counselor offered a patient smile. “i’m assuming that’s sarcasm.” she replied. “good catch.” he stated, ward rubbed his forehead. you could practically feel the tension radiating off rafe. the counselor tried again. “what has been the most difficult part?” she asked. “my father arranging the whole thing.” he said flatly.
“rafe.” you repeat, looking at him. “what? she asked.” he said. the woman nodded. “that’s a fair answer.” she said. rafe looked surprised for a second. “it is?” he asked and she nodded. “yes.”
his expression softened slightly. “oh.” he murmurs. you glanced at him and the counselor smiled. “you’re allowed to be frustrated. i think what we’re trying to figure out is what comes after that frustration.” she explains, and rafe looked away.
for a moment, nobody spoke and under the table, you carefully reached for his hand. his fingers immediately tensed, you honestly expected him to pull away, but he didn’t. instead, he glanced at you. you rubbed your thumb across the back of his hand once, just once.
a silent reminder that he wasn’t alone in this conversation. so, when the counselor spoke again, his answer came out less sharp. “i don’t know.” he said. the room went quiet.
“that’s okay,” she said gently. “you don’t have to know everything right now.” she continued. rafe looked down at the table, then at your hand still holding his. “i’m just trying to figure it out.” he said, being the most honest he’s been with her since sitting down. she wasn’t getting that confession again, and the woman could tell.
after ward and the woman left, rafe had been distant. quieter than usual. he wasn’t giving you the cold shoulder exactly, but the warmth from the night before had cooled. he kept himself busy, answers short, eyes avoiding prolonged contact. like he was rethinking everything that had been dragged out in front of that stranger.
you hated the shift. so later in the day, when the house felt too heavy with silence, you stood in the doorway of the bedroom and said softly, “rafe… come take a shower with me.” he looked up from where he was sitting on the edge of the bed, jaw tight. for a second you thought he might say no. his pride was still stinging.
“i’m fine,” he muttered, even though he clearly wasn’t. you didn’t push hard. you just tilted your head, voice gentle. “you don’t have to talk. i just… want you close. please?” you plead softly.
one thing your mother taught you was intimacy was something every couple needed, especially after such an intense experience for him.
that last word always did something to him. he stared at you for a long moment, then exhaled through his nose and stood up without another word. he followed you into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him a little harder than necessary.
once the water was running hot and steam started filling the space, he undressed slowly, still not looking at you much. but when you stepped under the spray and held your hand out to him, he took it. he let you pull him in.
the moment the water hit his shoulders, some of the tension in his back eased. you didn’t force conversation. you just washed his hair, fingers gentle against his scalp, and he eventually leaned into your touch. his arms came around your waist after a while, forehead resting against your shoulder as the water ran over both of you.
he didn’t say much, but the way he held you tighter than usual told you everything. the distance was still there, but it was cracking. this was his version of letting you back in, quiet, physical, a little grumpy, but present.
he wasn’t sure why he was doing this, but it definitely was not because he suddenly loved vulnerability, but because you asked, and deep down he needed the closeness more than he wanted to admit.
standing under the warm spray, you leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, your lips lingering for a second against his damp skin. “what do you need, rafe?” you asked gently, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes. he stayed quiet at first, water running down his shoulders, then his voice came low and rough. “i just need you.” he said.
the words settled between you like something heavy and honest. you didn’t push for more. instead you stayed close, letting the shower run over both of you for a couple of minutes in comfortable silence. his arms stayed wrapped around your waist, your bodies pressed together under the steady stream, the tension in him slowly easing.
after a while you pulled back slightly and brushed wet strands of hair from his face. “go ahead and get out, okay? go lay down. i’ll make you some dinner and then we can watch tv.” he suggest. he nodded, agreeing without argument for once. as he stepped toward the edge of the shower, he paused, cupped your face with one hand, and leaned in. his lips met yours in a soft, simple peck, your first kiss.
you blinked, a little shocked, warmth blooming across your cheeks as he pulled away. he didn’t say anything else, just gave you a small look before stepping out and grabbing a towel.
you stayed under the water a moment longer, washing your hair with slow fingers. your mind kept drifting back to that kiss, the unexpected gentleness of it, the way it felt both new and familiar at the same time. a quiet smile tugged at your lips while the steam swirled around you.
when you got out the shower, you quickly got dressed and headed out to your bedroom, giving rafe a soft glance while making your way to the stairs. you get downstairs, and search your freezer for any type of food you had.
you didn’t want to give him something fancy to overwhelm him, just somethin’ easy so he wouldn’t have to wait for a good while.
when you finally came back upstairs, balancing two plates in your hands, the television was still playing quietly in the background. rafe hadn’t moved much. he was stretched across the bed, one arm behind his head, staring at the screen without really watching it.
his eyes shifted toward you when you entered. “food.” you calmly said as you held up the plate. that got a small reaction. he sat up slowly as you placed the plate on his lap.
a burger and fries. nothin fancy. just something warm, maybe familiar. it was something filling, something easy.
rafe looked down at it, then up at you. “you made this?” he asked, you smiled. “obviously.” you respond. “you didn’t have to.” he mutters. you shrugged. “i wanted to.” you whisper to him, for a moment, he just stared at the food, then he picked up a fry.
“thanks.” he said, the words were quiet, almost awkward coming from him, but they were genuine.
that was good enough for you, so you smiled. “you’re welcome.” you said, he nodded once and looked back down at his plate, still very quiet. still thinking about whatever had been running through his head all afternoon.
but not quite as distant as before.
before you could get comfortable, rafe looked at you once again. your eyes met and he grabbed your plate and his, moving them to the nightstand. he pulled you to him as he kissed you, slow and deep, like he had been holding back for hours.
the tv hummed softly in the background, some show neither of you were really watching anymore. you melted into the kiss, your hands sliding up his chest as his fingers threaded gently through your hair. the makeout grew heavier, more intimate.
tongues brushing, breaths mixing, his grip on your waist tightening just enough to keep you close. he was surprisingly gentle at first, savoring every second, every little sound you made.
his hands moved carefully, sliding under your shirt and lifting it slowly over your head. you did the same with his, palms exploring the warm skin of his chest and shoulders. clothes came off piece by piece between kisses; your shorts, his sweatpants, until there was nothing between you.
he laid you back against the pillows, hovering over you, eyes dark but soft as he took you in fully. his gaze traced every inch of your body like he was memorizing it.
“you’re so beautiful,” he murmured against your neck, voice low and rough. he kissed down your collarbone, taking his time, hands gentle as they roamed your sides and thighs.
when he finally settled between your legs, he moved with a patience you didn’t expect from him, slow, deep thrusts, letting you feel every moment. your jaw dropped softly, his size stretching you. his forehead pressed to yours, breaths shared, bodies moving together in a steady rhythm that felt both intense and tender.
he stayed gentle through it all at the start, hands cradling your face, lips brushing yours between gasps, completely focused on you. the earlier distance had cracked wide open, replaced by something warmer, more vulnerable, as the two of you lost yourselves in each other.
rafe kept going, his pace deepening as he pressed more of his weight down onto you through his hips. each thrust hit harder now, the pressure intense and overwhelming in the best way, his body pinning you firmly into the mattress.
he buried his face in your neck, kissing and sucking along your skin, lips hot and relentless as he marked you with every breath.
you lost your breath beneath him, gasping softly with every heavy stroke. his cock felt so thick and deep inside you, filling you completely. your legs stayed spread wide for him, trembling and quivering as he fucked straight into your g-spot over and over again. the sensation was almost too much, heavy delicious pleasure that made your toes curl and your thighs shake.
your hands flew up, gripping tightly onto the bed frame above your head for some kind of anchor while he drove into you. rafe didn’t ease up. he stayed right there, heavy and relentless, hips rolling with purpose, grinding against you on every thrust. his mouth never left your neck, kissing, licking, biting gently as low groans rumbled from his chest.
the weight of him, the way he fucked you so deep and steady, had you breathless and dizzy, completely lost in the feeling of him. his cock felt impossibly heavy inside you, stretching and rubbing every sensitive spot until your whole body was trembling beneath him.
his hips pressing all his weight down with every thrust, driving his cock right into that perfect spot inside you. the pressure was overwhelming, his thick length stretching and rubbing you so good you could barely think. your legs shook violently around him, still spread wide as your body tightened more and more.
“rafe—” you gasped, breath coming out in short, desperate pants. the pleasure built impossibly high until it crashed over you. you came hard around his cock, walls clenching and pulsing as waves of heat flooded through you. your mouth fell open, panting desperately for air because his cock felt so fucking good, pushing you through every throbbing second of your orgasm.
“that’s it, baby,” rafe murmured against your neck, voice low and rough with praise. he kept moving through it, slower but still deep, grinding against you. “you’re doing so good for me. fuck, cum on my cock just like that… let me feel you.” he rambled.
your hands stayed gripping the bed frame, body trembling as you rode it out. he kissed along your jaw and neck, then pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes dark and intense.
“i’m sorry for being mean to you,” he whispered, still buried inside you, voice thick with emotion. “i don’t want you to go. i want you to stay… with me.” he said to you. he kept praising you softly between kisses, hips still rocking gently as you came down, breathless and warm beneath him.
you came hard all over his dick, your slick warmth coating every inch of him, dripping down his length with every thrust. your walls fluttered and squeezed around him so tightly, soaking him completely as your body shook beneath his weight.
“fuck, just like that,” he groaned, voice breaking with pleasure. his hips stuttered, losing their rhythm as he buried himself as deep as he could go. he came hard inside you, thick ropes of cum spilling deep into your pussy, filling you up with every heavy pulse.
you felt every twitch, every warm spurt as he emptied himself completely, his cock throbbing against your sensitive walls while he pressed his hips flush against yours, making sure you took every drop.
his breath was ragged against your neck, body heavy and trembling as he stayed buried inside you, both of you panting and slick with sweat. he kissed your skin softly, still rocking gently through the aftershocks, his cum leaking out around his cock as your bodies stayed locked together.
ever since that day, you two have been fucking like animals. since the day he gave you permission to do everything and anything you wanted to him, the tension between you never really settled. you’d both end up tangled up from the smallest triggers; if he looked at you a certain way, held your hand a little too long, spoke to you in that low voice, bought you random gifts, or even just looked too good while getting dressed.
this time it was over something stupid.. laundry. it had been two months since you two got married, and it still turned you on like crazy seeing him being so domestic, doing shit for you without even being asked. you walked into the laundry room to find him loading the machine, sleeves rolled up, that focused look on his face, and it hit you instantly.
before you could even think, you were bent over the washing machine, hands gripping the edge tightly as rafe shoved your shorts down and pushed inside you in one rough thrust. he was fucking you hard, deep strokes that made the machine shake beneath you.
“fuck, look at you,” he growled, one hand fisting your hair and yanking your head back. “bent over like a little slut just because i’m doing laundry. so fuckin pathetic.” he said.
his other hand came down hard, smacking your ass with a sharp sting that made you moan louder. he did it again, harder, the sound echoing in the small room. you pushed back against him, taking every inch of his thick cock, the size difference hitting you hard as he stretched you open so wide it almost hurt, because you knew he’s forcing you to take it.
rafe leaned over you, his chest pressed to your back, and wrapped his hand around your throat, squeezing just enough to make your head spin. “this pussy was made for me, wasn’t it? so tight and greedy for my big dick.” he taunted.
he pulled your head back further and spit directly into your open mouth. “swallow it,” he ordered. you did, whimpering as he fucked you even rougher, hips slamming against your ass. his grip on your neck stayed firm, controlling every movement while he railed you from behind, the wet sounds of your bodies filling the laundry room.
“that’s it, take it like the desperate little housewife you are,” he groaned, smacking your ass again as he buried himself to the hilt over and over. your legs were shaking, hands gripping the washing machine for dear life as he used you exactly how he wanted.
you came so fast when he fucked you like that, but then there were other times where he fucked you and edged you for what felt like days.
you caught an attitude with him at a party at his father’s house. he warned you so many times but you didn’t want to hear it. so when you got home and the front door closed, he snatched you up. you both didn’t even make it to the main bedroom.
he pulled you into the spare room you were renovating into an office. the dress you were wearing was yanked down your legs in seconds, and getting him out of his suit might’ve been a world record.
“turn around and lay on your stomach,” he told you simply. you laughed, shaking your head. “can’t make shit simple, huh?” he asked, his face showing he wasn’t in the mood for your games. he flipped you over firmly but fell on top of you gently, his mouth right next to your ear as he worked your panties down.
“y’been so bad tonight, baby,” he muttered in your ear, pressing his weight down so you couldn’t squirm away. his words came out slow and low as he dragged your panties to your mid-thighs, using them as a makeshift restraint.
“have i?” you asked, voice already breathy.
his left arm hooked around your throat, applying just enough pressure to make your pulse race. “mhm,” he hummed against your ear, his heavy cock dragging along the back of your thigh before he lined himself up with your pussy.
he pushed in with one slow, thick thrust, stretching you open as he buried himself deep. a broken moan slipped from your lips. rafe kept his arm locked around your neck, holding you right where he wanted while he started fucking you harder, hips snapping against your ass.
“yeah, you have,” he whispered hotly in your ear, voice rough. “acting like a fucking brat all night… thought i wouldn’t handle you when we got home?” he taunted.
you tried to reply, lips parting, but the way he was pounding into you made it hard to speak. “i—fuck, rafe—” your words came out shaky and strained, breath catching every time he drove deep. your hands gripped the sheets, body rocking forward with each rough thrust while his arm stayed firm around your throat, keeping you pressed into the mattress.
he didn’t let up, lips brushing your ear as he kept whispering. “that’s right. struggle all you want, baby. this pussy still gets so wet for me when you’re in trouble.” he comments.
you tried to talk back, lips parting as you gasped out a shaky reply. “i wasn’t—fuck—” you start. “shut up,” rafe stated low in your ear, cutting you off instantly.
before you could get another word out, he fucked you so much harder, hips slamming into you with brutal force. the sudden intensity knocked the air right out of your lungs.
every thick inch of his cock drove deeper, faster, pounding into you so relentlessly that all you could do was moan and whimper helplessly. coherent words completely failed you now. just broken, desperate sounds spilling from your mouth.
rafe’s large hand quickly moved from your throat to cover your mouth, palm pressing firmly against your lips to muffle the loud noises you couldn’t hold back. “so fucking loud,” he hissed against your ear, still railing you without mercy, the sound of skin slapping skin echoing through the half renovated office. “can’t even behave for five minutes without screaming for my cock.”
your eyes rolled back, body jolting forward with every savage thrust while his hand kept you quiet. you could barely breathe through the overwhelming pleasure, completely overwhelmed.
you tried to warn him, voice muffled desperately against his palm. “rafe—i’m gonna cum—” you managed to choke out, barely intelligible.
for a moment he kept the brutal pace, hips snapping hard like he was going to let you. “yeah? you wanna cum, baby?” he whispered hot against your ear, sounding almost sweet. his cock drove deep and steady, hitting that spot over and over, pushing you right to the edge.
your body tensed, thighs shaking, right there..then he pulled out completely.
a broken whine escaped you instantly, hips pushing back desperately, searching for him. “did i tell you to speak?” rafe growled, voice dark and low.
before you could even process it, he slammed back into you, rougher than before. his thrusts turned punishing, hips slamming against your ass with raw force, the wet slap of skin filling the room as he fucked you even harder. his hand stayed clamped tight over your mouth, muffling your loud cries while his arm kept you pinned beneath him.
“brats don’t get to cum that easy,” he hissed into your ear, pounding you mercilessly, stretching your soaked pussy around his thick cock with every savage stroke.
you reached back desperately, fingers digging into his biceps, gripping the hard muscle as he kept pounding into you. your mind had gone completely fuzzy, cock drunk and lost in the feeling of him stretching you so deep.
“rafe— fuck… your cock feels so good,” you babbled breathlessly against his hand, words slurring together. “so fucking big… i can’t— it’s so good, baby, please—”
he kept fucking you through your desperate little praises, hips slamming against your ass with wet, filthy sounds. your grip on his arms tightened, nails digging in as your body started trembling again, that familiar pressure building dangerously fast.
“i’m gonna cum—rafe, please, i’m so close—”
he groaned low in your ear, sounding like he was finally going to let you. his thrusts stayed deep and rough, pushing you right up to the edge, right there and then he pulled out again.
you let out a broken, frustrated sob, hips twitching uselessly as the orgasm slipped away. your body was shaking, pussy clenching around nothing while you tried to catch your breath.
rafe gave you just a few seconds to come down, breathing hard against your neck, before he lined himself up and slammed back inside you without warning. he started fucking you even harder than before, the new angle making his thick cock hit even deeper.
“not yet,” he stated, voice dark and teasing in your ear as his hand stayed pressed over your mouth. “you don’t cum until i say so, baby.” he taunted cruelly.
your muffled moans grew louder as he railed you mercilessly again, using your body like he owned it, drawing out your pleasure until you were a trembling, cock drunk mess beneath him once more.
“rafe— please,” you begged, voice muffled and broken against his palm. “let me cum… i’ll be good, i swear. i’ll be your good girl. please baby, i love you— i love you so much, just let me cum on your cock.” your words came out in a desperate, teary babble, body shaking as he kept pounding into you without mercy. rafe’s grip on your mouth tightened slightly, his lips brushing your ear as he listened to you fall apart for him.
“that’s it,” he growled, voice low and rough. “beg like you mean it.” he said. you kept pleading between broken moans, hips pushing back to meet his savage thrusts. “please rafe… i’ll be so good for you. i love you— fuck, please let me cum—” you beg more.
he finally gave in. his thrusts stayed deep and punishing, but he angled his hips just right, slamming into that perfect spot over and over until your whole body locked up.
“cum then,” he ordered against your ear. “cum on my cock like a good little wife.”
the permission hit you like a wave. you came hard, crying out into his hand as your pussy clenched and pulsed around his thick cock, soaking him completely. your legs shook violently, eyes rolling back while pleasure crashed through you in heavy, blinding waves. rafe fucked you through every second of it, groaning at how tightly you squeezed him.
only when your orgasm started to fade did he slow down, still buried deep inside you. he moved his hand from your mouth and pressed a hot kiss to the side of your neck, breathing hard.
“don’t test me again, baby,” he warned. “next time i won’t be so nice.” he teased.
older!brother's bsf!rafe who's always been weirdly protective over you. ever since you met him when you were seven, mouth full of braces and fingernails grimy, and him at ten, already composed with the notorious Cameron look already developing on him, who gave you of all people a kind smile.
older!brother's bsf!rafe who always tells you you can do better. everytime you come home with a boy, topper giving you a long look, whenever rafe comes over, he'll roll his eyes, "you can do better than that, baby," he'll chortle, sitting dangerously close to you. and if the boy you took home is with him in the same room, rafe will make sure that he knows damn well he's not welcome.
older!brother's bsf!rafe who offers rides home from parties that you're not even supposed to be at, giving you anxious looks while he drives closer home while you're quiet but places water on your lap without another word. when the pair of you come back home, rafe is always quick to tell your parents that the two of you were hanging out together.
older!brother's bsf!rafe who pops by your house almost everyday and with different excuses. "hey, is topper here?" "forgot my keys" "needed to ask your mom somethin'", etc.
older!brother's bsf!rafe who, if you look close at every single family photo you've had together, from seven to now eighteen, he's constantly near you, by a one person distance max, and in the short occassion he's not, you can bet his eyes are on you.
older!brother's bsf!rafe who makes sure that there's food for you whenever you're around him. cookout? he's slipping half of his food onto your plate. dinner? you'll find that you have the most servings.
older!brother's bsf!rafe who's only had one girlfriend in the entire nine years you've known him. you remember when you were fourteen, sobbing your eyes out in your bed as top told you the news, only to find that they'd mysteriously broken up a week later.
older!brother's bsf!rafe who tells topper to go easy on you without you knowing. the pair will be hanging out, topper's feet up on the table while rafe scratches his arms.
"dude, she's been pissing me off so much."
"i'm sure you piss her off too."
"nah, not to the -"
"go easy on her."
older!brother's bsf!rafe who's given you flowers every valentine's, a tradition that started when you didn't get one that made you bawl your eyes out when you were much younger but just stuck. you who doesn't know that he gives them because he wants to, not because you think that topper's forcing him too.
older!brother's bsf!rafe who's always been the only option for you, he's just waiting patiently for you to see it.
Kira had faced up against Dread Doctors, Skinwalkers, hell even Malia for the last slice of pizza but nothing could prepare her for the sheer chaos that was Fortnite. “You’re sure this is fun?” She asked, sitting cross legged on her boyfriend’s bed, controller in hands. The TV glowed with the colours from the games colourful lobby, some upbeat song playing from the speakers. Now don’t get her wrong she had gamed before but nothing like this. The kitsune liked the soft relaxing games like Animal Crossing and Minecraft but she liked seeing Liam happy and if learning to play the wolves favourite game made him happy so be it. Besides it’s a game, how hard can it really be?
or the one where Liam teaches Kira to play fortnite and in return Kira teaches Liam to make Pizza in return.
𝙋𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜: frat!Rafe Cameron x innocent Pogue!reader
𝙒𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: dark, dubcon, unhinged inner monolog from rafe, misogynistic rhetoric, classist rhetoric (in the context of kooks, pogues etc), daddy kink, innocence kink, loss of virginity, smut (oral + p in v), oral (female receiving, fingering, MAJORR size kink, spanking, daddy issues, condescension, babying, dirty talk, swearing, very unbalanced power dynamic, which rafe gets off on, slut-shaming, derogatory name calling, manipulation, college au, reader is a freshman and rafe is a senior, 18+ only, mdni
𝙎𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮: Rafe bets his friends he can fuck you in one week.
𝘼/𝙉: It's here! The full fic. Word count: 23k. Please let me know what you think - reblogs and feedback mean the world to me. Read the warnings before you read, and enjoy!
“Her.”
Rafe looks over at the Pogue girl Topper’s nodding at and smirks. “Been there, done that. Pick a different one.”
Topper scoffs, “She literally moved here last week.”
“And?”
“OK… What about her?” He brazenly points at a leggy blonde that stands out in her group of Pogues.
“Last weekend at the beach party you threw. She gives good head.”
“Jesus Christ dude, is there anyone left??”
Rafe chuckles, leaning back and stretching his legs out while his friends stare at him in disbelief. He sometimes wonders if they know how stupid they look. Like followers. His followers. Hanging on to his every word, oohing and aahing at whatever he did. Making him feel like he was a God among men. Which he may as well be, considering that’s how most people at this college looked at him.
That’s why he loved fucking the Pogue girls. Almost exclusively. There was something about the power imbalance. Most of them came from poor families, looked at Rafe like he was a God. It didn’t take much for them to spread their legs for him, impressed by his power, turned on by his wealth. Hell, even the Kook girls were the same. But Rafe hardly ever took them home. They were spoiled sluts who hung around the country club wasting their lives and spending their daddies” money. Yeah, they didn’t pique his interest at all. Not as much as the Pogue girls who worked at the country club. In their little housekeeping outfits, deliberately teasing him in the hopes he’d take one of them home.
Yeah. It was safe to say Rafe Cameron had a type.
“Well, what about that one?”
Rafe rolls his eyes, about to say that yes, he had indeed fucked whatever girl Topper was pointing at this time. Because he’d fucked all of them. Because of who he was. Because of what he was capable of. Because of the family he came from. Because of what being a mere notch on Rafe Cameron’s bedpost meant to every single slut he’d ran through.
Except he doesn’t. Because Topper is pointing at you. And he’s never seen you before in his life.
You look so out of place, despite the fact you’re with a group of Pogues. And he knows you’re a Pogue. Like a shark with blood and a predator with its prey, he can always tell. And yet you stand awkwardly on the outskirts of the group, smiling yet not quite participating in whatever conversation is going on. You push your glasses up, straighten your skirt, pretend to look for something in your book bag. You’re shy. Self-conscious. Insecure. Rafe smiles.
“Who is she?”
“Aha! You haven’t slept with her!” Topper cheers like he’s won the fucking lottery. Sometimes Rafe wonders why he’s friends with him.
“Who is she?” He repeats like he hasn’t even heard him.
“She’s the new chick,” Kelce says, “except she’s not exactly new in town.”
“I heard she was home-schooled,” Topper snickers, “That’s why she’s fucking weird and has no friends. Even the Pogues don’t want her.”
Rafe observes you some more. Watches the bright smile on your face, how you try to chime in to whatever conversation the girls around you are having. They nod at you politely yet dismissively. They’re not your friends. As Topper said, you don’t have any.
Insecure. Weak. Vulnerable.
He licks his lips.
“How long?”
“Huh?”
He runs a hand through his hair impatiently, “How long do you wanna bet it takes me to get her into bed?” He nods in your direction.
Topper raises an eyebrow.
“You can’t be serious, man. She looks like she doesn’t even know what sex means.”
Kelce laughs, “She looks like she can’t even say it. Like she spells it out every time, s-e-x.”
They’re right. You look very innocent, but all that does is incense him. Rafe’s used to easy sluts who spread their legs after one drink or a ride on his motorbike. But you. He can tell you’d be harder to crack. But there’s something so fucking hot about how naive you look. How shy and sweet you are. How ruined he could leave you. Splayed out on his bike, legs quivering, all sweaty limbs and shy pants after he’s done having his way with you—
“How long?” He repeats, not in the mood to waste time and already getting hard picturing innocent little you with your tiny skirt flipped up and his head buried between those soft thighs, your sweet little confused cries because no one’s ever touched you like that, and—
“A week.”
“Mm?”
“A week to fuck her. With proof.”
Rafe stands up and stretches, licking his lips as he watches you retreat to a small bench, getting your little book out and burying your nose in it.
“That’s too easy. What do I get when I do it?”
“If you do it, you can decide what you get then. But as I said before, we’d need proof.” Kelce says.
“Yeah, proof,” Topper echoes, a glint in his eye as he looks over at you, “Pictures.”
Rafe shrugs, already kind of bored, “Sure.” He’d taken plenty of pictures of his conquests in the past. Him and his boys had a group chat where they shared that kind of shit. And the idea of taking pictures of you in such a vulnerable position gets him harder than anything. Sweet little freshman baby fucked dumb by the big bad senior, posing for pictures afterwards all teary-eyed but submissive. They all got submissive for him, even after he was done using them.
You flip a page, completely engrossed in your book and looking every bit the naive baby he’s imagining you as. A little lamb who has no idea she was in the presence of a fucking lion. And he bets you’re a virgin. Homeschooled with no friends? Forget virgin, you probably haven’t even had your first kiss. And that gets him so fucking horny, right there in the middle of the campus courtyard. The idea that you’re so pure, so untouched. So happy, so unassuming. A little fucking baby.
He’d have fun ruining you.
***
“You sure do love reading, don’t you?”
It’s the following day when Rafe finds you sitting by yourself in the corner of the library, with nothing but your book to keep you company.
You jump like a little mouse, pushing your glasses up your nose and gulping up at him, fear briefly flitting across your face before you force a small smile. And he likes his girls jumpy, he likes them slightly afraid of him. He knows he has that effect on people in general, but he wonders who’s told you about him.
“Sorry, were you — uh — were you talking to me?”
Rafe smirks, “Yes. Who else would I be talking to?”
“Oh, uh, I’m not sure…”
“It was a rhetorical question.”
“Oh, of course,” you look embarrassed, and he watches you squirm under his gaze for a good few seconds. “I… um…”
“You find books more interesting than people?”
“Huh?”
He chuckles, pulling up a chair next to you, noting how your eyes widen as he takes a seat, “Why are you always reading?”
“I don’t know, I guess I just like to read,” you shrug.
“You sure do.” He wonders if he could get you to read your precious book out loud while he went down on you, licked your virgin cunt while you cried because it felt too good. And then he’d spank you if you stopped or messed up a word, and like a stupid dumb fucking baby, you’d sniffle and wail through each paragraph, hold back your moans while he went to town on your little pussy till you wet yourself, and he’d suck your—
“Are you making fun of me?”
You pose the question so innocently— hell, you practically whisper it, and it knocks Rafe straight out of his daydream to find you blinking up at him with Bambi eyes.
“What?”
You bite your lip, “I’m sorry, it’s just that I’m not so good at understanding if someone’s joking or not. I’m not… uh… I’m not used to being around so many people, and it makes me nervous and I can’t tell if someone’s being genuine or if they’re making fun of me.”
“You were homeschooled, huh?” Rafe stares at you intently, noting how you play with your hair nervously, and your fingers tap against the hard cover of your book. How you can barely make eye contact with him for longer than a few seconds.
“Yes. My mom taught me and my older brothers.”
Rafe nods, taking his time to answer. He looks at you some more, enjoying how it makes you uncomfortable. You fidget nervously, and it amuses him every time you peek up to meet his gaze before a look of alarm crosses your face and you divert your eyes down to your book once more.
“You’re a shy little thing, aren’t you?” He says finally, chuckling at the embarrassed look on your face.
“I… I guess. I do want to make friends but it’s pretty overwhelming.”
“I’ll be your friend.”
He does a good job of hiding his predatory, wolfish smile. And he wonders if you can see the glint in his eye as he mentally undresses you. You look so small and weak, especially compared to him. Gullible too. Too innocent for your own good, the way you gape up at him as if he’s offered you gold on a platter. It makes him want to stroke your soft cheek, pat it and tell you what a good little girl you are. For being so naive.
You shake your head as if trying to straighten out your thoughts. He can tell, he has that effect on women too.
“Oh, you don’t have to, I uh—”
“Rafe Cameron?! In the library?!” An annoying, high-pitched voice shrieks, making you jump as it cuts you off mid-sentence.
It’s a kook girl. A cheerleader. Rafe can’t be fucked to remember her name but he’s sure he’s hooked up with her. She’s one of those ones, the ones that hang out at the country club and try to catch his eye. One of the desperate sluts who thinks if she spreads her legs enough times for him, that he’ll make her his girlfriend or some stupid shit like that.
“Rafe, what are you doing here?” The cheerleader sidles up to him, her hand on his chest and batting her lashes in his direction in some pathetic form of seduction. She ignores you, and you shrink into yourself, hastily burying your face in your book.
“What do you want?” He asks, not quite as interested in her answer as he is in continuing to stare at you. How you try to act like you don’t care, but he knows you’re hurt from being ignored, from being treated like you’re invisible.
“Nothing. Just wondering what you’re up to.” But she flashes him her fuck me eyes, her nails scraping suggestively against his chest. Rafe yawns, considering it. He has time before his next class (not that he could be fucked to turn up to class half the time) and his dick’s hard from talking to you. And since you probably don’t even know what the word blowjob means…
“Go in there,” he nods at one of the private study rooms in the far end of the library, and the fucking slut nearly trips as she scrambles to obey him. Rafe takes his time, stretching his legs before slowly getting up.
You peek up from your book, “Are you guys gonna go study in there?”
He could’ve bust a nut then and there from how fucking innocent you sound. Batting your little eyelashes at him like you’re trying to seduce him without even realising it. He knows he’ll be thinking about you, weepy and on your knees, while the kook girl blows him. Fuck, and if he plays his cards right, he’d have you by the end of the week. And he always plays his cards right.
“You could call it studying.”
You nod, “OK, well, goodbye then.” You look back down at your book, but risk a glance up at him again, which he finds very amusing.
“What’s your name, homeschool?”
You tell him.
He sounds it out, before shooting you one last smile, “Well, I’ll see you soon. Won’t I?”
You give him a puzzled look, but it’s replaced by your usual wide-eyed Bambi stare when he pats your hand, his thumb lingering, stroking your skin. He wonders if you’ve ever even touched someone of the opposite sex before. Judging by how your breath hitches softly, he doubts it.
Fuck. He can’t wait to ruin you. Play the slow game and enjoy that sweet virgin snatch before any other man ever could.
That’s what he’s thinking of when he’s got the cheerleader on her knees in front of him. That sweet little look on your face, the look of curiosity mixed with shyness and that little hint of indignation. Fuck, he wants to ruin you. And he would. With proof.
***
Day two. Rafe finds you walking down the hallway, your books clutched to your chest and eyes trained to the floor. Cutest little skirt making your perky ass pop, winking at him enticingly with every step as if you’re deliberately seducing him. Makes him want to slap your cute little ass, reprimand you for teasing him and half the men on campus without even realising it. He wonders what you’d say if he just did it. Spanked you in front of everyone. You’d probably start blubbering like a little baby. He has to forcibly stop picturing it before he gets uncomfortably hard.
You’re alone. As usual.
“Hey, homeschool,” he falls into step beside you, eyebrow raising in amusement when you don’t slow down nor look at him.
“Oh, h-hello, Rafe.”
“What’re you up to today?”
“Nothing, just going to my next lecture.”
He grabs your wrist, watching as your breath hitches, and yet you still don’t look at him. Damn, what had gotten Bambi so scared?
“You’ve got time to talk to me, don’t you?” He asks, but it’s not really a question. And you know it, judging by how you swallow harshly.
“I’m so sorry, I don’t want to be late—” You attempt to tug your little hand out of his grasp but you’re so small and weak that it barely has any effect.
“C’mon, homeschool. That’s no way to treat your one and only friend.”
He’s walks you into a corner, and he likes how you gape at the wall before turning and looking up at him. He’s so much taller than you, bigger than you in every single way.
“Rafe, I…” you sigh, shifting from one foot to the other, “My friends said some things…”
“Friends?” You don’t have any.
“Some of the girls I know. They saw us talking yesterday at the library and they…” you sigh, “They said you were probably just playing a joke on me.”
Fuckin’ jealous pogue bitches.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yes. They said there’s no way you’d talk to me for any other reason apart from as a joke. And they…” you bite your lip, looking so cutely distraught and it goes straight to his dick. “They said some other things… about you.”
Of course they fuckin’ did. Always talking behind his back, but never to his goddamned face. Nothing but a bunch of jealous, gold-digging whores.
He doesn’t say anything, just merely looks at you as if he expects you to tell him. And he knows you will. You’re too innocent to keep secrets.
“They said that you… that you’re scary sometimes.”
Rafe remains impassive, waiting for you to continue.
“That you… that you pick on a lot of us Pogues. E-Especially the boys. That you and your friends bully them.”
He snorts. Bully. What a juvenile word. Sure, he pushed the dipshit Pogues around here and there. They deserved it for all the trouble they ran around town causing, disrupting the natural order of shit. And he could fuck their girls better than they ever could. Especially that fuckin’ idiot JJ Maybank…
“They also said that… never mind.” Again, you try to tug away from him but to no avail.
“Tell me.” He likes how you struggle under his scrutinising gaze.
“It’s… it’s not appropriate.”
“Say it. Now.”
You lower your voice, “They said you like to use the girls. The pogue girls. Th-That you have a kink for them.”
The scandalous words have hardly left your mouth before you duck your head down as if embarrassed. God, you were so fucking innocent. Rafe wonders how he should play this.
“Huh. Is that so?”
“Y-Yeah. One of the girls I talk to… She said that you…” you swallow, biting your lip, “that you’ve been with her and all her friends too. That you tell them all the same thing but it’s always a lie and you just end up using them.”
Rafe nods, “Hmm.”
“I’m sorry, Rafe, but I don’t think we should—“
“That’s funny. I thought you were smart. You know, with all your books and the glasses and shit.”
You blink, “What?”
He shrugs, “I didn’t think you’d go ahead and pass judgement on someone without even getting to know them first.”
“It’s not that–”
“I mean, here I am, wanting to be friends with you. And I’ve been nothin’ but nice, haven’t I?”
He’s still got you backed into a corner, and he watches as you flinch when he emphasises his words. He knows people get intimidated by his intensity, but there’s nothing he hates more than people talking shit behind his back. Especially low-life Pogues. And he likes how scared you look right now, pouty lips all downturned and alarm in your eyes.
“I asked you a question, homeschool.”
“Yes, you’ve been nothing but nice! It’s just, I heard all these things, and–”
“And you chose to believe them.” He steps back abruptly, “I’ll see you around, I guess.”
He walks away, about to count to three in his head but you beat the count before he can even begin.
“Rafe, wait! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to judge you.”
He stops, allows you to catch up.
“You’re right, I…I shouldn’t listen to other people.”
“You shouldn’t.” Rafe agrees, easily taking your heavy textbooks from where you’ve been balancing them in your arms. You gape, but he just continues smoothly: “Where’s your next class?”
You tell him, “But you don’t have to walk with me or anything–”
“I’m your friend, homeschool. That’s what friends do.”
*
Day 3. You’re eating your lunch on a bench outside all by yourself. Rafe’s heading to his car with his friends. They usually cut classes most days to hit the beach or the country club. Rafe doesn’t see the point of college anyways, not when he was poised to inherit all of his father’s businesses, money and property. And with the ideas he had, he’d expand tenfold on whatever Ward was doing now, make a shit ton more money than his old man ever did. That would show him…
”How’s the bet coming along, Rafe?” Topper asks.
“Wait till the end of the week.” Is all Rafe says. He doesn’t need to give progress reports to his dumb fuck ass follower friends.
