dreamin of scotty snapping at u nd making you cry . . .
babbling n babbling away at him while he does work at his laptop. u just aren’t thinking straight ! you had such a long day without him n so much happened you just wanted to fill him in on all the juicy goss ! you’re smiling as you do so, not noticing that scott just isn’t replying, jaw tense. you don’t sense anything is wrong until he turns to you n cuts you off with —
“you can see i’m doing work. stop talking to me for a little while.”
nd it just breaks ur heart </3 your bottom lip folds over into a pout but you don’t wanna be more annoying so you float off to your bedroom, curling up in a ball and just cryin :( you cry so much it tires you out, and he still doesn’t come in — just keeps on doing his work ‘til he’s done.
you hiccup and sniffle, makeup ruined and cheeks all wet from tears n snot. you’re sleepy, about to curl up and just sleep the sadness away and scott walks into the room, finding his baby all sad !!
he silently scoops your sleepy body up into his arms, mopping the tears and snot away with his hand and letting you rest your head on him.
“poor baby. i’m sorry, i shouldn’t have spoken to you like that.” he sighs, rocking you on his lap. scottie was mean and strict a lot of the time, but when he messed up he would always comfort you the way you needed, babying you in his own daddy way ‘til you felt better. “sweet girl. next time tell me to be more polite, okay? daddy was in the wrong. you’re allowed.”
scott!! i miss big meanie scott!! want him to edge me till i cry :( and even when im crying, he keeps going
you definitely deserved the punishment, let’s not lie. you couldn’t help it, giving scotty attitude all day long just because you didn’t get a good nights sleep. scott was strict with his rules — always correcting you on how to conduct yourself around him, but as you kept on pushing, he’d decided you needed something a little stronger.
now not only was your ass raw from being spanked (and you were made to count them) — scott now had you sat on his cock, holding a vibrator to your lil’ clit.
you’re clamping and squeezing around him, trying to rock on his dick but he’s holding you down too tight. poor thing, your creamy arousal escapes beneath you, pooling into his skin as you cry, bordering on hyperventilating.
“d—dad you’re being — please!” you wail, abused button spasming.
“what am i being? no, go ahead.” he feigns boredom, disinterested in your howling.
“mm— unfair!” you accuse, but it’s quieter, smaller than before, only then realising how it wasn’t gonna work in your favour.
“yeah?” he prompts, turning the power up on your wand. you whine, sucking in harsh breaths as you fight off another orgasm. “think i’m being super fair, considering you got a spanking and you’re still giving me attitude.”
“m’sorry! i’m sorry daddy!” you panic, feeling the heat in your stomach. scott turns the wand down a few notches.
“breathe through it. stop fussing.” he commands, doing his best to ground you so you didn’t get too fuzzy and couldn’t follow commands. as requested, you take a few shaky deep breaths. “good girl.” the praise feels like a ray of sunshine breaking through grey clouds after storming all day. you shudder, barely able to open your gooey, tearful eyes.
“i’ll be good.” you sigh in a whisper, head hanging weakly, chin nearly touching your chest as your walls flutter around his length.
“hm, i wanna believe you. i do.” he strokes your skin with his free hand as he thinks, so unaffected — you’d think you weren’t even speared open on his cock.
“p’ease.”
“i haven’t even decided if i’m gonna let you cum, to be honest. maybe you need to be put down for a nap, instead.” he hums thoughtfully, relishing secretly in the way your bottom lip wobbles.
“no, please. please please please. m’never gonna be bad again, dad, please!” you whisper, and he lets you fall forward to cry into his shoulder, the vibrating wand still wedged between you. he knows you’ll sleep good after all this. his free hand rubs your back as you twitch and spasm on his cock before he finally speaks.
“alright. i’ll let you cum on my cock. but don’t think crying will get you out of trouble in the future, it won’t.”
your keys, obnoxiously adorned with pink trinkety goods hits the wooden floor of your apartment first. then comes the thud of your bag, thumping and then slumping like a corpse into itself. you can only stare ahead.
dex is there, but not the dex you know so well — the version of him that usually welcomes you home with strong open arms and a kiss at the top of your head. you’d seen this alter ego of his a handful of times, mostly at the start of your relationship. he looks like a void, a shadow — stood parallel to you at the end of your long hallway in his bullseye gear, but he’s not alone.
it takes your eyes a moment to adjust to the male figure struggling, tied to the white chair that usually sits tucked beneath your small circular dining table. you’d think you wouldn’t recognise him after all this time, but the body never forgets. your eyes widen, matching his frightened gaze. you know that face, that muffled voice escaping the makeshift gag stuffed into his mouth. your ex boyfriend.
“hello, sweetheart.” dex’s voice was cool, calm, his silhouette more imposing than ever, casting a jagged shadow up the wall, reaching closer to you.
“wh—why did — what is this—” your voice refuses to climb higher than a raspy whisper, fingers trembling so hard you thought your glittery rings might slide off the manicured tips.
“what, don’t tell me i got the wrong guy?” you can hear the jest in his voice, big black boot taking a calculated step toward you. when you jolt, going to step back only to be caught totally off guard by the firm door hitting your back. dex slows, holding out a hand as if to show you he meant well. “baby, really? we both know i wouldn’t hurt you by now. not unless you asked me to, anyway.”
your ex boyfriend lets out a frantic wail behind his gag, silenced into a cower when dex slowly turns to acknowledge his presence for the first time since you’d walked through the door, his spread, reassuring fingers curling into a brutal fist— irritated at his interruption.
dex only leads him a scalding glare, before focusing his attention back on you. “october 2022.” he hums, like he was reminiscing — but there’s a bitter underflow to his tone as he reaches into his pocket for his phone. his screen lights his face up— his eyes peeping through their balaclava staunched with neon blues and whites as he clicks around. he turns the screen toward you, a facebook post from an account that didn’t even belong to you.
it’s you, younger, even more innocent than you were now, a concept that dex couldn’t have fathomed. he didn’t want to fathom it — a time before him, an innocence that he didn’t get to claim. you’re grinning in the photo, arms wrapped around someone that wasn’t him. it’s halloween — couples costumes. regina george and aaron samuels. such a typical, girly costume from you. the costume looked cheap and the bunny ears were too big for your head, but you looked like a million bucks. he was… there.
“cute costume.” he goes to snort, but his voice comes through icier than intended.
“i— i haven’t seen that picture in years, i haven’t spoken to him in—” you’re panicked, hands held up in defence and dex frowns nearly in offence.
“oh i know. i would never question your loyalty to me, baby girl. my very good girl, aren’t you?”
you nod— because you don’t trust your voice, and you had no idea where this was going.
he steps toward you again, but slower this time so it doesn’t catch you off guard. you allow it, as you have no choice — the painted door cooling your spine.
dex observes his phone screen once more, before forcing out a scoffed chuckle and stuffing his phone back in his pocket. “what was that, ‘mean girls’?” he asks, but you know he knows the answer. you’re guessing he looked it up, researched everything revolved around that one picture from years ago. “you must’ve been so little when that movie came out, baby.” he chuckles adoringly, like it was just the two of you.
you can’t hold his gaze, focused on the man strapped down in the background. he looked different now, older, you’re not even sure if you’d recognise him if you were walking down the street, in your own head like you usually were. dex, now stood just out of arms reach follows your gaze, twisting his body in annoyance to observe the frantic ex boyfriend. the older man’s chest expands as he takes a grounding breath. what he asks next doesn’t feel like a question, the certainty in his tone telling you everything you needed to know.
“was this the boyfriend that cheated on you?”
your body runs cool, heart thumping too hard to feel the remnants of the cracks left by the heartbreak that took place years ago. “w—we were young, and stupid. i don’t even think about it anymore. doesn’t even hurt anymore, ‘cos i’m so happy, so happy with you!” you try to reassure him, but you sound panicked as you watch his jaw tense beneath the mask, rolling his neck like it ached.
“i really, really just hate these young guys. found a beautiful girl, tainted her innocence with his…” his eye twitches. “unclean hands. n’then he just… wasted it. threw it away, just like that.”
your ex boyfriend cries out one last time, voice strained and cracking — telling you he’d been at it for quite some time now. around the spit-soaked gag, you can barely make out that he’s crying for ‘help’.
“i just can’t stand an ungrateful motherfucker.” dex ticks his head, like it were all a minor inconvenience. what happens next, occurs within the blink of a feathered lash. dex reaches, a glint of metal in low light, he swings his body, throws something— and then a chilling groan, and a gurgling sound.
“oh my god. oh my god dex.” you shake like a wet chihuahua, watching the syrupy, dark red fountain from your ex boyfriends mouth and throat, his eyes are wide with terror, before they go lax, unblinking…
dead.
your glossy lips part by themselves to scream, and it escapes you for a second before dex is on you in a second, one hand stuffed over your mouth, the other cupping the back of your head to stop you from hurting yourself against the door when you inevitably started flailing and panicking.
“shh, shh, shh.” he soothes over your muffled scream as he crowds your space. “baby,” he almost scolds with a laugh, seemingly shocked by your reaction like he’d only played a harmless prank and you were majorly overreacting. “i don’t think you wanna draw attention to this, hm?”
you suck in a breath, and trusting you — dex slowly withdraws his hand, smiling proudly and softly beneath his balaclava as he nods, a fond thumb stroking your cheek. “good girl. relax, s’just us now.” he whispers as you peer behind him at the dead body.
“you killed him.” you mewl.
“i just couldn’t— the idea of him walking around, having memories of you, of touching your skin, kissing those lips.” he drags two gloved fingers down your glittery lips, pulling down your pout as you drag your gaze back to his. “it has to be all mine.”
“it is.” you gasp in disbelief. dex peels his balaclava back off his face and drops it beside his feet. he tilts his head, still cupping your head like a predator about to devour his prey, about to unhinge his jaw and swallow you whole.
“say it. say it’s all mine.”
you so hope he misses the way your thighs naturally push together, an unexpected throb in your underwear distracting from the unadulterated terror and guilt swelling in your chest. but of course he saw, he always does.
“s’all yours. i’m all yours. always was.”
dex tilts his head, a fond smile on his weathered, scarred face. he presses a long, warm kiss to your lips, and then your jaw, bringing his lips to your ear as he lurches over you. you stare unblinking at the corpse over his shoulder. there’s a pool of blood beneath the chair now, so dark in the low light that it resembles an alien, black mucus. his body is slumped and contorted in an unnatural position, dead eyes staring forward. watching with cuckhold perversion.
you’re distracted by your flimsy mini skirt getting kicked up by firm gloved fingers, rubbing over your panties where your clit was. his movements are gentle and precise and your vision is shrouded by your own eyelashes as they flutter. “what about her? she all mine?” he refers leudly to your cunt, applying a firmer pressure. your jaw gapes, trying to fight your gaze away to anything but your dead ex-boyfriend. dex nips at your ear and you yelp quietly. “answer me.”
“she— my pussy is all yours dex.” you whimper, hating how your body reacted to him so easily. it was just so familiar, a grounding warmth even in a horrific moment like this. you feel your shameful lust drooling from your pussy and into the delicate pink lace of your panties. dex chuckles when he dips his hand inside, swirling his fingers through your folds and smearing the arousal down to your spasming hole.
“hmm, she definitely doesn’t seem as scared as you, sweetheart.” he teases, pushing his thick fingers inside. he pulls back from your jaw to watch you, pin your gaze with his dark one. you can barely stare back as you buck into his hand. not because you couldn’t stop looking at the dead body behind him this time, no— you always squirmed and struggled to keep his gaze when you felt good like this. your eyes water, twitching and squinting as he toys with your g-spot, curling his long, precise fingers inside you.
“daddy—” you whine, humping against his hand. his lost little puppy, he just wished he got to you earlier.
“oh baby.” he chuckles, letting you drip down his wrist and up his sleeve. “so ready for me. makes you think, doesn’t it?”
the hand cupping the back of your head that had grown relaxed suddenly claws into a grip, yanking you by the hair to turn your body, pushing you against the wall of your hallway. your cheek presses to the cold paint, your boyfriend ensuring you’re staring directly at the corpse that grew colder by the minute as he uses his other hand to hold your skirt at the small of your back and fight your panties down.
dex only let’s go of your hair to make quick work of his belt, shoving his cargos down to his knees to line his tip up with your needy hole. you’re soaked, but to be extra generous he spits, the glob landing directly on the centre of his tip. his aim was impeccable after all.
he doesn’t say a word, just pushes inside you. your back arches and you gain sweet relief for a second when you squeeze your eyes shut, not having to stare at the massacre before you for a second. seated deep inside, balls resting against your ass — dex leans in, lips to the shell of your ears once more. “open those pretty eyes for me, baby.” he sounds strained, like he’s holding back a groan. “look at what i did, for you.”
you do as he says, and he sighs a kiss against your cheekbone, starting to thrust — slow at first, calculated, measured, like he’s feeling out the exact spot where the slight up-curve of his cock notches in the crook where your g-spot was. “fuck.” his voice comes out a broken moan as he indulges, briefly staring down between your bodies to admire the way you cream on his shaft in the dim light.
it’s when he turns his cheek to look at the corpse that his thrusts get harder, meaner, more merciless — almost like he was putting on a show to eyes that could no longer see.
he’s gripping your hair again, forcing you to stare back too.
“that’s it, take daddy’s dick. s’a good girl. my good girl. show him, baby. show him.” he’s growling, maddened by possessiveness. you can’t do anything but whine, held completely in place by his strong frame. in all honesty, there wasn’t anywhere you’d rather be but pinned beneath him.
“please daddy, please dad, need it, need it—” you’re just as mad with lust, and it becomes increasingly less difficult to stare at his act of love before you. you hated how easily mouldable you were, how easily you bended to his will every time he got his hands on you. you hated how special you felt, because he did this for you. you hated how hard your pussy squelched around his cock as you stared at a dead body. you hated how your ex boyfriend cheated on you, messing you up more than you already were. most importantly, you hated that once upon a time you made him love you, because now he was nothing — and thanks to dex he’d be nothing forever.
𝙒𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: 18+, minors dni, daddy kink, sugar daddy x baby relationship except they’re also actually in a relationship, age gap (Rafe is in early-mid 30s, reader is in early 20s), misogyny, sexism, Rafe is a lil bitch, oral (f receiving), swearing, arguing, reader keeps calling rafe old lmao, that’s it I think.
𝙎𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮: Rafe can’t have people thinking he doesn’t know how to discipline his girl.
𝘼/𝙉: Surprise lil drabble which I wrote during work today hehe. Please let me know what you think!
“She, like, basically has you on a leash.”
Rafe snorts, watching his friends laugh at the comment and pretending to join in except inside he’s seething. His hand clenches around the crystal glass which holds his whiskey, and he shoots them a sardonic smile.
“You keep thinking that.”
“It’s true, though. Weren’t you with her at the mall the other day, holding like fifteen different shopping bags?”
He shrugs, “I like to spoil her.”
“Yeah? But you don’t keep her in check, do you?”
Kelce and Topper exchange a meaningful look before they both burst into a fresh wave of laughter. Rafe’s jaw clenches; he leans forward, annoyed.
“The fuck are you talking about?”