“That means he’s nowhere near cracking that virgin pussy.” Kelce chuckles. “No worries, brother. She looks like she’s got a stick up her ass anyways. Not loose like the rest of the Pogue whores.”
He ignores them as they laugh. But they’re right. You’re not like the rest of the Pogue girls. They’d grown up wild, promiscuous, loose. Trained to catch the attention of a rich Kook like himself, filled with self-serving motivations to marry into money. But he can already tell you’re different. With your cute little outfits and respectful, quiet demeanour. You look like you’d fit in where he was from.
Too bad he was only going to fuck you before discarding you like he did the rest of them.
“I’ll catch you guys later.” He says, making a beeline for you.
“Hey,” he chucks you under the chin, smirking when you jump.
“Oh, hey Rafe.” You look beyond his shoulder, “Your friends are all leaving.”
“Yeah. The waves are good this time of day.”
You gape, “But don’t you have classes?”
He takes a seat next to you, making sure to stretch out while you shrink into yourself. Still so nervous around him. He snickers, “You gonna tell on us?”
You look aghast, “No! I would never–”
“I’m just kidding, homeschool.”
“Oh,” you look embarrassed, “Sorry. Sometimes I–”
“Can’t tell if someone’s joking or not,” Rafe completes, “I remember. I’ll be more straight up with you.”
You nod, and he can tell you’re trying to think of something else to say. But you’re too nervous, too awkward. And so you just bury your head in your book again, all while he watches you. You’ve got a bottle of apple juice and a half-eaten sandwich of some kind on the table next to you. Cut up into little triangles. He bets you’ve done it yourself. Fuckin’ cute.
“You dress cute.” He says, and again, widened Bambi eyes stare up at him. He chuckles, “You know, the little skirts and plaid and shit. It’s cute.”
“Thank you.”
“You do it on purpose?” He can’t help but ask, because he wonders if a part of you knows what you’re doing. Knows you’re dressing like a sexy little angel out of his wettest dreams. All little and cute and innocent, so much smaller than him. Weak. All pastel and pretty, like you’d look so fucking sexy on the back of his bike. On his arm. On his dick.
“I don’t know what you mean by that,” you say, sounding every bit as innocent as you look. Damn, homeschool must’ve done a number on you. But he likes how sheltered you sound. It gets him so fucking hard, and a part of him almost feels sorry for how primed you are to be taken advantage of. “I wear my mom’s old clothes, or stuff I find in the charity shops.”
He’d had maids and housekeepers who shopped in places like that. He remembers him and his siblings giving them their old clothes once they’d grown out of them.
He nods, “You look pretty.”
Your breath hitches, and you really don’t know how to respond to that, because you slam your book shut and stand up, “I, uh, I have to go. I don’t want to be late for my next class.”
He watches you leave, distracted by your ass again but not enough to miss the little smile that quirks on your lips as you bid him farewell and walk away.
*
On day 4, Rafe walks up behind you in the busy hallway, pressing his huge hand on your lower back and pushing you into another secluded corner. He smirks when you squeak, but he likes how easily he can push you around because of how weak and small you are.
“Hey.” He told himself he’d take it slow (well, as slow as he could take it in the span of one week) and yet he can’t help but press into you a little bit. It’s innocuous enough, but your eyes widen as per usual, and the feel of your hot little body against his much larger one is enough to give him a boner. It’s how he could easily push you into an empty lecture hall and have his way with you if he so wanted to. Sure, you’d cry and resist at first, but they all gave in in the end. And if someone caught them, he’d pay them off.
Rafe Cameron owned the world. Nothing could stop him.
“Hello, Rafe.” You breathe, and he loves how his name sounds when you say it. He imagines you moaning it when he has you on his lap, pressing you down on his dick while you cry and whimper because it’s too much, it’s too big. But your greedy little virgin pussy would take every inch of his fat dick, and he’d do all the work, of course. You’d be too busy crying, and he’d bounce you up and down on his dick while you grabbed at his arms, his hair, his face. He’d tell you to scrape your nails down his back, leave a fucking mark or two so daddy could remember you.
“Come for a drive with me? I’ll buy you lunch.”
Despite your shyness, a fire flashes in your eyes, “I can buy my own lunch!”
He raises an eyebrow. As if on cue, you lower your gaze.
“Sorry, I mean… thank you for your offer, Rafe. But I can buy my own lunch.”
Surprisingly though, you agree to the drive. And he still has his hand pressed against your back, guiding you out to where his car’s parked. You ogle at it, probably never having seen anything as expensive. He wonders if your family even owns a car, or if you even know how to drive. It would be hot if you didn’t, it made you look even more helpless. In need of someone like him to protect you, take care of you. Someone powerful and wealthy like himself.
“Wow, I’ve never been on this side of the island before!” You say, oohing and aahing as you stare out the window. Rafe’s never seen anyone so easily excited by the neighbourhood he’d grown so used to. But he supposes the mansions, sports cars, country clubs and private beaches would be impressive to anyone who hadn’t grown up with easy access to all of that.
“No?”
“No, but my brother’s friend works there, I think.” You point to the vast golf course at the back end of one of the clubs. “He says the tips are really good.”
Rafe frowns. You were talking to other men? No, not you. You were too sweet, too innocent. He was sure he was the only man you spoke to. Or even if you were speaking to others, he doubts a golf caddy pathetically running after balls would be much competition. And yet, he bristles, wanting to change the subject.
“Do you have a job?” Rafe asks.
You shake your head, “No. I sometimes tutor some kids in the neighbourhood but nothing permanent. I’d love to have a part-time job with proper wages like the country club or library or something, but my family’s kind of protective of me.”
“Mm?” He’s deliberately being quiet, wanting to hear you talk, wanting to learn more about you.
“Yeah. That’s why I was homeschooled. My mom’s scared someone’s gonna take advantage of me.” You pause, before giggling, “It took a lot to convince her to let me apply for colleges, but I think she’s finally starting to see me as an adult who can make my own decisions and protect myself.”
The irony isn’t lost on Rafe, but he finds himself leaning closer. You have this way of talking, so soft and breathy, yet energetic and full of life at the same time. Like you’re a storybook character, like you’re someone out of this world. Like an angel dropped down from heaven and sent just for him. You’re his type to a tee. God, he wants to fuck you so bad.
“What would your mom say if she knew you were out with me?” His hand creeps up to rest on your knee. You’re wearing jeans, which he doesn’t approve of but he decides to give you a pass since it’s windy today.
You don’t notice his touch anyways; you’re too busy pondering over his question. But there’s a glint in your eye, “Sh-She wouldn’t approve. But that’s only ‘cause she doesn’t know you.”
The corner of his mouth twitches, his thumb rubbing circles against the denim of your jeans. “And you do?”
You swallow, finally realising he’s got his hand on you. Surprisingly, you don’t move. It’s almost like you’re frozen, those big fuck me Bambi eyes making a comeback, “Uh…I…We’re friends, aren’t we?”
He smirks, “Yeah. Friends.” His hand creeps up higher, stroking your thigh softly, wishing you were wearing one of your little skirts so he could feel your bare skin. But it’s thrilling anyways, touching your quivering body while you’re defenceless inside his car. He could lock the doors and have his way with you right now. Hell, people outside would get quite the show but it wouldn’t be the first time he’s fucked in public.
Poor little you. Losing your virginity in the front seat of his car. He’d drag you into his lap, bounce you up and down on his cock. But not before making you beg for it first. And you’d cry so fucking bad, because it would hurt. Because he’d promise he’d be gentle but he knows himself, he knows he’d lose control like he always did. Fuck you so goddamned hard, he’d have to lay you down in the backseat afterwards because you wouldn’t be able to stop shaking. Then drive you back to his house, carry you into his bed and have his way with you again. And again. And again.
“Rafe?”
“Yes?”
“You’re not hanging out with me because you feel sorry for me, are you?”
That grabs his attention, “Why would you think that?”
You shrug, “No reason. I just… Well, you have so many friends. I guess I don’t quite understand why you’re hanging out with me.”
“I like you.” He shifts even closer, his hand steadily stroking your leg while you remain stiff, “Do you like me?”
“H-Huh?”
“You heard me, homeschool.” And yet he knows you’re distracted by his fingers tracing shapes on your thigh. Not random shapes, though. It’s his initials. Over and over again. R.C., he wonders if you can tell.
“I, uh, y-ye–” You’re having trouble getting your words out, and it amuses him. He can see you visibly shaking, and he wonders if it’s out of fear or anticipation. Or both. He leans down, bringing his face close to yours.
“I didn’t quite get that.” He licks his lips at how weak and intimidated you look. “Say it again.”
It’s an order, and you clear your throat, shake your head as if to clear your thoughts.
“Yes,” you whisper, as if it’s something scandalous, “Y-Yes, I like you.”
He pulls back abruptly, leaving you gaping at him.
“Let’s get something to eat. I’m starving.”
He buys you a panini from a little artisan bakery, with a strawberry iced tea and a packet of chocolate hearts with a cherry cream filling. You protest at first, unzipping your bag to pay for yourself, but he’d sooner roll over and die than let a woman pay for anything.
“Toss me one,” he says, and you throw a little cherry-filled truffle at him. He catches it between his teeth, and your eyes light up, clearly impressed.
“Wow, that was cool!”
“C’mere, you’ve got a little something…” He grabs your chin gently, pulling you forward before rubbing his thumb against the side of your lip, wiping away a bit of chocolate. “Messy girl.”
Your breath hitches, but you stay still for him like a good little girl. His thumb lingers, and he wants to press it into your mouth, make you suck the chocolate off it. Then tell you he had something else for you to suck on. Push you down and make you warm his cock with your mouth while he drove you back to campus. One hand on the steering wheel, the other pressing your head down, making you take his big cock despite you whimpering and panicking because you can’t breathe.
He rubs your lower lip with his thumb for a moment before pulling away. You clear your throat, snapping out of whatever reverie you’ve been in, straighten up against the seat and put your seatbelt on. You still look like you’re in a daze, however, and he wonders if you’re wet from him wiping your face clean.
“I-uh-we should head back please, if that’s okay?” you say, voice slightly shaky as you avoid eye contact with him. “I don’t want to miss my afternoon class.”
He grins, “You a teacher’s pet?”
That makes you smile, and you shrug shyly. It almost enamours him.
He gets you back to campus on time, and you give him a little wave before you jump out of his car and walk inside. And god, it’s insane how hot you are. Even in your jeans, which have cute little embroidered flowers on the butt. Makes your ass look insane. Like it’s begging to be grabbed, smacked, fucked.
He breathes out heavily through his nose, slumping back against his seat. His dick is uncomfortably hard. God, you didn’t even realise how much you’d teased him tonight. Sitting tight and pretty in the passenger seat of his car, so quiet and pretty. So innocently impressed by Figure 8, and by him. How shy you’d been when you’d admitted that you liked him…
He gets his phone out, blindly texting one of the desperate girls on his phone. He needs a release. And he’d be thinking of you the whole time.
*
On day 5, Rafe tells you to give him your number. From his peripheral, he can see a bunch of Pogues whispering and watching while he takes your phone and puts his number in.
“Have your little friends been talking more shit about me?”
You flinch. He can’t help the intensity of his tone sometimes, and he’s noticed you never swear and, like a jumpy little mouse, probably feel intimidated when he does.
“No, I haven’t really spoken to them in a while.”
Rafe grins, “Yeah?”
“Yes. I’ve been busy with schoolwork.”
He saves his number on your phone before pressing it into your back pocket for you. You gape, eyes darting around to see if anyone saw. He wonders just how prim and proper you are, and how quickly he could get you to come undone once he got you comfortable and behind closed doors.
“You’re not too busy to text me, right?”
You smile, looking down and fidgeting with your binder. He notices you’ve got little stickers on it, like cupcakes and hearts and shit. What a fuckin’ baby.
“Text you? I don’t really– I have to a test tomorrow that I need to study for.”
But he knows you’ll text him. They always did. You weren’t any different.
“What are you smiling at?” Kelce asks, pulling up beside him as Rafe watches you head into your next class.
Immediately, he straightens his face, “Nothing man.”
“You falling for that homeschool freak Pogue?”
He snorts, “You wish. I have standards.”
“You sure about that?”
He whips his head sharply to stare down at his friend, “You want me to repeat myself?”
Rafe doesn’t miss the flicker of fear in Kelce’s eyes. They’d never admit it, but he knows his friends are afraid of him. Of his mood swings, his unpredictability. He doesn’t care. In fact, he prefers it this way. They weren’t like him, they were weak-minded, beneath him. He kept them around because of semantics, because of who their parents were and who his dad was. And because they proved to be minorly useful sometimes when he needed help to get shit done.
All the girls he’d been with had been afraid of him too. When he fucked them, he often lost control. But it turned him on, how they’d swallow their fear in case they offended him, or set him off. Once, he’d fucked a girl who just wouldn’t stop shaking. Sure, he’d showed her his gun right before he’d bent her over, but it was her problem if she was frightened by something as mundane as that.
You weren’t scared of him. Yet. Intimidated, sure. But he’d kept that side of him well under wraps when it came to you. You were too sweet, too pure. And you were a good girl, incapable of crossing him in any form. He didn’t have to scare you to get what he wanted from you. No, you’d give it to him, like the good little girl you were. Naïve, innocent little girl.
*
Rafe: Hey.
Y/N: Hi, Rafe. How are you?
He finds himself smiling at his screen. There’s a party going on downstairs, but Rafe couldn’t care less. It’s the same thing every other night. His friends showing up at his house and bringing along a whole entourage of people he doesn’t give a fuck about. Sarah used to do it a lot before she moved out, invite her fuck ass Pogue friend group into his house as if they were ever welcome there.
Rafe didn’t want any Pogues inside his house. Unless they were girls that he intended to sleep with. But he appreciated it when they showed themselves out once he was done using them.
Rafe: What are you up to?
A minute passes by, then another one. Fuck, he hates that you’re making him wait. What a fuckin’ tease. He wonders for the hundredth time if you’re doing it on purpose. No, not you. You’re too innocent.
Y/N: Nothing, I just finished cleaning my room. Wbu?
It’s insane how the visual of that gets his dick hard in less than a second. The thought of you doing something as domestic as cleaning. The good little college girl, who went home straight after school and spent her evenings dusting and vacuuming or whatever it was that cleaning entailed. Unlike the Kook sluts his friends were probably fucking downstairs. They were pathetic party girls who’d easily spread their legs for a line or two.
He calls you, losing patience with this texting bullshit. He runs a hand through his hair impatiently when you don’t immediately pick up, huffing and gulping down the remaining whiskey in his glass. Slamming it down on his desk when you still don’t pick up. Fucking tease. He grabs a baggie from one of the drawers, prepares a neat line; despite promising himself he wouldn’t do it tonight. Fuck that. Ten seconds have passed; you still haven’t picked up. He snorts it quickly, about to throw his phone out the fucking window, except you choose that moment to pick up.
“H-Hello?”
“Hi,” he sounds slightly breathless, but who the fuck cared. He refills his glass with more whiskey, taking a sip to calm himself down. “Took your time to pick up, huh?”
“Yeah, sorry about that,” you say hastily, “I got distracted.”
He feels a sudden surge of jealousy so violent, he doesn’t know how to act for a moment. Distracted by fucking what?
“The lights went out, so I had to go reset them,” you explain, and he barks out a laugh. Jesus fucking Christ.
“Y-You sound kinda breathless, Rafe,” you say, “Is everything okay?”
“Why wouldn’t it be okay?” He downs his drink and sets it aside before his hand slips down. God, you sound so hot. All breathy and innocent, even just over the phone. “Tell me what you were doing.”
A pause, and then you force out a chuckle, “I told you, I just finished cleaning.”
“What like vacuuming and shit?”
“Yes.”
Over the years, Rafe had slept with a number of maids Ward had hired on multiple occasions. He’d fucked Wheezie’s babysitter a few years ago, the housekeeper too. His father had a knack for hiring hot Pogue girls, and maybe that’s where Rafe’s kink for them started.
He could imagine you working for him – he’d make you wear the sexiest little barely-there maid outfit. You wouldn’t question it because you were too innocent. With your little feather duster, trying to clean except you’d be too small to reach certain areas. Fuck, he wouldn’t last five seconds in the same room as you. And he wouldn’t have to because you’d be his hired help, his property. He’d have you bent over his desk, fuck you so hard till you couldn’t stop shaking, till you were crying like a baby and apologising for not focusing on cleaning all while he carried you up to his bedroom. Locked you up in there so nobody else could see you. His girl. All his.
“Uh, Rafe?”
“I wanted to talk to you,” he says.
A pause.
“Really?” You clear your throat, “Where are you? I can hear music.”
“Shit, yeah. Like, there’s a party or whatever going on downstairs. My friends came over unannounced.”
“Oh.” He can sense a level of dejection in your tone. He bets you’re thinking about it, thinking how it’s just a reminder that he has his own group of Kook friends. And you’d never be one of them. You’d never truly fit in. You were either one or the other. Hell, Sarah had proven that when she’d transitioned into the slums. But maybe there was a way to bring you into his world, a way that would stick.
He has to forcibly shake his head to remind himself you’re just part of a stupid bet.
“I’d rather speak to you than them.”
“That’s not true, Rafe.”
“I like how you say my name.” He’s palming his dick now, knowing he’s treading over the line and could easily scare you off now if he’s not careful. But fuck being careful. He’s never really been careful before in his life. He hasn’t had to be. “An’ I’m serious. I told you, I like you.”
“Rafe, I… I just can’t shake the feeling that–”
“That what?” He spits into his palm before resuming touching himself. And shit, he doesn’t know if it’s the drugs or if it’s really just the sound of your voice that’s got him so goddamned horny. He wonders if you’ve ever touched yourself before. If you even knew how to.
“That you’re just playing a big joke on me. I mean, even the people from the Cut think I’m this weird, homeschooled freak.” You laugh, but he can tell you don’t find it funny, “It’s just hard to believe that you’d want to be my friend.”
“They think I’m a freak too,” he says, being honest for once. “Only difference is they don’t talk shit about me because they know I’d kill them.”
“You’re funny, Rafe.”
You’re too innocent to realise he’s not kidding. Not in the least.
“And if anyone says anything about you, I’ll kill them too. I’m serious.” Fuck, he feels like his dick’s gonna goddamn explode. The thought of protecting you like that, like he was responsible for you. Like you were all cute and helpless and he was the one taking care of shit, the one protecting you. That’s all he’s done his whole life, take care of shit and get shit done. And nobody’s ever fucking appreciated him for it.
“Well, thank you, Rafe. I’ve never had anyone stick up for me like that.”
He likes how you keep saying his name now that he’s told you he likes it when you say it. Means you’d be real good at taking instructions. He can imagine telling you what to do when he finally has you in his bed. Order you to get on your hands and knees. Then he’d spread your cute little ass, eat you from the back while you moaned his name over and over, thanking him for taking care of you, weeping how much you appreciate him, how much he means to you. How much you need him.
“A-Are you still there?”
“Shit, yeah. Yeah, I am.” His dick’s red and painfully hard, and he’s still trying to pump it steadily but now he’s imagining your tight little virgin cunt wrapped around it. Soft like velvet, warm and wet. Pulsating around him. Never had even a finger up there but you’d take his big dick, because he owned you, because he was your protector, because you were too weak and helpless without him, and–
“Could you, uh, fuck, say my name again,” he orders you, not caring in the least if he scares you off.
“Rafe?”
He cums into his fist like a goddamned teenage boy, biting down to keep from making any noise. God fucking dammit, you’d listened again. What a good fucking girl. He wants to tell you that, tell you how good you were for him just now, how obedient and submissive you were without even realising it.
“If you’re busy, it’s okay and you can go,” you say softly.
“No, wait…” he clears this throat, grabbing a bunch of tissues from his desk. He can’t believe you hadn’t caught on to him jacking off. “I wanted to ask you something.”
“Yes?”
“Do you want to come over tomorrow? To hang out?”
“Like, uh, at your house?”
“Yeah.” He needs you in private, needs you on his turf where he can control just about everything. God, was it even about the bet anymore? Or just this newfound fucking irrevocable need to fuck you just for his own personal satisfaction? Maybe both.
“I don’t know, I’ve never been to a guy’s house before.”
That just makes him even more determined to be your first.
“C’mon, it’ll be fun. We can go after your classes finish or whatever, and I’ll drive you home afterwards.”
“Rafe…”
He shuts his eyes for a moment, savouring the sound of your voice. He wonders if he can get you to call him daddy. God fucking dammit, just the idea of that was getting him hard again.
“Look, we’ll order some food, watch TV. Whatever you want. It’ll be fun. And it’s what friends do.”
That last part gets to you. He can tell. He knows how badly you want to have friends. He knows you’ve never had any. Not good, permanent ones like you saw in movies and TV shows. Hell, Rafe’s not sure he himself has real friends. But he doesn’t care. The idea of friendship means nothing to him. He’s best when he’s on his own because nobody else could be trusted. But what is important is having a girl like you in his bed. A girl like you who looks up to him with shining eyes, like he’s your goddamned entire world. A girl he plucked up from poverty and saved, and you’d appreciate him more than anyone in his dumb fucking family ever did.
“Say yes,” he all but orders you, but he already knows the answer before you say it.
“O-Okay, yeah. Yes, that sounds like fun. I’d love to come.”
*
“What do you mean you’re not coming?” Topper frowns, crossing his arms over his chest, “You were supposed to bring the, you know…”
Rafe rolls his eyes, wondering why he’s friends with a fucking loser who can’t even say the word coke. That’s why nobody on the goddamned island wanted to sell to Topper. Hell, even Barry refused to.
“I have plans.” Rafe answers, checking his watch for the tenth time. Your final class of the day was due to end any minute now, and he couldn’t wait to get you into his house.
“What plans? You were gonna help me with Sarah tonight.” Topper was a whiny fucking bitch, but even Rafe had to admit he was a better fit for his sister than that lowlife John B.
“I’m not helping you with shit, man.” He mutters disinterestedly, although he had promised a few nights ago that he’d help him. He’d been high as a fucking kite, though. So it didn’t exactly count. “Look, she’ll get bored eventually when she realises his broke ass can’t provide shit for her. Then she’ll come crawling back.”
Topper shakes his head, “No, Sarah’s not materialistic like that.”
Rafe smirks, “You don’t know her.”
“Well, speaking of broke, how’s it going with that homeschool girl? You guys sure seem to be hanging out a lot.”
“Do you have brain damage, Topper?”
“What?”
Rafe corners his friend against a wall, relishing the immediate fear in his eyes, “I seem to remember you placing a bet a week ago.”
“Well, yeah, but –”
“So why the fuck,” he hits the locker lightly behind Topper’s head, “are you asking me about hanging out with her a lot?”
“Chill, dude. It’s just,” he looks hesitant, scared as he’s barely able to make eye contact, “It’s okay if you like her, you know?”
Rafe feels a wave of emotion, something he can’t quite pinpoint. And that makes him mad, because what the fuck was he feeling? He has to clench his fists by his side to stop from slapping the taste out of Topper’s mouth. Why did him bringing you up irritate him so much? Jesus, reign it the fuck in.
He takes a deep breath and steps back, forcing a chuckle, “You think I’m gonna slum it like that?”
Topper grins nervously, as if Rafe hadn’t had him pinned against a locker like a little bitch just a second ago. He straightens up, “I mean, it’s not exactly a secret what your type is.”
Rafe laughs, and Topper relaxes and joins in after a moment or two. That’s when Rafe slams him against the locker again.
“Get it through your thick fucking skull, Topper. I may fuck a Pogue but I’d never date one. Got that?”
“Yes, okay, Jesus Christ, man.” Topper pushes Rafe off him and backs off, “Do whatever the fuck you want.”
That’s when Rafe starts laughing again. “I will, pussy.”
Topper fucks off after that. Sometimes, Rafe wonders what his deal is. He acted up in front of the rest of the group, then tried to act all sensitive and understanding in private. Like Rafe had time for that shit. And how dare Topper insinuate that Rafe had feelings for you? Hell would freeze over before he ever caught feelings for a Pogue.
He realises a bunch of people are staring at him. Goddamit. Fuck all of them. When he was younger, Ward had sent him to see a therapist once a week. He’d quit going once he’d realised it was everyone else who was the problem, and not him. But one thing the shrink had taught him that had stuck was to breathe slowly and count to ten whenever he felt angry or overwhelmed.
That’s what he’s doing when you arrive.
“Hey, Rafe. I’m sorry I’m late. The professor held me back.”
“Why?” He barks out before he can contain himself. He’s already on edge, and now some dumbass professor is keeping you back in class because you undoubtedly get his old, shrivelled dick hard and you’re too innocent to even realise it.
You blink, “He really liked the essay I submitted last week. He even said he wants to use it as an example for his other classes!”
“That’s great,” Rafe plasters a smile on his face but he’s only half listening, “Let’s go.”
He calms down some as he guides you out of the hallway and toward the parking lot. He almost grabs your hand when it gets a bit too crowded, but remembers himself just in time. He couldn’t be caught holding hands with a Pogue. It was too intimate, and like he’d said to Topper, he’d never let it get to that point with a Pogue. Instead, he places his hand on your lower back and pushes you forward. You smile at him, and it goes straight to his… well, not his dick, surprisingly. But it goes somewhere within him, and he feels it again. Something he doesn’t really recognise or know how to deal with. So he forcibly pushes it back inside himself.
“You look cute,” he says once he’s got you outside and there’s more room to breathe. You look like an angel in the afternoon sunlight, dressed in the cutest little sundress he’s ever seen. It’s this pinkish-orange, like the colour of the sunset, and you’ve got matching ribbons in your hair. Like you’ve really made an effort to get all dressed up just to go to his house.
“Thanks,” you look down as if you’re embarrassed, like you don’t know how to take a compliment, “It’s my mom’s dress.”
“It’s really pretty,” he says softly, before clearing his throat and looking away.
He gets you to his car, lifting you up by your waist and helping you into it. And that turns him on so much, how small and sweet you look. Like a little fairy in his arms. None of the other girls were like you. Not at all. He wonders what you’re wearing underneath, and feels his cock thicken in his slacks with anticipation when he realises he was probably going to find out today.
You don’t say anything when he pulls up into the driveway of his house. Ward had fucked off on some business trip and taken Wheezie and Rose with him so he had the place to himself. That’s how he liked it best, it gave him space to think and breathe without the constant noise of his family. Well, Wheezie was an exception. He didn’t mind her too much.
“Wait here,” he says, getting out the car and walking around to open the door for you. You allow him to lift you out again, this time your hands landing on his shoulders. And it’s fucking insane how that tiny, voluntary touch does things to him that no other girl has ever done before.
Now, he doesn’t think twice before grabbing your hand and pulling you down to the large, ornate wooden double doors. You’re distracted anyways, eyes wide as saucers as you ogle the mansion that Rafe’s never thought twice about. But he reckons it’s a step or two above whatever shacks the people from the Cut lived in, so he allows you to remain silent and let it sink in.
Finally, you exhale slowly, “This is… uh… wow. I can’t believe there’s people in this world who live like this.”
Rafe smirks, squeezing your hand, “Yeah. Do you want a drink?”
He leads you to the bar in the corner of the living room, again lifting you up and placing you on one of the stools. You giggle, “I can climb on myself, you know.”
“Yeah? You seem to like it when I pick you up, though.”
He winks, and notes how you duck your head and smile shyly, your hands wringing together on your lap like you’re nervous. God, you were so fucking cute.
“What’s your usual drink of choice?” He asks, going behind the island to inspect the liquor. His friends had gone through a lot of it at the party the night before, but the house help had restocked everything this morning.
You blink, “Um, water?”
He stifles a laugh, pouring himself his usual whiskey with ice, “You’re a good girl, huh?”
“I tried some of my mom’s wine once but it tasted horrible,” you shrug, “I don’t know why people like it so much.”
“Try this.” He pours you a Peach Schnapps with lemonade and ice, “It’s sweet like you.”
You hesitate, but end up taking it. And he watches as you take a tentative sip, and he knows you like it because you take another one. And then another. He can’t help but feel proud for introducing you to your first alcoholic drink.
“You’re not as bad as people say you are,” you say out of nowhere, and his expression immediately sours.
“People have been talking about me to you?”
“No, it’s just the stuff I’ve heard. Like what I told you before. But it can’t be true, because you’re so nice to me so it just doesn’t add up.”
He grips his glass tight, about to lose it because yet again people were talking shit about him behind his back and never to his fucking face. Because they were all a bunch of pussies who knew he’d beat the shit out of them or kill them if they said anything to his face. But then you speak again.
“Do you always drink after school?”
“Huh?”
“Like, alcohol. Do you drink a lot? Like every day?”
“No.” He lies. “Only sometimes.”
He takes you out to the patio, where the sun is shining and you look so fucking pretty in your little sundress. Like you fit right into his world, next to the pool with a drink in your hand, sat next to him and looking at him with sparkling eyes as if he was your god. He wonders if you’ve naturally grown more comfortable with him through the course of the week, or if it’s just the alcohol. Probably the alcohol, since no one was ever really comfortable around him.
Either way, he puts his hand on your leg just like he had a few days ago in his car. Your breath hitches, but you don’t make a move to stop him. Instead, you opt to take another sip of your drink, and he wonders if he can get you drunk tonight. Shit, did he even want to? It was no fun fucking a drunk girl.
“Tell me more about you,” he strokes the soft skin of your bare thigh, feeling your goosebumps underneath the pads of his fingers. “You ever had a boyfriend or anything?”
Your eyes widen, “No. I, uh, you don’t tend to meet any guys when you’re homeschooled.” Embarrassed, you giggle before looking away. He reaches out, grabbing your chin lightly and making you look at him again. Fuck, your lips were so sexy. So pouty and perfect, begging to be kissed. “What about…what about you? Have you had any girlfriends?”
He shrugs, “A few.”
You nod, “Of course you have. That was a stupid question. Sorry, I forget not everyone’s as far behind in life as I am.”
“You’re not far behind.” He says, although you are and he prefers it that way.
“I am. Every other girl my age has had all the experiences you’re supposed to have. Drinking, partying, boys, all of it.” You sigh, “Sometimes I feel like I’m so far behind that I’ll never catch up.”
Rafe inches his hand upwards, till he reaches the hem of your dress halfway up your thigh. He plays with the fabric, and he can tell you’re acutely aware of what he’s doing. You don’t make a move to stop him, but you do press your legs together.
“There’s still plenty of time to catch up,” he says softly, “I can help you.”
You smile up at him, holding up your drink, “You already have. I’d never drank with friends before now.”
“Congratulations,” he says, clinking his glass with yours, “To one of many firsts.”
He downs his drink and so do you, and he’s quick to get a refill for both of you. He’s guessing you’re a lightweight, and again the thought of getting you drunk crosses his mind. But that would be way too easy.
“I’m capping you after this one,” he says, handing you your second Peach Schnapps.
You giggle, “Are you gonna cap yourself too?”
“No.” He chucks you under the chin again, “But, see, I’m not a baby.”
“Hey!”
He kisses you. And shit, he hadn’t planned on catching you so off-guard. Hell, he’s caught himself off-guard. But he couldn’t help it. Couldn’t help how kissable your lips looked, all pouty and bitten. And you taste like cherry lip gloss mixed with peaches and lemonade, and you’re so pliant underneath him, and he’s kissed a shit ton of girls but it’s never felt like this.
You pull away with a start, shocked as you stare up at him. Breathing hard and biting your goddamned lips before they turn into the shape of an o.
“I’m sorry,” Rafe says, although he’s not, “I’ve been wanting to do that since the day I first saw you.”
Your breathing is shallow, and with a shaky hand you put your glass down on the crystal table in front of you. “I’ve never, uh, I’ve never kissed anyone before.”
“Well, it’s easy. I could show you.”
You swallow, “I don’t want this to be like, a pity thing.”
Rafe exhales slowly, “You’re here in front of me in this tiny fuckin” dress, acting all cute and innocent and you think I want to kiss you out of pity?”
Your jaw drops, “Hey, it’s not tiny!”
He kisses you again. And sure, maybe he should’ve asked permission since it’s, well, your first kiss. But frankly he’s never had to ask permission to do anything in his entire life, and he wasn’t about to start now. The way he sees it, you wouldn’t have worn a slutty dress and agreed to come to his house if you didn’t want him to make a move on you.
Again, you pull away, “Rafe, I– don’t… I don’t know how to kiss, I’m sorry–”
He cups your face in his hands, pulling you closer and pressing his lips against yours again. Just to feel your soft, quivering lips against his confident ones. He kisses you once, twice, three times. Coaxing you to open your mouth, to let him in. Fuck, a part of him just wants to shove his tongue down your fucking throat, show you what it means to really be kissed. But he’s already pushing his luck right now.
“I’ll teach you,” he says, “But you need to do exactly what I say, okay?”
He can’t believe his goddamned luck when you nod. God, you were just so fucking hot, prancing around his house in your little dress, all impressed by his riches and shit, drinking your drink he made you like a good little girl, and now here you were, agreeing to whatever he said.
He taps his leg, “Get on my lap.”
Your eyes nearly bug out of your head, “Wh-What?”
Rafe smirks, “Didn’t you just agree to do exactly what I say?”
He’s surprised with the amount of patience he has with you. If you were another girl, he’d have thrown your ass out to the curb for asking too many annoying questions. Or bent you over, shoved your face into a pillow to shut you up and had his way with you. God knew he’d done that more times than he could count over the years. He was aware of how much bigger and stronger he was than you and every other girl, and that fact turned him on more than anything. The fact that he could, if he wanted to, completely take advantage of you however he wanted. And all you’d be able to do is cry and beg him to stop, which would just turn him on more.
“I did, I’m sorry, but I don’t–”
Easily, he grabs your hips and lifts you up onto his lap, makes you straddle him with one leg on either side of him. Your dress is just about long enough to still cover your modesty, but now he’s acutely aware of your panty-covered pussy just inches away from reach. Fuck, he wonders what kind of panties you’re wearing, and if you’d let him look…
“There. Comfy?”
“Well, I guess, but…”
He pulls you into another kiss, this time catching you mid-sentence so he’s able to slip his tongue into your mouth. And you’re so fucking shy, just rigid while he explores your mouth. But he doesn’t mind. You taste so fucking sweet, and it’s getting him so hard, knowing he’s the first man you’ve let touch you like this, kiss you like this.
He can feel your breath hitch as he strokes your face, his thumbs running across your cheeks before his hand tangles into your hair. He yanks you closer, grazing his teeth against your plump bottom lip. You gasp, and he chuckles into your open mouth. His tongue plays with yours, coaxing you to kiss him back, but not really caring too much if you don’t.
And god, he wants to thrust up into you so bad. You’re sitting right on top of his fucking hard dick, and you don’t even seem to realise it. In fact, you shift around, that cute little peachy ass rubbing against his boner, and he wonders if you even know what a boner is.
When you pull away this time, your eyes are bright and excited. And he loves how he’s kissed the gloss off your lips, and how he can still taste you on his tongue.
“Wow, that was…” you giggle, breathless yet excited from finally having your first kiss, “I don’t have anything to compare it to, but that was good!”
Rafe has to crack a smile at your innocence, and his hand lands on your bare thigh, tracing his initials on it again, “Yeah? You like kissing me?”
“I…um… yeah I do,” you say shyly, before closing your eyes for a moment and taking a deep breath, “Could we uh, could we try again? Could I try?”
Well, shit. He’s never devoted this much time and energy into just kissing a girl, but his dick grows even harder at how you’ve plucked up the courage to ask him that. And so he simply nods and sits back, lets you figure out what it is you want to do.
Your cute little hands hold on to his broad shoulders shyly. And you lean up, fluttering your eyes closed like it’s some kind of fairytale for you and you’re the little princess kissing her prince charming. It’s part enamouring, part pathetic. But Rafe feels it again, that unfamiliar feeling bubbling up in his chest. He shakes out of it, focusing on your plump lips that hesitantly press against yours.
He sits still; lets you explore his mouth. Your tongue pokes out, swipes against his. And the feeling goes straight to his dick. And then he’s kissing you back, because he doesn’t have the goddamned willpower to just sit there and do nothing. There’s an animal inside of him and you’ve awoken it, more than any drug or alcohol ever could.
And he gets rougher, biting your lip till you gasp into his mouth. His hands slip up and down your bare arms before he takes your hand, squeezes it before pressing it down on his chest, wanting you to touch him, feel how much bigger he is than you.
“Good girl,” he mutters when you don’t move your hand, and then he fingers the hem of your dress. “Gonna let me touch you a little bit?”
“Rafe, maybe not too much–”
“C’mon, princess, you have to touch while you’re making out, right? That’s lesson number two.” He distracts you with another rough kiss, grabbing your jaw and squeezing while he brings you closer to his mouth. Kissing down your jaw and neck before returning to your lips, smirking when you squeak out a little involuntary moan. That’s when he slips his hand up your dress and cups your ass. Perfect little handful of your bubble butt, and he gives it a little squeeze to test the waters. You’re too distracted with kissing him, and so he squeezes harder. God, so fuckin’ soft and pliable, just like how he’d imagined.