“Word on the street is she’s a little wild. A party girl, if you will.” Topper refills his drink, doing his best not to look Rafe in the eye. Fucking pussy.
“Yeah,” Kelce adds, “As in, she’s everywhere. Out every night, every club on the strip. Unsupervised.”
“She’s not a child, you morons.” Rafe takes another sip of his drink, and it takes everything in him not to down the whole damn thing in one go. You were younger than him, sure. But that didn’t mean he had to personally hold your hand every time you went out.
“No. But if word spreads that you can’t keep her in check? Won’t be good.”
“Yeah, man. Especially those old school investors you’re always having meetings with. They won’t wanna do business with you if they know you can’t discipline your girl.”
“I discipline her just fine,” Rafe snaps, but they’ve got to him. And he hates it. His stupid clown ass fucking friends who couldn’t even dream of having a girl as hot as you in their beds. Talking to him about not knowing how to discipline his own girl. “Trust me, I have things under control more than you’d know.”
They leave it at that and change the subject. But Rafe’s pissed the fuck off. Wants to shatter his glass on the goddamned coffee table type of pissed off.
He’d show them.
***
“Baby, look! That new dress I bought finally came!”
You’re like a ray of sunshine inside his dark, desolate house. Always so excited, always up to something. Trouble, but in the most intoxicating sense. It’s what had attracted him to you in the first place.
But Rafe’s still seething from earlier, and all he does is grunt, tugging his tie off and throwing it on his bed along with his suit jacket. You jump into his arms, your legs wrapping around his waist.
“Daddy, I missed you. Do you like my new dress?”
“Sure.” He mutters, gently prying you off him and not giving the dress you’re wearing a second glance. He knows it’s the one from some high end designer label’s new resort collection or some shit like that. It wasn’t even out in stores yet, but you’d made him pull some strings to get it for you. The exact one that had been worn on the runway. Nothing less for his princess. And all you’d had to do was bat your eyes and mention that you’d wanted it.
Maybe he was too lenient…
“Well, okay Mister Grumpy,” you giggle, skipping off back to your place in front of the vanity which is littered with your expensive makeup, skincare and hair oils. The ornate, vintage vanity you’d made him buy for you when he’d moved you into his house. “Well, I’m gonna wear it out tonight. Don’t wait up, by the way. I’m not sure when I’ll be home.”
He frowns, sitting down on the edge of his bed, “What?”
You pout, but it’s only to put your sparkly, candy pink lipgloss on. He loved it on you, it made you taste so extra sweet and made your lips look so fucking sexy and kissable.
“My friend Sierra’s party, silly! It’s at this new VIP club called Absynthe. And then there’s an after party back at—”
“You’re not going.”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
There’s a few beats of silence before you put your makeup brush down and cross the room. Perch yourself on his lap all pretty, looking so tiny and delicious, yet taken aback at the same time. You grab his hand, pressing it down on your bare thigh.
“Daddy,” you breathe in that sexy voice of yours that gets him weak in the knees, “Is this ‘cause you’ll miss me in bed tonight? ‘Cause we can make up for that right now, if you want…”
You press his hand between your thighs and he sucks in his breath sharply. Fuck, you were so hot. He doesn’t pull it away, instead feeling the warmth of your bare skin which glows with whatever glittery body oil you’ve massaged on. And inhaling that sweet perfume of yours that you’ve spritzed liberally all over your body.
“This dress is too short.”
The realisation snaps Rafe out of whatever spell you were about to put him under. He takes a closer look, unable to stop the poisonous thoughts that invade his mind. The dress barely reaches mid thigh, barely covers your fucking ass. And it’s tight like a second skin, makes your body look insane. Too insane to be seen by any pair of eyes that weren’t his own.
You giggle, “I like short dresses. You said you like me in them.”
“Yes. I like you in them. Doesn’t mean the entire male population of Kildare gets to see you in them too.”
You huff, standing up abruptly, “Fine. Then I’ll change into something else.”
Rafe knows you too well. Knows you’ll change back into the slutty dress the moment you leave the house. You’re trouble with a capital T, and he’s always found it enamouring, cute, sexy, exciting. Except now.
“Change into whatever you want, you’re still not stepping foot outside this house tonight.”
Your hands land on your hips, perfectly groomed eyebrows raised and an indignant look on your face, “You can’t be serious…”
“I am. And spare the dramatics, I’m not in the mood.”
“Just because you’re in a bad mood doesn’t mean you have to take it out on me, Rafe!”
He frowns, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Don’t be a spoiled brat just because I won’t allow you to go clubbing till the early hours of the morning in a dress with your tits practically spilling out.”
Your jaw drops, and now you cross your arms below your chest, and it makes your cleavage look even more incredible. Despite everything, he can feel himself getting hard.
“You’re being mean,” you look at him venomously, but your lower lip quivers. That’s when he realises just how much he let you get away with in the past. But you were just so sweet, so charming. Such a sexy little thing, and you were his weakness.
He couldn’t be weak anymore.
“Trust me, you haven’t seen mean yet.” Rafe mutters, “No more clubbing for the foreseeable future. I won’t have my girl doing that shit anymore.”
“You can’t tell me what I can or can’t do.” You breathe.
“No? Do you want me to cut your allowance? Change my credit card details?” He waits, but you remain silent. “That’s what I thought.”
Now you’re glaring at him with daggers in your eyes, meticulously manicured hands curling into fists by your sides. You’ve always been a brat, and right now you look like a petulant child about to throw a tantrum. You’ve done it before, and he’s always given in. Happy wife, happy life, that kind of thing. Not this time, though.
“Go fuck yourself.”
Rafe snorts, standing up and running a hand through his buzzed hair, “Why? When I’ve got you for that.” He smirks when you gasp lightly, “Now if you actually want to make yourself useful, then make me a drink how you know I like it, and bring it to me in my study.”
He leaves, but not before tapping your ass on his way out. You huff angrily, but he doesn’t look back. Not this time. Who said he couldn’t discipline you? Hell, you’re lucky he didn’t take you over his knee the moment he saw that fucking sorry excuse for a dress.
No, this time you’ll learn.
***
Predictably, you don’t bring him his drink. Instead, he leans back against his leather chair in his study, watching as his phone pings with multiple rapid notifications from his bank.
You were using his credit card right at this very moment, spending his money on a bunch of different shit. Several thousand dollars at Van Cleef, Guiseppe Zanotti, Chanel. It was your way of getting back at him, but you spending his money only served to turn him on.
The corner of Rafe’s mouth twitches upwards. He could block his credit card from your phone, or change his details. But he’s never had a problem with you spending his money. In fact, he found it to be the hottest fucking thing: the confidence with which you spent his money on the most extravagant shit possible. And he loved that he could show you off, his girl who was always dripping head to toe in diamonds and designer labels. Well taken care of. And all his.
Now if only you could just be a good girl and stop going out partying so much.
It’s not that Rafe cared much about you going out clubbing before today. He himself felt too old for that shit, but he never had a problem with you going. He liked to see you have fun, and you always came home to him all drunk and giggly. Snuggled up to him and let him take care of you. He liked that. Because he trusted you and knew you were a good girl who knew who she belonged to. But what he didn’t like was other people thinking he was some pussy-whipped little bitch.
It takes him upwards of an hour to get through the remaining work he has. By the time it’s all done, Rafe’s itching to get in bed with you. Hopefully you were done being dramatic and he could have a quiet night.
Instead, he walks back into the bedroom to see your suitcase open wide on the bed, and your shit strewn everywhere.
“The fuck is this?”
You sniffle, dramatically folding an article of clothing, “I’m leaving you.”
He rolls his eyes, “Can you leave me tomorrow? I’d like to sleep right now.”