“Nice ass,” he murmurs against your lips, and that’s what jolts you out of it. He curses inwardly when you pull away, pushing against his chest when he doesn’t immediately stop. And a part of him knows how easy it would be to just pin you down on this fucking sofa and have his way with you. Tell you how it’s your fault for wearing this fucking dress, your fault for seducing him in his own home, acting so sexy and innocent and getting him so riled up. Teasing him with your shy little kisses and squeaks till he had no choice but to hold you down and fuck you.
“I’m sorry,” you say as you slide off his lap, straightening your dress, “I just… I got overwhelmed.”
He blinks, and he’s this close to pulling you back on top of him, telling you he didn’t give you permission to stop, that you had to listen to him because this was his house and he’d been kind enough to invite you over. And he could make you feel so good, if you just stopped being a goddamned little prude.
Instead, he forces a smile, “You’re a pretty good kisser for someone who claims she’s never done it before.”
You beam, relaxing immediately, “Oh, you’re just saying that. I bet I was really bad.”
“My memory’s kinda foggy, I think you’re gonna have to remind me,” he pulls you back into him, and you giggle as he presses light kisses on your lips, his arm going around your shoulders while your hands tangle into his hair.
It doesn’t go any further than that, though. You stop him when he tries to touch you again, and a part of him wants to slam his fist down on the glass patio table in frustration. And yet, something stops him from just overpowering you and taking what he wants. No, that would be too easy. He’s about to crack you, he can tell from the way you look at him with those big eyes, now full of trust and comfort. He just needs more time.
Too bad he only had one day left to complete the goddamned bet.
“You should come over again,” he says when he’s done up your seatbelt for you in his car. He finds he likes doing all that shit – opening the door for you, lifting you into your seat, clicking your seatbelt into place, all of it. A stark difference from other girls, where often he’s tossed their clothes at them and motioned for them to leave after he’s done hooking up with them.
“That sounds nice,” you say, waiting for him to come round and get into the driver’s seat, “And I told you; you don’t have to drive me all the way home. I could’ve just got the bus.”
He blinks. He didn’t realise buses even functioned in Figure 8, but either way, he can’t have you on a public bus. Especially not in that dress, where every man would be leering at you and you’d be none the wiser about it. The control freak in him is itching to be let out, to tell you exactly what you were and weren’t allowed to wear in public, tell you how you weren’t allowed to speak to any men except him. And you weren’t allowed to argue or contest any of this, because he was in charge of you now, and–
“No buses,” he says firmly, his hand resting comfortably on your thigh as he drives, “Anyways, come over again tomorrow. We can go in the pool or whatever.”
He feels you go rigid, “Th-The pool?”
He glances at you, “Yeah. It’ll be fun.”
You laugh nervously, “Uh, I’m not too great with water. I don’t really swim or anything.”
Rafe has to do a double-take, “You realise you live on an island?”
Even he knew that every child born in Kildare could swim before they could even walk. It’s just the way it was. They were surrounded by water. Rafe doesn’t even remember learning how to swim; it was almost like he knew how to do it by default.
“I know how to swim, I just don’t like water,” you say, and there’s something off about your tone. Something he can’t pinpoint, but you turn to the side and look out the window. Silent for the rest of the drive. Rafe doesn’t push it, although your odd behaviour has piqued his curiosity.
It’s only when he’s pulling up into the pitiful dirt road of a street where your house is situated that you clear your throat.
“Look, Rafe, you’re my friend now. And I don’t really like keeping secrets from you. I’m sorry I was so quiet just now.”
Cute. He likes how much you apologise to him. It shows how respectful you are, how much you respected him as an authority figure.
“That’s okay,” he says.
You take a deep breath, “I used to go out in the water a lot when I was younger. With my dad. He had a boat, and I would help him. But…”
Your voice trails off for a moment. Rafe thinks he knows where this is going, and a part of him is touched you’d share something like this with him. A tiny, obscure part of him, that is. He can’t help but squeeze your leg reassuringly, and you clear your throat again and blink several times. Like you’re trying not to cry. And Rafe’s never had the patience for emotional chicks, but it’s different with you.
You force out a little laugh, “I don’t want to go into details. But one time we were out pretty far, and the weather was bad. Like, really bad. The waves were rough and…” You swallow, looking down into your lap and wringing your hands together, your chest rising and falling rapidly, “And… Well, I was fine but… my dad…”
Shaking your head, you don’t say anymore. You don’t have to. Your eyes are wet and glistening, the muscles in your face working overtime to stop the tears from coming out. He parks the car in front of your house, turning to face you. He’s never been in a situation like this before, and he’s not sure how to act.
Fiercely, you wipe away the one or two rogue tears that have escaped down your cheeks, “It happened so long ago, I barely remember it. But I’ve been scared of the water ever since.”
He nods, “It’s just you and your mom now?”
“Yes. And my brothers. But they’re always working, so it’s just me and her. That’s why she’s so protective of me… I, uh, I don’t have a dad anymore.”
Rafe knows what it’s like to lose a parent, but he can’t fathom ever talking about it or voicing his feelings on it or some shit like that. His loser therapist had tried to get him to talk about his mother, but he hadn’t. He couldn’t. It was just muscle memory at this point, to force any thoughts of her straight out of his mind. It was easier that way. And now, it was like he could barely remember her. And he hated it, but it made it easier too.
He’s never been good at comforting anyone else. And a part of him is glad you’re not sobbing your eyes out right now, because he’s not sure how he’d handle that. So he’s happy when you clear your throat again and smile up at him.
“I’m not sure why I told you that, I’ve never had a friend to tell that to before. I guess I just feel comfortable with you, Rafe.”
What the hell had he done to make you so trusting of him in the span of less than a week? God, you were like an innocent little angel, sitting in his car all tiny and vulnerable. Making him feel like a goddamned fucking monster for the thoughts he had towards you, what he planned to do with you. Suddenly, the bet feels so stupid and insignificant. God, this was why Rafe didn’t speak to the women he fucked. They went all emotional on him, and now he wasn’t sure how to act.
“I feel comfortable around you too,” he says carefully. He’s never been great with his words, but he grabs your hands that continue to wring nervously together. His big, warm hand dwarfing your tiny ones, and he realises you’re shaking. And there’s a part of him that wants to protect you against everything. Take you back to his place, lock you up in his room so he could keep an eye on you and keep you away from anything and anyone who could ever hurt you and make you cry.
Even if the only person who could hurt you the most right now is Rafe himself.
You leave after that, thanking him again and again for giving you a lift home. He wants to walk you to your door, but you run off quickly, and his mind’s too distracted to follow you. He drives off once he sees you’ve safely closed your front door behind you, his mind moving a million miles per minute.
Jesus Christ, why’d you have to go and open up to him like that? This would be so much fucking easier if you hadn’t done that. He hates that he should know better, that he knows that he should leave you alone. You were too innocent, too vulnerable for his bullshit; to be caught in the middle of some dumbass bet he’d made with his friends. God dammit, he hates himself for agreeing to that stupid bet, seems so fucking juvenile looking back. Wished he’d picked a different girl at the very least, someone not as lovely a you.
Most of all, he hates himself because he knows that despite everything he’s just found out about you, he still has every intention of fucking you. Daddy issues and a phobia of water. It was almost like fate was handing you to him on a silver platter. He had to fuck you. He’d figure out the rest later.
*
Kelce: One day left, loverboy.
Topper: Can’t wait to see the pictures.
Rafe mutes the groupchat before throwing his phone aside. He’d goddamn throttle his friends if they were in front of him right now. Sometimes, he gets these violent tendencies. He doesn’t really know what to make of them except it feels good to have some kind of release. Usually that comes in the form of pushing around a sorry ass Pogue, but that option’s not really available right now.
Instead, he searches blindly for the coke he’s stashed in his bedside drawer. Again, he’d promised himself he’d cut down, but this was just to take the edge off. It didn’t count. Not really.
He wonders what you’d think if you knew how often he took drugs. Well, you wouldn’t because he’d keep you well away from that part of his life. Even when he made you his girlfriend, he’d keep you separate from all the partying. And he’d never allow you to even look at any type of Class A drug. And who knows, maybe he’d become better for you, maybe he’d go stone cold sober if you wanted him to.
That makes him laugh. Going sober for a Pogue. It was insane of him to even consider it.
Again, he has to remind himself to take his emotions out of it. All you were was a stupid Pogue, and a part of a bet he was going to goddamned fulfil. And he wouldn’t allow himself to think anything more of it. He may have had a momentary lapse of judgement yesterday, but today was a new day, the last day of the week he had to fuck you.
How? He wasn’t too sure. Reports of a storm meant you couldn’t come to his house again like how he’d planned. Even now, Rafe could hear the harrowing winds outside. Like a goddamned cyclone. And the rain pelting down unforgivingly, and the distant roar of the sea, waves crashing like they’d taken on a life of their own.
The weather on the island was usually all sunshine, but once in a blue moon a storm would hit like now. Residents were always told to wait it out and stay inside. For Rafe, that meant copious amounts of drugs and alcohol. Sometimes a girl or two to keep him company. But the idea of fucking anyone that isn’t you right now makes him sick.
He thinks about texting you, but what would be the goddamned point? If he couldn’t physically be with you today? He knows the weak, pussy part of his mind just wants to talk to you in whatever form he can. But he needs to bury that bullshit down deep inside him and never back, and–
His phone vibrates. It’s you. And he hates how he feels his heart jump to his fucking throat. You’ve called him all on your own, which means you were thinking about him like how he was thinking about you.
“Rafe?” You sound sexy like you always do, all breathy and weak and needy. A bit panicked too.
“Hey,” he says, trying to sound nonchalant, “What’s up?”
“Hey, calm down.” Rafe barely recognises the gentle quality of his voice as he straightens up, “What’s wrong, princess?”
“I’m scared.”
You say it so softly, with an air of embarrassment and shame, that at first he doesn’t quite get what you’re saying. But then he does, and something kicks in inside him. This innate need to protect you. You sound so small and needy on the phone, and you called him. You need him.
“What happened? Did someone hurt you?”
“No, no. Oh, Rafe, it’s the storm. It keeps getting worse.”
He chuckles in relief that you weren’t in any immediate danger, “Well, shit. Yeah. Looks pretty wild, huh?”
“I hate it,” you whimper softly, “and I’m sorry I called. But my mom’s stuck at work, and my brothers are crashing somewhere else. So it’s just me, and, and…”
“Hey, calm down. It’s okay, you’ll be okay.” He’s never had to comfort anyone before, but it comes naturally with you. “As long as you stay inside, the storm should pass. Just watch TV or something.”
“The lights are gonna go off any second,” you sniffle, “They always do when the weather gets bad.”
They did? Rafe never noticed shit like that. Then again, he doubts you had the luxury of backup generators where you lived. He pauses.
“Gimme twenty minutes. I’ll come over.”
“No!” You say quickly, “Rafe, it’s too dangerous.”
He snorts. He’d been in far more dangerous situations than a little bad weather. But the less you knew about that, the better. “I think I’ll be okay, princess.”
“B-But we’re not allowed out. You’ll get a fine.”
Rafe can’t count on one hand how many times he’d been fined by the dumbass police on this goddamned island over some petty bullshit reason or another. A fine meant nothing to someone with money. He was above the law, and most people on this island knew it.
“Stay put. I’ll see you soon.”
Rafe actually enjoys driving in the storm. The roads are deserted, and he can speed without worrying about anything else. And he does speed, and he runs more than one red light too. Gets to your house quicker than he thought he would. Past all the other tiny shacks all boarded up because they weren’t built well enough to withstand the storm.
“Rafe! You came!”
You sound like a fucking needy little baby, but something pulls at his heart when you hug him harder than you ever have before. And you’re so small, on your tippy toes so your arms reach around his neck. Automatically, his arms wind around your waist and he holds you close, and he can feel you trembling, your face buried in his chest as you hold on to him tightly.
“Yeah. Roads were empty. Didn’t take long.” He mutters, looking around the inside of your house. Pitiful. And pitch black, because you were right, the power had gone out. He hates that you live here. You’d fit in so much better at Tannyhill, in a pretty pink silk dressing gown and dripping with diamonds he’d buy for you. And you’d be so thankful for him, tell everyone that he saved you, how well he took care of you. How he gave you everything you could ever want, and how much you appreciated him.
At that moment, a clap of thunder makes you jump and squeal. Quickly, you pull him inside and shut the door. That’s when he notices that you’re crying.
“Hey, it’s okay. C’mere.” He pulls you into another hug, and he’s never seen another human being look so scared, so vulnerable. It makes him feel so powerful, like the man he knew you needed. “You’re safe now, I’m here.”
It feels natural, his lips pressing a kiss into your hairline. Like you’re his little baby, like he’s been trusted with something so precious and now he has to protect you. And you’re too scared to be your usual jumpy self, and you just snuggle closer into him. A flash of lightning lights up the whole room, the storm relentless against the weak confines of this sorry excuse of a house.
“Maybe we should head back to mine.” He suggests, but you whimper again.
“No, no, we can’t go out there. It’s not safe. Rafe, please.”
He doesn’t think he’s ever seen another human being so scared before. Not even when he was fucking that one girl after he’d showed her his gun. Even now, he consciously tucks his gun further down the waistband of his chinos. Of course he’d brought it with him, he wasn’t going to enter the Cut without a piece on him.
“Okay, okay. We’ll stay here. When’s your mom coming home?”
“Not till tomorrow once the storm’s died down.”
He licks his lips. It was too good to be true.
You’re still holding on to him as you lead him into your bedroom. He wonders why you’d take him straight there, but he guesses it’s your safe place. And you’ve got candles lit up, and they brighten the room enough for him to notice how small it is. The size of a shoebox, with a single bed covered in pink sheets and a bunch of stuffed animals.
Despite everything, his dick hardens.
“You’re a really good friend, Rafe.” You say honestly, “Nobody else would’ve come over like this.”
He shrugs, sitting on the edge of your bed and patting the mattress next to him. It’s not even his house and yet he feels like he needs to take control. And you obey, taking a seat next to him. But you’re preoccupied with your own fear, doing that thing where you fidget with your hands in your lap.
“I wouldn’t do it for anyone else.”
You look up at him with wide eyes, biting your lip like you can’t quite believe what he’s said, “I-I’m not special, Rafe, I–”
You’re cut off by another clap of thunder, this one so loud it makes the whole house shake. You scream bloody murder, and honestly, if you were anyone else Rafe would’ve laughed. But it’s you, and so he just watches. It’s fascinating, the way you clutch onto him like he’s your saviour, and he wonders just how this opportunity had basically just fallen into his lap.
He pulls you into his lap, knowing you won’t protest. Not in the state you’re in. You’re wearing a pair of black leggings and a little white tank top. No bra, because he can feel your nipples, hard and poking out from the fabric of your top. He can feel them against his chest as he hugs you again, and he can also feel you shifting on top of him. Your peachy little ass rubbing against his dick like you’re a fucking tease except he knows you’re none the wiser, that you have no idea the effect you have on him.
He’s so turned on, it feels like he might explode.
“I’m sorry,” you apologise for the umpteenth time, “It’s just so scary. Wh-What if the storm gets worse, Rafe?”
“It probably will,” he says, feeling slightly wicked. He holds you tighter against him, wanting to feel the brush of your breasts against his chest again. Fuck, he wants to cop a feel so bad. “They were saying something about a severe weather warning on the news. Not like anything we’ve ever seen before.”
“Noooo,” you moan like a goddamned baby, cuddling into him even more.
“It’s okay,” he says, running his hand up and down your back, “You ever, uh, you ever think of distracting yourself from the storm?”
You hiccup and blink up at him with wet eyes, “Nothing works, Rafe.”
He smirks, “I could distract you.”
“H-How?”
He runs his thumb over your lips. They’re wet with your salty tears, and yet like muscle memory, you part them for him. You watch him in wonder, your breathing shallow as he pushes his thumb into your mouth, his other hand holding you in place by your hip.
“Suck.” He instructs gently, and your eyes are as big as saucers. But in your frightened, vulnerable state, you obey immediately. And it feels like he’ll bust a nut right there, watching as you suck his thumb on command like a little fucking baby. Like he’s your daddy.
“Good girl,” he says, stroking your hair out of your face so he can watch you better. “Now listen to me, I can help you. I can distract you so that you forget all about the storm. Do you want that?”
You nod slowly, almost like you’re entranced by him. Not that he needs the green light from you, but it’s hot to see you agree so easily to whatever he’s saying. Fuck, you really were just like an angel fallen straight from heaven and into his lap. Perfect for him in every single way. So soft, so impressionable. Completely untouched. Ready to be ruined.
“That’s good,” he mutters vaguely, thinking of everything he was going to do to you. He takes his thumb out of your mouth, noticing how you pout involuntarily, like you’d gotten used to the feeling of sucking on it. Fuck, he could give you something else to suck on. “Give me a kiss.”
“H-Huh–”
“Do it. Just like how I taught you yesterday. You remember our lesson, don’t you?”
You nod, “Yeah, but will that really work? I mean–”
It’s like God himself is on Rafe’s side because there’s a loud boom of thunder at that exact moment. And you jump in his lap, tears welling in your eyes. Your chest rises up and down, and you bite your lip again, your gaze zeroing in on his mouth. Slowly, you lean up, shyly pressing your lips on his. But there’s a desperation to it, and Rafe’s returning kiss completely envelopes you whole.
He makes out with you for a while, smirking through your little pants and moans mixed with a whimper every time the weather gets especially brutal outside. He’s never been with such a goddamned scaredy cat baby before in his entire life, and it turns him on beyond belief. In the state you’re in, he could get you to do anything.
Rafe’s hands slip up to grab your little top, tugging it upwards. And this time, he almost loses it in frustration when again, you stop him.
“Rafe, Rafe no stop.” You push his hands off, straightening your top back over your midriff. “Couldn’t we just… just kiss?”
He presses his lips together in a thin line, “You trust me?”
“Of course, I just don’t know if I want to–”
“Look, didn’t I say I would distract you? I mean, shit, I could just leave.”
Your jaw drops, a flash of fear glimmering in your eyes. Instinctively, you grab onto his bicep with your tiny hands, a pleading look on your face, “No, don’t!”
He smirks, “I won’t leave. But you need to trust me to do what I need to do to distract you. Because the storm’s just gonna get worse.” He grabs your chin when you avert your gaze, forcing you to look at him, “Hey, c’mon. Who has more experience with this shit, you or me?”
“Y-You.”
“Yeah. And who’s older?”
“You are.”
“That’s right. Which means you need to trust me to make these kinds of decisions, because I know what’s best for you. That’s why you called me over, right?”
You don’t say anything, but this time when he tries to take your top off, you don’t protest. And Jesus fucking Christ, he was right. You’re not even wearing a bra, almost like you were deliberately trying to seduce him. Acting like a whiny little damsel in distress, pulling him into your pitiful little pink room, all candlelit and shit, on your little bed with your stuffed fucking animals.
Your nipples are hard, and he can’t help but cup your breasts. They’re so tender, so soft just like you. He’d imagined this exact moment many times over the course of the week whilst he’d jacked off to you, but nothing could compare to now. The way you tremble beneath his touch, knowing no one’s ever touched you like this before. He squeezes gently, watching how your breath hitches.
He’s overcome with animalistic instinct in just a second, and leans down to take your breast into his mouth. Sucks your nipple sweetly, before biting down. You cry out, arching your back so prettily, feeding him more of your nipple as you push it into his mouth. He bets you probably don’t even understand why it feels so good, having never been touched like this ever before.
He pinches your other nipple and you gasp. He smirks and does it again, looking up at you to see you gazing imploringly down at him.
“Th-That hurts,” you say pitifully.
“Yeah, but you like it, don’t you?” He takes your hands in his, bringing them up to his hair. Like a good little girl, you get the message. Your hands fist into his hair as he continues to play with your tits, licking and sucking all over them, pushing them together, biting your nipples and sucking the sensitive skin around them, wanting to leave his mark everywhere.
“Rafe, I, that… oh… oh my–”
“Stand up, baby.”
You squeak at the pet-name that falls so naturally from his lips, and he can tell you like being called that. It’s from the way your eyes widen, and how you scramble to obey. God, you were a little tease but you took instructions so fucking well.
You stand between his legs, and it gets him so fucking hard that you’re still barely eye level with him even when he’s sat down.
“Take your leggings off.”
You open your mouth to argue, but this time he just flashes you a look and you’re quick to shut the fuck up. That, and he distracts you with his hands running up and down your sides, squeezing your waist, then your hip. Finally landing on your ass with a light slap as if to tell you not to keep him waiting.
You push your leggings down and step out of them, till you’re standing between his legs in just your pink flowery panties and nothing else. And he feels a hunger he’s never ever felt before, looking down at you ravenously as if you’re a piece of meat and he’s a goddamned starved lion. A part of him just wants to grab you and stick his cock inside you while you scream and thrash and beg him to stop while you secretly enjoy it and cum again and again.
“Turn around,” Rafe says slowly, because despite his animalistic thoughts, he wants to savour this. And you do, letting him see your sexy butt adorned in just your panties. He hooks his thumb under the elastic, snapping it against your skin and laughing crudely when you yelp. “God, you’ve got such a perfect ass. I knew that since the moment I saw you.”
“Wh-What?”
“You heard me. You’re always wearing the cutest little outfits, like you were showing it off just for me.” He grabs your left ass cheek, squeezing it hard while you moan in pain or pleasure, right now he doesn’t really give much of a fuck. His other hand palms his cock through his pants at the sight.
“I wasn’t!” You say indignantly, as if he’s accused you of the absolute worst. “I wasn’t showing off, Rafe!”
“Sure you weren’t,” he snorts, “Now bend over, lemme see it better.”
He can’t believe it when you don’t hesitate this time, almost like you’re seeking his approval. Like you’re under some kind of submissive spell now, making everything even easier for him. You bend over, and your cute little ass is directly in his face. He pushes your panties to the side, gives the soft flesh a feather-light kiss before spanking you again. You yelp all cutely, but stay in position for him. What a good fucking girl.
“Stand up straight, look at me again.”
You turn back around, biting your lip as you look at him anxiously. Around you, the whole room seems to vibrate as another boom of thunder strikes. You make a noise in your throat, before grabbing onto his bicep again. You keep doing that, and it makes him feel strong, big, important. Like you’re a little baby seeking protection from her daddy.
“I’m gonna take your panties off now, okay?” He doesn’t know why he tells you before he does it, but he watches as you relax. There’s a war going on behind your eyes, he can tell. He knows part of you is liking how he’s making you feel, and part of you is desperate to distract yourself from the storm, and it’s battling the part of you that wants to keep your modesty, the part that knows this is a bad idea, that itching fear that he’s not a good guy, that he’s taking advantage of you.
Slowly, he slips your panties down your shaking legs, and you keep holding on to his arm like you’re scared to let go. Like the storm would come and get you the moment you stopped holding him like a little baby. He lets you, liking how weak you feel against him.
And then you’re completely naked in front of him, stepping shyly out of your panties that are left on the floor in a heap along with the rest of your clothes. And he’s still fully dressed, and that juxtaposition turns him on beyond belief. He can smell your pussy, and it’s driving him crazy. Makes him want to just pin you down and have his way with you. It incenses him in a way he’s never really experiences before.
His hands grab your hips, yanking you closer. He feels a wave of impatience, pushing you down till you’re sitting on the bed. He gets up, pushing your legs apart with one of his own. You gasp, and he sinks down to his knees, pressing a soft kiss to the skin just below your belly button.
“It’s time for lesson number three, baby,” Rafe murmurs softly, “this is how I’m gonna distract you, okay? Shit, I’m gonna make you feel so good, you’ll forget all about the storm. You gonna let me do that?”
You swallow, “H-How, Rafe?”
God, you were absolutely clueless. Made him feel like a fucking monster for taking advantage of you like this. But he liked it, liked how good and sweet and innocent you were, even now when he had you naked on your pretty princess bed with your legs spread for him.
“I’m gonna kiss you down here for a while, alright baby?”
“Down there?” You suck in your breath prettily, as if the very idea of that sounds so insane to you. God fucking dammit, just how much had your mother sheltered you?
Instead of explaining further, Rafe spreads your folds with two of his fingers, smirking when he sees you glistening and wet. And God, what a pretty and perfect pussy you had, all slippery and wet, like it was begging to be fucked. And even now, as you sit there breathing heavily, your pussy seems to get wetter just by him spreading it. You’re leaking down onto your pretty pink sheets, and it’s all because he’s merely touched you there.
You’ve gone silent, the storm seemingly already forgotten as you just watch him. Your chest rises up and down, and it’s like every other part of you is frozen in place. In awe, until he notices a slight movement in your pelvis. Involuntarily, you hump the air, like your poor pussy is begging for some type of contact or friction. He smirks.
“You have an accident, princess?”
You look absolutely aghast, “No!”
Rafe leans forward, inhaling deeply. And you smell so goddamned sweet, and he can’t wait any longer. He lays his tongue flat against your virgin cunt, and he can feel you throbbing with anticipation. He licks upwards, and you grab onto his hair, tugging hard as you yelp.
“Oh my God–”
He looks up, “Not God, baby. Just me.” Absentmindedly, he flicks your clit with his thumb and your entire body jerks. He chuckles, “And there’s another thing I’m going to need you to do.”
“What?”
“You’re going to call me daddy while I eat your cunt, okay?”
For the fifth time this evening, your jaw drops, and you gaze down at him in indignance, “What? But Rafe, you’re not my–”
“Your daddy? I mean, you do want me to take care of you, don’t you?” He smiles when you don’t immediately respond, “That’s why you called me today. Because you felt unsafe, like how you’ve felt your whole life ever since you lost your real daddy, isn’t that right?”
He half expects you to shove him off you, scream, lose it, slap him, kick him out of your house for going there, for trying to take advantage of your obvious daddy issues. But it’s like you’re in a trance, and he keeps going, “You want someone to take control, to reassure you that everything’s gonna be okay. That’s why you’ve let me take care of you this whole week, right? Because you need me, you like how I make you feel.”
He softly strokes your bare thighs, noticing that you’re shaking under his touch. And you look like you’re about to cry, in your most vulnerable state in front of him. And yet he keeps going, his voice like a calm lull, almost hypnotic with how you look at him with your huge, unblinking eyes.
“I can be your new daddy, princess. You’re gonna let me, aren’t you?”
Rafe doesn’t wait for your response. Instead, he grips your thighs harder, spreading them as far as they’ll go. He spits on your mound, watching his saliva drip down to your pussy. You’re watching too, with stricken, hooded eyes. Like you’re frozen in time and space, and he’s the only constant.
Leaning forward, he envelopes your clit between his lips, giving it a harsh suck. Your entire body convulses, and you moan the loudest he’s ever heard you. Thunder claps at the same time, but you’re louder than it, and your hands grab on to his hair, and you press your cunt into his face, practically smothering him but he fucking loves it.
“Tell daddy to lick your cunt,” he orders, his voice deeper and lower than it’s ever been, and a slight threat in his tone, “say it, or else I’ll stop everything.”
“L-Lick it, please,” you beg so prettily, keeping your voice barely above a whisper. Rafe sits back, looking at you expectantly till you make the prettiest little noise of impatience. You shoot him a pleading look of desperation, but he doesn’t let up. You cry out, gripping his hair harder before ducking your head in shame, “P-Please, okay? Please lick my cunt, daddy.”
Rafe could’ve orgasmed right there at the sound of your sweet, delicate voice pleading with him, finally addressing him as daddy. Instead, he sucks hard on your sensitive, engorged clit, and you scream bloody murder. He snickers against your soaking folds, grabbing your thrashing hips, stilling them slightly but allowing you to rock them against his face till it’s shining with your wetness.
“Messy little girl,” he mutters, “excited, aren’t you? Never had this virgin pussy eaten, huh?” he grows sloppy, messy with his licks. Tonguing your sensitive nub till you’re a writhing mess above him, incoherent little gasps and moans tumbling out of your mouth as you continue to hump against his face because you’re a goddamned virgin who doesn’t know how to act because you’re feeling so good.
Rafe’s practically making out with your pussy, and he’s never enjoyed going down on a girl as much as he is right now. It’s how responsive you are, it’s how this is all so new to you so you don’t even know nor care to hold anything back. You’re rubbing your pussy on his face like all you can think of is how good he’s making you feel. And he fucks you with his tongue, unable to quite believe how sweet you taste. Like an angel, his angel. All his.
“It’s…It’s too much, Rafe!” you cry out, and yet you’re rolling your hips with abandon, riding his tongue while he sucks and licks you out like he’s starved.
“You can take it,” his voice is muffled, and you try to wrap your thighs around his head except his grip on them is too strong. It’ll leave bruises in the shape of his fingers all over your soft skin, but he likes that. He wants to bruise you, mark you, make you his in every way possible. So next time when you wore a slutty little sundress, every goddamned man on this island would know you’re taken. Fuck, he’d get his name tattooed on your goddamned pussy, and–
You cum, squeaking so prettily he wants to bottle up the sound and keep it safe in his memories forever. Your first orgasm, and all it took was a couple of minutes of him eating your cunt. And your muscles squeeze around his tongue, and you cry and moan like you don’t even know what’s happening. Your grab at his hair, pulling so hard because you’ve probably never felt like this before.
And Rafe doesn’t stop, his tongue swirling circles while you hump and grind against his mouth, riding out your orgasm, moaning his name over and over again. Outside, the weather gets worse, and at one point he notes the whole room shakes as if the goddamned roof’s about to blow off. You don’t give a fuck though, and he doesn’t either.
“Oh, Rafe, oh, oh oh, it’s too much!”
Now, you’re trying to push him off you, but selfishly he keeps tongue-fucking you. His thumb rubs your engorged, sensitive clit. He knows it’s too much for you, but he’s too fucking turned on to stop.
“C’mon, baby. Don’t be like that. Lemme give you another one.”
“No, I-I can’t, I, oh fuck!”
He slaps your clit, and a squelching sound fills the room. You gasp, and he just snickers, having entirely too much fun with you. And again, you twitch your hips, inadvertently pushing your cunt into his face again. You’re out of breath and sensitive from your first orgasm, and yet your greedy little pussy wants to give him another one.
“You like it when your daddy slaps your cunt?”
You’re such a shy little thing, gaping at him as if he’s said the most insidious thing on earth. And yet, your cunt squeezes around his tongue, and he you up as you continue to leak into his mouth. He looks up at you, “Tell me you like it.”
“I, uh, I like it, uh… daddy, oh gosh!”
It takes just one more spank and you come undone, cumming all over his face and he licks you throughout. Long, languid stripes of his tongue flat against your wet folds, then he switches to fucking you with it, and your fuckhole’s so goddamned tight, his tongue barely even fits a little bit, but it doesn’t stop him. He’s got one hand slipped down his pants, jacking off because this is the hottest thing in the world he’s ever witnessed. Innocent little baby crying after orgasming from getting her pussy spanked by her daddy.
He feels like a lion closing in on the fucking lamb, forgetting himself for a second as he gets up. Aggressively pushing you down till you’re lying flat on the bed, surrounded by your stupid stuffed animals. In a second, he’s on top of you, breathing hard like a man possessed. God fuck, all he had to do was shove it inside you, hold you down and tell you to take it. Maybe press his hand over your mouth to keep you from screaming too loud. Not that it mattered. Nobody could save you from him tonight.
But you blink up at him so prettily, so unaware of his intentions, your eyelashes wet with tears. Your lips bitten and pouty, face shiny with sweat. Your hands grab his arms again, squeezing like you’ve grown used to doing.
“R-Rafe, that was… wow.” You say breathlessly, so blissfully innocent, not realising at all that he’s moments away from holding you down and fucking you, that he’s planning how he’ll do it in his head this very moment. “I never… I never thought it could feel that good.”
Rafe finds himself feeling that again, that weird feeling that kept bubbling up inside his chest from time to time whenever he was with you. He still doesn’t have a name for it; he can’t even properly describe it. But looking down at you now, watching you stare up at him with those shining eyes of yours. All he can do is push a piece of your hair out of your face, and smile slowly down at you.
“What do you even know about sex, baby?” He breathes, his face so close to yours.
“Oh, well, uh… Not that much. I mean obviously I know how it works. I just… I didn’t know you could call someone da– that.”
He smirks, tapping your cheek condescendingly, “You mean daddy?”
You look embarrassed, “Yeah.”
“I need you to keep calling me that, okay?” Rafe says gently, “It’s completely normal and I told you I’d take care of you from now on. You want that, don’t you?”
Again, he nudges at your lips with his thumb, making you suck it. Which you do, and the feeling goes straight to his dick. He wants to fuck you while you suck his thumb, gently rock his hips into you, your tight pussy squeezing his huge cock while you whimper around his thumb, sucking it while you cried and just took it, took whatever he gave you and then said thank you, daddy like the good little girl you were.
He starts kissing you again, unable to help it. And your response is so enthusiastic, he feels like he might explode. You’re getting more confident with all the kissing stuff, and Rafe likes that it’s all because of him.
“You ready for the next lesson, baby?” He asks between kisses, his hands everywhere all over your naked body. Squeezing your breasts, playing with your ass. Loving that you’re naked beneath him and so willingly too.
You swallow harshly, “I don’t think I’m ready–Oh!”
He takes your hand, pressing it inside his slacks. Right on his hard, throbbing dick. And fuck, it feels so small, so weak against his pulsating cock. He bites his lip hard to keep from thrusting into your hand.
“Take it out.”
“N-No!”
He exhales loudly through his nose, holding your hand tight against him when you try to snatch it away. “Baby, what did I tell you about doing what I say?”
“I-I know but… but I’m scared.”
“It’s okay to be scared,” he says, “but you need to do this, alright? Didn’t I make you feel good just now?”
“Well, yes, but–”
“So just trust me. I’ll make you feel good again, okay baby?” He kisses you lightly once, twice, three times till you smile, “You’ve been such a good girl tonight. So brave for me....”
You hiccup, looking up at him with those goddamned saucer-like eyes again, “R-Really?”
He strokes your cheek, innately aware of your hand relaxing against his cock, “Yes. Such a brave, good girl. You forgot all about the storm outside, didn’t you?”
As if on cue, you whimper and cuddle into him more. He smiles like a goddamned wolf, feeling evil yet desperate at the same time, “Call me daddy again, princess.”
You don’t even fucking hesitate, “d-daddy, I–”
“Take daddy’s cock out, baby. It’ll distract you, I promise.”
You do exactly what he says, and he helps you. He can’t help but hiss when you free his dick from the confines of his slacks, and you gasp too, dropping it immediately when you see it.
“Shit, gimme your hand,” he murmurs, and he doesn’t wait this time. Snatching your hand in his, he spits down into your palm before pressing it on his dick. “Stroke it.”
You pull back, “I don’t know how, I don’t–”
“Do it or I’ll leave right the fuck now.”
In your helpless daze, you whimper before placing your hand back on his dick. And it’s so red, about ready to explode the moment you touch him. He exhales slowly, and it feels so fucking good, and he covers your hand with his, guiding it, making you stroke him up and down.
“That’s so good, baby. You’re so good.”
“I am?”
“Shit, yeah, just keep doing that. You’re such a good girl for me, aren’t you?” He notes how you grow more confident, rubbing his dick and jacking him off like a good little girl. His hand leaves yours, instead cupping your face as he pulls you in for another kiss. He can’t help kissing you, you taste so fucking sweet and it’s insane because he’s never particularly enjoyed kissing anyone this much before. But he loves kissing you, leading you through it, guiding you. Loves how responsive you are, loves how you listen to him even when you feel all scared and hesitant. As if you know that at the end of the day, he was the one with all the power, the one in charge. The only one who knew how to take care of you.
“You ever seen a cock before this, princess?” He asks crudely between kisses.
Your eyes widen, “N-No, Rafe– I mean, uh, daddy.”
“No? Good girl. That’s so fuckin’ hot.” He bites your pouty bottom lip, and you gasp, squeezing his dick in your hand and it makes him moan straight into your fucking mouth. What a naughty girl.
“It’s, uh, it’s so big,” you say quietly, so quietly that Rafe almost doesn’t catch it. But he does, and he smiles, pulling back slightly.
“Yeah?”
Shyly, you duck your head, “Yeah, daddy.”
God, you were so fucking irresistible. He couldn’t take it anymore. He takes your hand, which was still steadily pumping his dick, and holds it tightly. Holds both your hands by your sides as he nudges your legs apart again, and watches as you take a deep breath, as if you know what’s coming.
Lowly, he whistles at how wet you are, your juices having leaked down to stain your pink sheets again. Rafe’s never had a virgin before but he knows how eager they are, how easily turned on they get. He can imagine how slippery wet and snug your snatch would be around his dick. Now, he swipes a finger down your slit, gathering your wetness while you squirm under him.
“Aww, look how excited your pussy is, princess.” He snickers, bringing his finger up to your lips, smearing them with your wetness, getting it all over your face too till it shines and you’re all messy. “Tell me, what’s got her so wet?”