You toss your hair over your shoulder in frustration, shooting him a glare but all he can focus on is how hot you look. You’ve changed into a pair of tiny pink silk pyjama shorts and a matching vest top. Hardly the kind of attire you’d wear when you were about to leave someone.
“You’re such a jerk, Rafe. A mean, horrible, unfair jerk. Fuck you.”
Rafe yawns, leaning against the doorframe and watching you in amusement, “A mean, horrible, unfair jerk, huh? For setting boundaries that you clearly need?”
You scowl, “I’m not your child, Rafe. And you’ve never had a problem with me going out before.”
He shrugs, “Yeah, well that’s going to change from now on going forward. I can’t have people thinking I don’t know how to control my girl.” He makes his way over to you and shuts your suitcase with a finality, pushing it onto the floor, “Now get in bed, I’m tired.”
“Of course you’re tired. You’re old and boring and you don’t understand that you’re smothering me and I hate you!” You’re growing more hysterical by the second, but it’s not something Rafe isn’t used to. This isn’t the first temper tantrum from you he’s had to deal with, and it probably wouldn’t be the last.
“Baby,” he wraps his arms around you, not budging even when you fight against him with your feeble, ineffective little punches that only make him chuckle, “C’mon, don’t be like this. You know I’m only trying to protect you.”
“No. You’re just trying to control me. Because you hate me.”
“If I hated you, you’d be dead,” he laughs, pressing a kiss to the nape of your neck while you’re still trying to push him away, “Now come on, there’s worse things to pout about than not being allowed to go clubbing.”
“It’s supposed to be the biggest party of the summer! And my outfit was soo good!”
“Why don’t you act like all the other girlfriends? Plan a brunch or go to the country club?” He continues pressing kisses down your neck.
“Because I’m not a brain dead tradwife, Rafe!”
That makes him laugh, and he can sense you holding back a smile too.
“No, baby, you’re just a brat.”
He kisses you, claiming your mouth while his hand reaches down to palm your ass. He grabs a handful, giving it a squeeze through the silky material of your shorts. You gasp into his mouth and he smirks, ignoring how you pound at his chest.
“Let go of me! I told you I’m leaving!”
But you let him push you down on the bed, let him climb on top of you and kiss you some more. Sure, you have a lot to say, cursing and whining and crying about your stupid club all while he kisses you everywhere. Your face, your neck, your collarbones, pushes your top down to kiss your breasts. And he can taste the chocolatey coco of your shimmery body oil, and he’s so fucking hard.
“I wanna go to the Bahamas.” You say while he’s between your legs, eating your cunt like he’s starved. It’s his favourite type of food, and he loves pressing your thighs so far apart he’s sure he’ll leave bruises.
He looks up at you indulgently, “Sure, baby. Anything else?”
A trip to the Bahamas with him was better than you going clubbing by yourself.
“I’d like a car. Like a cute pink convertible.”
“Of course you would.”
The truth is, he’d buy you just about anything you wanted. All the dresses, cars, jewellery, makeup, trips, all of it. If it meant you’d be happy in your gilded cage, satisfied enough that you’d give up your frivolous clubbing and wild ways that made him look bad.
Now, you thrash above him, grabbing at the sheets and at his head as you come undone. Arching your back so pretty, pressing your wet pussy right on his face as he laps you up. He knows he was hard on you today, and you need the extra attention.
“Mmmm, dada… I-I…”
Rafe makes you orgasm three times before coming up for air, kissing you possessively so you can taste yourself on him. And you’re more docile now, you always are after he’s tamed you and gotten you off. Like you’ve orgasmed the brattiness out of you. Except it never lasts long, but he’d take what he could get.
“Go to sleep now,” he orders you, pecking your face a couple more times. “It’s late.”
“For you it’s late.”
“Shhhh,” he kisses you again till he can feel you smiling against his lips.
“Fine.” You yawn, letting him tuck you by his side and pull the covers up as he turns the lamp off.
He knows it’s anything but fine, and the battle is far from over. But he’s got you tamed for now, which was a victory in itself.
Fuck his dumb fucking friends. Who said Rafe Cameron didn’t know exactly how to control his girl?
LMAOOO rafe is such a bitch. I love writing this kind of reader though, she’s so me 🙏🏼🥹 anyways, what do you guys think? PLEASE let me know!! I was bored at work so wrote this little drabble, hopefully yall enjoyed! kisses 💋
bodyguard dex wouldn’t want pop star to see the violent things he does to creeps but he doesn’t know she’s so turned on when he has blood on him
he’d been called to your hotel room, a frantic phone call regarding a strange man loitering in the lobby asking for you and knocking on your door repeatedly, more and more angry each time. “‘just don’t feel safe without you here.” you sniffle through the phone, wide teary eyes trained on your hotel door. that’s all he needed to hear to come to your rescue. ૮₍ྀི ˶'ᐤ'˶ ₎ྀིა
“okay, okay hang tight. i’ll handle it.”
i’ll handle it. that’s all you needed to hear to feel a little more warm and protected.
thirty minutes later, a quieter more controlled knock at your door. “hey, it’s just me.” his low warm voice immediately bringing you comfort. you rush to the door in your tiny pink, prissy pyjamas and throw it open, welcoming him inside.
“wh—what happened? he was banging at the door and calling the room and demanding i come down to the lobby and i’m just — i’m all shaken up, how can they just let him in here? how can the hotel let this happen—” you ramble, clearly in a state as he nods calmly.
“—i know, i know. it’s okay now, he won’t be bothering you again.” he reassures, which is when you actually take a moment to look at him and take in his appearance. mostly everything is the same as usual — black and navy bomber jacket, black mock-neck, black cargos and boots. however his hair looked a little messier, and most notably — a big blood splatter across his face and neck.
“wh—” you trail off, staring into his eyes for a moment to gauge anything. what did he do? you stutter for a moment before you continue, voice a little softer, hushed. “did… is he being detained or questioned by the police?”
he walks further into your hotel room like he owns the place, rolling his shoulders and neck like they were aching as he explains himself casually. “police would drop the case, unfortunately there’s nothin’ illegal about knocking on some hotel room doors—”
“but he’s stalking me—”
“i know.” he quiets you firmly, turning to stare into your eyes like he was trying to wordlessly convey something. “i know… and like i said, i handled it for you. you’ll… be safer this way… alright?” he lowers his tone as you step closer to him, your watery eyes fluttering up and down his entire being, taking in the small specs of blood or dirt. he watches your chest rise and fall heavily, pulse thumping beneath your breast.
“well what did you do?” you whisper, like you’re afraid to know the answer. dex takes a beat, closing the space between you to place a firm but reassuring hand on your shoulder.
“i got rid of the problem.”
you suck in a breath, nodding as you blink away the adrenaline fuelled tears. you’d never been involved in anything like this before. were you going to get in trouble? as fear washed over you, it dimmed as you stare his confident gaze, feeling your head continue to slowly nod like you were under a spell. why did you feel…relieved?
after a moment of intense eye contact, you speak up again, stepping out of his grasp. “you have blood on you… whilst you’re here do you wanna take a shower? i can’t imagine you want people poking around if they see you like that.” you avert your gaze to your feet, smushing your fluffy pink slippers into the luxurious hotel rug.
when you brave a glance up at him, you swear you see a tiny smirk tug at the outer corners of his lips, brows raising as he looks around. “thats right, if you don’t mind of course.”
you smile, fumbling to grab him a towel. you feel hot in the face when an image of him all wet, towel slung around his hips graces your imagination. “go ahead. ‘f you need any help in there jus’ let me know.” you’ve gone dumb, handing dex the towel and avoiding eye contact. where did that bratty spoiled popstar go?
“yeah? what would i need help with?” dex chuckles warmly, one of the few times he’d crack a genuine smile. him only smiling like that around you in privacy brought that confidence right back.