‘I don’t know.”
SMACK.
Rafe finds he quite enjoys slapping your cunt, especially when it’s so wet and throbbing. You cry out, quivering and shaking underneath him. He flashes you a look, “Answer the question.”
“You,” you breathe, blinking up at him, “You, daddy.”
“Yeah? I get your pussy wet?” He’s working himself up, his dick nudging against your folds and he doesn’t know why he doesn’t just shove it in there. “Tell me why.”
You moan pleadingly, “R-Rafe, please!”
“When I ask you a question, I expect you to answer it properly,” he says, enjoying himself a bit too much. It was payback for all the times you’d teased him without even realising it this past week. Flaunting your sexy little body, blinking up at him with those fuck me eyes, as if you were just begging for it in your own little innocent way.
You swallow harshly, and despite everything he can see you thinking carefully, as if you want to give him a real proper answer to impress him. Cute.
“I, uh, I like how big you are,” you stutter slowly, “you-you’re a lot bigger than me.”
He grins wolfishly, pushing his hair out of his face before pressing a greedy kiss to your lips, which you respond to fervently. But he pulls away all too quickly, looking down at you as if he expects you to continue.
“I like how strong you are,” you’re looking anywhere but at his face, he guesses because you’re too shy. He sponges kisses down your jaw, your neck, down to your chest. Kisses all over your tits, presses them together and licks them, bites at your nipples while you moan between your words. “You make me feel safe, daddy.”
Rafe pauses, and it’s there again. That stupid fucking feeling that he doesn’t understand, nor does he care to understand it right now. Nobody’s ever felt safe with him before. Everyone’s always been afraid of him or hated him or screwed him over because they didn’t trust him. No one’s ever looked at him how you’re looking at him and it makes him feel things he’s never felt before.
But he shoves those feelings straight back down, clears his throat before pressing his finger down between your folds. You shiver and moan, hips bucking up before he pins them in place. He tries pushing his pointer finger inside you, but is met with resistance despite how soaking wet you are. Fuck.
“Tightest pussy I ever had,” he mutters, “but she’ll take daddy’s dick, won’t she?”
It’s more of a statement than a question, and he ignores your soft cries as he forces his finger up your cunt. Till it’s finally knuckle-deep, and he bets you can feel the cool silver of his ring against your warmth. And your pussy’s so fucking snug, gripping his finger like a vice, and even he has to wonder how he’d possibly fit his big dick inside you.
“So full,” you breathe, your chest rising and falling rapidly with each breath. But he shuts you up soon enough when he starts fingering you. One singular finger, because that’s all that fits. But he moves it in and out, curving upwards till you moan, thrusting your hips in rhythm like you can’t even help it.
“Gonna add another one, okay baby?”
‘W-Won’t fit, daddy.”
“Shh, yes it will. Daddy’s gonna make it fit.”
Rafe makes it fit. He has to hold you down while you cry like a baby, but soon he’s got his index and middle finger shoved inside you, finger-fucking your tight, virgin cunt while his hard dick slaps against his stomach, and he’s so fucking turned on. More than he’s ever been in his whole life.
“How’s that feel, baby?” He murmurs into your ear, nibbling at it, licking inside it and making you jump. And fuck, you’re so jumpy, and he has to keep you pinned down while he fingers you, and a sick part of him wonders if he’s drawn blood already.
“H-Hurts,” you whimper like the goddamned little cry-baby you are. “R-Rafe please slow down.”
“Come on, don’t tell me to slow down,” he continues pumping his thick fingers up your slippery wetness, feeling like you’re swallowing them up whole every time, “Not when you’re drippin’ all over your sheets like a little–”
“But it hurts!”
“That’s okay, it’s supposed to hurt,” he explains slowly, like you’re dumb, “it’s because you’ve never done this before, so that’s why I gotta stretch you out like this first, okay?”
A lone tear meanders down your cheek, “I-I don’t think it’s gonna fit, Rafe.”
“I made ‘em fit, didn’t I?”
“Nooo, you’re, uh, I mean your…” You sniffle helplessly, a wild look in your eye that looks half scared, half confused as he bets your body’s starting to betray you.
Rafe feels a smile creep up on his face, “You already thinkin’ about my cock, sweetheart? How it’s gonna feel when it’s up your virgin cunt?”
You shake your head vehemently, but you’re a little angel slut because your hips are bucking up to meet his fingers. “Rafe, no. Your f-fingers, they’re already too much, I don’t think I can take…”
“Didn’t I just tell you I’d make it fit?”
You grip his arm tightly, pleadingly “Y-You’re too big, I-I don’t think I can handle anymore…Oh fuck!”
He knows he’s hit that spot inside you because your whole back arches, and you let out the hottest moan he’s ever fucking heard in his life. Complete abandon, head thrown back, digging your nails so hard into his arm that he’s sure you’ve broken through his skin.
“That’s right, baby girl. Just fuckin’ take it,” he mutters, increasing his pace, wondering if he can fit a third finger in. “Fuck, you’re so good, baby. Taking your daddy’s fingers like a champ. God, look at your little virgin cunt, swallowing ‘em up like a greedy little slut. Didn’t think you’d turn out to be so fuckin’ slutty, baby.”
You clench around him, moaning his name and he can’t believe how much his dirty talk is having an effect on you. His thumb rubs at your clit while he continues to finger fuck you, wanting to draw another orgasm out of you because you’re so fucking gorgeous when you cum, and he wants you to make a mess all over his fingers before he finally takes you with his cock.
“Too much, too much, oh, oh, oh,” you’re half delirious, humping against his fingers, letting him fuck you with them, and he knows you must feel so full. And it feels like heaven for him, being inside you (even if it is just with his fingers). You feel so soft, so wet, so warm. Your muscles tensing and relaxing around him as he builds you up.
“Take it,” Rafe repeats, “bet it’s never felt this good huh? You ever finger yourself, baby girl? Touch yourself late at night when you think everyone else’s asleep?”
You gasp at his words, but he feels you clench around his digits.
“Mmm, not such a good little girl after all, huh? Fingering yourself when you think your mommy’s asleep,” he grins wickedly at the horrified look on your face, increasing pace, “but it’s never enough, is it? Your fingers aren’t as big as mine, so you could never make yourself cum.” He laughs, “this whole time, all you needed was a man like me to take care of you. Say it, say you need me. Say it.”
“N-Need you!” You cry out, delicious tears streaking your face, “I need you, daddy. I-I…Oh fuck, please! Please, I don’t… I just… I–“
You squirt all over his hand. And it’s insane; Rafe’s never seen anything like it before. He gazes in wonder, caught off-guard for once. You completely come undone, crying and panting his name, rocking your hips against his hand as you ride out your third orgasm of the night. And who knew it would take just a little bit of dirty talk to get you to squirt? God, you were so fucking hot, so full of surprises. So perfect for him, it was unbelievable.
“Good girl,” he strokes your head like you’re his little pet, taking his wet fingers and pressing them into your mouth, and you’re so hot when you automatically suck on them. “Such a good girl, baby. That was so fuckin’ sexy.”
All you do is clutch at him and cry, so spent and overstimulated from your orgasm. Rafe licks his lips, feeling both protective yet predatory at the same time. You’re at your weakest, most vulnerable state. Outside, thunder and lightning strike over and over again as if they were paid to do so, and the room lights up and goes dark, it shakes and shudders, and the winds howl like a pack of possessed wolves. And yet you look so pretty in the dim glow of the candlelight.
It's the perfect night for you to get ruined. His perfect little baby. Pristine and innocent and at his mercy.
Rafe’s cock is so hard it hurts, throbbing as he grabs it by the base, pumps it as he hovers over you. On his knees while you lie beneath him, looking so deliciously scared. He presses his whole length against your stomach, and watches your eyes almost bulge out of your head. He knows he’s big, but compared to your tiny frame, he’s massive. And he gets off on that, gets off on how much bigger he is than you. He smears his precum against your stomach, smirking as he watches you swallow and try to be brave.
“Listen to me,” he grabs your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes, “You like my cock, baby? You like looking at it, huh?”
The way you lick your lips gives it away, and he laughs cruelly, tapping your cheek like you’re his little pet. “Say it, then. Say you like it. Beg me to put it inside you. C’mon, baby, look at your pussy, she’s crying for it. Beg me.”
He knows you’re at war with yourself, and you shake your head tearfully, opening your mouth to speak. But a clap of thunder sounds just then, so loud it makes the whole room shake. You cry out so pitifully, it makes his heart throb a little. You grab at him, and he falls down on top of you, kissing you, kissing your salty sweet lips and your tears. Kissing you all over while your desperate hands tangle into his hair.
That’s when he nudges the tip of his dick against your folds. And it already feels like fucking heaven, your wet warmth practically begging him to shove it inside you. He presses his tip on your puffy, sensitive clit and you jump, your eyes widening and then you push at his chest.
“R-Rafe, please, I don’t think–”
“Shh, c’mon, baby. Let daddy fuck you,” Rafe urges softly against your lips, “gonna make you feel so good again, mhm?”
“Nooo…”
He tries to ignore your soft cries, the way your palms press weakly against his chest.
“Shit, just relax,” he coaxes, knowing he could just hold you down and force it in, and yet…
He kisses you, tasting salt on your lips. You try to kiss him back, but he can feel you gulping for breath. He can feel your heart hammering against your chest. He can feel your limbs pushing at his body, but he’s just so much fucking bigger than you that it doesn’t even make a difference, and yet…
“Rafe, I… please…”
“Baby…”
His dick feels like it’s going to explode, and he runs it up and down your soaking slit, and you moan. And your face looks turned on beyond belief, and yet scared at the same time. Nervous, frightened, vulnerable. It’s a heady mix, and he doesn’t know what to do, and–
“Please, Rafe. I’m not ready, I-I can’t, Rafe. Please…”
“Fuck.”
Something comes over him, and Rafe feels it again. That bubbling, intense feeling inside his chest. Like a rush of an emotion he doesn’t know if he’ll ever understand. All he knows is he can’t, he fucking can’t. You’re so sweet, so kind, pure like a flower and he just can’t bring himself to pluck it. Tear it apart. Ruin it like how he ruined everything else he touched.
He rolls over, lying beside you while you quiver next to him. Both breathing hard. And outside, the wind howls and howls almost like it’s mocking him. Laughing at him for being a goddamned pussy. And there’s another clap of thunder, and he hears you crying softly.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Rafe finds himself gathering you in his arms, holding you against his chest, “Hey, look, don’t worry about it. It’s okay.”
“I-I thought I could but…” you hiccup between your tears, and your eyes look like there are a thousand stars shining wetly inside them, and he knows he’s never seen anything so beautiful. “I’m sorry, I thought I could do it, I thought–”
“It’s okay,” he repeats, cupping your face and making you look at him, his thumbs swiping away your tears, “Don’t cry, okay? Shit, it’s okay, baby. It’s okay.”
“Y-You’re not mad?”
He strokes up and down your back, soothing you while he wonders whether he is. But the only thing he feels right now is this strange, innate need to protect you. To reassure you. Hold your quivering body close till you stopped shaking. It’s insane, because he doesn’t feel like himself, because he’s never felt this before. It’s alien. Completely, utterly fucking alien.
“No,” he answers quietly, pressing a kiss to your hairline, “No, I’m not mad.”
“You pr-promise?”
“I promise.”
He feels like a different person as he tucks his dick back into his slacks. Like someone else, like someone he doesn’t recognise. But it feels so natural, holding you so close that your heartbeat feels like his. And the storm outside feels like a million miles away. Like it’s just you and him on a different planet and nothing else exists, nothing else means anything except you.
You fall asleep in his arms, spent after everything. And Rafe doesn’t even feel frustrated in that moment, because all he can focus on is how peaceful you look. Your tears dried on your cheeks, your chest rising and falling rhythmically. You trusted him with everything. And it made him feel like someone important.
The wind laughs and laughs all night.
*
The morning is calm, tranquil. Almost like the storm never even was. And Rafe wakes up well rested, with you cuddled on his chest, his arm around you and his thumb in your mouth. The room dappled in sunlight, the candles all blown out or melted away.
Slowly, he detangles from you, making sure not to wake you up. You look so peaceful, so innocent. So soft and pretty, in your little shack of a house on the Cut. He frowns as he looks around. In the morning light, your room looks even more pitiful. It’s clean, and you’ve made it pretty with notes and posters and fairy lights. But he can see the paint peeling off the walls, the fact it’s smaller than his closet back home.
Rafe can’t believe he’s woken up on this side of the island.
He has the sudden urge to leave. To run. Hastily, he types out a text to you.
Rafe: Hey. I thought I’d leave in case your mom came home and saw us. Didn’t want to wake you. Talk to you later.
He has to get home. Gather his thoughts. Recalibrate. Think about what the fuck came over him last night, when he’d had you right where he fucking wanted you. And then he’d pussied out of it. Rafe Cameron never pussied out of anything.
What the fuck did that mean?
His gaze shifts to you again, so pretty and sound asleep. Naked because you’d so willingly shed your clothes for him, spread your legs for him. And he could have had you. Hell, he could have you right now. Force himself into you while you were still asleep, and you’d wake up crying and sobbing, all confused and sleepy while he held you down and ordered you to just take it.
That’s what he should’ve done last night. So then what the fuck had stopped him?
Now, he lightly runs his fingers over your bare thigh, humming lightly at how smooth you feel. So soft, like an angel. A powerful, almost all-consuming feeling overtakes him. A wave of possessiveness coursing through him like a tidal wave of dark poison. You were his. All his. He could do what he pleased with you. Your body was his. You’d all but served it to him on a silver platter last night, in your pathetic little room with the candles.
Rafe feels like he’s having an out of body experience. He gets his phone out, ignoring any small, decent part of him that was sending warning signals to his brain. You were his. He had every right to do this.
Silently, he takes the pictures. And a sick part of him gets off on it, gets off on the fact you’re asleep and none the wiser to what’s happening. But this was the least you could do, you’d left him hanging last night. After he’d been so patient, so understanding. Fuck that. Why had he been like that? Like he was weak?
“You make me feel safe, daddy.”
Your words from last night ring in his ears, bouncing around in his brain till it gets too much, till they start to echo and get louder and louder. Till he feels the urge to punch the shit out of your bedroom wall. It was all too much. He had to get out of here.
He tucks his phone into his pocket, pushes the cotton covers up till your chin, and then leaves without looking back.
*
“There he is! The loverboy himself!”
His friends gather around him the next morning like he’s the second coming of Christ himself.
“How was she, Rafe?” one of them slaps him on the back, “That is, if you fucked her.”
“Yeah.” Kelce stands in front of him with his arms crossed over his chest, looking at Rafe expectantly. They all are. “Did you fuck her?”
Rafe scoffs, “Is that even a question.”
He’d waited all day yesterday for you to respond to his text. Like a pussy ass little bitch, he’d waited for you to say something. Growing angrier and more paranoid by the second when you didn’t. Staring at the pictures he’d taken of you like a man possessed, his thumb hovering over the delete button a handful of times before he’d thrown his phone angrily across the room. Hating how you were making him wait. Hating how his heart had leapt up to his fucking throat when you finally had replied: I’m so sorry for being such a scaredy cat yesterday. Thank you for coming over.
He'd discovered something then. He was obsessed with you. And he hated it.
“Pictures or it didn’t happen,” Kelce grins, cutting straight to the chase. Next to him, Rafe sees Topper’s eyes light with interest, as well as the others too. Fucking desperate losers, trying to catch a glimpse of something that belonged to him. Because they’d never get to see you like that, ever. No one else would. He’d make sure of that.
“It did happen.” Rafe says calmly, “Like I said it would.”
“Okay well, that’s great brother but we’re gonna need proof.” One of the clowns pipes up.
“You don’t need shit,” He shoots back.
“You didn’t take pictures?” Topper asks.
Rafe runs a hand through his hair in frustration. “I did.”
“Then show us. That was the deal.”
He wants to beat the shit out of all of them for daring to ask to see intimate pictures of you. As if you were anything like the other whores he’d fucked in the past, the type of stupid girls him and his friends used every week. You were different, and you were his, and they had no fucking business looking at what was his.
“Look. I don’t give a shit if you don’t believe me.” He mutters, completely over the dumb ass bet and over his friends too. They’d forget about it by tomorrow, ready to become his willing followers once more. They always did.
“C’mon man, you can’t bring our hopes up like that. Either you never fucked her or,” Kelce’s eyes glint when it registers, “Or you’ve gone soft for her. You’ve–”
Rafe grabs him roughly by the collar, a sudden anger coursing through him like he’s been electrocuted. “Listen, you fucking moron. Don’t ever insinuate I’ve gone soft for a goddamned Pogue.”
He spits that last word out like it’s venom, and yet he tried to ignore how hollow it feels. When he realises people are staring, he quietly lets go, smoothing Kelce’s shirt while his friends stare at him fearfully in that way he’s grown used to people looking at him.
“I fucked her,” Rafe says plainly, his tone switching from aggressive to calm in a split second, almost like he’s slipped on a mask, “I fucked her just like I’ve fucked every other Pogue bitch who’s thrown herself at me before her. And it wasn’t anything special. She acts all innocent, but it was easy to get her to spread her legs for me just like I told you it would be.”
He hears a thud, and then a little gasp behind him. So soft, it barely registers. Except it does, and he turns around.
And immediately locks eyes with you.
And then it feels like it’s just him and you. And nobody else is there. And there’s no sound, like both of you have stopped breathing. You stand there, frozen, stricken. Your books on the ground in front of you. Only a few steps behind him, well within earshot. And he sees something break in your expression, porcelain features twisting in hurt, shock, dismay, disbelief.
“Oh shit,” Topper mutters from somewhere behind him. A few of his friends snicker, but Rafe can’t hear them. No, he’s frozen, staring at you as if he can’t quite believe it. And he sees the tears welling in your eyes.
A little broken sob falls from your lips, and then you turn and run. And Rafe wants to chase after you but it’s like he’s frozen in time and space. Watching you run off while he just stands there.
Stands and watches as you run away from him, your hands reaching up blindly to wipe at your face. And that feeling returns tenfold. That feeling that Rafe can’t quite put his finger on, that feeling which he wants to push back down because it suffocates him, and he doesn’t understand it. The feeling consumes him from the inside out, till he feels like he can’t breathe.
And he just stands there and watches until you’re gone.
𝘼/𝙉: OOF. Okay, I finally posted it! Please let me know what your thoughts! Literally any reaction, predictions, favourite parts etc. All of it, ANY of it would be so appreciated! Also please forgive any spelling or grammatical errors. Here's some questions in case you want to answer them (you don't have to!! you can comment/reblog whatever you want, i just always post questions at the end of my fics)
Does Rafe genuinely care for reader?
Should reader forgive Rafe?
Favourite scene/part?
Anyways, that's it. Now I'll anxiously wait to see what you guys think. PLEASE PLEASE consider reblogging this fic if you plan on liking it and want me to continue it. Thanks so much for all your support when I posted the sneak peek. I hope this lived up to your expectations! <3
Lifeguard on a break (I can't avoid you thinking of Billy, but this is King Steve to me all the way)
Rewarding a good student
Cute barista is actually a dom
Less talking, more eating
Cum on my fingers
Old treehouse
Throat and just throat-working for him
Long distance boyfriend gives advice to your fuckbuddy (this has so much potential for a story)
Fucking the police (literally)
Pegging your best friend
Be loud, I want them to hear you vibe
Male escort (!!!)
Family reunion won't stop us
I am back!! I'm sick right now, so I haven't had any classes ergo I'm here posting a long ass list of audios. As always, thank you for liking and reposting <3
Summary: division brings unity. secrecy creates infatuation. a king's venture into the real world reveals desire.
Warnings: slow burn! strangers to friends to lovers! (Charlotte does not exist) smut! cold showers are on me.
Wordcount: 3.4K
The country side , to you, was heaven on earth. The far roaming hills, the deep valleys. The wide expanse of nothing but lush green fields. There was truly nothing more beautiful.
Your father's farm, to you, was the most beautiful of all. Located at the farthest edge of the county, miles and miles away from the city of London, it was a haven of tall grass, fruitful crops and rich orchards. That is where you spent most of your time, perched between the trunk and wide branches of a tall apple tree in the deepest part of your family's gardens. Far away from the bustling farm house, the uproar of live stock and the erratic, but loving, nature of your home.
From the moment the sun rose over the hills and danced across your face in the morning, to the moment it tucked itself into the valley at night, you were out in the fields. Tucked away indoors, you found yourself claustrophobic. Cased in, stir crazy and a tad hysterical. From a young age, your parents had to heard you inside at the end of a day much like the sheep dogs would heard the lambs back into their pens. It was no different, even as you approached adulthood.
You had your back to the trunk of a tree, a book clutched in one hand and an apple - freshly plucked from the branch above you- in the other, when you caught sight of one of the stable boys chasing after your father in the field ahead of you.
A man of great strength and pride, your father took his work in the fields very seriously. Even after the death of his own father, he was back shearing sheep after just two days. This is why it confused you ever so much , brows furrowed in a frown, to see your father drop his shears at once in front of the stable boy and clutch his chest. The pair raced down the field, sprinting in the direction of the house with the dogs trailing behind them in a flurry of brown and grey and white.
You took a pensive bite of the apple, crunching deliberately. 'Whatever is the matter?' you thought. 'What is the meaning of such fuss?' You tried desperately to get back to your book, the words of the author falling on distracted thoughts as your mind pondered such a reaction from your father. You snapped your book shut with a huff, annoyed and now positively rabid with curiosity.
John, an Orcher in his late fifties, was plucking apples from a tree just next to yours. You peered your head over to him. "John," you called, "have you any reason for father's fuss with the stable boy?"
John's face paled, almost frightfully white, at your question. He took his cap off with the type of remorse one shows with deep apology. "I'm terribly sorry, madam. I thought all the children were aware." You quirked a brow at his words, irritated that the farms people still saw you as one of the children despite being the eldest daughter in the house. His voice was gruff and gravely, years of shouting at yardsmen wearing on his vocal chords. "There is to be a royal visit, madam. Today."
Your eyebrows shot up so fast , you wondered for a moment if they were still on your face. "A royal visit? Here?" The Dowager Princess had not been out in the country since the passing of the late King. Your brows furrowed in deep confusion. "Whatever for?"
John shrugged his shoulders earnestly.
"Lord knows but I, madam. Some sort of review of the farmland, but that's between the King and his advisors."
"The King?" you squawked. You hiked your skirt up, throwing your legs over the branch and jumping down. You stalked to the bottom of the ladder John was standing on. "The King is coming here?"
In all your eighteen years, you'd only ever seen one monarch. Even so, it was a painting of His late Majesty. All you knew of the current King was that he made no visits to the towns, nor galas or balls. He had been labelled somewhat a recluse of a man. You wondered how that could be healthy for such an old person. At least, you assumed he was old. The previous king had died aged seventy and two, so this king must have been creeping into his late fifties now.
"Yes, madam." John said. "Your father has been called now, to prepare. He is due to arrive soon."
Your feet sprang into action, galloping down the aisle of the orchard at lightening speed as you raced toward the direction of the house. You never cared for pompous displays, or the royal family as a whole, very much at all. But today was different. The king himself was visiting your home. Your fields, your valleys and your hills. You felt oddly protective. As if this inspection was to be one with an insulting conclusion. You reassured yourself that they would see the beauty in your home. In the sway of the grassy hills in the wind.
Knowing your mother would not let you close enough to see even the Royal carriage make its way through the wooden gates of your home, you rounded the corner of the brown farm house and clambered your way up the large oak tree in the middle of the drive way. From high above in the branches, you would not be seen by your mother - as she so preferred. She yearned for a daughter more like the ones her sisters had. Lady like and proper and ones that smile at every pleasing farmer their mothers set them up with.
Your mother was disappointed in the lack of girlishness in you. She was displeased in your fascination with reading, and your taking to the outdoors. She was put off by the closeness between you and your father, finding it strange that the two of you could be friends as well as father and daughter. She found your desire to spend all day outdoors odd, and you found her desire to marry a farmer whilst hating farms to be odd in return.
You gripped on to the tallest branches, peering through leaves in the hopes of seeing the gleams of gold as the carriage approached. You saw your father and the farmer boys line up in front of the door below, and your mother and younger brothers waited just behind them. In the distance, you heard a low thrumming sound. It got louder, and seemingly closer, as more seconds ticked by. You realised, as you heard the clop clop clop noise, that it was the sound of horses' hooves on the dirt tracks as the carriage came into view.
The carriage halted in front of your door, and your father outstretched his hand to an older gentlemen in a plush blue suit. Though your fathers clothes- an old grey shirt and black trousers- were not as elegant, he looked just as regal as he shook hands with the stranger, who you assumed to be the King. He had greying hair, curled into ringlets by his side. There were several other men beside him, ranging from young to old to very old.
You craned your neck to hear their voices, a chorus of low hums and stiff lipped compliments from the old man you saw to be the king. Several minutes ticked by, boredom creeping in as you swung your legs back and forth over the branch, before the group of men finally split to tour the farm land with your father. You rejoiced, a grumble in your belly making any words they said inconsequential. You began your decent from the tree.
With scraped palms and knees, you made it to the ground with a thud. A successful spying , you thought as you wiped your hands on the skirt of your dress. Your monologing was interrupted by the stifled chuckle of a man behind you. You whipped round, narrowing your eyes at the man. Dressed in a simple white shirt and the same black field trousers as your father, he looked to be a fielder himself.
"Hello," he said, voice even and light. He stood with his hands behind his back, polite and effortlessly straight. He was young, younger than the rest of the group you assumed he had been standing with. He must have been no more than three years older than you, as his cheeks still had the faintest roundness to them.
"What are you doing?" he asked when you did not say anything.
You knew your eyes were wide, those of someone caught. There was no use in lying , nor excusing. This man had watched you climb down the tree, from where you had spied. You outstretched your hands, as if stating the obvious. "I was climbing down. From the tree."
"From the tree?"
"Yes, from the tree."
"From that tree?" the man asked, voice teasing and smile irritating as he pointed to the tall oak you had previously been perched in.
"Yes, that tree."
"Whatever for?" He placed his hands behind his back once more, slowly pacing around you in a circle.
"I was hungry, you see." You deadpanned.
"Ah," he affirmed, "and you did not bring food when you climbed up the tree." He was enjoying teasing you, as the smirk on his face grew larger at your squirming. "Or simply not enough."
"Well," you trailed off, waiting for the man to introduce himself to you.
"Forgive me," he said, outstretching a hand. "I am George."
"Well George," you continued. "Usually the trees I climb have some sort of fruit or such for me to eat while I climb, or lounge, or read. This is not my typical tree to climb." You explained.
"And I suppose you have a typical tree?" His face was oddly gleeful, as if this conversation with you - a stranger- was the best part of his day. His smile was wide, showing teeth.
"Yes, I do."
"Which is?" He asked, stepping closer toward you. His smirk was a teasing grin now.
"The apple tree," you stated, that protectiveness creeping back into your tone. "at the farthest end of the orchard."
"Now," he said, voice lilted with mock impress, "I must see this tree, that you so fondly and regularly climb." His voice was a stage whisper.
"Alas, I cannot." You teased back, some what enjoying the banter yourself. "I do not simply show my tree to strangers."
"Ah, but I am not a stranger," he said, closer again now. "I am just George." He stuck his hand out again, waiting for you to shake it. Hesitantly, you did. "I would be honoured to see your tree."
"Do you not have business to attend to?" You asked, gesturing in the direction the other men and the Royal herd had walked in. George shook his head, waving off your remark.
"They are fine themselves. They have no use for my agreements here and questions there." He said. "And even so, if I were to re-join them now," he took another small step closer to you, eyes searching in the distance, "my mind would think of nothing but this apple tree at the farthest end of the orchard."
You smiled at the man as he looked down at you, and felt the strangest urge to lead him by the hand to your sacred reading spot. Something about George made you trust him, utterly and completely, as if you'd known him your whole life. As if you'd run through the fields with him as children, and he knew where the tree was already.
"All right, just George."
A bright, down right contagious smile etched itself on to his face. You couldn't help but smile just as brightly.
The two of you strode side by side through the back field of the farm, chatting idly as you lead him to the orchard. George told you he was a keen farmer himself, but his family bound him to the city. "Why don't you just leave them?" you asked as you opened the large wooden field gate for him.
George paused, leaning on the gate with both arms crossed. "It is not that simple," he said, his face contort in a frown. "I am obliged to stay there. It is a duty, of sorts." He looked around at the tall grass, the wild flowers that bloomed in the field at his feet. "If it were up to me, I would spend all my time in the country."
You felt immensely sorry for him. The thought of being away from the country for more than a day put a nasty pit in your stomach. Gently, you placed your hand on his arm. He looked up at you with glum eyes. You gave him your best reassuring smile as you squeezed his arm lightly. He smiled back at you.
You fell back into stride with one another after that. George asked about your family, and you told him about your father and your three younger sisters. He asked where they were, and you let out a haughty laugh. "They cower at the sight of mud. They are cooped inside with my mother, embroidering or learning the pianoforte or some other nonsense."
"You see no value in these tasks, then?" George asked with a small smirk.
"I see no point, given where we live. What use have I for musical impress or intricate sewing when I spend my time outdoors?" You paused your walking, gesturing to the cows grazing near by. "Any man I encounter in these parts will be as impressed by my pianoforte as those cows."
"Ah, I see." George chuckled to himself. "You are to be a spinster then." You whipped round to face him, annoyance turning your brows into a tight v shape. George laughed again.
"For a stranger you are certainly bold."
"I do not hear a defence."
"No, I am not to be a spinster." You crossed your arms, uncrossing them when George cocked his head to the side slightly. You must have looked ridiculous, like an petulant, spoilt child. You huffed.
"I am not to be a spinster. At least not by intention." You both began walking again, rounding the corner to the long aisle of the orchard. "There," you said, pointing to your tree at the very end.
You turned when George remained silent. His mouth was agape slightly, brown eyes wide and almost honey in the mid day sun. "Beautiful," he sighed out.
It caught you off guard, the strange desire to lead him by the hand to your tree and show him the very best branches. The way he looked at your favourite spot with such awe made you near desperate to share it with him. You had to restrain yourself from reaching out and touching his hand that was inches from yours at your side. You shook your head slightly, as if a jitter would rid of of such peculiar feelings. "Come along, then."
George walked obediently at your side, keeping perfect pace with you. As you walked, he couldn't help but notice the sway of your hair in the light breeze, the way it framed your face so gently. Or the patches of freckles that spotted the bridge of your nose, or the subtle fullness of your bottom lip, how it was slightly larger than the top.
"You said you are not to be a spinster by choice," he began as you reached the foot of the tree. "Whatever do you mean?"
"What I mean is," you said as you reached up to a near branch, pulling yourself up with little struggle, "no man here is in need of a wife, and I am in no need for an elderly husband." You frowned when George laughed again. "You must stop that!" You cried.
"Stop what?" He smiled through his teeth again.
"Laughing at me!"
"I am not laughing at you, forgive me." He said, reaching up to the same branch and - just as you had- hauled him self up with ease. "I simply find it hard to believe no one here is in need of a wife."
"Everyone is already married, or too old, or far too young." You deadpanned. "I do not want to marry a frail old man."
"Let me rephrase," George began. He reached across you, and for a moment you thought he was going to touch your cheek. You sucked in a nervous breath. He plucked an apple that was hanging just above you ear. "I find it hard to believe no one here wants you for a wife."
You found it hard to form words, stuttering over a response. George bit into his apple , smugness radiating off of him in reams.
The two of you sat in peaceful silence for a moment, your backs leaning against the trunk of the tree while your legs stretched out next to each other. "Do you sit out here all day?" George asked softly, turning his head toward you. His breath fanned over your face slightly. You nodded.
"Most days," you sighed contently. "I am usually the one that goes into the towns if needed. Otherwise, I am left alone to sit here as I please." You looked out as the sheep roamed the field ahead of you.
George rested his head back against the trunk of the tree.
"I am envious of you, truly." He said, looking at you from the corner of his eye. You turned your head to face him. Your shoulders were brushing against each other with every breath.
"You are welcome to come here," you said, in an uncharacteristically soft voice. "You can bring a book, and you may sit here for as long as you like, whenever you please. Whenever your family allows you to be in the country."
This close to him, you noticed the flecks of gold in George's eyes. The small freckle above his eye brow. The rosiness of his cheeks. His words echoed in your head.
'I find it hard to believe no one wants you for a wife."
In the distance, you heard the ruckus of the men returning to the front of the house. George shot up. You shot up with him.
"I must go," he said hurriedly. He swung his legs over the branch and jumped off. As you moved to do the same, you saw him waiting on the ground with his hands outstretched. He was helping you down. You reached a hand out to him, and he pulled you down. Expecting a thud, you noticed he had steadied you with a hand on your waist. "I wish I could stay longer, I truly do. Alas, they will run like chickens without heads if I am not back soon."
You wished to find some poetic goodbye, but all you could muster was a soft sigh. "Will you be back?" His hand was still gripping yours.
George chuckled breathily.
"Of course," he said, as if it was obvious. "I must bring a book and see if this really is the best spot for reading."
The voices in the distance got louder, calling George's name now. He looked over his shoulder, then back to you. "I am back in the country in two weeks time. May I see you then?"
You smiled at his politeness, hoping your hasty nod came across as friendly and not desperate. "Of course."
"Splendid."
He brought your hand to his lips then, placing a gentle kiss on the top of your knuckles. "It has been a pleasure, madam." He said with a gentlemanly bow.
He turned to walk away then, and you felt as though the wind had been knocked right out of you. Your feet were glued to the ground, unable to move you from that same spot.
"Oh," George called from a distance. "The inspection went fantastically. Your farm shall have a wonderful review." He grinned, all boyish and joyful, before turning back and sprinting in the direction of the loud voices.
His words only sunk in after he'd rounded the corner gate, and you nearly collapsed onto a log.
Not only had you spent your afternoon with a total stranger, telling him your deepest thoughts and secrets, scandalously close should a gossiping eye see it.
You'd just spent your afternoon with the King of England.
p!link this is soooo bsf!rafe omg. letting his inexperienced girl best friend sit on his face — wanting to be the first one to make her cum. and he knows what he’s fuckin’ doing too — warm wet tongue lapping at your needy cunt. all he can seem to think about when he sees your thighs is having his face between them, and when he finally gets the opportunity? oh boy… get ready.
it's the second night of your trip with your physics professors and you've had a break-through in the research. but to test their hypothesis, you need to help them recreate the exact same conditions as the first night... for science.
content warning: dark!bucky x f!student!reader x dark!steve, mature themes, dark themes, made-up science bullshit, manipulation, naive!reader, smut, dub-con, rough sex, face fucking, no protection, cream pies (yes multiple), bucky and steve are DIABOLICAL MEN.
NIGHT ONE
a/n: the long-awaited sequel to my personal favorite dark fic i've ever written (exactly two years after part one!). i missed the professors <3 also i know absolutely nothing about physics so please don't take the science talk too seriously just go with it and pretend it makes total sense. and i don't like tooting my own horn but i do think this part is hotter than the first.
divider by @strangergraphics
"This is incredible - the cells transferred the energy to the battery overnight," Bucky says with excitement in his eyes. "We've been working on this for years and this is the biggest breakthrough yet."
"That's amazing, Professor Barnes," You say as you shift your weight onto your right leg, still sore from the night before.
Steve was full of guilt this morning when he woke up still inside you, apologizing profusely when he realized what happened. You assured him that it was okay, but that maybe you should take the couch tonight. After all, it wasn't his fault - he was sleepwalking and had no idea what he was doing.
"We need definitive proof that this works," Steve says as he looks through the microscope, before lifting his head up. "We need it to happen again. And to do that... we need to recreate the exact same conditions as we had last night."
Your eyes widen.
"That's right. The cells were in this room when they transferred the energy," Bucky says, taking off his glasses. "So we need to make sure the conditions are as close to last night's as possible."
"Uh... like, the temperature, and stuff?" You ask with a squeak.
"Yes. But also the activity that took place," Bucky says gravely. "See, every one of our actions takes and creates energy, so whatever we did last night made the perfect environment for the experiment to work successfully."
"You're exactly right," Steve agrees with him. "We need to do everything the same, as close as we can."
Nervously, you clear your throat. "Um, do you mean we also have to do what happened... in bed... again?" You ask meekly.
Bucky's face drops. "Oh, God. I didn't even think about that..." He trails off before looking into your eyes. "But, yes. It'll need to happen again."
Your stomach flips.
"I can't do that to her again, Buck," Steve says, shaking his head with a look of shame on his face. "I already have enough guilt from last night. I don't think I'm capable of doing that again."
"Alright. I'll do it," Bucky says bravely. "It's the same kind of energy being exuded, so it shouldn't make too much of a difference which one of us it is."
"But... it's too much to ask of her," Steve says as he looks at you with pity. "You're our student. We shouldn't put you in that position. No matter how important this research is in creating a sustainable power source that could save the world someday."