“anything. i can be very very helpful.” you pur, swaying on the spot, hands clasped behind your back mischievously as you bat your eyelashes. there she is. he laughs, shaking his head at you as he walks toward the sliding bathroom door. you follow his path, standing pressed to the doorway so that he’d have to squeeze past you to get by.
“i’m sure you can, kid. think i can handle it from here though.” he stops as he squeezes past you, bodies basically pressed together as he smirks down at you. “i’m a big boy, you know?”
with that, he closes the door on you, leaving you to simply imagine what he looks like undressed under the stream.
her vanity is cluttered with makeup, hair clips, half-open lip glosses, and an iced coffee that’s mostly melted by now.
the instagram live is already pushing thirty thousand viewers.
comments flood nonstop at the bottom of the screen while she sits cross-legged in front of her mirror wearing a tiny pale pink dress that keeps riding up her thighs every time she moves. music plays softly somewhere in the background while she curls a piece of hair around her finger absentmindedly.
“i’m not late,” she says defensively, laughing a little at the comments. “jj said seven-thirty means eight anyway.”
the chat moves faster instantly at his name.
jj maybank.
creator. influencer. obnoxiously attractive in that laidback beach-boy way people online lose their minds over. he’s been flirting with her publicly for like three weeks straight and the internet’s obsessed with it.
she reaches for her mascara wand. “this isn’t even a date, by the way.”
the comments absolutely do not believe her.
before she can keep talking, a different kind of message starts repeating over and over.
@.rosiecherie: rafe4k talking abt u rn
@.mollyjunebugg: “HELP hes MAD”
“he’s literally crashing out”
she pauses mid-mascara application.
“what?”
more comments flood in immediately.
@.vanillamuesli: he’s streaming
@.rosexstyles he’s saying jj’s using u
@.fauix: he called u fake 😭”
her brows lift slowly.
then she laughs.
actually laughs.
“no way.”
curiosity gets the better of her fast.
she grabs her second phone off the vanity, unlocking it while thousands of people watch. after a second, the muffled sound of rafe’s stream fills the room.
his voice is sharp and irritated immediately.
“i’m just saying, girls like that build their entire personalities around male attention and then act surprised when weird shit happens to them.”
her mouth drops open slightly.
“girls like that?” she repeats to her live, blinking.
the comments explode.
on the phone, rafe keeps going.
“and this jj guy obviously knows what he’s doing. all these collab dudes do. they act friendly, flirt with them for views, whatever. it’s fake internet relationship garbage.”
she stares at the phone for a second longer before slowly setting her mascara down.
“oh my god,” she says, almost impressed. “he’s obsessed with me.”
the comments move so fast they blur together.
@.cherryprincess11: CALL HIM
@.skaijacksonsbabydaddy: GO LIVE W HIM”
@.sturnscomms: HE SOUNDS JEALOUS”
she grins suddenly. dangerous-looking.
then she picks the phone back up.
“hi rafe,” she says sweetly toward the stream playing from her speaker. “since apparently you’re watching me while i get ready.”
on the other end, he goes completely silent for a second.
chat in his stream immediately loses its mind loud enough for his mic to pick it up.
she keeps curling her hair like nothing happened.
“first of all,” she says calmly, “this dress is cute. second of all, jj’s actually nice to me, which already makes him better than like… ninety percent of twitch streamers.”
her own comments explode.
she can hear rafe inhale sharply through the speaker.
“i never said the dress wasn’t cute,” he snaps automatically.
she freezes.
then turns slowly toward her camera with the biggest smile.
“oh, so you were looking?”
his stream goes dead silent.
absolutely dead silent.
she actually giggles.
“that’s so embarrassing.”
“you knew exactly what i meant,” rafe says, voice tighter now.
“did i?” she asks innocently. “because it kinda sounds like you’ve been staring at me this whole live.”
the comments are unreadable at this point from how fast they’re moving.
rafe mutters something under his breath.
“what was that?” she asks brightly.
“…nothing.”
“mhm.” she leans closer to the camera slightly, glossing her lips while talking. “for someone who hates me soooo bad, you sure spend a lotta time thinking about me.”
he doesn’t answer immediately.
which tells her enough.
her grin softens into something smugger. cuter.
“you know what i think?” she says. “i think you’d miss me if i stopped posting.”
“that’s not—”
“i think,” she interrupts casually, “you watch everything i do and then pretend you don’t care because it freaks you out.”
silence again.
his silence this time feels different though. heavier.
she watches the viewer count keep climbing.
then she hears him scoff quietly.
“you think highly of yourself.”
“and you think about me constantly,” she shoots back instantly.
that one lands.
she can tell by how long he takes to respond.
then finally:
“…you going out dressed like that with him is stupid.”
her expression changes immediately.
not offended. surprised.
because that didn’t sound hateful at all.
it sounded jealous.
the realization hits both of them at the exact same time.
her smile grows slowly.
“oh my god,” she says softly. “you’re jealous.”
“i’m not jealous,” rafe says immediately.
she bites back a smile, turning slightly in her chair to reach for her perfume. “righttt.”
“i’m serious.”
“okay.”
“stop doing that.”
“doing what?” she asks innocently, spraying perfume against her neck.
“talking like you know me.”
that makes her laugh a little under her breath.
on the phone, she can hear his chair creak. he’s definitely leaning closer to his mic now, fully distracted from whatever stream he was originally trying to do.
her comments are unreadable at this point.
half the internet is basically watching them flirt in real time.
“you literally interrupted your own stream to talk about me,” she points out. “while watching my live.”
“because your fans kept spamming me.”
“mhm.”
“and because this jj guy obviously wants attention.”
she rolls her eyes dramatically toward the camera. “every man who breathes near me doesn’t secretly want me, rafe.”
he goes quiet again.
that one definitely hit somewhere.
she smooths down the skirt of her dress before standing up to check herself in the mirror. the dress is tiny honestly, soft pink satin hugging her body while thin straps rest against her shoulders. cute enough to make the internet insane over it.
and apparently rafe too.
because when she steps fully into frame, he stops talking entirely.
she notices instantly.
“what?” she asks, catching his silence.
“…nothing.”
she grins slowly.
“you did that thing again.”
“what thing?”
“the staring thing.”
“i’m literally not even there.”
“and yet i can still tell.”
on the speaker, she hears muffled shouting from his stream again.
probably chat bullying him.
deserved.
she slips on her heels while still talking to him. “you know what’s funny though?”
“what.”
“you act meaner whenever another guy’s involved.”
“that’s not true.”
“it literally is.”
“you don’t know what you’re talking about.”
she stands back up, grabbing her phone now instead of leaving it propped on the vanity. her smile turns softer around the edges somehow.
teasing, but curious too.
“then why do you sound mad i’m seeing jj?”
“i’m not mad.”
“you called him fake.”
“because he is.”
“you don’t even know him.”
“i know men.”
she actually snorts at that.
“oh my god, you’re ridiculous.”
“and you’re naive.”
“says the guy who spends his nights yelling into a headset.”
“says the girl broadcasting herself in that dress to thirty thousand people.”
there’s a pause.
not angry.
just… charged.
her cheeks warm slightly before she hides it by turning toward the mirror again.
“you noticed the dress a lot for somebody who hates my content.”
he exhales sharply through his nose.
“you flirt with everybody like this?”
“only twitch streamers with anger issues.”
his chat absolutely erupts at that one.
she hears donations going off nonstop through his phone speaker. somebody’s probably clipping every second of this already.
rafe mutters a curse under his breath.
“they’re gonna make edits out of this,” he says, sounding genuinely annoyed.
“aww,” she coos sarcastically. “worried people are gonna think you like me?”
“they already think that.”