You think about it before letting out a sigh and nodding. "No. I'll do it," You decide firmly. "It's for science. And the world. I know how much time and effort you've both put into this already and... it would be my honor to help you with the research."
Bucky smiles. "I knew you'd be one of our best students, flower," He says softly before looking at the bed. "Shall we?"
Once you're in your pyjamas, you timidly get into the bed where Bucky's already laying down. Steve stands by the makeshift lab at the other side of the room, keeping an eye on the cells. There's an alarm that he set up to let out a 'ding' whenever a substantial amount of energy is passed through the cells, and he tells you that that's the sound you're looking for.
You lay on your side facing away from Bucky, just how you were last night, your heart racing.
"Alright, whenever you're ready," Steve calls out before dimming the lights.
When you feel Bucky get closer, you suck in a sharp breath and hold it in, flinching as he wraps an arm around you. "Keep breathing, flower," He whispers into your ear. "It's just me. Remember, this is for science."
"For science," You repeat with a nod.
"Good girl," He mumbles before slipping his hand under the hem of your shirt and cupping your bare boob. You gasp as he pulls and twists your nipple, making you squirm against his hardening boner.
"Nothing yet," Steve says. "Keep going."
Bucky lowers his hand and instead slips it under your shorts, rubbing your pussy over your underwear which is already wet through. You bite your lip to hold back your moans when he pushes your panties to the side and rubs circles directly onto your throbbing clit.
"Don't hold back, flower," He utters lowly. "You're doing so well for me."
With that, he pushes two fingers inside you, making you cry out at the intrusion. Once you've broken the barrier, you can't stop moaning, though it comes out in strangled whines as you do your best to keep quiet. It would be far too embarrassing to make it obvious how good this feels. It's purely for scientific research purposes.
"Gonna need a little more," Steve says in a warning tone. "Still no activity."
Taking his fingers out of you, Bucky pulls down your shorts and brings his hard cock to your pussy. He lifts up your leg before slowly inching into you, grunting in your ear as he stretches you out.
"Fuck, so tight," He groans under his breath. "You ready for it, flower?"
"Yes," You whimper, grabbing a fistful of the sheets in anticipation.
Keeping your leg lifted, Bucky starts fucking you. He starts off slow and gentle, kissing your neck and rubbing your nipples.
"Can you give me some more?" Steve requests. "Still nothing."
Bucky growls before speeding up and fucking you harder. His cock pummels in and out of you while you cry out, utterly taken over by pleasure.
"More," Steve calls out.
Pulling and twisting on your nipples, Bucky fucks you even faster, the sound of skin on skin filling the room. You can hear how wet your pussy is with each thrust.
Steve lets out a sigh of frustration. "I need more, guys," He says with a tinge of annoyance in his tone.
With that, he grabs you by the arm and forces you onto your hands and knees. Bucky then gets behind you, pushing his cock back into you and getting much deeper at this angle. He pushes your head down onto the bed roughly and even spanks your ass, though you're sure it's all for the sake of the experiment.
"Alright, that's a little better," Steve says. "Could definitely be doing more, though."
More? You let out a squeak at the thought of it.
"Steve, maybe it needs to be you," Bucky suggests, still fucking you steadily as he speaks casually. "I think you should come over here and fuck her."
Your heart skips a beat.
"You really think so?" Steve asks him.
"We have to try," Bucky answers. "For science."
With a determined look on his face, Steve nods. "For science." He walks over to the bed while stripping down, and you watch with wide eyes, still being drilled by Bucky.
Bucky thrusts a few more times before pulling out, making you whimper at the sudden loss. He makes his way to the end of the bed where your head is, while Steve climbs up behind you.
"You're doing so well for us, flower," Bucky whispers as he kisses your cheek. "I know this is hard on you, but it's going to be so worth it when we finish this project. And you'll be getting 100% on all your work this year."
"R-really?" You ask him with wide eyes.
"Of course," Bucky replies with a smile as he moves closer to you. "You're our number-one student. You have more than earnt it, flower." His cock rubs against your cheek accidentally, but he does nothing to move it. He's too busy thinking about science so you completely understand and don't complain when his pre-cum drips out onto your face and down your neck.
"Thank you, Professor Ba- aah," You cry out as Steve plunges into you with no warning.
Steve shudders as his cock sits inside your warm pussy. "Just as tight and wet as last night," He groans, making you falter.
"But weren't you asleep?" You ask him, wondering how he could possibly remember.
Instead of answering you, Steve starts railing you. Your mind is empty as he fucks you into the mattress, his hands tightly gripping your hips and keeping you in place.
"No dings yet," Bucky says with a sigh as he glances over at the lab equipment, before he looks back down at you. "Let me try something..."
He grabs a fistful of your hair and lifts your head off the bed, before forcing his cock into your mouth. Your eyes widen as he fucks your face with no mercy.
Ding, ding.
"It's working!" Steve says, and you can hear the grin on his lips. "Keep doing whatever you're doing. Don't change a thing."
"Aye-aye, captain," Bucky groans as he forces your head further down his cock, making you gag. "I'm sorry, flower, but this is what needs to happen."
"You're being so good for us, taking our cocks like a champ," Steve adds as he slaps your ass. "Our brave girl. You are so important to this research, beautiful, so fucking important, and so smart, and... fuck, so fucking tight."
Your mind lights up with delight at his praise. Ding, ding.
"That's it, keep sucking me, it's working," Bucky says lowly. "You're gonna help us save the world, flower. We're so proud of you."
He sees the look in your eyes and he knows he's got you in the palm of his hand.
"Keep making us proud," He utters, stroking your cheek as his cock breaches your throat. "You don't wanna disappoint us, do you?"
You shake your head as best you can, making him grin.
"Good girl," He whispers, before speeding up his thrusts.
"Fuck, I'm gonna cum," Steve warns you. He makes no effort to pull out even though he isn't wearing a condom, but you let it slide. For science.
"Fill her pussy up, Steve," Bucky groans.
Your cunt flutters around Steve, making him shudder before he cums with a loud grunt, thrusting hard as he spurts into you. You moan around Bucky's cock and the sound coincides with three of the loudest 'dings' you've heard all night.
"Shit, that was incredible," Steve groans as he pulls out of you. "And it worked so well. Bucky, I think you need to cum inside her pussy, too."
"You think so?" Bucky asks as he slows down his thrusts, fucking your face a little softer.
"I do," Steve doubles down. "The alarm sounded out the loudest when I was cumming inside her; the energy created from that action must have triggered the cells."
Bucky pulls out of your mouth and cups your chin. "What do you think, flower?" He asks. "Do you think he could be right?"
It does make sense. After all, Steve's right - the alarm was loudest when he was finishing in you. And it does feel good for your professor, renowned quantum physicist, to be asking for your opinion. "I think he's right," You tell him.
"You do?" Bucky pushes, stroking your cheek. "So, you think I should cum inside your pussy, too? Right after Professor Rogers just did?"
"I do," You answer, keeping your eyes locked on his. "I really do, Professor Barnes."
"Alright. Okay, flower, if you think that's best," Bucky says innocently.
Steve moves to the side and Bucky flips you over so you're lying on your back. He then nestles himself between your spread legs and returns his cock to your pussy, which is currently oozing with Steve's cum.
With a shaky breath, Bucky uses the tip of his cock to scoop up as much of Steve's cum as he can and pushes it back into you. He repeats this a couple more times until the excess cum is back in your pussy, and then Bucky plunges his cock into you. There's a constant chorus of dings coming from the lab, proving that this is the right thing to do.
"Go for it, Buck," Steve mutters. "For science."
Bucky nods and repeats, "For science."
They both give you expectant looks and you quickly nod and echo, "For science."
Wasting no time, Bucky starts thrusting, fucking in and out of you. His head falls forward, resting in your neck as he fucks you.
"That's it, you're taking him so well," Steve says as he watches. "Just a little longer, now. You're being so good."
"I'm so close," Bucky groans into your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. "Gonna fill this tight pussy with my cum. Are you ready for it, flower?"
"Yes," You cry out, just as Steve brings his fingers to your swollen clit and starts rubbing it. The dings get louder.
With a roar, Bucky erupts, thrusting faster and harder than ever as his cum spills into you. Steve rubs your clit harder, triggering your own orgasm as you shake beneath Bucky, your eyes rolling back. Ding. Ding. Ding.
Bucky continues thrusting weakly, making you convulse and whimper. "Such a good girl for us," He whispers, lifting his head up and looking down at you as he fucks in and out of you, slow and gentle. "We are so proud of you, flower. You have been incredible tonight."
"That's right. We couldn't have done this without you," Steve says, stroking your cheek. "And by the sounds of it, it was a successful experiment, so well done. You helped to make that happen."
You nod with a smile, basking in the glory of their praise. "Thank you, Professors, for giving me this opportunity," You say, expecting Bucky to pull out but not saying anything when he remains inside you. "It's truly such an hon- honor to work with you both. I- this experience has been phenomenal."
"And you've been amazing," Bucky says with his dick sitting inside you, even though he's talking as though nothing untoward is happening at all. "I'm so glad you accepted our invitation. We knew you were going to be a stand-out on your first day. I couldn't be prouder."
"Shit. We should've documented this," Steve says as he shakes his head. "How are we going to remember exactly what we did to make the experiment successful?"
You don't think you'll ever forget.
"Damn it. We fucked up," Bucky groans, rubbing his face.
"Is there any way at all we could... somehow get the full step-by-step of what we did?" Steve wonders out loud.
They both look at you, waiting for you to suggest something.
"Um... well, if we had filmed it, that could've worked," You suggest. "But we didn't, so..."
"So what you're saying is, we're going to have to do this all over again and make sure to film it this time?" Steve asks you, making your eyes widen.
"No, that's not what I-"
"That's our only option," Bucky cuts in, giving you a grave look. "To make sure we can perfectly replicate this, we have to do it again and film it, so we know the exact conditions needed."
"No. Look at her, Bucky, we've put her through enough," Steve says as he wipes at the residue of Bucky's cum on your cheek. "We can't do this to her again."
Bucky sighs. "You're right. We'll just have to... go back to square one and figure out another way to make this work," He says, his tone heavy with dejection. "It might take years, but we have to keep trying."
"No," You cut in, unable to disappoint them after making them so proud. "We can do it again. I can take it."
"Are you sure?" Steve asks you, concern in his eyes.
"100%," You reply instantly. They had enough hope on you to bring you on this trip over all their other students, so you need to prove your worth.
"You're sure you can take it, flower?" Bucky asks softly. "You can handle Professor Rogers and I taking turns fucking you, hard, and fucking your face, and both of us cumming inside you again with no condoms? On camera?"
"Yes," You assure him, determined to be someone they're proud of. "Whatever it takes to help you with this research, I'll do it. I'll do anything for you, Professor. I'll do anything for science."
You suck in a sharp breath when you feel his cock harden inside you again.
"You're too good to us, honey," Steve says, unable to stop the smirk from pulling at his lips. "Together, we're going to do some incredible things."
"Incredible," Bucky repeats with a grin. "And all in the name of science, of course."
"Of course," Steve adds, his thumb rubbing your swollen bottom lip. "All for science."
happy october 🎃 got a few spoooooky fics planned and im gonna try my hardest to get them all out this month <3 it's my bday month and work is crazy rn but i'll do my best x
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★ summary: your boyfriend sneaks through your window, catching a show of you dancing around like no one was watching. when he comes in you decide to give him a little show of his own
★ pairing: steve harrington x reader
★ warnings: 18+ mdni, smut, fem reader, slight window peeking, mutual masturbation, dirty talk, premature ejaculation, cum play, p in v
★ word count: 2.3k
★ notes: i cant stop writing pure filth im sorry ill go stand in time out...
The floor vibrated with each step of your feet, the boombox in the corner blaring the newest Tiffany song. Your hairbrush gripped tightly in your hand, using it as your makeshift microphone for the night. Clad in nothing but a ratty old band t-shirt and your favorite lace panties, curlers in your hair, with a face mask sitting on your skin. It was a Friday night in Hawkins, and you had the house to yourself. This was all you had been looking forward to: time to relax and be yourself.
Before you could even yell out the second chorus, your window was swinging open. The brush in your hand was turned into a weapon. Screaming as you chucked it at the intruder, hitting the figure square in the forehead.
“What the hell?” Your boyfriend screamed, nearly slipping from the window pane at the impact.
“What the hell?” You repeated, “You’re the one breaking into my house?”
“I’m trying to be romantic.” He yelled over the music, stumbling his way into your room.
All you could do was stand there, heart beating out of your chest. He turned the boombox down, rubbing harshly at the red mark forming on his beautiful face. A bag in his hand and a sheepish smile on his face.
“Sorry for the breaking and entering.” He gave you a toothy grin, his eyes shamelessly roaming up and down your body.
Your cheeks flushed, ripping the sheet mask off your face. “I thought your dad was dragging you to his work thing.”
“Plans changed. Thank god they did.” He smirked, setting the bag on your bed and walking towards you. You stopped him with your hand on his chest.
“I need to wash my face. I wasn’t expecting you.” You breathed out, his hands aching to grip the skin of your legs.
“Do what you need to do,” He smiled, whistling when you turned to speed walk into the bathroom. The lace of your underwear leaves little to the imagination. “But please don’t put any pants on.”
You rolled your eyes at his hollering, washing your face, and pulling out your curlers as fast as you could. Scrubbing the embarrassment off your skin.
“How much of that did you see?” You hollered, brushing through your hair.
“I enjoyed the show, baby.” He snickered from the other room, only making your skin blush hotter. You threw on your robe lazily, much to his chagrin. He frowned the moment you entered the room, content to poke fun until he noticed your face. His arms pulled you to where he sat at the edge of your bed.
“Hey, I’m just teasing you.” He spoke softly, hands running softly up your arms. “But I did enjoy the show. It was probably one of the hottest things I’ve ever seen.”
His words were not helping your blush, pushing your hands against his chest playfully. He didn’t waver, your hands falling on his hardened chest. Sometimes you forget just how athletic he was.
“Pervert. You get off on watching girls in their bedrooms?” You teased, pinching his cheeks.
“Only my beautiful girlfriend.” He cheesed, slapping your hands away. “Now that I’m here, do you wanna give me a real show?” His eyebrow raised, partly joking but partly serious.
You took a minute, your teeth biting down on your bottom lip. You’ve always loved the look Steve gets in his eyes when he wants you so bad he can’t help but pull you close. This time, you’d be able to soak in every inch of his reaction to you.
“What do you want me to do?” You stumbled over your words a bit, unsure of what to do. But with a fire growing in your belly, you wanted to please him.
“I was joking, honey.” His eyes went wide. “Unless you’re serious?”
You took a shaky breath, smiling widely at him. “I am. Serious, that is.”
His eyes lit up like kids in a candy store. “Well, shit, baby.”
“Close the curtains and sit down.” You pointed to your vanity chair. He obeyed, nearly stumbling over his feet to tug your curtains closed, and plopped down in the chair. You sat on the edge of your bed, slowly untying your robe. His eyes were wide, watching you intently. His hands were on his thighs, squeezing tightly, practicing poised restraint.
With your robe open, you were clad in only your panties and too-tight tee, your hardened nipples pressing through the fabric, all ready. Your freshly curled hair falling around your shoulders. You felt like a baby deer on new legs, nothing but awkward limbs trying to find your footing. You could’ve just sat there, and that would have been enough for Steve.
“W-what if you told me what to do? Just to get started.” You released your lip from your teeth, an ache lingering from how hard you chomped down.
“Is that what you’d want?” he offered, his voice soft.
You nodded when words failed, your legs dangling off the bed.
He let out a shaky breath, “I wanna watch you touch yourself. As if I wasn’t here.”
His words went straight to your core; your entire body was on fire. Your skin's warm to the touch. “O-okay.” You blushed, scooting back to rest on your pillows. “Only if you sit on the bed.”
That was all he needed to hear, shuffling to lie on the edge. Gaining a better view of you, your legs folded to your chest. You let them fall, slowly bringing your hands up to your shirt.
“Well, sometimes I start small.” Your voice sounded foreign to your ears. Your hands grabbed your tits through your shirt, fingertips squeezing the buds. It gave you just enough pleasure to make you sigh in relief. Twisting them through the fabric.
Steve was choking back saliva, his khakis already too tight. “Do you always do it through the shirt?”
“Eager to get me naked?” You teased, leaning back further. Keeping your eyes on him as you pulled the hem of your shirt up, tossing it at him. He ducked, unbothered. Too focused on your now exposed chest. You continued the movements, this time with no barrier in place.
“And sometimes,” You put your fingertips in your mouth, wetting them thoroughly before bringing them down to your nipple, “I do this. And think about how your mouth feels on me.”
Steve gulped, watching your spit coat your nipples, making them glisten with each pull.
“And that gets me so wet.” You sighed, spreading your legs slowly for him. A small damp patch on your panties. “See?”
“I see baby.” His hand went to his crotch, palming himself ever so lightly.
You released your nipples, letting your hands trail down to your legs. Running your fingers up and down your inner thigh. Just enough to make your clit tingle in anticipation.
“Take your panties off,” Steve ordered, voice thick with lust.
You shook your head, pressing down on your clothed clit softly. The fabric adds extra pleasure to your sensitive bud. “You have to go s-slow. Work yourself up.”
He let out a pathetic whimper, unbuttoning his pants, letting his hard-on breathe.
You pushed your panties down your legs slowly, spreading your legs wide for him to see. You were dripping against your sheets, using your fingers to spread yourself open further. Your clit jumps at your touch. “This is the part where I really start to miss you, your fingers.” His hands twitched at your words, wanting nothing more than to rip your hand away and attach his mouth to you.
“Wanna watch.” His mouth was dry, slightly agape. “Can I- can I um?” He looked down at his lap, to which you nodded. He eagerly pulled his length out, wrapping his hand around the thick base.
“You’re not allowed to cum until I do.” You ordered, your fingertips back to rubbing circles on your clit. Moaning at the contact you’ve been working yourself up for.
“O-oh fuck okay.” He breathed out, stroking himself slowly.
“The clit,” You moaned, “Is where all the fun is. Sometimes I come just from this. Sometimes I hump my pillow, imagining it’s your face. Other times…” You trailed off, sinking a finger into your entrance with a squelch.
“Y/n.” Steve gasped, his thumb rubbing over the slit, spreading his precum around his tip.
“Bring me your hand, Stevie.” You sighed wistfully, watching as he brought his hand to your mouth. Your tongue licks from his middle finger down to his palm before spitting into his palm. He was now lying next to you, his wet hand going straight to his cock with a hiss.
“Gonna add another finger.” You informed him, slipping your middle finger inside next to your ring finger. “Not as nice as your fingers, or your dick, but it gets the job done.”
You were unable to control your moans, your fingers curling up, hitting the spot you knew like the back of your hand. Watching as his slick hand moved frantically up and down. His tip is red and aching.
“What do you t-think about?” He grunted.
“You.” You moaned, one of your hands cupping your tit. “Sometimes I think about you bending me over my bed, sometimes I think about riding your face until you can’t breathe.”
“Wanna do that. S’Wanna do that so bad, baby, please just let me.” He slurred, unable to think straight. His eyes roam all over your body, not sure what to focus on. All he knew was that you were so close, yet so far.
You shook your head, eyes falling closed when you sped your fingers up. The sound made his cock twitch. “You wanted a show, baby.”
“Oh fuck you.”
“You wish.”
“God, I wish so bad.” His eyes never left from where your fingers were disappearing in and out of your cunt. Your own eyes were glued to his hand that was expertly jerking himself off, the grunts leaving his mouth making you clench around your own fingers.
Your thumb brushed against your clit, that familiar euphoric feeling washing over your body. “Oh, Stevie, I’m gonna cum.”
“Yeah?” His words were clipped, “Me too, baby. Wanna see you.”
You threw your head back into the pillows, hair flying everywhere, while your fingers sped up. Your high crept on you slowly, then exploded into a tidal wave. Whimpering out Steve’s name with each clench of your cunt around yourself, fingering out every little bit of your own pleasure. Steve was enamored, his eyes stuck on your face. Your eyes rolled back into your head, your brows furrowed in concentration, each part of your supple flesh flushed with pleasure.
Your legs closed tightly around your hand, overstimulated as your orgasm shocked through you.
Your eyes fluttered open, “Baby, please. Wanna feel you. Even if just for a second.” He was blubbering to tears, cheeks red.
You nodded, slipping your wet fingers from yourself. “Come on, baby.”
He didn’t need to be told twice, hopping up on his knees, crawling to settle in between your legs, slipping his cock into your entrance. The head slipped through your folds; that was all it took for Steve to unravel. He came with a shout, his cum dribbling inside you.
“Fuck that’s embarrassing.” He breathed out, watching your blissed-out expression.
“Baby…”
“Hmmm?” He was dazed, his attention now on your cum covered cunt.
“Fuck it into me.”
Just when he thought you didn’t have surprises up your sleeve, your pretty pink lips spoke more filthy things.
“You’re such a little minx. Wanna play all innocent yet?” He scoffed playfully, pushing his sensitive cock deep inside you. Your walls welcome him in easily.
“O-oh my god.” “Oh fuck.” You both moaned in unison, and his hips moved slowly. Just enough to not overwhelm the two of you, but still fucking his seed deep inside you.
“Fills you up more than your fingers, huh?”
You nodded, not taking a single moment he was inside you for granted.
Steve noticed your hips arching again. “Oh, you gonna cum again? Just wanted to cum around my cock, huh?”
“Y-yes.” You whined, repeating the word over and over again while your legs shook.
“Not gonna deprive my girl of anything.” His hands moved to rub your puffy clit, flicking the bud until you were screaming around him. Your orgasm makes your legs shake, your cunt pulsing around him so tightly he hissed through his teeth.
“Holy fuck.” You breathed out, gasping when he pulled his softening cock out of you.
“Look. Clean as a whistle. The greedy girl took it all.” He spoke in awe, your cunt successfully drinking in all of his cum.
“You’re ridiculous.” You laughed, shaking your head at him.
“No, you’re ridiculous. Who are you, and where did my sweet prudish girlfriend go?” He gawked, throwing you a pair of clean underwear from your drawer. Helping you slip one of his oversized shirts over your head.
“Hush,” You blushed, slapping his shoulder playfully, “Did you have fun?” Insecurity seeped into your words. He sat up quickly, pressing a soft, gentle kiss to your lips.
“Baby, I had so much fun!” He reassured you, grabbing the long-discarded paper bag he smuggled into your room. He pulled out a small teddy bear, gripping its neck to make it look at you. “And look. Mr. Bear didn’t have to see the part where you begged me-”
You lurched forward, slapping your hand over his mouth. “Finish that, and it’ll never happen again.”
He paused. As soon as your hand left, he pretended to lock his mouth and throw away an imaginary key. “Take this as a token of apology.” He handed you the bear, your heart warming.
“I love you.” You smiled, wrapping your arms around him and the bear.
“I love you,” He cheesed, “And I love that Tiffany album for putting you in such a frisky mood.” Another smack to his shoulder, but it was worth the blushing smile you gave him.
ok so what about this, reader and steve have been together for a while and they’ve been married for about a year or two and steve is eager to start a family. like dude has been dropping hints and everything thinking he’s being smooth about it but honestly it’s so obvious and it’s quite amusing to see what he has to say and stuff just because it’s so poorly hidden but reader keeps acting oblivious just to mess with him. then around christmas after the hints had been going on for months, reader decides to put him out of his misery. she gives him a gift that basically is like a greenlight to try for a baby and then steve is all over her. then it’s practically pure filth, i’m talking breeding kink steve who’s being so sweet and saying the dirtiest things.
HEARD LOUD AND CLEAR. i was already writing something very similar to this so you read my mind. i will say i got stuck on part of the smut, however im really hoping i did it justice.
oblivious - steve harrington x fem!reader
summary. after months of obvious hints from your husband steve, you finally greenlight having kids with him christmas morning
content warnings. smut nsfw, steve with a crazy breeding kink (everyone act surprised), dirty talk, daddy kink kinda sorta (??), fingering, oral (f!receiving), begging, brief dry humping, slight cum play, unprotected sex. not proofread so sorry
word count. 2941
———
steve had a firm hold on your hip as he guides you towards the busy coffee shop in town. it was late september, the air was beginning to cool down, and everyone seemed to have the same idea you had: a warm cup of coffee. you pleaded with him to make a quick stop before a long day of errand running. he always had a hard time telling you no, especially when you pulled out those round doe eyes you used when you really wanted something. his hand stayed on your hip while you got into line. it slipped right beneath the hem of your thin sweater, and you could feel the cool metal of his wedding band against your soft skin.
what stole your attention from the feeling was a stroller that was sat at an occupied table. the baby girl was curiously looking at all of the people around her, her bright eyes found yours, her gummy smile making your chest tighten. steve looked over right as you smiled back, wiggling your fingers at her. you could faintly hear her giggles through the chattering of the building. her feet kicked out in excitement at your kindness. steve was dizzy.
he was always certain he wanted kids. having them with you was his dream. despite being married for around a year now, you two were waiting for the right time to start trying. you were waiting for that pin drop, that ache in the chest you couldn't quite shake. the stars seemed to align then for him, just like he knew they would. there wasn't a doubt in his mind that he was ready to have kids.
"you're always so good with kids," steve whispers into your ear. he tugs you closer as you take a few steps forward in line. when you turned your head to take a look at him, he had the same kind of pleading eyes you wore earlier. now it was your turn to become lightheaded. how could you not be when his fingers were dancing up your waist? your lips met his in a gentle kiss, just moments before stepping up to the counter to order.
you noticed, a few weeks after his comment at the coffee shop, that steve seemed to draw more attention torwards having kids. subtle was never a word you'd use to describe him, though this was next level obvious, even for him. you were searching a costume store for something to wear for halloween, something he always insisted on doing with you. every year, without fail, you've done a couples costume. and, as corny as you thought it was, you found it even more endearing.
out of the corner of your eye, you saw the way he slowed his footsteps, eyes falling on a section you'd never thought about stopping at. you rounded back to him, your own eyes falling on exactly what caught his eye. it was a pumpkin costume, sat right alongside a few other baby costumes. you saw that same twinkle in his eye as before. biting back a smile, you grab ahold of his bicep, giving his muscle a gentle squeeze.
“that might be a little too small for you, sweetheart,” you comment quietly. he let out a short, breathy laugh, somehow prying his eyes away so he could look at you. steve’s lips brush against your hairline, pressing a gentle kiss there. you could feel the faint outline of his smile.
“i could make it work.”
whether he realizes it or not, that yearn steve has to have kids shines through during sex. you could see it in the way his hot breath stuttered against your bare back, lips just grazing your shoulder blade. his fingertips dug into your hip to ground himself in the moment. his hips halted it’s slow drag against the swell of your ass, just to pull away and tug off his boxers. glancing past your shoulder, you could see the crease between his eyebrows deepening. his hands felt heavy reaching over to his nightstand to unwrap a condom.
part of you wanted to speak up, whisper that it was okay. that he didn’t need to wear one. that you were ready. he was back on top of you before you could form any coherent words, weight pressing against you, thick arms wrapping around your waist to keep you up and steady. he made sure you couldn’t get anything but his name out for the rest of the night.
the tipping point, for you, was in late november. you were sat on your knees, the hardwood floor digging into your bare skin. you were wrapping up a birthday gift for steve’s little cousin who was about to turn 5. it was a small lego set you knew the kid would love to build. steve found his way into the living room sometime while you were wrapping and decided to sit next to you on the floor. despite your focus being on the toy, his was on you. hazel eyes gazed at your concentrated expression, not caring if you noticed. he had a habit of doing this.
“what’s on your mind, hon?” you ask in a soft tone. even if you didn’t look over, you knew he was staring. you could feel his thoughts ready to burst out of his mouth.
“nothing,” he shrugs, voice just above a whisper. “just always liked the idea of helping kiddos build legos. it seems fun.”
“do you want a set for yourself for christmas?” you ask, lips quirking up into a smile. he lets out a scoff, though not mean.
“‘s not the same.”
it felt cruel dragging him along much longer, despite his refusal to just admit he was ready to have kids. later that week, after you attended the party and watched the excitement his cousin had at the sight of the gift, you found yourself in search of another lego set. it was simple, a starter pack, a few little lego people to go with it, but it was enough.
you promised each other you’d only buy five gifts this year, no more. steve always felt the need to shower you in gifts, and you, even after you thought you were done, would always find something extra you couldn’t resist giving him. it was beginning to be absurd. you reckoned, however, one small sixth gift wouldn’t hurt.
you wrapped it in simple red and green paper, a neat gold bow tied right around it. and, despite steve’s grumpiness when you handed it to him just a few short days before christmas, his eyes were round with adoration at your wrapping job. it was hard to stay upset with you, though, not when you were looking at him so excitedly. when he gave in and unwrapped the gift, his mind seemed to stall. his perfect lips parted as he stares, fingers grasping ahold of the box, tracing the length of it.
“sweetheart,” steve started cautiously. he was trying his hardest not to come off as ungrateful or harsh. “it’s nice, but i really did mean what i said.”
“i know,” you nodded, a smile creeping up on your face. when he turned his head to look at you, lips still parted, it still hadn’t quite hit him.
“it’s for when you do have someone to build it with,” you urged. “ya know, when the time comes.”
“are you pregnant?” his eyes grow wide, hand flying up to grab your elbow with care. you giggle at his suddenness, eyes staring at him through your eyelashes.
“no, i’m not pregnant,” you shake your head.
“oh.”
you could see the disappointment starting to settle in his face, despite him fighting it. there was no need to make you feel bad for something you couldn’t control. for something you both were actively preventing. when his eyes flickered between the lego set and you once more, it began to settle. his head found where yours had been this entire time. the look on your face as you waited patiently for him to catch on was now unmistakable.
“we’re doing this?” steve asked, eyes finding its light again.
“yeah, we’re doing this,” you confirm, smile widening.
that’s how you ended up beneath him, fingers desperately tugging at the hem of his old, loose shirt. he pried his lips off yours just to let you tug it off. heat radiated off of him and sunk into your skin, much like the grip his fingers had on you hip as he tilted it upwards just slightly. he slipped your little shorts off swiftly, like many times before, leaving you in the cutest pair of panties you knew he loved. as excited as he was, his touch didn’t feel rushed. he always found it in himself to slow down, even for just a second.
steve’s thumb pressed right against your core, feeling the stickiness of your arousal begin to form against the cotton. he pushed in just enough for you to feel the tip of his thumb prod against your opening. he engulfed your quiet gasp with his lips when he inevitably traveled up to your clit. he eased your eagerness by rubbing a small circle against it, welcoming the way your hips tilt to meet his touch. it was bordering teasing the way he was touching you. small circles, just the gentlest of pressure, lips slowing down to contrast how he was kissing you before.
he could tell by the way your nails dug into his freckled shoulder you were getting restless, needy. he gave in to your need, moving to tug off your shirt, thumb abandoning your desperate heat. it wasn’t long before your soaked panties we’re abandoned with the rest of your clothes, fluttering down to rest on top of his shirt. his large hands gently spread your thighs apart.
“so perfect,” he mumbled, settling himself between your legs.
steve’s lips met your clit in tender kiss, one that sent chills up your spine. he placed another kiss just below your clit. it was one after another through your folds until he met your dripping hole, placing a kiss there, too. his warm tongue began collecting your arousal, licking gently, before smoothing up until he met your clit again. his thick fingers were dancing against the bare skin of your thighs as he began working at your clit. careful kisses and small, precise swirls of his tongue were what drew out your whimpers.
your fingers moved down to dance against his forehead, pushing his perfect hair out of his eyes. he seemed concentrated regardless, that little line between his eyebrows visible. when you began scratching at his scalp, hips tilting up again to meet his mouth, his big brown eyes finally drew up to your face. his lips wrapped around your clit in an instant, sucking softly, just how you like it. it was enough for you to rest you hips back down against the bed now that you’d gotten what you were looking for.
you were coming quicker than you could process. his hand found its way to your lower back as it arches off the bed, hole fluttering around nothing. all you could focus on was how his lips felt on your clit, sucking gently, tongue swirling around with ease. your eyes were squeezed shut, fingers tugging tighter against his roots. you let out a desperate moan when he pulled away, though he found a way to sedate your neediness quickly. your eyes opened in enough time to realize his boxers were finally free, one of his large hands stroking his thick length slow and steady.
“gonna take me so good, aren’t you, honey?” he whispers out to you, crawling up your body, face hovering right above yours.
you let out a weak ‘uh-huh’, hands resting against his cheeks, before pulling him into a kiss. your legs parted further to welcome his body, soft thighs pressed against his hips. steve’s tender kisses and his soothing touches were never enough to prepare you for how thick his cock is. it was always a big stretch, dizzying you even in the slowest of movements. he cradled your hip, thumb swiping against your skin, grounding you in the moment as he finally pushes himself all the way in.
his thrusts were slow at first, pulling out only halfway before his cock settled deep inside of you again. it was the only way you could truly get used to the feeling of him inside of you. still, he was coaxing moans out of you, swallowing them up with every kiss he gave to your lips. once it became easier for you to take him, you knew you were a goner. his lips moved to your jawline, hands adjusting your thighs just slightly to give himself better access. his rhythm steadily got faster, beginning to press a little harder inside of you.
“so beautiful,” he mumbles against your hot skin, lips pressing wet kisses to your neck. “can’t even imagine how beautiful you’ll be as a mom.”
his words took your breath away, though the way his cock was pushing inside of you wasn’t helping you all too much. you hadn’t quite realized how ready you were to have kids until now. steve’s hand found its way back to your clit, rubbing in tandem with his thrusts. his eyes fell down your body, flickering between the way your round tits bounced and the slick connection further below it. the coarse hair on his tummy was covered in your arousal.
you were close, and he could feel it. he could feel it in the way you clenched down on his cock and how you held onto him tighter. your eyes were falling closed, too, hardly able to look up at him when his eyes finally found yours. already so sensitive from your first orgasm, it was no surprise your second came barreling towards you.
“cum for me honey,” steve nods. “can feel her begging for it.”
a broken moan left your mouth at his words. with your tear brimmed eyes still on his, you came around his cock. it hit you harder than expected, thighs shaking around his body, letting it all wash over you. you were savoring every last moment of tonight. steve kept going through your orgasm, cock piercing you at a pace you couldn’t keep steady even if you tried. thankfully, he had ahold of you, letting you take everything he had to give without having to move a muscle.
“tell me you want my cum,” he breathes out. “please, need to hear it.”
“wan’you to cum inside me,” you moan, embarrassment creeping up on you at how dirty it sounded coming out of your mouth. “wanna have your kids more than anything.”
his hips were snapping into yours, chasing a release he knew would hit him soon, especially with how beautiful you looked underneath him. he swore there was something different with how you looked tonight. the dim lights were hitting the thin layer of sweat on you just right, perhaps, or he was simply awestruck that you were finally doing this.
“you’re gonna be such a good daddy,” you praise between whines.
steve’s orgasm was instantaneous. his face fell to the crook of your neck, a few high pitched moans slipping from his mouth you’ve only heard from him a few times before. something once stemming from overstimulation seemed to release from him at your words. he was rutting into you now as he fills you to the brim with his cum, punching it into you deeper with each movement. he slowed to a stop when his brain finally caught up, feeling the way one of your hands was stroking the back of his head, the other clinging to him for dear life.
he knew you were sensitive, he could see it in the way your eyebrows knitted together when he finally pried his head out of you neck, your forehead creasing as you try to even your breathing. your nails were digging right into his arm as he pulled out, chests moving against each other, hot air mixing together. you could feel the way his thick cum began pooling out of your pussy. before it dribbled down too far, two of steve’s fingers scooped it right up, gently pushing it right back inside of you. you sucked in a deep breath as his fingers dove deep inside you. his forehead fell to yours, eyes never leaving each other. you could still see, however, the deep blush that was permanently settled on his face.
“i know,” he whispered shakily. “i know sweetheart, just gotta take it, okay? gotta make sure it sticks.”
you nodded, sharp whines falling from your lips with every short stroke of his fingers, eyes pleading up at him. what you were pleading for, you weren’t too sure. a break, a kiss, more of his cum, just something to ease the electricity under your skin. you found yourself rocking against his fingers regardless. an airy chuckle fell from his lips.
“needy girl,” he mumbled, giving in and letting you lazily chase your third high. he gave you the sweetest of praises even after you came again.
steve seemed extra careful with how he took care of you afterwards. you didn’t question it, he always had a knack for just knowing what you needed, though you had the feeling it was because he was hopeful. hopeful for the future. hopeful that, soon, he wouldn’t just be taking care of you. you fell asleep in his arms, warm and protected, head resting against his steady chest.
Fem!Reader x Harry Potter x Ron Weasley x Hermione Granger
You want a martyr? I’ll be one.
Summary:
You have always had a special relationship with Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, and the one and only Harry Potter.
When you set out to help them find and destroy Lord Voldemort's Horcruxes, it seems that your intimate knowledge of them is the one thing keeping them together - until the unique dynamic shifts, thanks to one of those pesky pieces of dark magic.