“do you?”
silence.
actual silence this time.
she stills a little.
because she asked it jokingly at first. teasing. but now she’s suddenly aware of how quiet he got afterward.
on the speaker, she can hear faint static from his mic.
then finally
“…you make it hard not to.”
her eyes widen slightly.
the comments explode so violently her live glitches for a second.
@.laceyalannaa: OH MY GOD
@.bl3ssedhqrts: HE ADMITTED IT”
@.livingbunnysblog: CLIP THAT”
she just stares at her phone for a second, caught off guard in a way she clearly wasn’t expecting.
and rafe seems to realize what he just said at the exact same time because he immediately goes:
“that’s not what i meant.”
she bursts out laughing.
full laughing now, head tipping back slightly.
“rafe.”
“drop it.”
“rafeee.”
“i’m serious.”
she’s still smiling when there’s a knock somewhere offscreen.
“yo,” jj’s voice calls faintly through her apartment. “you ready?”
the mood shifts instantly
through the speaker, rafe goes dead quiet again.
she glances toward the door, then back at her phone.
and for some reason, seeing him suddenly silent makes her chest feel weirdly tight.
jj knocks again. “hello?”
she hesitates.
just for a second.
then looks down at the speaker with a tiny smile.
“don’t miss me too much while i’m gone, streamer boy.”
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
wanna wear cute bunny ears, sit in dex’s lap and teasingly tell him i’m in heat and to do something about it <3 just as some cute harmless role play but his eyes get soooooo dark and he’s super serious and sternly flips me on to all fours before telling me im gonna regret asking him to breed me yaaaaay (scared)
you know better than to ask dex to play with you while he was in the middle of… whatever he was doing. it was always that same black laptop perched on your white coffee table, catching glimpses of maps, addresses, dark web weapon stores… bullseye stuff. he got real serious and stern whenever he was planning, so you waited. waited, and waited and waited until you could tell he was calling a night, leaning back and rubbing at his eyes after hours of self-inflicted screen time. it was time to call on his attention.
you step out in your little get up — fluffy pink and white ears, lacy white push up bra and matching panties with a tiny pink skirt, resting on the curve of your ass cheeks paired with white knee highs. when you do a little spin for him, he sees the fluffy bunny tail you’d hand sewn onto your panties. you were a delight to see, a sight that made that aged smirk appear on his face after hours of scowling.
“there she is.” he observes, eyes exploring your body in a way so vulgar it nearly felt violating.
“m’in heat.” you pull at your skirt shyly as you approach. this pulls a low chuckle from him, raising his brows as you climb onto his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck to stabilise yourself.
“that so?”
“i need you to do somethin’ about it.” your cheeks push up into a watery smile, knowing you’d been waiting ages to have any kind of playtime with him and you were seeking out that desperate relief of being praised for doing so. he watches you for a moment, watches the way your eyes flicker between his in anticipation, the way your thighs tremor ever so slightly on top of him, the way your little pink tongue darts out to lick over your already glossed lips.
“i think today you’ll learn a very… valuable lesson, young lady.” he speaks slowly, deliberately, before coming to a stand, still carrying you with ease. he begins to walk, but his eyes stay on you, dodging every piece of haphazard furniture from your apartment without looking, as if he’d be able to navigate your home space in the complete pitch black.
“hm?” you prompt, always slightly nervous in his presence. his hands greedily grope your ass cheeks as he walks you to your room slowly.
“you’re gonna learn that teasing…” he arrives into your pink palace of a bedroom, stepping cautiously until his knees reach your bed. “poking fun…” he drops you and you let out a surprised squeak like a discarded dog toy, bouncing a few times on the bed, bunny ears nearly knocked off. “begging…” he continues, hands now clasped behind his back as he paces infront of the bed before you. “a grown man like me, capable of awful things…” he chuckles, your eyes locked on him.
“can get you in trouble. you don’t like being in trouble, do you sweetheart?” he cooes, knowing the answer. your body flushes with heat and you shake your head so hard you’re sure it rattles.
“no.”
“no. you don’t. but you’ve come to me, dressed so cutely, and very politely told me that you’re in heat… and you need me to do something about that. do you know what being in heat means for bunnies?” he prompts, corner of his mouth twitching into another smirk. you don’t answer, because he says it for you. “it means they’re looking to get bred. to pop out a cute little baby… and seeing as you asked me so nicely to do it, that’s exactly what i’m gonna do.” he steps closer to the bed, leaning forward until his face is eye level with yours and you can see every line of age on his skin. “so be a good little bunny and bend over for me. okay? i’m gonna give you exactly what you’ve asked me for, and i’m not gonna stop until i’m sure that womb has drank up every last drop of my cum. you might even regret asking by the time we’re done.”
The Steve Harrington Summertime Spectacular (emmy’s edition)
Steve Harrington x fem!reader 1K
A little something written for @jamdoughnutmagician’s summer Steve spectacular. Thank you for inspiring me and getting my lazy brain working ◡̈
Wildflowers grew around the edges of Lovers Lake during the height of summer. Red poppies, white daisies, tall sprigs of lavender, baby pink milkweed; all swaying in the too-warm breeze. They made the banks seem prettier, the trees greener, the sky an endless blue that made the lake water less swamp-like than it looked in the colder months.
Insects buzzed as you climbed out of your car, the engine still creaking even after you killed it. The afternoon sun was blazing, no clouds for it to hide behind as you took shelter under a tree that leaned too far to the left, puddles of daisies brushing your ankles as you went.
There was a boy in the lake, nothing but a flash of tan skin and red shorts, lean muscle and hair that was shorter than the last time you’d seen him. And despite the fact there wasn’t anyone else out there but you and him, you tried your hardest to pretend you hadn’t spotted him.
Not yet, anyway.
You took up camp underneath the tree, the grass tickling the undersides of your bare thighs, the denim of your shorts frayed and sun-bleached from the last summer, and the one before that. You didn’t mind sitting in the dirt, the sun drying it out until it was a brush of dust on your too-warm skin. It didn’t really matter, not when the air smelled like lavender and sun-tan lotion and you had a view of Steve Harrington’s broad back, glittering with sun rays and water drops.
It took him ten minutes, maybe a little less, before he swam to shore and walked up the sandy banks right before you. He was grinning, the kind of smile you’d seen in high school, back when he wore a crown made of gold and everyone thought he was untouchable. Back when he thought he was untouchable.
The years after graduation had made him softer, different. He was confident in a different way, a quiet way. He still wore that crown — it was just a little dented, a little scraped and scratched. But he held his chin higher than he had in school, like he knew he deserved to now.
But the grin he wore now was more a smirk than anything else, just like the one King Steve would’ve given. This Steve waded through ankle-deep water as he looked right at you, red swim shorts sticking high to the tops of his legs, and you tried not to stare at the way they sat low on his hips, the way lake water traced little wet lines down the middle of his bare chest. He pushed his damp hair out of his eyes and took a seat next to you, right on the yellow and blue striped towel you’d sat out for yourself. He peered at the little box of watermelon you’d packed, red and green triangles that were still cool from the fridge.
His lashes were spiked together from the water, long and sticking to each other, his tanned skin dotted with new freckles from the summer spent doing just this. He glanced at you, his smirk still worn proudly.
He sighed, like he was world wary, like he wasn’t electrical with excitement at the sight of you too. “You just can’t stay away from me, can you?”
Steve’s knee knocked your own as he leaned back onto his hands, muscles flexing, lashes lowered as he looked at you through them. Bold words that made you buzz, that made the effort of driving out here with your new bikini top hidden underneath a white blouse worth it.
You shrugged and grinned, not bothering to hide it. The excitement of it all, the heat in the air, it split your mouth open with the joy of it. It didn’t matter that high school had been an age ago, it didn’t matter what had happened since.