Angry voices carry, and it turns out - moans of pleasure do too.
Poly!Golden Trio x Fem!Reader (Fem!Reader x Harry Potter x Ron Weasley x Hermione Granger). FWB to Poly Lovers. Smut (with a slight bit of Angst). Set during Deathly Hallows.
Word Count: 22,400
Harry Potter Masterlist | AO3 Link
Full list of warnings and author's notes below the cut.
Warnings: This fic is about the formation of a polyamarous relationship, and before that, the reader has individual friends with benefits relationships with each of the Golden Trio without them knowing about each other; there is dom/sub dynamics in this fic, but no explicit BDSM play - Hermione is a switch (bratty sub and controlling but soft dom), Ron is a rough, mean dom, Harry is a whiny, needy sub, and the reader is a switch - she is submissive with Ron and Hermione, but dominant towards Harry. While the reader is the one who connects all the characters here, there is definitely threads of Harry x Ron and Hermione x Ron and also Hermione x Harry going on here. (So there is wlw action and mlm action in this fic.)
Emotional angst - general emotional angst due to the circumstances (the Golden Trio + reader being pressured to save the world, the war going on, emotional and physical isolation during the Horcrux Hunt); mentions of food insecurity as was canon during the Horcrux Hunt; mentions of becoming thin from lack of food being available; mentions of hunting and killing for food; mentions of emotional disturbances due to the presence of the Horcrux Locket - everyone is affected, including the reader; the reader experiences severe depression and intrusive thoughts about self-harm while wearing The Locket (this is something that is a very small part of the story, about a paragraph); the reader is mentioned to be in Gryffindor but because this is a Horcrux Hunting fic that fact is easy to ignore and you can imagine the reader to be in whatever house you want; mentions of Ron and the reader being childhood friends/growing up together before Hogwarts (it is mentioned that they had their first kiss together when they were young); mentions of past Harry/Cho (as a very fleeting fling, as it was in the canon).
For the actual smut: unprotected sex all around? but hey they're wizards so we could just say that Hermione did some anti-pregnancy spells when they were done (but there's definitely no condoms involved); the reader masturbates/touches herself (very brief); the reader gets caught masturbating by Harry but they both pretend that he didn't see anything (or maybe he didn't); mentions of Harry, Ron, and Hermione masturbating (mentioned in passing); Ron being possessive over the reader, partially due to the Locket's emotional influence; slightly dubious consent - it's very clear in the narration that the reader enjoys everything that is happening, but Ron does not explicitly ask for consent, and while Harry watches on, he worries for her well being due to the roughness of the acts; Ron is very rough with the reader because the Locket amps up his anger and he takes out on her (through rough sex, not through overly harsh painplay or sexual torture); hair pulling (Ron pulls the reader's hair); rough kissing; biting/marking (Ron bites the reader so hard that he draws blood); Ron slaps the reader across the face (only once) but it adds sexual arousal for her; some manhandling (nothing that implies Ron is superhumanly strong or implies that the reader is dainty thin).
Vaginal fingering (Ron does this to the reader); undertones of humiliation kink (Ron teases Harry for not knowing 'how to fuck' and because he can supposedly fuck the reader better); literally one spank (from Ron to the reader); size kink (Ron Weasley has a big cock and everyone is admiring it); unprotected penis in vagina sex (between Ron and the reader) - very rough sex; Harry watches while Ron fucks the reader; Ron calls the reader 'cockwarmer' and 'good girl'; Hermione walks in on Ron fucking the reader (while Harry watches) and questions the consent of the situation (only for a moment) before she decides to join in; Hermione gropes the reader and fingers her; there is unprotected penis in vagina sex between Ron and Hermione and also between Harry and the reader; unintentional edging due to being passed from partner to partner (toward the reader); Ron is generally degrading/condescending toward all the other characters (he's kind of an asshole but it's hot and he is sweet afterwards); creampie kink (no breeding kink); overstimulation; multiple orgasms; mentions of anal sex (does not happen during the fic); Hermione eats the reader out, Harry sucks Ron off (mentions of 'choking' on a cock but there is no severe breathplay), cumplay.
Sex flashbacks - the reader cockwarms Harry (in a flashback); the reader riding Harry while being dominant with him; the reader uses Harry's Gryffindor tie like a leash; the reader 'teaching' Harry how to increase his stamina (really, it's just code for edging him/torturing him); the reader calls Harry 'darling'; in a separate flashback - Hermione and the reader have sex in the bathroom at the Burrow; so - semi-public sex; the reader eats Hermione's pussy; the reader fingers Hermione; Hermione presses on the reader's neck but does not choke her; Hermione calls the reader 'good girl'. I think that is FINALLY it.
A/N: The title of this fic comes from a song of the same title by Pierce The Veil. I think it's a song that so perfectly encapsulates the storyline around the Locket - how Ron makes himself into a martyr, how it feels like they are living with ghosts in the walls when they wear it. Anyway - I am so excited about this fic.
When the idea was presented to me: Ron being pissed off because of the Locket's influence, and feeling particularly jealous of Harry, it just felt so genius. Ron has always been one of my favourite HP characters, if not my singular favourite. When I first start reading and watching the series, I fell in love with Ron so quickly. I deeply related to him - his insecurities, his fears (how he doesn't try to act brave when he's scared), his stubbornness, his feelings of inadequacy.
This fic perfectly encapsulates my love for Ron, and with something I couldn't resist the urge to do (the whole 'childhood friends' thing) - my deep urge to be Ron Weasley's special girl has bubbled to the surface harder than ever before. But with maturity comes the urge to also want to be Harry Potter's special girl and Hermione Granger's special girl all at the same time and have them share me like a KitKat bar. So everyone please thank Orgy Anon for giving me this idea, and please enjoy the fic!!
Also, I didn't think I was ever gonna write more rough, demanding (kind of asshole) Ron smut after Caffeine Cold - but it's something that weirdly works for his character. It's something I actually really love writing with him, turns out lmao.
...
When you woke up that morning, there was a persistent, annoying ache between your legs. Even the bitter November chill that had seeped into the tent couldn’t dampen it.
It was a strange and tedious thing. You were months into a perilous, life-threatening mission that would ultimately change the fate of the world, and yet, all you could seem to think about was the fact that you hadn’t been able to orgasm in weeks. You could blame it on the mental strain that the journey was causing on you and your companions - between the lack of food and the presence of a certain dark object weighing on you all, irritability among your small group was skyrocketing. And you were desperate for a distraction.
But you had always been someone who was more inclined toward the physical - someone whose sexual needs stuck out as more important to you. It’s why you had three different partners regularly ‘servicing’ you for quite some time now. But you hadn’t been with any of them since the start of your travels, and it felt like far too long. It felt like forever.
You reached down and palmed your cunt through your cotton sleep pants, hissing quietly through your nose at even the slightest bit of relief. You listened to Ron’s heavy snores and Hermione’s quiet breaths, knowing that Harry was out of the tent on his watch. If you could be quick about it, you could cum. You clamped the other hand over your mouth, ready to silence your own moans as you moved your own touch past your waistband. You let out a sharp whine into your own palm as your fingers found your clit through your cotton underwear.
It had been so long.
And just by that fact alone, your pussy was aching, wet, and needy. You began to rub circles on yourself through your underwear, feeling your cunt clenching around nothing, so damn needy to be filled up, and-
“Y/N?” Harry’s voice whispered your name frantically through the dark.
The sound instantly startled you, causing your lungs to seize up and your heart to race all at once. You stopped moving your hand upon instinct, feeling terribly caught.
It was lucky that he hadn’t lit his wand, clearly not wanting to wake up Ron or Hermione, or you most definitely would have been caught outright, even though your hand was under the blanket - your actions still would have been blatant to the eye.
“Are you alright? I thought - I thought I heard a noise.” Harry whispered when you didn’t respond.
You quickly cleared your throat, taking your hand away from your mouth and slowly moving your other hand out of your pants as you found the glinting lenses of Harry’s glasses looking at you in the dark.
“I’m fine.” You croaked quietly. “I - I was just stretching. This cot is terrible on my back, you know.”
You hoped that you could pass off any sexual sounds that had escaped you as sounds of pain, soreness from poor sleeping conditions.
Harry nodded.
“Right.” He said quietly. “Well - it’s your watch.” He announced as he sat down on his own cot and began taking off his boots.
You didn’t say anything further, but simply got up.
You changed out of your pyjama pants and into a thicker pair of cargo pants, wanting to shield yourself against the cold. As you undressed, you were completely uncaring to shield yourself from Harry’s eyes in the dark. He was likely too tired to keep his eyes open, and it was dark enough that he wouldn’t see too much of you anyway. And if he did look, you didn’t care too much anyway.
He watched you completely unabashed, squinting hard through the darkness, utterly focused on the shape of your ass moving around as you looked for thicker socks and gathered a notebook to write in to pass the time.
He only wished that he could see more than the silhouette of your ass covered by white cotton panties as you moved in the shadows, pulling your pants up, and then left the tent. He went to sleep with his cock hard, thinking about pressing himself up against those cotton knickers, dirtying the fabric with his cum - thinking about hearing you whine like that again.
…
You didn’t think that tracking down and destroying all of Voldemort’s Horcruxes was going to be easy by any means.
But you didn’t think that it was going to be this tedious and boring. You knew that there were a great many wizards out there who yearned for your head on a platter. People who would have captured you in a moment and tortured you until your dying breath just for a chance to hear you give up information on Harry Potter’s whereabouts. But it was difficult to feel the urgency of the life threatening situation you were in when you were living in such seclusion.
It was difficult to feel anything other than the crushing weight of loneliness and depression, living like this.
For nearly three months now, you, Hermione, Ron, and Harry had been living in a tent, picking up and travelling from place to place with the effort to be as isolated as possible so that no one would be able to find you. But this meant that no one you loved could know where you were either.
No owls, no contact with anyone else in the outside world - you went from day to day, not knowing if they were safe or not, waiting to hear their names on the obituaries, or the missing persons listings on the radio.
All of you had been living off scraps of food because you couldn’t even go to the shops for fear of being seen. You had been living off the canned food Hermione had squirrelled away before the trip, and you had been reduced to stealing - nicking eggs from chicken coops in hopes that the owners wouldn’t notice. Luckily, some things from your childhood had come back around, and you had been able to snare some rabbits for food, as much as Hermione cried and tried to pretend she didn’t hate killing something so cute and innocent in order to eat it.
So far, the only real progress the four of you had made in terms of truly defeating Voldemort? You had gotten a hold of the real Locket of Slytherin. But you had no clue how to destroy it.
This left you stuck with the incredibly dark piece of magic. The four of you took turns wearing the Locket - even though it hadn’t taken Hermione long to observe that the object had some kind of dangerous emotional aura due to the dark magic that tainted it. But you were unable to simply leave it laying around somewhere in case it got misplaced, which would have been intensely foolish.
You had to keep it close in the more likely case that the group had to run off in a hurry if you were confronted. It was too precious of an object to lose - perfect leverage to bargain with if one of you did happen to get captured, and ultimately critical to your overall mission.
Unfortunately, the isolation and general bickering between you and your companions left you aching for a distraction. Although you were surviving day to day and trying to balance the fate of Muggle and Wizard kind in your hands, food and safety and progressing the mission were your greatest concerns.
But there was a certain loneliness that crept in.
Living in the tent like this - physically, it was the closest you had ever been with your three best friends for such a period of time. Although the three of you had lived in the Gryffindor Tower during your six years at Hogwarts, and you had shared a dormitory with Hermione, it had never been like this before.
The three of you had never shared such close quarters day in and day out for so long without some kind of break for other things - meal times, classes, Quidditch practice, time spent with other friends. It was a large tent, but it was an intensely cramped space for four people to be packed into, especially with the Locket and the depressing atmosphere and the emotional pressure of the mission causing tempers to flare up.
It was a Herculean test of your friendship, that was for certain.
Each of you were coping in your own ways.
Harry was pouting.
It was something that he did best, in your experience. He was a chronic pouter, as you had discovered over the years of knowing him. Whenever a bad mood overtook him (which was, unfortunately too often due to the unfortunate circumstances that haunted his life), he could mull around and pout for days, sit in sullen silences without talking to anybody with a grand stubbornness.
He would do it until the loneliness truly broke him, or until someone broke the barrier of stubbornness and talked to him first. (The ladder was more likely to happen when you were around. You hated to see him pouting and you usually always approached him first.)
Usually his pouting came with locking himself in a room, a purposeful isolation from others when he needed them most. Like when he had locked himself in his bedroom at Grimmauld Place for nearly the entirety of winter break when he believed that Voldemort was corrupting his mind with the evil dreams.
This time around, he had taken to sitting in corners by himself, as far away as he could get from the three of you in the cramped space. He ate his small meals alone without talking to anyone, speaking as few words as possible and only grunting out small responses when asked questions like ‘are you going to sleep now?’ or ‘are you going to take watch next?’.
He had also taken to pulling out the Marauders’ Map often. He studied it with astute eyes as though it was going to tell him something important. But you guessed that he was simply watching over your friends at Hogwarts like some godly protective force. Even though he couldn’t intervene if anything bad happened to them, he felt like the weight of the world was already on his shoulders, so he guessed that he should be watching over people like a god in the sky too.
Hermione, of course, was reading.
Whenever there was trouble, Hermione Granger had her hands on a book.
She found comfort in knowledge, comfort in pouring over books looking for the answers to her problems. Naturally, this was no different.
When she had packed for the journey, she had brought along every possible book she could find about dark magic and the subject of immortality. Any reading material she could possibly get her hands on that might mention Horcruxes, how to find them, and more importantly - how to destroy them.
And thus far, even though all her reading had come up empty, she still took a pile of books in her arms every night and read through them, often sacrificing sleep in the name of staying up to continue her search for answers. Some of those books she had read over two or three times before that she was rereading again now, developing a kind of madness over searching them cover to cover, looking for something.
It was clear to you that she felt an intense pressure - most of it, she was putting on herself. She thought that her brilliant mind, her stubborn ability to continue on despite nothing turning up would be the thing that finally solved the issue. She thought that it had to be her. She had helped Harry so many times before, so of course - it had to be her.
You were someone who coped by comforting others.
This is where the loneliness became even worse, because the more you tried to fuss over Harry, Ron, and Hermione, the more they pushed you away. The more you chased them down in small ways - putting blankets over them, trying to provide small comforting touches, trying to have small conversations just to satiate your own loneliness, even yearning for a short cuddle, the more they shrugged you off and the more each small rejection stung right to your core.
Even though you were yearning for some affection, you knew consciously that they weren’t there to simply fulfil your needs. You knew that they weren’t actually ‘yours’ in that sense, not in a way that would demand them giving you attention just on the basis of your loneliness. As much as you had dreamed of it being that way, it simply wasn’t true.
But you found yourself aching more and more after each rejection, knowing how incredibly stubborn the three of them were. Maybe they were yearning for the affection too, but they were too stubborn to show it on the surface. But maybe, they truly didn’t need it. They were hardened stones, and you were a delicate flower. Even though it hurt you, it was why the four of you had always worked so well.
You had always softened their edges. Every single major argument that had gone on between them, any bickering between Ron and Harry, or Harry and Hermione, or Ron and Hermione, or god forbid, a blow-up between all three of them - it was something you had been able to reign in and calm down. You had always gotten them to calm down and ignore their worst impulses, and simply talk it out. At the end of the day, you always got them to apologise to each other.
And of course - there was the sex.
As far as you knew, no single person in the group knew that you were ‘involved’ with the others in that special, intimate way. They all thought that they were the only one. They all thought that you only had platonic, completely friendly relationships with the others. Even though you made no effort to hide it. You would still flirt with them, compliment them, cuddle them out in the open, hold hands.
But it was something that had never been discussed, and at certain points, they had emphasised hiding the sexual aspects of your relationship and jumped apart from kissing you or groping you when one of your other dear friends came into the room. So you never pushed to open that can of worms and start a big argument over it because things were good. There was a balance to it, a silent status quo.
It’s not like you set out to be some scamming harlet. Most definitely not.
Each of your individual relationships with them mattered to you so much. You loved them in such special and unique ways. But they were all so stubborn, and they acted like kissing and sex was some grand secret that needed to be locked away from the world and could never be discussed with anyone else. So as long as you kept those secrets, they never knew about each other. It turned into threads of private time, special bonds that you built with each individual person.
And now, living so closely with all of them, it left you feeling so intensely stuck.
You had three of the greatest people so close to you, and if you asked one of them to fuck you in the name of sexual relief, then the other two would be offended. It would be incredibly difficult to sneak off for a secret romp like you used to, because you were supposed to stay close and keep an eye on each other for safety.
So this left you with your own hand. You knew that when you touched yourself, you weren’t quiet, and you weren’t quick. You had tried a few times so far during the trip, and it had only left you more wanting when you had failed to cum for fear of being caught. It left you needier than ever when you had been interrupted by someone else’s presence - someone waking up or walking into the tent, and stopped because you didn’t want them to catch you.
There had even been times when you had woken up in the middle of the night to the sound of Harry or Ron wanking, grunting roughly in the darkness, and it burned up your insides so badly that you practically wanted to beg them for cock. But you didn’t want to embarrass them by outing their ‘secret’ relationship with you to the other two, so all you could do was lay there and let the flames of your arousal burn you up.
You had no clue how Hermione had gone so long without touching herself. You guessed that she was either doing so off in the woods during her ‘reading time’, when she thought that she wouldn’t be disturbed, or she was too afraid of possibly being caught in order to even try. She was a lustful person, you knew that from experience. But oftentimes, her rule oriented mind won-out and kept her from doing truly mannerless things (like letting you touch her under a desk during class, much to your disappointment).
The more time you spent in such close proximity to them, the more you craved their touches. You knew that you were going to break soon. And you were going to do something truly mannerless.
In the meantime - you sat in the cold, early morning darkness, keeping an eye out for danger that likely wouldn’t come because it didn’t know where to find you. And as you kept watch, you tried your best not to think about the hot ache between your legs.
…
You had managed to spend most of the day distracted from your… cravings.
You spent the morning on watch, watching the sun kiss the sky orange and break beams of light through the trees. It was nice to go from ice cold, your fingers numb in the darkness to feeling the warmth wake up around you. It made you feel alive.
When you were supposed to switch off with Ron, you continued to sit with him for a while. You smiled at his sleepy state - his hair messy and his eyes barely open as he forced himself to be up and about. When he yawned wide, he truly reassembled a lion with a wild red mane.
You actually managed to hook him into a pleasant conversation about some of your childhood memories. He pointed out that one of the trees nearby looked primed for a treehouse. You smiled and reminded him of the treehouse that the Burrow used to have before Fred and George blew it up. This easily spiralled into a long conversation about nights that the two of you had spent camping in that treehouse looking at the stars, and a time where the two of you had technically had your first kiss when you were ten years old.
This left Ron with a smile on his face, which made you happy. You left with a kiss on the cheek while Hermione hollered your name through the tent flap, needing your for something else. She wanted your help to translate something from one of the books - something written in a different language that she didn’t know that you just happened to be very well versed in. After you spent some time helping her with this, she gave you a small smile and a nod and then rushed off to look up something in another book, seemingly pursuing a lead - which pleased you.
And then it was time to help Harry prepare the evening meal. It wasn’t much; just some canned soup and a few pieces of bread. But Harry came out of his pouting long enough to make a joke about how you were a ‘five-star chef’ and when you giggled brightly at this, he gave you a genuine smile back.
It was officially upgraded from a good day to a fantastic one when you actually managed to gather everyone at the table for dinner. Harry wasn’t off pouting in the corner, Hermione wasn’t sitting in her bed or off outside propped against a tree with a book in hand. Though she did read through the entire meal, you still considered it a win. And although Ron only ate half his food before not-so-subtly scooping the rest into your bowl with a grunt of ‘not hungry’ (the biggest lie you had ever heard in your life) - you were glad that no arguments had broken out at the table.
Ron giving you his food was something that had been happening more and more lately.
See, Ron’s method of coping was more complex than Harry’s or Hermione’s, or even yours. And it was something that could only be quantified if you watched him very carefully. It was likely only something you could name because you had known him for so long, and you had seen him do this so often throughout the years.
Ron was someone who suffered.
It was strange to put a name to, but that’s what it was. In all the years you had known him, whenever Ron found himself in emotionally troubling times, he put himself through purposeful suffering - a kind of martyrdom - in order to cope.
Back when you were kids, a few months before his eleventh birthday, he had been so worried that his Hogwarts letter wasn’t going to arrive. He convinced himself that he simply wasn’t good enough - that somehow, even though his parents and all of his brothers before him had gotten their letters, he just wasn’t going to get one.
He worked himself into such a frenzy about it that he spent hours doing the most difficult, painstaking house chores that he could think of, simply to prove to himself that he was useful. And to perform some suffering because that was how he coped with the anxiety and the emotional pain. After his letter came, when the worry left him, he didn’t bother with any more chores. He didn’t make his bed for weeks, no matter how much his Mum nagged him to do so.
After Harry’s name was pulled out of the Goblet of Fire and Harry was named the Fourth Champion - that was one of the worst states you had ever seen Ron in. (And Harry, but in a different way.)
Hermione thought that Ron went cold on Harry because he was angry with Harry. But you saw it for what it truly was - Ron was trying to end the friendship because he thought that he didn’t deserve Harry as a friend. The Tournament was presented as a chance for eternal glory, riches, praise. And Ron was being reminded yet again how entirely unremarkable he was. So he wanted to sink lower. He wanted to be as unremarkable as the Malfoys and everyone else told him he was. He didn’t even want to be associated with Harry - the wondrous fourth champion, if it meant getting a modicum of praise for it.
But as usual with Ron, his own insecurities presented as annoyance, and anger toward other people. He pretended to be mad at Harry for not giving him the ‘secret’ of putting his name in the cup.
Ron went for weeks without talking to Harry. Not as a punishment to Harry, but as a punishment to himself. In reality, he was dying inside, not being able to talk to his best friend. He wanted to berate Harry with questions about the process of the Triwizard Tournament, he wanted to become excited with his best friend about the whole thing.
He told you at one point that he would have even preferred to hash out the whole argument, loudly, and simply have it over with. But he froze out Harry with bitter silence, simply because he felt that he deserved the pain of being separated from his best friend.
After a few nights of contemplation, Ron had realised he was wrong to blame Harry for it. It was a short-sighted response out of anger. Really, what kind of numpty, especially Harry, who hated the attention, would willingly put their name into a death tournament?
But still - he went on for weeks without talking to Harry, instead of simply apologising, because he felt that he deserved the punishment of being away from his best friend. He felt that he should be punished for being lowly and unremarkable, and for not simply believing Harry in the first place.
Ron partook in suffering and self penance as a distraction from dealing with all of the true, deeper pain that he felt inside.
And this time, his self imposed punishment came in the form of Slytherin’s Locket.
The Locket affected all of you negatively. That much was clear within the first few days of the object being in your midst.
When you put it on, you could best describe it as - heartbreak. A deep, awful ache in your chest that simply made you sad more than anything else. It made you want to burst out crying at any moment, it made you feel as though any happy thing had gone from the world, and any goodness you once knew would never be possible again. You would almost compare it to the feeling of a Dementor’s presence, though it didn’t come with the bitter chill in the air or the horrible memories flashing through your mind.
Often, this came with a terrible headache - pressure building under your skull, almost as if your brain was bubbling into soup between your ears. At times, it made it difficult for you to focus on anything other than the heartache, in an almost dizzying way.
Sometimes, when you wore it for too long, it… made you want to hurt yourself. It made your skin feel too tight and made your mind screech with the most horrible thoughts. Thoughts you almost couldn’t ignore. Ideas like - tearing all of your skin off, revealing the bloody viscera underneath. Telling you that would be the only possible way to make that horrible feeling go away. That part was something you had never told the others, and probably never would.
Hermione guessed that your more ‘sensitive’ nature was what made the Locket trigger sadness in you, rather than irritability or anger. It gave Hermione a more quiet, reserved anger - a contemplative rage that you had only seen in her before she had trapped Rita Skeeter inside that jar.
And for Harry and Ron - it made them snap. It put them on edge, made them entirely irritable. But with Harry, likely because of his tolerance toward things like the Imperius Curse - it took much longer of wearing the Locket for those feelings to truly affect him.
Ron seemed to be the most vulnerable to its effects, unfortunately.
You wouldn’t say that he was weaker, not by far. You would say that he had a tender heart, and a very unfortunate tendency to ignore his heart’s greatest needs. Ron was someone who was always harder on himself, he criticised every inch of himself far more than others did. Every ounce of pain that he felt - he didn’t let himself truly feel it. He turned it bitter, he released it as annoyance, or rage, or resentment.
The Locket clearly felt that in him, and took advantage of it. The Locket knew that Ron had never truly dealt with his pain, so much negative emotion stored up inside of him, and the Locket was feasting on Ron like a buffet of negativity. It certainly didn’t help that Ron kept volunteering to wear it for longer and longer periods of time - wallowing in his martyrdom, desperate to keep you from taking your turn because he couldn’t stand to see you crying again.
(He had said to you before that if you weren’t crying on his cock, then there was never a good reason for you to. And he would punch any prat in the face who caused those tears but him.)
As you helped Ron clean up the dishes from the evening meal, Harry took the Marauders’ Map and went back to the camping chair that he had planted in his usual pouting corner. Though tonight the energy coming off him didn’t seem nearly as foul as he muttered ‘I solemnly swear that I am up to no good’ and began pouring over every inch of the map as he usually did.
Hermione gathered some books off her cot with a huff and began to walk toward the mouth of the tent, clearly going out to take her watch. She had told you before that even as it got cold, she enjoyed the isolation of sitting outside the tent alone - she enjoyed the peace and quiet.
You weren’t sure why you bothered, but you stepped toward her, putting a gentle hand on her shoulder to stop her for a moment.
“Do you want some help with those books?” You asked. “Maybe a second pair of eyes looking that stuff over could be useful.”
“No. I’d like to be alone, thank you.” Hermione replied.
Even though it was a relatively polite sentence, she delivered it in the most curt, edging on snide manner possible. Clearly she was eager to have her alone time as the tent flaps bellowed behind her in a comically speedy way as she left the tent.
You felt a pang of hurt at her words, but you certainly understood where she was coming from.
You turned back to help Ron finish up the dishes, thinking nothing more of it.
But it was his next words that inadvertently set off a hurricane.
“That’s so Hermione isn’t it?” Ron scoffed. “So damn stubborn that she would turn down such a perfectly polite invitation for help. Needs to do every bloody thing by herself.”
“It’s fine, Ron.” You sighed quietly, taking the last bowl from him to dry it off with a dish towel. “I under-”
You were about to take up your usual job - mediating any potential conflicts or sore spots between the group. But your words were cut off when Harry’s annoyed voice came from behind you.
“Yes, Ron, because you’ve been so bloody helpful lately.” Harry griped, his tone entirely sarcastic. “It’s not surprising that Hermione is used to working on her own. You don’t have to sit around and criticise her while she does it.”
Ron whipped around then, fixing Harry tightly in a dangerous glare while he pretended to be more interested in the Map. He kept looking at the thick enchanted parchment in his lap while Ron bitterly spat out a reply.
“Oh yes, because you’ve been wracking your fuckin’ brain, actively working on solutions, now have you?” Ron argued back, his voice rough and rude as you had ever heard him. Obviously, he was bitter over the insinuation that he wasn’t helping. “Sitting around staring at that bloody map all day, what’s that gonna do?”
Ron’s words, his harsh tone even stung you.
You rushed to step between him and Harry, even though Harry was still sitting in his brooding chair, attempting to seem unphased. He was putting up a wall of calm, not giving Ron the response that he so desperately wanted. Ron wanted Harry to be just as frustrated and aggravated as he was. Rather than sitting back calmly and spitting well-calculated sass.
But you hoped that it wouldn’t get to that point. If they were both angry, you wouldn’t be able to interfere. You wouldn’t be able to get their attention off of anything but pissing each other off more until it fizzled out on its own - or until Hermione stepped in. Which would be the worst possible result.
You needed to direct Ron’s attention away from the argument so that it wouldn’t blow up into a massive fight.
“Ron, let’s go for a walk?” You posed, gently putting your hand on his cheek, trying to get him to look at you. “Come on, let’s go get some fresh air.”
He was still glaring at Harry with a harsh bite in his jaw. You could feel the rage grinding his teeth together under your touch. It was something that made you nauseous.
Ron didn’t reply to your request before Harry spoke up again.
“I spend so much time looking at the map because I’m making sure that the people we love are okay.” Harry explained, his voice dull. “Not that-”
“They’re at Hogwarts, and we’re here.” Ron cut him off sharply, completely ignoring you and your attempts to get him away from the conversation, which was very quickly going off the rails. “Even if they’re in trouble, dying, what are you gonna do about it?”
Harry inhaled sharply at this, but mustered no reply.
You glanced over your shoulder at him, not taking your comforting touch off of Ron. You saw the depth of sadness swimming in his eyes at this. You knew this was something that cut him deep.
He looked at the Map every single day because he could rest slightly better knowing that the people he loved - Ginny, Neville, Luna, Seamus, Dean - were safe. He liked to watch them walk the halls, attend their classes, go about a routine. But if they did come into some kind of danger, he had no clue how he would stop it. He couldn’t stop it. That idea was something he had considered, time and time again. And it hurt him greatly. He couldn’t do anything until he had secured and destroyed all the Horcruxes - something you were nowhere near close to doing.
You thought perhaps this would be the end of the argument. That Harry would go back to brooding quietly and Ron would take you up on that offer to go for a walk. But your hope fizzled away when Ron opened his mouth again.
“I suppose The Great Harry Potter doesn’t need to work at things, now does he? Because every fuckin’ thing just falls into his lap, huh?” Ron sneered, sounding as though the words ‘Harry Potter’ tasted awful in his mouth.
You knew that this wasn’t just about the Horcruxes, not by far. Ron was talking about so many things in life. Things that haunted him that he had never allowed himself to let go.
The House Cup during their first year, Harry’s position on the Quidditch team, his Invisibility Cloak, the Triwizard Tournament - even the affections of girls and the admiration that came with his name. All things that Ron had long been jealous of that had literally fallen into Harry’s lap with no difficulty whatsoever.
“Ron, please, let’s just go take a breather.” You begged.
You hooked your fingers into the front of his thick woollen jumper, tempted to try pulling him out of the tent and away from Harry completely before things got worse.
And then, things got worse.
Harry burst like a game of Exploding Snap. He jumped up out of his chair suddenly with a shout, causing you to jolt while Ron kept glaring at him, unflinching.
“Fuck off, Ron!” He screamed. “I would love it if my name could get us out of this mess! But right now, it seems more people in the world want me dead-!”
Ron reached around you, pointing an accusing finger at Harry as he cut off the other man’s words with a shout of his own.
“I wish I would have known that when I signed on to be your best friend years ago-!”
“Best friend?” Harry repeated, halfway between a gasp and a sarcastic sneer. “Some friend you are. What have you done for me in the past few years aside from scream at me and gripe and complain?”
“Stop it!” You shouted this time, whipping your head toward Harry, done with trying to haul Ron away. “Both of you, stop! You both love each other and this is nonsense!”
It was the truth. But they were entirely blind to the truth right now.
Naturally, they both ignored you.
“And what have you done for me, aside from nearly getting me killed?” Ron snapped back.
“Ron, stop!” You squealed at him, trying once again to stop the fight.
You had never seen any of their bickering or arguing come even close to the level of friendship ending. But under the circumstances, you feared that if it didn’t stop soon - this might be it.
You dug your fingers into his jumper again, this time actually trying to haul him toward the mouth of the tent by force. He didn’t seem at all bothered by this - he simply continued engaging in a very fierce glaring contest with Harry.
When his jumper stretched down slightly, you saw a glinting around his neck, and then you realised:
He had been wearing the Locket for nearly two days now.
You thought that Hermione was supposed to be taking her turn, that it was outside the tent with her and her books. But surely enough, when you reached inside his jumper, your hand came back with that green locket. As you looked at it, you found that the sight of it almost mocked you.
“Ron, take it off.” You demanded sharply. “Come on, you don’t mean any of this, it’s just-”
“Who says I don’t mean it?” Ron snapped, reaching up and batting your hands away from him. Surprisingly, he then tucked the Locket back inside his jumper, rather than taking it off.
He was still actively punishing himself. And it was likely that Harry’s comment about him not being helpful was only playing into the toxic circus already going on in his mind that made him feel the need to wear it for longer. The Locket must have been loving the dark cloud of emotions that Ron was feeling right now.
Harry took a step toward you and put a hand on your shoulder, trying to pull you away from Ron.
“Come on, Y/N, it’s no use talking to him. He’s being a complete idiot right now, he’s not going to listen.”
Typically yes, that would be the case if Hermione or Harry tried to talk to him. When Ron was angry, their personalities did not mesh well. He would put up nothing but a wall of silence or brute stubbornness toward them.
But when you talked to him, it was different. When he was greeted by your warm empathy, your gentle understanding, it was different. In the worst cases where you truly needed to break through to him, you ended up with your mouth on his cock to break that stubbornness. But either way, you would get him to listen to you, and eventually he would calm down and talk it out.
Ron’s glare was like a sharp poison dagger, piercing the place where Harry’s hand met your shoulder.
It seemed that those words from Harry’s mouth, so casually calling him an idiot, along with Harry’s touch on you - even though it was the most casual, platonic touch he could have performed. All of it brought Ron’s anger to a boiling rage, and under the influence of the Locket - he snapped.
“Don’t touch her!” Ron growled. He reached around you and shoved Harry squarely in the chest in order to get him away from you.
You would be lying if you said that the words and especially his tone carrying them didn’t send a distinct zap through your cunt, instantly awakening the lust you had been trying to push down all day.
Harry let out a sharp gasp as Ron’s hand hit his chest, and stumbled backwards a few steps - partially because of how hard Ron had pushed him, and partially numb from shock. His fights with Ron had never turned physical before. He found himself flushed with fear, and not one due to intimidation of his best friend’s physical stature. He was afraid to potentially lose the friendship. He was afraid that he had taken things a step too far.
You looked between the two of them, tingling with shock yourself, completely unsure what to say or do. You were tempted to shout for Hermione, but then Ron began speaking again and shocked you and Harry even further.
“This may come as a surprise to you, Harry, but you don’t own everything in the goddamn world.” Ron said, spitting Harry’s name through his lips like it was a vile poison.
Was he seriously insinuating that Harry put a hand on your shoulder because he thought that he owned you?
Was Ron getting possessive over you?
“Excuse me?” Harry squeaked out, clearly having as much difficulty processing the words as you were.
If anything, Harry was jealous of your relationship with Ron.
The two of you had been so close before even coming to Hogwarts. When Harry had seen the two of you idly chatting and laughing so hard that you could barely breathe when he had approached your train carriage during that first ride to Hogwarts, he had been purely intimidated. On that day, Harry had felt like he had no one in the world, like he was so damn alone, and Ron already had you as a best friend.
Harry had always been jealous of the closeness that you had with Ron. The inside jokes from your childhood, the stories of the things you got up to as kids that he only heard about secondhand. Harry had always wished so hard, yearned deep in his heart that he could have grown up in the magical world so that he would have known Ron sooner and could have been his best friend for as long as you had. Every single time Harry arrived at the Burrow, you were already there, laughing it up with Ron, making him feel like he was the biggest third wheel to your already amazing friendship.
To this day, Harry was still surprised that Ron gave him the title of best friend and not you.
“Ron-?” You questioned numbly, and he cut you off.
“You heard me.” Ron growled, his voice dark.
It was something that made your stomach jump, a mixture of shock and lust flooding you. It made you numb and limp and turned you into a perfect ragdoll, your body entirely receptive to Ron’s next chaotic, unpredictable movements.
“She doesn’t belong to you.” Ron ground out, his throat scraping against the words in a gravelly way that made your pussy so wet.
“I never said-” Harry gaped quietly in protest, but he cut himself off with a quiet gasp when he witnessed what his best mate did next.
Ron threaded a hand into the back of your hair, a grip so strong and commanding, a touch that immediately said ‘I own you’.
You released a small gasp in response, arching into his touch as shockwaves of pleasure pittered through you from this point - from feeling his large, strong hand gripping you there. He didn’t waste a moment before he ripped on your hair, forcing your head backwards so he could have a good angle to shove his mouth onto yours.
Dizzy with the combination of pain and pleasure, your mouth so easily fell open to him. You had nothing but ripe, burning moans for him as his rough, unshaven face scratched against yours and his demanding tongue shoved past your lips. He was almost forcing you to choke on his presence as your needy lust came back with a vengeance, thumping hard between your thighs.
Harry found himself confused.
He was still so bitterly angry, that annoyance from the argument still sizzling through his veins. But he found his cock quickly swelling to hardness at the sight of Ron taking you so savagely, treating you to roughly, doing things to you that Harry had definitely never done.