Crushes were always the same, a fizz that lived under your skin, something waiting between the cracks of your ribs, ready to burst and bloom the minute that person considered looking at you.
This wasn’t any different. Perhaps this was worse. ‘Cause Steve grinned back, that smirk brightening into something so pretty, into something so much more sincere, and it made you ache with excitement.
It made you hope, it made you think ‘what if?’ It made you think ‘when?’ And that was so much worse and so much better than being left feeling hopeless and unrequited.
Steve’s bare skin was warm next to yours, the sun already drying his hair and his shorts. He kept his shirt off, not minding his reddening shoulders or the fact his cheeks were turning pink. He took an orange from your bag without asking, his smile the only answer to your huff and eye roll, neither of them meaning much when you were still smiling at him like that.
So you ate some watermelon as Steve peeled his fruit, orange-scented fingertips skating over your bare knee as he leaned over to steal a sip from your lemonade too, peeking up from beneath his lashes to catch your amused reaction. The skies stayed blue as the afternoon stretched on, the air thick and hazy with heat and citrus, the cicadas growing louder as dusk crawled closer, the new clouds that gathered on the horizon a cotton candy pink.
“You doing much?” Steve asked. His voice was warm and soft from talking about everything and nothing with you over the last hour or two. “Tonight, I mean.”
He was stretched out on the towel, one arm clung beneath his head, his hair air dried and wild. He’d thrown a shirt on, a blue plaid thing that he’d only buttoned up twice, the soft material falling over his sides to show off his bare chest, the tanned softness of his stomach and the trail of hair beneath his belly button.
Steve licked his lips as he waited on your answer, sunscreen and lemonade on them. Insects buzzed, the water lapped at the shoreline and you hummed; leaning forward to wrap your arms around your bent knees. You rested your chin there, trying your best to smother your smile but your chest was trying so hard to hide the thundering of your heart, a bird-boned cage set up to crumble.
But you grinned anyway, an inevitable answer to his question and Steve answered in kind, eyes crinkling with the simple joy of you looking at him like that, with sun warmed cheeks and a wind blown daisy petal in your hair.
“I don’t know,” you said, already waiting, already eager to go. Because the sun wasn’t all that close to setting yet, the air still warm, the baby blue coloured mirror atop Lovers Lake still. The wildflowers stirred on the breeze, showing their anticipation. “What did you have in mind?”
kinda want adrian to bounce me on his lap absentmindedly while yapping, not realizing i’m literally about to cum
you’re situated on his lap, arms around your neck. very lovey-dovey from a birdseye, as he rambles about his day — just relieved that he can talk to someone he trusts about his day to day vigilantism’s. absentmindedly, adrian has you sat with his thigh wedged right between your legs, the pocket of his pants rubbing right against your covered little cunt beneath your skirt, bouncing you rhythmically like a stim, like he couldn’t contain his energy levels even when unwinding at your apartment.
“—and honestly, if the laws in place actually worked i wouldn’t have to be the one to step up and correct people like this, but that’s besides the point—”
“mhm…” you nod along, always the engaged listener, but your brows are furrowed and your lips pressed tightly together to suppress not only your moans, but your surprise when you already feel that tight little knot squeezing in your abdomen, pussy burning with the desire to just let go.
“— like dude, seriously? of all the things you could graffiti, you can’t even spell the word?—” he continues on, chuckling and shaking his head as he removes a hand from your waist for just a moment to push his glasses up his nose. his movement forces him to lose momentum in his mindless bouncing, causing you to desperately drop the act and move your hips instead.
“so i was like — wait, are you okay? what are you… are you humping me?” he sounds truly confused, so lost in his rambles that he’s astounded that he didn’t notice the feeling of you seeping through his pants. ashamed, you falter your movements, hanging your head.
“you were bouncing your leg… just felt really good and i—” your chin is practically touching your chest before he lifts it with his fingers, a small sympathetic smile on his face.
“hey, i’m not mad. you know i love to watch you cum.” he shrugs, before nodding in gesture obviously for you to continue. hesitantly you start to slowly grind once more, picking up the pace when he bites back a grin, leaning back in his seat boyishly to watch your body move. “oh man. how’d i miss this?”
“a—adrian, s’so wet for you!” you mope, lip quivering as you hump away like a puppy.
“i know, i can feel it!” he cooes, visibly elated. “are you gonna cum for me? are you gonna let me hear it, huh?” he kneads the fat of your hips as you roll them, feeling yourself about to hit a peak. “yeah?” he responds to your pathetic squeak.
you explode into whimpers and whines, rutting until you’re sore before collapsing on his chest, panting as he rubs your back. after a minute, he speaks.
“uh, i hate to interrupt this moment of relaxation — but…” he gestures with both hands down at his crotch, his hard cock creating a tent. “are you too sleepy? or are you gonna bounce on my dick this time? i’m cool either way but… ‘think you know what he’d prefer.” he gestures once more to his cock, pleading with his eyes.
hi big brother adrian beating up all the guys who try n date you cos he knows theyll eventually hurt you so like whats the point of letting you entertain anyone when hes obv the only one good enough for his little sister .. can anyone hear me
#RECIEVEDDD
he’s always arguing w you and even bringing it up to the gang ranting and rambling about how you keep going on these dates with these low life’s and he keeps having to ‘make them disappear’ and it’s really cutting into his time, until eventually through all the side eyes economos is like
“hey man, you’re like… really weird about your sister.”
“what do you mean?” adrian shakes his head, as if what he just ranted about was totally normal.
“like… you seem jealous that she’s seeing other guys.” he elaborates, adebayo jumping in to support his point, trying to remain sensitive about the subject.
“yeah i mean, i totally get being protective of your younger siblings but…”
the complete group exchange glances and awkward shifts, unsure of how to word what they really wanted to say.
“what?” adrian shrugs, lost.
chris, always the honest one rolls his eyes as he uncrosses his arms. “dude they think you’re fucking your sister.”
“woah, woah woah — i am not fucking my sister!” adrian defends, holding up his hands as he stands from where he was leant against the desk. adebayo winces, interjecting to mitigate the conversation.
“now we didn’t say all that but—”
“you kind of seem like you want to fuck her, though.” economos accuses, obviously weirded out.
“okay any kind of touching that went on was because she was totally coming onto me first—” adrian argues, voices beginning to overlap as harcourt pinches her brow, trying to quell the oncoming headache.
i beg more toxic bsf rafe and bimbo reader pleasssseeee!
𝐓𝐎𝐗𝐈𝐂𝐁𝐒𝐅!𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐄 𝐗 𝐁𝐈𝐌𝐁𝐎!𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑
𝐁𝐈𝐌𝐁𝐎!𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐆𝐎𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐍 𝐀 𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐄//
“you look pretty, you going out with sarah?” rafe asked you, his eyes skimming over your little outfit.
“no, rafey, i’m going on a date!” you beamed at him, expecting your so called best friend to be happy for you. but then again, this was rafe cameron.
rafe’s expression shifted slightly, a flicker of something dangerous passing through his eyes before he masked it with a smile. “a date?” he repeated, his voice carefully neutral. “with who?” he asked.
“oh some guy who works at the country club. he’s really sweet and cute and i thought i just give it a shot.” you say back, innocently as always.
“sweet and cute,” he echoed flatly, clearly not entertained by the idea. “you don’t even know what guys are like in bed, angel, and your giving a guy from the country club a chance? a pogue? seriously?” his voice calm with that small hint of manipulation.