Harry was always soft with you. He didn’t know anything but softness when it came to his intimate time with you. Witnessing this was so absolutely hot, and Harry couldn’t deny that. He should have been more upset by this revelation - by the familiarity, by the natural way you just let Ron kiss you.
Harry should have been jealous. He should have stormed away to brood at the fact that you had clearly been fucking Ron behind his back for as long as you had been fucking him. But he couldn’t find himself angry about that. He only found it to be a turn-on.
Part of his brain screamed that he should have known all along. A girl as perfect as you wouldn’t have just one boyfriend, definitely not. (Was he your boyfriend? The two of you had never discussed that part…)
The first time you had ever kissed him, Harry just felt exceedingly lucky. And he had felt similarly confused, wondering why the hell you had snogged him so suddenly, without seeming to show any interest in him beforehand.
That night in the Gryffindor Common Room, after everyone else had gone to bed, he had asked you if he should be concerned about his kissing technique because Cho had been crying while kissing him and afterwards, and Ron had made that joke about how Harry must be horrible at snogging, then.
And without even answering, you pulled him forward by the length of his Gryffindor tie and snogged him furiously. (At the time, he had been embarrassed by how easily he had moaned into your mouth - something he had definitely not done with Cho - but you had assured him later that you found it cute.)
And then you explained to him that his kissing technique was more than fine, and that Cho was still hung up on Cedric, and he should stop ‘playing with her fragile emotions’. He had been too pleased to have you that he hadn’t cared at all about turning Cho down for Valentine’s Day.
So naturally, he hadn’t questioned the nature of his relationship with you since.
In this moment, he was still bitterly mad at Ron. But he watched to watch. He found you beautiful and irresistible, even if he should have hated seeing you with Ron. He just found it hot. And he was confused as to why that was - but he certainly wasn’t going to move unless you or Ron yelled at him to bugger off.
The whole time that Harry contemplated this, Ron thoroughly explored your mouth with his tongue. This left you whimpering and writhing to get closer to him, despite the tight grip he had on your hair. You were needy for more, arching into him, needing to be closer to his warm, Quidditch-hardened body. Your hands tightly gripped his biceps through his thick jumper, wishing you could feel more of him, more of his delicious bare skin that you had experienced under your hands before but missed so dearly.
“Ron-!” You squeaked out in protest as he pulled back from the kiss.
The movement resonated a wet smack through the tent and left Harry’s mouth flooded with his own saliva as he saw the thread of spit that tangled between your two mouths. He would deny that it was out of pure want.
He stared in awe as he saw how swollen and used your lips already were after just a few moments of Ron’s rough kissing.
Typically, that was an imagery that Harry could only get from you after hours of kissing, slow and sweet. Or something he would see on the rare occasions when you had sucked his cock for hours, pinned him down and teased him until he was begging for more. Naturally, that thought made his cock give a needy pulse inside his trousers - but he refused to touch himself.
He didn’t know when he had gotten so damn hard, but he knew that he was standing at full attention, and he hoped that Ron wouldn’t look over to see the very obvious bulge at the front of his pants.
Something that truly mystified Harry was the look on your face.
You had such a doll-like expression; your eyes glassy, your jaw slack, your lips parted. Your gaze was locked on Ron, tracing his every movement as though you had been hypnotised. If Harry didn’t know any better, he might say that you were under the Imperius Curse. In all the times that Harry had taken you to bed before, he had never seen that look on your face.
Whenever you gleefully climbed on top of him (or the spare few times when you let him climb on top of you) you were always so present. Often, Harry was surprised by how composed you could be when he was the one begging and falling apart. Whenever he looked up at you, there was an almost wild look of mischief behind your eyes as you decided with pure, intricate calculation what you were going to do to him.
And Harry could do nothing more than sit back and enjoy the ride. He supposed it was the one area of his life where he didn’t have to panic about the decision making. The one time where he didn’t have to fret about being responsible.
“Ron,” You moaned out weakly, gently begging him for more.
Harry then realised - Ron did that for you. And you must have liked it a whole lot.
Because you made absolutely no protests as he mouthed along your cheek roughly, the short, coarse hair of his short beard clearly scratching your skin along the way. You only let out more beautiful moans as he began sucking savagely on your neck.
“Ron, ah-!”
Harry only became worried when he saw Ron quite clearly dig his teeth into your skin right at the neck of your shirt, biting down hard enough to draw blood. He continued to yank on your hair, holding your body in a tight arch to keep you from squirming away. You didn’t yell out any protests at this, but the sound you made was a sharp holler - perhaps it could have been from pleasure or pain.
You had never made sounds like that with Harry, so he couldn’t exactly tell.
Either way, it had Harry reaching to his back pocket for his wand. But he didn’t yet draw it out and point it at Ron. He was too damn curious to let this continue and see where things went. Especially if you didn’t want it to stop.
“Y/N?” Harry questioned, his voice ripe with concern.
He needed to check on you. If you even so much as uttered the words ‘no’ or ‘stop’, then he would put Ron on his ass without hesitation.
You let out another moan, and his cock throbbed with need, trapped inside of his pants. He hoped that he could forget about it for now.
You let out a small whimper as Ron tongued over the bite harshly, seemingly enjoying the taste of the blood, before he picked a new spot and bit down again. You made another wounded noise and Harry gripped his wand tighter before you finally responded to him.
“I’m fine, Harry.” You breathed out, sparing him a quick sideways glance - barely able to turn your head with Ron’s strong grip holding you still by your hair.
“Don’t you dare say his fucking name!” Ron growled out, clearly insulted that you were talking to Harry when all of your attention was supposed to be on him. “Not until I’m done with you.”
In a fraction of a moment, these sharp words were paired with the sound of skin stinging against skin.
Harry let out another gasp as he watched Ron’s large hand come down across your cheek. It was hard enough to make a distinct sound, and throttle your head to the side. But it definitely wasn’t hard enough to shake you out of the lustful haze you were in. If anything, the stiffness of his palm colliding with your cheek seemed to add to it.
More shock pulsed through Harry when he heard you let out another moan, definitely a pleasurable one. He pulled out his wand and held it at his hip, not yet prepared to threaten Ron. Because if he wasn’t mistaken, you were enjoying this.
“Ron,” You gasped quietly.
You found yourself shocked by the way the slap had caused your pussy to throb between your legs.
“That’s right.” He grunted back before he leaned back in, taking your mouth in that entirely commanding way once again.
You could do nothing but moan pathetically and hope that soon he touched you where you needed it most.
Sure, Ron had been somewhat rough with you before.
He was always more of an animal in bed - Ron always fucked dumb and wild, climbed on top of you and let loose like a mindless animal until he was done. And you always liked it that way.
You went to him when you wanted to be sore and full, when you wanted to lay back and forget about your day. You thought it was sweet of Harry to check on you. He had always been so different when it came to sex.
You went to Harry when you wanted to be taken care of with intense softness and slowness. Sex with Harry was always more like making love - a devoted worship of you or you worshipping him. You liked to have his sweetness completely under your control, to know that he would do anything you said at a moment’s notice.
And of course, Hermione was completely different. You went to her when you wanted to fight for dominance and sometimes lose, or win and have the pleasure of having her at your mercy. She was a very rule oriented person, so she was the type to have you stand in the corner with a book balanced on your head while she finished writing an essay and then give you a reward for not dropping it. But she was also someone who liked to be mind-broken and forget about all the rules sometimes. You liked that it was so unpredictable and surprisingly non-routine with her.
While you knew each of them well, intimately - you were somewhat surprised.
Ron had never been this mean before.
Mostly, you were surprised by how quickly you were coming to like the meanness in him, especially when it was presented as a sexual aggression toward you. You knew that it was something you would crave long after this was over. (You hated that you could imagine yourself purposely pissing him off just to get this result.)
After a few moments, Ron pulled away from the kiss again, leaving you panting, entirely breathless. He leaned his forehead against yours in a move that Harry would almost consider tender - quite a contrast to his other actions, staring daggers of dangerous passion into your eyes as your chest heaved.
“I’m fine.” You muttered quietly, wanting to assure Harry that you were okay with everything that Ron was doing. More than okay - but you weren’t quite ready to admit that just yet. “It’s fine.”
Your words were clearly intended for Harry, who you could see out of the corner of your eye was clearly prepared to take Ron down if need be. It was a nice safety net to have, but with your cheek stinging as much as your needy cunt - it was an unnecessary one.
You kept your eyes locked on Ron as he teased a thumb across your bottom lip. You were tempted to tease him, tempted to call out Harry’s name again just to see what would happen. But you were worried that he would get you all worked up and then not let you cum, and that would be the most pitiful punishment of all to you on this day.
“Fine?” Ron chuckled darkly. “I’ll show you fine.”
He wretched your neck back harshly again, taking advantage of the hold he had on your hair. You couldn’t contain the moan you let out as he shoved his tongue past your lips once more, his free hand coming up to grope your breast through your shirt so harshly that it ached.
He reached for your pants and tugged on them so hard that the button went flying, making a small ‘tink’ on the floor as it disappeared somewhere on the other side of the tent. You distantly hoped that Hermione could sew, or that she knew some spell for mending buttons, but that was a fleeting thought in your mind at the moment.
Ron shoved his hand past the waistband of your pants without a second thought, without even a breath of asking permission. It was that boldness, the way he simply took you like you belonged to him - it was that feeling of being owned by him that made you clench around nothing, further soaking your cotton panties as he shoved his fingers into them.
Ron pulled back from the kiss, letting out a breathy chuckle against your cheek as he felt that heady wetness. He had to pry the sticky fabric off your cunt to make his way to the source, and it only made him more sure of himself. He made bold, cocky movements when he posed two of his fingers rigid, sweeping up the length of your needy pussy. He gathered the wetness thick on his fingertips before he found your clit with practised skill and rubbed it in mean strokes.
“Ron!”
Your knees bent and your fingers dug into the fabric of his jumper, desperate to hold on to something. Your thighs clamped down around his hand, and when you let out a whining moan, Harry’s cock pulsed sharply when he realised he could hear the sound of your wetness audibly, even though it was slightly muffled, still trapped inside of your pants - he could hear each mean, wet stroke as Ron touched you.
“Ron, please!”
You were already begging to cum.
But he had no determination to finish you off right now. He didn’t want to make you cum yet - otherwise, the show would have been over too soon. He only did this for a moment before he pulled his fingers back out of your pants, now absolutely soaked and glistening with your wetness. Then he shocked you and Harry yet again when he purposefully held the hand up for Harry to see.
“More than fine.” He scoffed, referring to your earlier words. “Look at how fucking wet she is for me.”
An incredibly tempting thought came over Harry. To cross the room and put his lips around those fingers, to taste your essence (something he was already intimately familiar with) while enjoying the thickness of Ron’s digits on his tongue. But there was still that part of Harry that was pissed off, and somehow, that part won out.
“You’re mad.” He barked out, pocketing his wand again and crossing his arms tightly over his chest, setting his jaw and giving his best enraged expression. “You’re disgusting.”
Ron let out another bitter chuckle. “You’re still watchin’, mate.”
Seeing as it was not a demand to fuck off and stop watching, Harry continued to keep his eyes locked on the scene. All while trying his best to keep putting up that front of anger while arousal overtook him.
Ron used the hand in your hair and a hand on your hip to throw you toward the table, finally releasing the grip on your hair to manhandle you until you were positioned how he liked. He bent you over the table with your palms supporting you on the surface, your ass sticking out, with your knees grazing against the attached bench in what must have been in an uncomfortable way. It put you and Ron sideways to Harry as Ron got behind you, showing off your profiles to him. If Harry wasn’t mistaken, Ron was purposefully showing off, making sure that Harry had a good view of whatever he was going to do to you next.
You moaned again as Ron tucked his grip into your pants and underwear and ripped them down all at once, shoving the fabric down to your knees. You let out a pitiful, beautiful whimper as he put a hand on your jaw, forcing your head back painfully so that you could look up at him as he towered over you. He wanted you to know how much power he held over you.
It made your cunt throb even harder, and you were sure that Harry could see the wetness glistening on your thighs.
Ron’s body was warm against your back, the muscly hot furnace that he always was. Without warning, he shoved those two still wet fingers inside your cunt, and began fucking you open without mercy. This caused you to moan harshly and arch into the touch, aching for more.
“It’s funny, innit?” Ron posed, a dark laughter dancing in his voice. “Someone had to show The Great Harry Potter how to fuck. One thing that didn’t just come to him with natural grace.”
Over the sounds of your moans and Ron’s fingers moving slickly inside your cunt, Harry felt a wave of humiliation rise up in him. He would absolutely deny that Ron speaking so harshly to him like that, combined with his best friend for once looking down upon his name - actually made his cock throb harder. A big part of Harry internally scoffed. Did Ron honestly think that Harry was some blushing, clueless virgin?
“I know how.” Harry replied, the words entirely daft to his own ears once they came to the open air. He sounded like a petulant child pretending that he hadn’t eaten a cookie before dinner. Absolutely no truth or proof behind his own words.
Ron let out another dark laugh at this, and Harry’s stomach clenched with a strange combination of humiliation and lust.
If Harry was being completely honest with himself, there was a time in his life when he had been taught how to fuck. It wasn’t something that came naturally to him without a bunch of nervous fumbling. But Ron certainly wasn’t his instructor.
You had been the one to teach him how.
…
Harry let out a needy whine, deep frustration radiating through him as your hips slowed down on top of him yet again. He wanted to cry as you sat down on top of him completely, trapping his cock in stillness, leaving him leaking and needy inside of you as your leaking pussy sheathed completely around him. It was the most beautiful torture - every inch of him sheathed in your hot wetness, but dear god, he needed you to move.
“Hush, now, darling - there’s no need to whine.” You scolded him, your voice oddly sweet and soothing for words that brought such a disappointing lull over him.
“But-” Harry breathed out a protest, and you yanked sharply on his Gryffindor tie. This caused the words to die off in his throat as his neck was jerked with a short snip of pain.
He was still mostly clothed - still wearing his cardigan, unbuttoned and slumping down his arms, and his white shirt with a few stray buttons undone. With his trousers undone and pulled down to his thighs along with his underwear, letting his cock out. Usually, when you fucked him, no matter how undressed he got, you kept his tie around his neck. You had found that it was a very convenient leash - a very easy way to shut him up and make him obedient at a moment’s notice.
It was something he was now unconsciously trained toward, which he both loved and hated. Ron and Hermione had no clue why Harry went so slack and became a puppet following your every whim if you even so much as grazed a suggestive touch near his tie during classes - it was something that made his brain go fuzzy and made his cock harden at an alarming speed.
This afternoon, you had decided that the chosen form of torture - well, intensely wet, pleasurable ‘torture’ - would be riding him. You had shed your clothing and you were now sitting astride his lap naked, alternating between fucking him hard and fast for a few moments before you slowed down and then slopped completely until he begged for you to continued.
It was a move that simply dared someone to come into the Gryffindor boys dorm during the class that the two of you had skipped and catch the two of you while you humped up and down on Harry’s cock. But he couldn’t even bring himself to care about the possibility of getting caught, as you easily made him forget about everything other than the feeling of your warm, tight, wet cunt clenching down on his cock.
“I told you, Harry, we need to train up your stamina.” You whispered, speeding your hips up once again, daring him to hurl off the edge of oblivion into a mind-bending orgasm. “It’s like Quidditch - if you don’t practise, then you’ll never get better.”
Harry only sputtered out a moan and clutched onto your hips tightly, pressing his face into your breasts as his over-edged balls ached and he internally begged for mercy.
So what? He didn’t often last long with you. You were a goddess, and your pussy was perfect, who could blame him? What he lacked in stamina, he usually made up for in enthusiasm and the intense willingness to eat his own cum out of you afterwards, which you more than enjoyed.
“Y/N, please-!” Harry grunted out desperately.
…
“Ron, please!”
Harry’s mind was abruptly sucked back to the present by the sound of your voice, begging in that needy, airy tone much like he had been begging you for release all that time ago. He found it remarkable how someone as composed as you could be taken apart so easily by Ron. Perhaps he might just end up asking Ron for some tips after this - even if it would inflate the git’s ego a bit too much.
“If you’re so great, then how come she’s not begging for your cock, hmm?”
Ron teased, seeming to take great joy in focusing his attention on mocking Harry while his fingers fucked your pussy raw. He ignored your whines and pleas and the way you rocked your hips back into him, clearly so desperate for his cock as he had pointed out.
“Watch and learn, Harry.”
Harry wanted to make some sassy comment about how he didn’t need to learn this from Ron, but he was far too intrigued, his eyes glazed over with lust as he watched.
“Ron-!” You let out his name in a gasp as he pulled those fingers out of you abruptly.
He then slapped your ass, streaking those wet fingers across your behind in a way that made the hit sound even sharper, and you choked on your own breath and arched back into the touch. You looked fucking magnificent. Harry would absolutely catalogue this in his mind forever - though he hoped that this wouldn’t be the last time he got to watch Ron fuck you.
Ron then used the hand that wasn’t slick with your arousal to pop open the button on his own trousers. Harry hoped that Ron wouldn’t make a comment about how intently his eyes became glued to his best friend’s cock as it fought to be freed from his pants - no underwear keeping it from fighting against the zipper as Ron easily shucked down the pants over his hips.
Harry had snuck glances at Ron before. It was difficult not to grow curious about what your best mate’s cock looked like when sharing a room with him for six, going on seven years. Especially when the latter of those years had been filled with Ron growing into a tall, broad man that easily overtook Harry in stature. And Harry had spent an increasing amount of time thinking about Ron’s cock when he woke up to the sound of Ron wanking with deep, ragged grunts.
He had caught sight of Ron coming out of the shower before. After Quidditch practices, and when racing to use the bathroom at the Burrow before anybody else could take up the already cramped shower schedule. And while Harry had admired Ron’s muscles, he had never dared to look down before. He would never be so blatant. He had never wanted to be called out for his curiosity. He never wanted that curiosity to turn into desire.
But now, his eyes focused boldly on Ron’s cock, seeing as it was the only naked part of him available to stare at.
Even though Ron’s red hair was one of the most distinguishable traits about him, Harry was surprised by just how bright and fiery his pubes were - like a hellish flame from which his cock sprung out. And boy, was it an impressive one.
It was eight inches long, maybe a bit more, and it was thick. The only way to describe Ron’s cock was fat. It was quite pale, just like the rest of Ron, with a slight pink flush around the head that was swallowed up by his foreskin. But still, Harry found himself fixated on just how massive Ron’s cock was.
Harry found himself wondering what the thick shaft would look like wrapped up in your hand, or the dainty, delicate touch of Hermione’s, and his throat became particularly dry when he imagined this.
Strangely enough, even though Harry’s cock was a good two inches shorter and it was skinnier (much like his general stature when compared to Ron’s) - the first thing that Harry felt when looking at Ron’s cock wasn’t jealousy or inadequacy, but rather - awe. A horny type of marvel, like he was looking at a brilliant sex monument that he had just discovered.
A small pang of worry flashed through his insides at the idea that Ron was likely going to take you so roughly with his obnoxiously large cock. He knew that Ron wasn’t going to be gentle all of a sudden. Harry worried that a cock of such size might hurt you. But again, he knew that he could step in if you asked him to.
Ron grabbed his cock with the hand that he had previously been fucking you with, spreading your wetness over his shaft with a few good pumps. He poised a touch on your hip and then, with a hand on the base of his cock, began running the now exposed, throbbing tip along your weeping slit.
Harry thought that he might push in after a moment, especially when you let out a whimper and arched your back toward him, daring him to sink in.
“Ron, please. Please, baby. Come on.” You begged, your voice half caught in your throat as you were overtaken by need.
Harry’s cock was freely leaking into his underwear now, and he almost shouted for Ron to begin fucking you out of his own dizzy desperation.
But then, still teasing his cock along your swollen pussy lips, Ron put his other hand under your jaw. He squeezed your cheeks tightly between his thumb and forefinger - and he turned your head toward Harry. You had previously been facing the wall of the tent with half-closed, dopey eyes.
Harry found himself deeply surprised by this. Of course, the whole point of this (supposedly) was to direct your attention away from Harry. Ron had even banned you from speaking his name. So why did he want you to look at Harry now?
When your glassy, lustful eyes met Harry’s, his stomach jumped. He swallowed harshly around nothing and he knew that you saw the bobbing of this throat. You let out a whimper, squirming in Ron’s hold, still trying to fuck yourself back onto his cock. This caused Ron to let out a displeased growl and move the hand that he had on the base of his cock to your lower back, shoving you toward the table so that the edge of it cut into your hips.
While keeping a tight hold on your face, making sure that you never looked away from Harry, Ron leaned in and grumbled something lowly in your ear. Even though you were panting harshly and Harry’s own heartbeat thumped in his ears, he could still hear the words so distinctly from across the room:
“Go on. Tell him how badly you want my cock.”
“I want it.” You whimpered.
This wasn’t good enough for Ron.
He yanked on your hair again, keeping your face locked on Harry. But at the same time, he made sure you stayed focused on the task at hand with his cock kissing at your entrance, the fat head of it just barely teasing in - but not nearly giving you enough to be satisfied.
“Tell him who.” Ron barked out. “Tell him who you need.”
“I need you, Ron!” You whined. “I need Ron’s cock.”
These finally seemed to be the words that set him off.
He slammed into you without further ceremony, digging his fingers into your hip and keeping the other hand in your hair for leverage. He began fucking you like a wild animal, his hips a blur of flesh that lit up your insides with pleasure. It was what you needed, and you instantly thanked him with a chorus of deep moans echoing from your throat.
“Good. Fucking. Girl.” Ron ground out these words, driving each syllable home with a hard thrust of his hips.
His movements filled the whole tent with nothing but sounds of his hips colliding against your ass, your wet pussy eagerly swallowing up his thick cock. Paired with his rough, animalistic grunting as he claimed you, complemented by the sounds of your withering moans - your lungs already wilted and tired, your body begging for release. You loved being used by him, and you knew that if he kept up the pace, you could cum just from the feeling of his big cock filling you up.
It was this symphony of sounds - the very obvious signs of fucking - that drew Hermione’s attention back toward the tent.
She had been roused by the yelling, originally. She didn’t want to intervene in the bickering like she was simply the ‘mother’ of the group, imposing rules and order on everyone. That role did become annoying after a while. So when it died down naturally, she had been thankful, and simply went back to her book.
But it was the sounds of fucking that truly caught her attention. Completely against her own will, it started a fire between her legs and drew her up. If she wasn’t mistaken, that was your girlish lilting voice calling out Ron’s name. She knew that Harry wasn’t asleep and she hadn’t seen him leaving. So were the three of you-?
“Fuck, take it! Take it like the little fuckin’ cockwarmer you are!”
That deep growling voice couldn’t possibly be Ron - could it?
With her pussy beginning to ache annoyingly between her thighs, Hermione pulled back the tent flap and stepped inside. The sight she found before her quickly made her gasp.
Ron was fucking you.
He had you bent over the table. There was something in the back of Hermione’s mind that screamed ‘that is where we eat, this is not sanitary’ - but she ignored that part of her mind in favour of the headliner.
Which was the beastly way that Ron was taking you, harsh grunts pouring from his lips as his very large cock pounded into your pussy with seemingly no care. This made your poor pussy more swollen by the second, and seemingly - more coated in natural wetness as you creamed all over him, taking nothing but pleasure in his rough movements.
You were moaning breathlessly, hanging onto the edge of the table for dear life, your face shaped into a perfect O as hot breaths poured from your lips. With your back arched out, showing your ass to Ron in a perfectly pornographic picture that was right out of one of the magazines that Hermione had accidentally seen under Ron’s bed.
Your whole body rocked with his thrusts, the table creaking under the pure force of him - something that made Hermione realise just how strong he was for the first time ever. It was a thought that made her slightly dizzy and made her throat dry. The expression on his face was like nothing Hermione had ever seen before - tight-browed determination, not a lick of uncertainty anywhere among his features. Clearly, this was something he was confident in. And that confident power suited him so well.
And Harry was watching.
He was standing a few feet from the table, his arms crossed over his chest and a very obvious bulge in his pants. A stiff expression on his face as he stared at the scene more intently than she had ever seen him with anything other than Quidditch.
The lick of heat that Hermione was feeling quickly boiled into a hellfire. Although she knew that her cheeks were pink, and suddenly her jacket felt overwhelming to have on, she didn’t ask to join in. But rather stupidly:
“Ronald, stop this! Now!”
Hermione hated that her first instinct was to scold Ron like a child, to order him around like this.
But the dominant energy pouring off him in waves was certainly not something she was used to, and she had the utmost urge to stamp it out. Though you seemed to be enjoying yourself and Harry seemed perfectly intent to watch, Hermione’s gut told her that there was something wrong with the scene. On the surface, it was Ron’s apparent roughness with you, making Hermione worry that he was handling someone as delicate as you the wrong way.
But deep down, she knew it was her own spiteful dominance washing up - a possessiveness she felt over you. Something that made her want to challenge Ron for you and have the pleasure of being put in her place. Or, have the pleasure of winning and taking you in front of him.
Perhaps, what her gut truly wanted to tell her was wrong with the scene was that she wasn’t a central participant in it.
Ron let out a sharp growl of frustration when Hermione’s shrill voice hit his ears. If there was any boner killer in the world, it was Hermione’s whiny, authoritative voice calling him by his full name.
He pulled his cock out of you before you could blink. Harry made a choked sound at the sight of Ron’s now angry red cock parting from your swollen cunt with a sticky string of wetness, much like when you had parted from that breathless kiss at the beginning of all this.
“Ron!” You whined sharply, wondering what the hell he was doing. Your orgasm had been a tight knot in your belly, but now it was fading off so quickly that it hurt.
Hermione would deny that she stared. She would deny that she could a good eyeful of your pussy as it gaped around nothing, clearly aching for Ron’s cock, spilling more clear wetness out onto your own thighs with each aching, empty clench. Drool gathered in her mouth at the sight of your body so desperate.
And a sight she had never seen before - Ron’s hard, bobbing dick, bright red and absolutely coated in your wetness. She almost mourned not being able to stare at it for longer as he tucked it back into his trousers and zipped them back up with a clearly frustrated haste. She would deny that the sheer size of his cock amazed her and made her own cunt clench with a filthy, hungry ache.
“No-!” You squeaked out a protest, looking over your shoulder at Ron and sighing in defeat when you saw that he had tucked his cock away.
Then you turned your gaze toward Hermione, looking at her with pure disappointment floating in your eyes.
“Hermione!” You whined out, a clear plea for her to let the whole thing continue.
She almost couldn’t stand the kicked puppy look from you, especially not when she was so used to giving in to you, giving in to all your little whims. Especially when your pussy was wet and your eyes were glassy with lust - she couldn’t resist you like this.
You didn’t rush to pull up your own pants, unlike Ron. You didn’t see the point, seeing as, even if they didn’t all know it yet, everyone in the room had seen this part of you quite a few times before.
“You just have to ruin everything, don’t you, Hermione?” Ron barked, clearly making his way toward the entrance of the tent to leave.
It was likely that he wanted to sulk off between the trees for a wank since Hermione was becoming all ‘protective’ over you. He was far more afraid of anything she would do to him than whatever vague threats Harry had made earlier.
“What if you were hurting her?” Hermione said meekly. “Did you even ask her if you could do that?”
It was rare - so very rare that she admitted she was wrong. The minute she had told Ron to stop, she regretted not simply cheering the scene on. But she wasn’t going to go back on it now. She needed to be in control. She needed the whole thing to be her idea now.
During the entire exchange, Harry remained eerily silent. Ron was glaring at Hermione with the fierce vengeance of the Locket still pulsing through him, and Hermione was giving him the stiff jaw that she usually did before they burst into an epic argument. If Harry was lucky, another argument would lead to more fucking, and he wasn’t going to speak up and ruin that.
You whimpered again weakly as you straightened your back. You reached for the waistband of your pants and pulled them up slightly to give yourself some mobility in your footing, rather than having them hooked around your legs. But you didn’t pull them up to completely cover your pussy yet. You were still very needy, desperate for an orgasm. If someone else didn’t fuck you soon, you would either have to push Harry to the floor and take him or lay back on the table and start masturbating out in the open without care.
“She liked it.” Ron growled, entirely confident in this statement.
Hermione barely contained a whimper of her own as Ron’s hot breath fanned over her face. The condescending glare he gave her only emphasised their height difference, somehow making her insides hotter.
“But it’s just so easy to blame the big, bad Ron Weasley for everything, isn’t it?” Ron huffed out.
He turned his back then, and you knew he was about to storm out of the tent, so you finally scrounged up your voice and managed some words.
“Take it off.” You choked out. “The Locket. Take it off.”
Whatever happened next, you didn’t want it to be caused by anger.
You wanted it to be caused by desire - by need.
You knew that you weren’t the only person in the tent who needed this. You could see the way Hermione was unconsciously clenching her thighs together, and Harry’s cock was testing his zipper mightily. And even though Ron had started touching you out of a possessiveness, it wasn’t the first time that anger had sparked this kind of wild fucking from him - it was just an intensely exaggerated reaction under the Locket’s influence.
But you knew that it would likely put everyone more at ease if he took it off.
“You’ve been wearing it this whole time-?” Hermione gasped, reaching for the neck of Ron’s jumper as you had earlier. Surprisingly, he let her.
“I still liked it.” You announced, wanting to assure Hermione that even if Ron’s need to brutally fuck you was prompted by the influence of the Locket, you had intensely enjoyed it.
“I absolutely enjoyed it. In fact, I think Ron is the only one around here with any sense.” You said.
It was then that you felt the draft from the tent flap blowing cooling air on your wet cunt - something that finally prompted you to pull your pants up the rest of the way.
Harry almost begged you not to, not wanting sex to be off the table, not yet. Ron had to contain a laugh when you reached to fasten your pants with a button that was sitting on the floor in the corner.
“Beg your pardon?” Hermione gaped, entirely shocked by your words, partially confused as to what you meant.
Ron grinned wickedly at this revelation - he knew exactly what you meant.
So, he made no moves to fight her when Hermione took the Locket off him and stashed it in her pocket, rather than putting it on. (She wanted to be clear headed for what she hoped would happen next.)
“If we don’t stop fighting and start fucking, then we’re going to drive each other insane with all the damn bickering.” You explained.
Hermione looked between Ron and Harry, who were both very still and refused to look at her, much like they did when they thought that they were in trouble. It was quite clear that they were waiting for her to take the lead, to make the important decision as she usually did.
And then she looked at you. She found herself quite taken with your sex-messed hair, your kiss-swollen lips and the pure need that glazed over your eyes, a few wet tears kissing against your lashes.
“Hermione, please.” You begged, that pure need swallowing up your chest, making her name sound so beautiful coming off your lips.
She was distinctly reminded of the last time she had heard those words coming off your lips, begging her for something in a distinctly similar way.
…
“Hermione, please.” You murmured sharply against her lips, already untying the front of her cotton pyjama shorts. “I’ll be quick, I swear.”
You had her pinned against the sink in the bathroom at the Burrow, licking the taste of spearmint toothpaste off her teeth. It was just after the two of you had completed a nightly routine, preparing for bed.
You thought that routine should include an orgasm or two to help with better sleep, but Hermione feared getting caught. Even though the two of you seemed to be the last ones awake, everyone else already finished with their night and in bed. The house was quiet with sleep, even with the number of family members and guests gathered there, staying over in anticipation of the wedding.
“Y/N-” Hermione choked out your name, reaching a hand up and putting a thumb on your pulse point, pressing down sharply as a warning.
This was something that caused you to whimper against her mouth and pause the movement of your hand against her wet panties. It was a technique she had developed with you, a soft spot of yours that easily got you to behave or focus when she needed you to.
“Hermione.” You replied, your voice full of breath, a quivering need balancing on your tongue. It was like a Veela’s call that delicately invited her to give you exactly what you needed.
Hermione let out a sharp sigh. You held your breath as she gently rubbed her thumb over that spot on your neck, knowing that you would either be denied, or she would soon give in. There was no amount of begging you could do if she had already made up her mind.
“Quickly.” She told you, her voice sharp and authoritative.
It was like she was reminding you when an essay was due or telling you to pull down your skirt because your knickers were visible. But instead, she was pressing the fact that you had to make her cum quickly so that the two of you wouldn’t get caught.
“Quickly.” You repeated the word with a nod.
You then descended to your knees as you helped her half sit up on the sink, taking her shorts and underwear down to her ankles.
“Good girl.” She praised in a strained whisper.
She had to forcefully muffle her own moans with a hand tightly over her mouth as your lips latched onto her clit.
Most of the time, Hermione didn’t know if she was a potent authority in your life, or if she let you run her like the brilliant scam artist that you were. But either way, she loved you enough to let you have the things you wanted. Most of the time.
…
That had been just a few short nights before the ensuing blur of preparing for Bill and Fleur’s wedding, and the chaos that had everyone tumbling out of there with urgency. That was the last time that Hermione had cum before setting out on this entire tedious ‘adventure’. So of course, her lustful need was worse than ever, if only from starvation of touch over time.
“Please.” You breathed out the word again, your voice desperate as ever. “Please, I need this. I think we all need this.”
This drew her attention back to the present, back to the authority she had over you - well, you and the boys right now.
Now that she thought of those boys -
“You’re speaking for Harry now too?” Hermione chuckled, turning to look at the one person who had been silent through all of this.
He raised his brows, looking rather caught. His mouth gaped like a fish as he desperately searched for the words to say ‘I was hoping that I would be included in the dirty filthy fucking without having to ask’.
Harry didn’t get a chance to come up with a reply before you trampled over him with your own words.
“Oh please, he’s been hard since Ron first kissed me. Also, for the record, you don’t have to ask Harry for sex, you just tell him it’s happening and he nods and takes off his pants.” You announced, looking at Harry in an intensely knowing way.
Hermione let out a breathy chuckle at this, giving Harry a very interesting sideways glance - studying him like she would study a particularly interesting book. Harry’s stomach bubbled with excitement and lust because you had given him a similar look so many times before. It made him imagine being trapped between you and Hermione while you both came up with increasingly naughty ways to torture him, and he found the fantasy to be equal parts scary and thrilling.
Ron’s brows knitted together with intense thought and he looked between you and Harry.
Harry caught Ron’s eye, and he began to turn cherry red when he realised he had been outed as very needy, and very easy. He thought perhaps Ron was judging him - he had no clue that now his best friend was looking upon him with a newly formed sexual appetite.
“Well, then. Y/N, I suppose you’re right.”
Hermione huffed out these words before marching across the room toward you with determination. She placed the few books that she had tucked into her arm on the table behind you before she tangled her fingers into your hair in an entirely possessive and well-known manner. Then she forced your lips towards her, kissing you fiercely, but much gentler than Ron had.
The realisation truly hit all three of them then, that you had been having sex with the other two the entire time. But through some ingrained embarrassment and some intense need not to throw off the balance of the friendships with pining and jealousy, they had always begged you to keep it secret. The worst part of realising it now was - they all knew that they could have been sharing you and each other the whole damn time.
Naturally, Ron was the one who had to say it out loud.
“So, you’ve been havin’ me, and him, and her?” He said, pointing to himself, and Harry, and then to the back of Hermione’s head as she feasted greedily on your mouth, driving home the point. “The whole time?”
Hermione pulled away from the kiss, leaning away from your body slightly, letting both the boys pointedly stare you down for a moment before you answered the question.
“Yes.” You answered honestly, that lustful breathiness coming back into your voice. “I wasn’t really under the impression that I was supposed to be monogamous.”
“Mono - what?” Harry finally spoke, the first one to prod at these words with a confusion that he and Ron were both feeling.
“Monogamous.” Hermione repeated, stripping off her jacket and tossing it to lay on one of the benches beside the table.
She then reached for your pants, noticing the absent button but ignoring it for now as she ripped the material down over your hips again. She took you with a carelessness that said she already knew she owned you and she could do whatever she pleased with you as she once again exposed your needy, hot pussy to the open air.
You let out a throaty moan as Hermione continued explaining the term to the boys.
“Monogamy describes a type of relationship where two partners are exclusive to each other, romantically and sexually, and any romantic or sexual contact with other partners outside of that is considered cheating.”
Hermione explained this in the textbook fashion that she usually spoke about things. As usual, her flawless intellect and perfect composure only turned you on more. She snaked one hand under your shirt while the other reached between your thighs and began gently teasing her fingers along your wetness. You let out a moan when she gripped onto your breast and her fingers grazed your clit - she was pleased to find you braless.
“I believe what Y/N has been engaging in with all of us would be considered polyamory. A person in multiple romantic or sexual relationships at once.” Hermione added on.
“What if we were all - you know - together?” Harry posed, clearly feeling curious about the idea.
“That would still be considered polyamory.” Hermione said.
Hermione wanted to mention the concept of a closed off poly relationship - the idea that the four of you would just be the four of you, with no one else involved. How it should be. That’s what always seemed right. It was right in front of her the whole time, and she felt foolish for not being able to see the reality of things sooner.
“I don’t want anyone but the three of you.” You moaned quietly.
Hermione let out a small grin when you voiced this for her.
“You sure that you haven’t been fuckin’ any other tossers on the side?” Ron piped up. “You are a little desperate, love.”
Your pussy quaked at his degrading words combined with the sweet nickname, and you choked on a harsh sound because of it.
“Shut up.” You whined. “It’s just us. It’s always just been us.”
Harry liked the way you said that. Us.
You humped your hips into Hermione’s touches as she worked her fingers inside of you - there was a slight gape around her delicate touch, plenty of room where Ron had furiously fucked you open.
“Did Ron cum inside of you?” Hermione asked, shifting the conversation dramatically and unexpectedly. She pulled back her fingers to inspect for that telltale streak of white.
Harry choked on his own spit at the filthiness of her words, entirely surprised by it, and though Ron was shocked by her dirty words, he rushed to answer.
“Didn’t give me the bloody chance to.” He grumbled in complaint.
Hermione sighed and rolled her eyes at this.
She pulled back from you completely then, causing you to whine out in protest as you were once again teased and left hanging. She ignored your neediness as she turned back toward the boys.
“Hermione-!” You called out, collapsing against the table as your face curled into defeat. She ignored you for now.
Hermione walked over to Harry and grabbed the front of his jumper with one hand and then fed him the fingers that she just had inside of you, clearly eager to test out that needy compliance of his that you had mentioned earlier. Harry didn’t question her and fell so easily to her touches, something that caused her to bite back a smile as she gave out her next instructions.
“Well, Ronald, if you behave yourself, then maybe you’ll get to cum inside me tonight.” Hermione told him, using that bossy tone to say his name in a way he had previously hated so much.
The bossiness combined with the pure filth spilling from her lips was now something that made his cock throb and protest against the confines of his pants.
Harry continued greedily sucking on her fingers, letting out quiet moans around them as he bobbed his head, forcing Hermione to speak louder to be heard over his humming and the sounds of his wet sucking.
“Now that I’ve seen your cock, I want to try it out.” She said, looking at Ron, seemingly paying no mind to Harry as he devoured her fingers. “So you’ll fuck me while Harry fucks Y/N, alright?”
You cunt tingled at her words - she said it like she was doling out a homework schedule, posing it like a question while leaving no room for her authority to be dethroned.
It seemed that rule-oriented Hermione was entirely good at making them, and in this situation, nobody was going to protest.
…
A short while later, the four of you were in the middle of the floor - none of the cots were near big enough to fit all of you at once. And sure, Hermione was talented in Transfiguration and could have fixed that, but her patience was worn thin and it was easiest just to toss the blankets on the floor in a pile and close the tent flap so that nobody’s bits got cold.
Hermione had everyone strip down.
The boys were much more efficient in following her orders when getting their clothes off than they ever were in following her study schedules. You were no different, of course, being used to falling under her strict, but merciful reign.
You took a moment to admire each of your companions, especially when Ron let out a comment about Hermione ‘catching up’ and she began to peel off her clothing too.
Ron was strong and muscular, pure bulk with a perfect bit of chub on him. (Sadly, less chub than he had a few months ago thanks to the lacklustre food situation). His love for food and Quidditch had paid off, resulting in a body that was broad, like a wonderfully warm, soft brick wall. He had filled out his once gangly height so that he looked much more like a professional athlete now than a clumsy toothpick.
You found his muscular shoulders to be so thick and admirable, a sign of his humble power, especially now that he had the scar from being splinched still healing pinkly over his skin as a reminder of his strength. His soft stomach and thick thighs were utterly perfect in your eyes, a perfect frame for that magnificent, large cock.
Harry was opposite to Ron in almost every way, and still so utterly perfect.
He was thin, as you had always known him to be, and he was shorter than Ron by a good two or three inches. (You had always liked that about him because it meant he was easier for you to manhandle.)
Where Ron’s skin was smooth and freckled and he was naturally pretty hairless over most of his body, Harry was well - hairy. The dark chest hair was something that easily attracted you, a contrast off his pale skin, making a trail down his chest to the nest of dark pubic hair from which his cock sprang out. His cock was smaller than Ron’s but never failed to impress, especially when you had him beneath you and had that cock at your mercy.
Naturally, after he stripped down, Harry kept his glasses on, wanting to be able to see everything that was going on. His eyes kept bouncing between Ron and Hermione so fervently, taking in all the new flesh as it was revealed to him. You definitely couldn’t blame him for doing so.
Hermione was a goddess. No other words could describe her.
Her skin was soft and pale, dotted with beauty marks in some places. You noticed that she too was starting to become a bit too thin, and you vowed that you would put a bit more on her plate during the next meal. Nonetheless, you had always found everything about her to be so perfect. From her pert breasts with soft pink nipples to the small patch of hair between her thighs that was surprisingly a bit lighter in colour than the hair on her head.
The scene that had unfolded was nothing short of erotic - something stolen right out of your most epic fantasies when you thought of the three people that you loved the most.
Hermione had been barking orders at everyone and her bossy nature couldn’t even be dampened down when Ron sheathed his cock inside of her for the first time. She simply took the thickness in stride, fucking back into him while she was on her hands and knees.
The blatant confidence of her voice wavered only slightly with her pleasurable moans, but it seemed that the sex was turning into a battle between the two of them. Ron’s stubborn urge to fuck her harder, to make her break until she was nothing but a brainless mess (for once in her life). Versus Hermione’s own stubbornness, her urge to continue ordering everyone around even while an orgasmic coil wound tight in her stomach and became increasingly more distracting.
You were on your hands and knees in front of her, mirroring the position so that you could kiss her, and she could touch you freely. She petted sweetly along your face, fisted your hair, or groped your breasts as she pleased while balancing herself with the other hand, and you lavished in the attention.
Once again, Harry was a grand contrast from Ron as he fucked into your needy pussy from behind. He was entirely different from the beastly version of Ron that was brutalising Hermione’s cunt without care, creating slick slapping sounds throughout the room.
Harry - as usual - was like a puppet that needed to be pulled on a string. His cock was more than enough to fill you perfectly, but he wasn’t someone who could be rough or fuck you brutally. You were quickly learning that he couldn’t even pound into your cunt harshly to satisfy that deep ache when he was prompted, it seemed.
“Harry, harder, please!” You moaned, fucking your hips back into him as you fisted the blanket beneath you. You were desperate to recreate the feeling Ron had performed on you - raw, unfiltered possession, pure need taken out on your pussy.
But Harry being needy was an entirely different form.
Where Ron was rough and possessive, taking out his need on you by setting out to prove that he owned every inch of your body - Harry was soft. He needed to be the one owned.
Harry bit down on his lip hard to muffle his whines, fucking you in bouts of fast, rabbit-like strokes before slowing down as the need to cum tightened in his balls. Not wanting to disappoint you, he would then grind deeply into your pussy, trying to will away his own orgasm.
It wasn’t working very well.
Especially not when he looked down and saw your wetness leaking out around his cock. Not when he remembered how good you had looked with Ron stretching you open, causing an impulsive need for him to fuck into you quickly again. But his strokes never built up into that harshness you were craving before he let out a deep, throaty whine and slowed down again, fearing cumming too quickly and being scolded for it. (Or being disappointed in himself, honestly.)
You wished more than anything that you had a Gryffindor tie to put around his neck to direct him how you wanted to, or a literal leash to tug on.
Harry was a good pet, but he needed to be treated like one.
Without a leash to hang around his neck, you hung your head between your shoulders and let out a moan of disappointment as his slowing movements caused your orgasm to edge off once again. He was inadvertently torturing you, making your cunt ache more angrily than ever as you throbbed around his cock in red hot waves. You supposed that it was payback for all the times you had made him wait so long to cum.
“Harry,” You warbled out in a whine, his name harshly scraping against the back of your throat.
He couldn’t see your face in this position, couldn’t see your expression of pure anguish - so he thought it was a sound of encouragement. He thought that he was doing very well. But of course, Hermione quickly knew what it was, even with Ron fucking her so hard that he was practically driving her hips out of placement.
“Harry, you - you have to go harder!” Hermione barked at him, still managing to give orders, even in her current position. “She’s never going to cum like that!”
Ron let out a throaty chuckle at this, highly amused.
“Mate, do you need me to show you how again?” He asked.
He slowed his brutal fucking of Hermione only for a moment, long enough to catch his breath and let Harry get in a reply.
Harry let out a wounded sound at this, entirely similar to a kicked puppy. As much as the idea of Ron pushing him out of the way to take your pussy roughly and ‘show him how’ was intensely hot, Harry wanted to prove himself.
“No, I don’t need to be shown, I’m perfectly capable of making a girl cum, thank you very much.” Harry replied, his sass partially throttled by the dryness of his throat, your cunt clenching around his cock making him breathless.
“Ron, don’t you dare stop!” Hermione ordered sharply, trying to fuck herself harder back on his cock.
Ron reached down and grabbed Hermione by the jaw, much the same as he had done to you earlier, and tilted her head up. His lips met the flushed skin of her cheek as he leaned down, draping his hot, sweaty body across her back.
It was something that she likely would have called grotesque before - the act of Ron’s sweaty skin against her - but she let out a needy whimper. And she didn’t squirm against him as he held a tight grip on her face. Harry nearly came at how tightly your pussy hugged his cock then, both of you intently watching what happened next.
“I’ll bloody well do what I like.” Ron said, his voice still taking on that dark, menacing quality even though he was no longer wearing the Locket. “And if you behave, I just might let you cum tonight.”
He mirrored her earlier words back to her, clearly mocking her. Before Hermione could come up with any clever reply, she was cut off with a gasp out of her own lips as Ron released his grip on her face and began fucking into her harshly again. This knocked her forward so hard that she had to restabilize her arms against the floor to keep herself from falling flat on her face.
“Harry, turn me over.” You told him, thinking he would have more success if you were on your back.
Harry mumbled out a ‘yes’ and then pulled out of you. This caused you to whimper with disappointment before he put gentle hands on your hips and helped you get comfortable on your back.
Without asking, he put a pillow under your head - it was that kind of sweetness that had always drawn you to him.
In this new position, you were almost between Hermione’s spread arms, your face surrounded by a wild curtain of her hair as she hung her head low between her shoulders. She was panting heavily with the effort as Ron continued to fuck her roughly and now had a two fingers on her clit - determined to finish her just to show that he could.
While Harry situated himself between your naturally parted thighs, Hermione leaned down and seized your lips. Her kiss vibrated hot moans into your mouth while Harry pushed back into you, and Ron fucked her so hard that he jostled her head, making her unsteady in the kiss.
“Oh, fuck!” Harry sighed, entirely delighted in the feeling of your wetness around him.
When you reached down and began rubbing your own clit with determination, he then began fucking you at a quick pace, no longer worried that he would cum before you. Even if he did, he would see you through it and make sure to take care of you, he mentally vowed.
He was soft, but quick, his hips pattering against yours in speedy movements that actually treated your pussy rather gently. He chased his orgasm inside of you while creating a warm tingle through you that met up nicely with the hot stinging your own fingers made on your clit.
Eventually, your kiss with Hermione turned into the barest contact of lips on lips as her mouth parted with hot moans, the pleasure absolutely mounting inside of her. Ron’s grunts echoed in the background as the sharp, almost vicious smacking of his hips against her ass continued.
“Fuck, Ron!” Hermione cried out, all hot breath against your cheek. “I’m cumming! Fuck! Don’t stop!”
“Take it!” Ron growled. “Take my fuckin’ load, pretty little bitch!”
On any other day, in any other situation aside from giving her an orgasm with his cock buried deep inside of her, Ron Weasley calling Hermione Granger a ‘pretty little bitch’ would have landed him some pretty severe injuries. But in this instance, it made her moan so hard that her voice cracked, and it was most definitely one of the things that triggered her orgasm.
“Ron-!” She choked out.
The sweet sounds she made combined with the absolutely feral noises coming out of Ron lit your whole body on fire. You knew that this sweet symphony was what caused Harry to fuck into you like a mad rabbit for a few seconds before you felt pure heat spilling into you. Upon instinct, you reached around him with your free hand and dug your nails into his arsecheek, forcing him to fuck you through his orgasm even while he gasped and choked on his breath from the overstimulation.
“Y/N-”
You let yourself get some lasting pleasure out of extra moments of his hard cock filling you up, and with your own touch on your clit, you rolled into a gentle, but deeply satisfying orgasm.
“Please-” Harry choked out, and you finally released him, letting him pull back.
You moaned at the sight of his cock coming out of you - the tip bright red and still weeping bits of cum, almost crying out in protest of the overstimulation, much like the tears that dotted the edges of his eyes. You had made him cry much more severely before when you had more time to tease him, and it was something that you had highly enjoyed.
He collapsed on top of you and began kissing along your shoulder, being the sweet boy that he was, and he groped one of your breasts. When you tilted your head to look toward Ron and Hermione, she let out a few last pittering moans and he let out a deep grunt before pulling out of her.
She collapsed entirely then, and it was only her last bit of mindfulness, directing herself as she fell that kept her from falling right on top of you.
Ron still had a warm hand on her hip, and as you looked down the length of her body, if you weren’t mistaken - he was still raging hard, even after he had cum. (It wasn’t the first time it had happened. Sometimes Ron worked himself into such a frenzy that he needed to cum two or even three times in a night before his cock fully went down. It lovingly surprised you every single time.)
“Good?” Ron posed, his voice gentle for the first time in hours. He patted Hermione on the hip, clearly directing the question at her.
Of course, he was still tender-hearted below the surface. He would never fuck someone’s brains out like that without ensuring that they were okay.
“I’m good.” Hermione replied, choking on her own breath.
She spared him a glance over her shoulder, and he gave her the most utterly timid grin - it was such a roaring contrast to his earlier bold words and his rough touches, but it was somehow a fantastic assurance toward Hermione that he was, of course, still the same Ron. She could still boss him around in every other aspect of life, but if she needed a break from all that bossing, he could do this for her.
Satisfied with this, she leaned in to kiss you again.
You sighed with delight into her mouth and snaked your tongue past her lips, more than enjoying the attention you were being ravished with. Your pussy still nagged for attention between your legs and you hoped that Hermione wasn’t too tired to play with you.
“You know Harry, you don’t have to keep starin’ at it.” Ron joked. “It’s not gonna bite you, mate.”
There was a slight slick sound, and when you pulled away from Hermione’s mouth and opened your eyes, you realised that it was Ron pumping his hand on his still very hard cock, wanking with the combination of Hermione’s wetness and his own cum that he had gathered there.
It took your orgasm-hazed brain a second to realise that he was talking about his dick. When you glanced over your other shoulder, you realised completely that Harry’s focus was no longer on peppering kisses over your neck and shoulder, but very much on staring at Ron’s cock.
With Harry’s body still flush against yours as he laid on top of you, you felt the deep sigh that he let out. You could see the contemplation in his eyes, the slight fear to express his desires that you had seen in him before. You reached up and ran your fingers through his hair, encouraging him.
“What is it, darling?” You asked gently.
“I keep staring at it because, well…” He sighed again before continuing. “I want to… what is it that Hermione said? ‘Try it out’.”
Harry highly resisted the urge to hide his head in your neck with embarrassment after this admission. He looked from you, to Hermione, then to Ron for some kind of approval - or simply looked not to be mocked.
“Oh, you should.” Hermione said, giving a moan of contentment as she stretched out her back like a cat.
She had finally regained some energy after being so thoroughly fucked, and she turned from where she had collapsed on her stomach to lay on her side, showing off her gorgeous body to all eyes in the room.
“It’s magnificent.” She added on with an almost dreamy sigh.
Hermione smiled - a sweet, coy smile, and you let out a giggle as Ron caught her eye, his brows raised in shock. It was one of the few things she had complimented him on without hesitation. This whole thing had certainly turned the group’s dynamics upside-down.
When Harry looked to Ron, he found concern knitted in those freckled features.
“Harry, typically, I think when blokes do it, there’s a bit more… um… preparation… involved, innit?” Ron posed, hesitation taking up every inch of his voice for the first time that night.
Clearly, he thought that Harry meant he wanted to take Ron in his ass - and he was concerned about Harry’s inexperience versus Ron’s sheer size.
Harry flushed red, perhaps from embarrassment at having this pointed out to him, or from the lust of considering what it would be like to have that beautifully large cock splitting him open. (You did feel Harry’s cock give a pathetic twitch against your thigh). This time he did lean into your shoulder to hide as much as he could.
“Yes Ron, please tell me more about how much preparation it would take for me to handle your very giant cock.” Harry drawled sarcastically, trying to make a joke out of it.
Hermione let out a chuckle at this. When you caught Ron’s eye, you could see a distinct heat swimming there. Obviously he enjoyed Harry talking about him this way, even if it was with his typical sass.
“You should suck him off.” You said, running your fingers through Harry’s dark locks again, trying to be gently encouraging. “Unless you’re afraid that he’ll break your jaw,” You made a joke of your own, and Harry let out a sarcastic scoff against your skin.
Harry didn’t need anymore convincing when Ron got a hand in his hair, practically hauling him off of you. He let out a lilting moan of his own as Ron handled him into place, much like he had done to you earlier.
Hermione then crawled over to on weak bambi legs and laid herself on top of you, pressing her body against yours - chest to chest, lips against yours with the usual sharp determination and an almost lazy exploration of her tongue through your teeth. She hooked her thigh over your hip so that she could press her sloppy, used cunt against yours.
This inadvertently made one of the hottest sensations you had ever experienced when she began grinding her pussy against yours and Ron’s cum began spilling out of her to meet Harry’s cum in a sloppy mess between your thighs.
It was truly a perfect union of all the people you loved the most.
While you sucked on Hermione’s tongue, you heard a sloppy gagging sound beside your head that more than caught your attention. You couldn’t help but to pull away from the kiss with the curiosity to look. Hermione began kissing down your neck and lavishing your breasts with attention while you craned your neck to look at Ron and Harry.
Ron had Harry on his back, and had mounted his chest. From the kind of sideways angle you had, Ron had a commanding, tight hand in Harry’s thick, black locks and held him still while he rocked his cock into Harry’s mouth. His eyes were screwed tight, clearly trying to concentrate on pleasing Ron, gagging with each movement as he struggled to accommodate such an intense size.
“Relax, Harry.” You said, reaching out to gently pet your fingertips up his arm. You let out a moan when Hermione sucked harshly on your nipple - clearly she was seeking joy in getting a reaction out of you. “It’ll be easier of you just relax and let him fuck your throat.”
That was something you knew from experience, on both sides. Ron’s cock was massive to accommodate, but it was easier just to sit back and take the ride. And Harry was intense, thoughtful, a worrier. He wanted to please and know that he was doing well. But he did better when you fucked every last thought out of his head.
“Yeah, come on.” Ron grunted quietly, trying to force more of his cock down Harry’s throat. “You’ve got a sweet fuckin’ mouth when you’re not usin’ it to talk back.”
Harry moaned at this praise and you saw him visibly relax, and you gave him a few more sweet pets as you added on:
“Good boy. Come on, be good for him.”
Which seemed to truly encourage him, and he let Ron start up a good rhythm. He was much gentler than he had been with you or Hermione, taking mercy on Harry for being so new at this. It was an easy back and forth that gathered drool on his chin and soon at him moaning around Ron’s cock as he enjoyed the fullness on his tongue.
You let out a moan of your own when you felt Hermione’s fingers prodding at your well-used pussy and felt her soft lips lingering around the top of your mound.
“Looks like Harry left me a little present here, hmm?” Hermione sighed, sounding overjoyed at the fact that Harry had cum inside of you.
You knew that Hermione was filthy - pin you down and shove her hand up your skirt while in one of the carriages on the train filthy; sneak you into the Prefects bathroom in the middle of the night filthy; crawl into your bed in the Gryffindor girls dorm and clamp her hand over your mouth to keep you quiet filthy - but this was reaching all new levels. Even for all the things you knew of her, all the dirty secrets that the two of you shared.
“Oh, fuck!”
It just caused you to moan, especially when those fingers breached you sharply, taking you like she owned you once again. Her tongue prodded at your entrance eagerly as her touch caused Harry’s mess to spill out of you. She just lapped it up, filthy and eager.
Her tongue worked on you so perfectly.
You couldn’t help but to put a hand down and grip that wild hair, arching your hips to hump against her face as she fucked her fingers into you gently and tongued along your clit. She was treating your pussy lovingly, each touch commanding pleasure out of you, but not possessive or rough.
It was the same way she handled tests, with a deeply ingrained knowledge making each answer meaningful. It was that beautiful thing about her that made her quiet and reserved in her performance, not having to command the room with arrogance or noise. Her tongue danced along your cunt with confidence and grace in a way that had your toes curling in minutes. Her fingers curled inside of you while she smiled against you, knowing how she already had you teetering on the edge.
“Such a good girl for me.” She sighed.
“‘Mione,” You moaned back at her, the loving nickname dancing on your lips as a warning that you were already close.
“Oh, come on Harry, you can gimme one more.”
You heard Ron’s voice grunting roughly above you, and when you craned your neck again and spared the boys a glance, you were incredibly turned on by the sight.
Ron had Harry pinned under him, and now, rather than having his cock shoved down Harry’s throat, they were pressed hips to hips and chests to chests as you and Hermione had been before. Harry was breathless and gaping for air underneath Ron - from what you could see, Ron had both of their cocks in his large fist, sliding them together in a mess of cum, trying to milk another orgasm out of the spent, whining, overstimulated Harry against his own, still somehow hard cock.
“Ron, fuck, please-!”
Harry could do nothing but cry and buck up against the touches, desperately trying to suck air in through his parted lips, his cock weeping for more. It was a sight that sent a sharp jolt of pleasure through you, and had you squeezing around Hermione’s fingers, hurling over the edge toward your orgasm as she gently sucked on your clit.
“Oh, fuck, ‘Mione!”
Hermione sighed with satisfaction and licked you through it, making your thighs quiver with your own overstimulation as she shoved her tongue deep inside of you. Seemingly, she was determined to lick you clean, to lick the essence of your existence right out of you.
When she was done with this, she then began to kiss her way back up your body and shoved her tongue in your mouth again. You moaned with delight at tasting yourself on her tongue, and the lingering salty traces of Harry there too, and you held her face between your hands as you indulged in the kisses.
You were only distracted from her sweet lips when you heard Ron’s voice again, even more ragged as he had another orgasm.
“Fuck, Potter, take it-!”
Him calling Harry by his surname in such a degrading tone made your stomach curl with a unique arousal, and it certainly got Hermione’s attention too. She planted her hands beside your shoulders and looked up to survey the scene while you cricked your neck awkwardly.
Ron was kneeling on either side of Harry’s chest once again. His stomach was covered in his own mess and he was panting in an entirely filthy manner with his mouth open while Ron sat above him, fisting his own cock with the clear determination to make himself cum.
His release splattered across Harry’s face in wide, white streaks, painting Harry’s tongue, his open lips, his cheeks, and dirtying his glasses in the most filthy manner that you had ever seen him - Ron let out a deep satisfied grunt as he came, and his cock finally softened in his fist.
(Perhaps it was because the part of his ego that had started the entire argument, the thing that felt jealous of Harry in the first place was finally satisfied.)
“Ron!” Hermione called his name in her ‘scolding’ voice once again - perhaps she thought cumming over Harry’s face was just a step too far, just a bit too degrading.
She reached off to the side for her wand, and for once in his life, Ron didn’t flinch. It was like an unspoken air in the room that she didn’t intend to curse him with it as a consequence, but rather - she simply intended to clean up Harry’s face with magic.
“Just let me enjoy it.” Ron said, reaching out with his clean hand and stopping Hermione with a gentle grip on her wrist. “Just for a minute.”
Harry - who seemed to be so fucked out now that he was barely present - let out a hum of agreement, and licked some of Ron’s cum off his lips.
This gave you a brilliant idea.
You gently rolled Hermione off of you and then you crawled over to Harry. With all of them watching you intently, you licked a path across his cheek, gathering quite a bit of Ron’s spend on your tongue before you shoved your tongue into Harry’s mouth - engaging in an entirely filthy kiss where you exchanged the taste of Ron between the two of you.
It was something that reverberated a hot moan through Harry, had Ron groaning, and even caused a small sigh of delight from Hermione.
“All of you are degenerates.” Hermione sighed, shaking her head, pretending to be displeased by the whole thing.
“Yeah, and you’re our leader.” Ron reminded her with a laugh.
…
When you woke up the next morning, the entire tent had a different energy.
Before you even opened your eyes, you heard giggling.
When you managed to peel open your sleep-stuck eyes, you saw Harry and Hermione standing at the small kitchenette, preparing what you guessed was breakfast. Harry was speaking quietly, and you couldn’t hear him, but it surprised you entirely when he made a grab for Hermione’s ass, groped her so boldly through her loose sweatpants. And rather than slapping him or scolding him - she let out another bright, air giggle, and simply smacked him with a tea towel in the most playful manner possible before he let out a laugh too.
The events of the day before had not been some loneliness induced hallucination on your part. All of it had happened. And it had shifted everyone’s mood for the better.
You moved to get out of bed and this drew both of their attention toward you. Harry proceeded to stir whatever Hermione had in the pot on the stove to distract himself while she watched you carefully.
After you had successfully gotten your boots on, when you looked up, you realised that she was wearing one of Ron’s jumpers. Clearly one from a few years ago, something that would have been too small for him now that fit her well, comforting and worn-in with the large R in the middle that signified it had been made by Molly some Christmases ago.
It was something she could do now without fearing setting off jealousy in any of you, and that fact made you smile.
“Where’s Ron?” You asked, feeling a single piece missing from the quaint scene.
“He volunteered to take watch.” Hermione noted, motioning toward the tent’s entrance. “Even though I’ve told him the wards are fine and he really should rest, you know he hasn’t been getting enough sleep lately-”
“I’ll get him to go to sleep after breakfast.” You told her. “You know him, he just wants to keep a watchful eye. He’s protective.”
You crossed the room, and in a move that felt so utterly natural, you gently kissed Harry on the mouth and then kissed Hermione - so out in the open, no shame, no hiding. You felt like a wonderful weight had been lifted off of you as they both smiled at you. Smiled - no jealous glaring, no arguing.
You couldn’t have felt better as you grabbed your jacket off the back of a chair and put it on as you went outside.
Ron was sitting a few feet away from the opening of the tent in one of the camping chairs. He stared out into the open as the sun crested over a nearby hill, just kissing everything with a bright, blinding streak of light. There had been a frost overnight that coated everything in bitter white and put an awful chill in the air. So you zipped up your jacket as you went over to him, and he gave you a small smile when he saw you.
When you stood in front of him, he reached out to you naturally, and you easily gave in to his movements as he pulled you into his lap. There was a worry in the back of your mind about how well an old camping chair might hold the both of you at once, but you figured it would be a good laugh if you broke it. So you simply planted your ass in his lap and strung your legs over the arm of the chair. He wrapped his arms protectively around you and nuzzled his head against your arm.
You frowned when one of the first things you spotted was that glint of silver poking out of the neck of his jacket.
“Ron, you’re wearing it again.” You sighed, reaching out and picking up the Locket between your fingers, thumbing along the serpent with distaste.
“I’m fine,” He replied, taking it from you and tucking it back inside of his coat.
“Ron-” You were going to argue, but he cut you off.
“Really, it’s not as bad as it was.” He said, his voice sounding genuine and light, sounding like the Ron that you usually knew. His voice wasn’t grinding, angry, or annoyed like he usually did when he wore it.
“What do you mean?” You asked, your curiosity most definitely peaked.
“After yesterday, it’s like…” He struggled to find the right words to explain it, and you were patient with him. “Everything is out in the open now. Genuinely, I used to feel like shit, because… I was jealous. Proper jealous. And not just jealous of Harry… I honestly thought that there was a point in my life where I would just… end up alone.”
Him saying those words broke your heart, and you swallowed harshly around the lump in your throat, holding back tears while he continued.
“I thought that you would leave me, and Hermione would stop finding excuses to be around me. I thought Harry would realise I’m a shit friend and stop wanting to be around me. And I think the Locket knew that I just spent so much time being afraid - and… it turned that fear into jealousy.” He explained.
It was similar to what you had believed, but somehow, worse.
“Whenever I would see you touch Harry’s arm, or if I would see you and Hermione whispering, talking to each other about stuff you read in the fucking books… or even if I just saw Hermione look at Harry, I thought it was just one more reason I was gonna be alone. I thought it was all of you plotting against me to leave me faster. Bloody bonkers, I know.”
“Ron.” You said his name gently, your throat clutched by those tears - you put a hand on his cheek and titled his face toward yours, gently laying your forehead against his before you said your next words. “We love you so much. We all do. And after everything we’ve been through together, we’re all just stuck with each other. So you’re definitely not getting rid of us.”
“I know that now.” Ron chuckled. “I think that’s why it’s easier to wear the damn thing. Because now I just feel… lighter. I don’t feel like you guys are having secrets behind my back. None of us have any secrets anymore.”
You nodded at this.
“I like it better this way.” You sighed happily. “Truthfully, I could never see myself just going and… pairing off with someone. I just want it to be like this, always. You, Harry, and Hermione are the only people I’ve ever wanted.”
“We’re going to need a massive bed, then.” Harry’s voice piped up behind you, his body just barely peeking out of the tent flap, his comment making both you and Ron chuckle.
“S’pose you could afford to buy us one,” Ron commented, causing Harry to roll his eyes and give a very sassy pout.
“You coming for breakfast or what? Or is your gigantic cock weighing you down and you can’t get up?” Harry replied, his tongue entirely quick.
You got up off Ron’s lap to let him up, and on his way into the tent, he picked up a handful of frost-covered leaves and shoved them down the back of Harry’s jumper. He let out a yelp at this, causing Hermione to call out ‘boys!’ in that entirely motherly way that she did.
It was so entirely different, but so entirely the same. Truthfully - you would never want it to be any other way.
...
If you want to see more Poly!Golden Trio fics, I would like to see this fic reach 10 Comments and 15 Reblogs!
(This can include anonymous asks, because I always leave the anon option turned on for people who need it, and I don't care if the 15 reblogs all come from the same person, as long as it shows enthusiasm for the fic.)
If I were to write more Poly!Golden Trio, I don't know if it would be a direct follow up to this or set in the same 'universe' at this fic, but I love the pairing of Poly!Golden Trio x Reader, so I would love to write more about them if you guys want to see it.
I would also love to hear your input/feedback, and if you want to see more, what kind of fanfic ideas would you want to see with this pairing? What kind of kinks or situations would you like to see played out with this pairing? I often take inspiration from requests and random ideas that people send me - just like I did when writing this fic!
| steve walks in on you and mike during an intimate moment, and mike faces the consequences. (harrington!reader)
“mike!” you squealed as your boyfriends hand collided with your ass, a loud clap echoing throughout your room as mike buried his face in your neck, your body shivering as you felt him smirk against your skin.
you were sat on his lap on the edge of your bed, where the two of you had been making out for a solid thirty minutes. usually, you wouldn’t protest when mike touched you like that, but steve was home and had recently put a ban on mike being in the house without him knowing.
it didn’t sound like a big problem— but one of steve’s conditions when he knew mike was here was for the two of you to be supervised in the living room by him, and under no circumstances be up in your room alone. bullshit, but your parents weren’t around ninety percent of the time so steve made his own rules and saw to it that you followed them.
“don’t care about steve.” mike said as his head rose from your neck, his hair messy and big brown eyes looking into yours. “he’s a fucking psycho, baby.”
you rolled your eyes, hands tying together around mike’s neck. “i know. but he’ll kill you if he finds out your here without him knowing.” you sighed, squirming slightly when you felt mike’s hands slip onto the back of your thighs, his long fingers digging into your skin.
“want you so bad. this campaigns been stressing me out, i just wanna fuck my girl.” he whispered, kissing softly along your jawbone as you found yourself grinding into him at the sudden contact.
“i know. i think steve’s gone saturday? you could come over then. ill be all yours for three hours.” you said, raising your brows at him as he scoffed, mumbling a quiet “it’s monday” before one of his fingers began rubbing affectionate circles on your thigh.
“and to think that asshole messed around freely with my sister in front of me when they were still together, and now winces at the thought of you even remotely near me. it’s fucking pathetic.” mike seethed, looking away from you as you grabbed his chin, bringing his head back in your direction.
“saturday. take it or leave it, wheeler.” you said, watching as he tilted his head playfully at you before connecting his lips with yours, his tongue instantly brushing your bottom lip, asking for entrance. you let him, your mouths now moving passionately against one another as your hands delved into mike’s hair, while his hands slid onto your hips, guiding your body to grind against his.
you let out little whines hear and there, your movements growing faster and more calculated as you felt the growing bulge in mike’s pants between your legs.
“thought we were being quiet, huh?” mike teased, before his lips landed back on your neck, now wetter and more passionate than before. it wasn’t long before he was kissing purple marks onto your skin, whispering praises in your ear as you practically bounced on top of him.
mike was halfway through practically groaning “good girl” into your ear when your head snapped in the direction of the door after hearing it creak. it was too late for you and mike to launch away from each other before the yelling started.
“for fucks sake, wheeler! you know the goddamn rules! how long have you been here for?!” steve snapped, walking fully into the room shortly after you violently pushed yourself away from mike, your body now positioned in the corner of the room with mike’s laying comfortably on your bed.
“like two hours.” mike said, yawning at steve and mocking him when the older man’s brows furrowed out of utter disbelief.
“mike! no— he’s been here a half an hour, steve. it’s not a big deal.” you huffed, examining your manicured nails as steve let out a loud sigh, his hands on his hips.
“it is a goddamn big deal when–” steve paused, looking in mikes direction and pointing at him as if he were some sort of alien, “he, is in my house and i don’t know it. god y/n, you know how i feel about him.” steve sighed, going on about mike as if he wasn’t in the room.
“wow steve, i had no idea you felt that way about me.” mike said sarcastically, holding his hand to his heart while steve looked at him with a disgusted expression. “why don’t you just leave us alone?”
“because the idea of you being in a room alone with my sister makes me sick, wheeler.” steve said, his eyes flickering over to you as you let out a groan.
“your the worst, you know that?” you said, pinching the bridge of your nose as steve scoffed, a fake laugh falling from his mouth.
“i’ll get over it. you have two minutes to get out of my house, wheeler. and you’ve lost front door privileges.” steve said, his words leaving your lips slightly parted in somewhat confusion. you looked at mike, the two of you exchanging a glance.
“what is he talking about?” mike said quietly, resting his head in one of his hands as he looked at you, watching as you shrugged in response.
“it means your leaving through the window, you slick little fuck!” steve hissed, walking toward the bed and clapping his hands in mike’s face as the dark haired boy rose from the bed, wincing at the noise.
“fuck you, steve. i’m not leaving through the goddamn window!” mike barked at him, the two squaring up to one another you watched them fight like a pair of alley cats.
“steve, just let him leave through the front door, your crazy!” you hissed, grabbing mike’s right arm as steve took ahold of his left one, pulling him in the opposite direction toward your window.
“go on, climb out. you’ll see y/n tomorrow, won’t you?” steve said, cracking open the window for mike before leaning back with crossed arms, the scene before you leaving you with a baffled expression on your face.
“i cannot believe you, steve.” you said, your head in your hands as you brother looked at you, his expression stern and serious as mike just stared at him with pure hatred.
“you need to get a grip. like, seriously. you know if i fell out of this thing you could get done for like, murder, or something?” mike said as steve put a hand on his head, pushing him down and out the window as your head fell into your hands.
you had to listen to the sound of mike swearing as he stepped out of the window, and the sound of steve ushering him out faster. you swore it was only a matter of time before mike fell and killed himself. there was no way in hell this was legal, but once again steve had made the impossible possible.
“love you, sweetheart.” mike said, now outside the window and on the wall of your house as you gave him a weak smile, however it grew into something of a grin when he turned to steve and said, “and i seriously fucking hate you.”
if there was anything you loved about mike, it was that if he didn’t like someone he wasn’t gonna hide it. he let steve know pretty much the first day they met that they weren’t going to be friends, which is probably why he’s in the position he is now, struggling to climb down a wall with a high risk of falling and snapping his neck.
any other boy would’ve given up with steve a long time ago, but mike was climbing out of windows for you and dealing with daily breaches of privacy and verbal assault. but he couldn’t care less, and always said that eventually steve would figure out he wasn’t scaring him in any way and would learn to back off. you admired his confidence, but you didn’t think steve would ever approve of any boy coming remotely near you. much less mike wheeler, the brother of the girl who broke his heart.
you watched mike as he cycled away into the night, leaving both you and steve stood by the window, your gaze hardening the second it landed on him.
“im telling mom.” you hissed, clenching your jaw and running a hand through your hair as steve turned to you with an expression of boredom.
“cry me a river, y/n.” he said, walking away as you let out a huff, throwing a pillow from your bed at his back as he walked out of your room, shutting the door behind him and leaving you alone with your thoughts.
you and mike had to figure something out. the two of you couldn’t live like this any longer.