“well.. it’s not like anything’s actually going to happen. it’s a small little date.” you say, rafe’s words slowly creeping into your mind. he was right, you didn’t know what guys where like in bed, you knew not to mess with pogues.
his jaw tightened. "just a fun little date," he repeated slowly, like he was tasting the words and finding them disgusting. "with some other guy touching you, looking at you, buying you dinner to get in your pants.”
he leaned closer, voice dropping low. "you know he doesn't actually want you."
you felt your face flush. what if rafe was right? what if he just wanted to get in your pants? “but rafey, i’ve been so excited for this all week. he seems like a genuine guy.” your voice was small and unsure now unlike your earlier excited tone.
"mhm, I'm sure he does," rafe murmured softly, he pulled you up onto his lap so you now sat right on his expensive khakis, his thumb brushing soothing circles on your knee. "but what if he's just saying that to get you to open your legs for him, hm? you're so innocent, you wouldn't even know if he was lying to you."
you bite your lip, fidgeting with the ring rafe gave you, the ring that looked suspiciously like a engagement ring, the ring that was gave to you to claim you as his. “okay, okay, i won’t go.”
"good," he replied simply, his thumb stopping its soothing motion to gently squeeze your knee possessively. "you're too good for some random guy. if you wanna go out, I'll take you out. I'll buy you dinner, hold your hand, open car doors for you."
“your such a good friend, rafey.” you smile softly at him.
his lips curled into a small, satisfied smile at your words. he was such a good manipulator, making you think he had your best interests at heart when really he just didn't want any other guy having you. he stood up from his seat and walked around the table.
“but what if i go to the country club again and he’s on shift and he mentions me blowing him off?” you suddenly ask.
rafe turned to you with a charming smile. “don’t worry about, baby. i’ll sort it out.” he said softly.
later that day you found out that rafe had somehow someway got that guy fired from the country club and restricted from all of the kook area.
sorry it’s so short i js don’t know what to write :( if anyone has any reqs send them in and ill be happy to answer them 🙈💝
gf reader who is ovulating bad (me) and grabbing Adrian and pushing him down like ‘jus need to sit on something’ 😔 everything is too much
and he’s just soooo happy to oblige too 🤤
you let out a little whine when he doesn’t immediately move to your will, gripping his clothes in your fists and staring up at him with big puppy dog eyes.
“adrian!” you sulk, huffing when he finally sits back on the couch, a confused expression on his face.
“uh what can i do for you?” he questions for guidance, eyes widening as you start pawing at his cock. he has such a natural response to you, his length stiffening instantly under your touch.
“jus’ need to sit on something— need to sit on it.” you shudder, lifting up your skirt to reveal you’d already pre removed your panties, sky rocketing his dick from hard to hardest.
“y—yeah! yeah for sure, you know i’ve got you baby.” he doesn’t realise how sexy it is when he puts his hands on your waist and basically lifts you onto it, exhibiting such natural strength. he even guides it in for you, closing his eyes and sighing when you sink your wet heat down on him, letting out a wobbly whimper. “hah, is that what you needed?” he chuckles, a little breathless. “god you’re… fuckin’ tight.” he grits his teeth, squeezing your waist hard.
“mhm. needed you.” you can barely speak, feeling his fat mushroom tip nuzzling into that sweet spot.
adrian's gf is like one of those cats u got during covid n now u cant leave them for anything. like he's taking a shower n she's sitting on the toilet seat yapping type of do not leave me alone!!!! - 🍓
exactlyyyyyy <33 and he’s clingy in the way where if you’re not acting like that, following him everywhere and clinging to his arm, he knows something is up. he’ll really pad into your room with a hurt & confused expression like
“are you… gonna leave me?” and he sounds absolutely devastated.
“what? no?” you sit up, shocked. “why?”
“well,” he sighs, perching down for a moment like he needed to catch his breath. “i said i was going to go and take a shower, i even said it twice — and usually, when i turn the water on, if you’re not already with me — that’s when i hear your cute little feet come running… and you didn’t come. so… i dunno, i have to assume you hate me and you want me to die.”
“i was just finishing my tiktok.” you pout, and just like that he’s happy again, as you toss your phone to the side.
Sorry if this is not ur style or too long but I’m thinking of a vigilante fangirl who makes thirst edits of him to Megan thee stallion on twt ACTUALLY seeing him kill a guy she hates and then her crazy ass follows him home until she sees him take of his mask thru the window and she takes a picture… WITH FLASH ON! he’s taken aback and drags her into his home by her hair and throws her down on his couch. He destroys her phone and starts pacing thinking of how he can fix this (maybe she’s the little sister of one of his coworkers or she’s just too cute for him to kill). While he’s pacing she’s just looking at his face , his arms , his huge dick print. He looks back at her when he’s made his decision just to be met with her pulling her panties to the side and staring at him with big doe eyes. She’s his biggest fan after all🤭
Love u btw you’re the best writer everrrrr
i’m actually fucking with this a lot !!! crazy obsessed nympho reader <333 thinking about the way your eyes glimmer with admiration when he’s tying you up in his house, really sweetly telling him how you’re ‘such a big fan!’ you practically have little cartoon hearts floating in your pupils when you look at him and he’s honestly so taken aback because no one has ever looked at him like that before, especially without the mask.
i’d say he doesn’t destroy the phone immediately instead going through it as he paces back and forth, trying to see what information you have on him while you ramble.
“i’ve always wondered what your house looked like. i thought maybe you lived in some secret underground lair that you have to take an elevator and do an eye scan to get to. this house looks just like my house! you actually live super close to me, you know.” you’re swinging your legs on the seat, blinking around happily at all the family photos on the wall while adrian scrolls on your pink-ed out phone.
“so you’re… not a spy? you’re just a fan?” he asks, face screwed up in confusion.
“just a fan.” you smile back, mellowing at the fact he’s even looking at you.
“and when you took that picture of me, outside—”
“that was just for me. i’d never post that and ruin your whole secret identity thing! i wanted something that only i had, you know? the only thing on this planet that was just between me and you.” you pout slightly, not so much embarrassed — but slightly bashful at the last part.
“ugh, well that’s annoyingly romantic.” vigilante tosses the phone to the side, pondering. “what am i supposed to do with you huh? you know who i am. do you realise i usually kill people over this? they’re not usually pretty girls so this is just making things super difficult!” he rants, throwing his hands in the air. you tilt your head, batting your lashes.
“you think i’m pretty?”
“you’re obviously smoking, god!” he covers his face with his hands. “what the hell are you doing online posting things like ‘i want vigilante to make me cream on it’ — you know guys are creeps online you could have got yourself into a really dangerous situation! and then i would have had to kill him!”
“thats hot.” you breathe, a little mischievous smile on his face. he removes his hands from his face to look at you incredulously.
“you are insane.”
at his tone you finally resign a little, looking sad that he wasn’t understanding your love for him. you look down, eyes a little teary as he watches. “ugh— okay — i— i’m sorry. i didn’t mean insane in a mean way i just — don’t cry, okay. i just don’t know what to do with you. my identity is on the line, here.”
you think for a moment, before you smile again. while your wrists are bound at your front, you easily reach down, lifting your feet up on the seat so that your thighs are pressed to your chest. innocently, you display your pantie-clad crotch to him.
“what are you do—oh.”
you peel your panties to the side, the glossiness from your arousal glimmering in the low light of his house late at night.
“i’ll let you do anything you want to me?” you offer sweetly. “i can make up for being a bad girl.”
puppy!reader begging rafe to let her give him head cuz it just makes her so happy!! she just loves having something in her mouth she can’t help it :/
all bark no brain
rafe cameron x puppy!reader
warnings: cnc undertones, mean/controlling rafe, dumbification, power imbalance, oral (f receiving), degradation (“pathetic,” “nothing in your head but dick”), subspace-y puppy!reader, smoking, choking/gagging implied, rafe uses you for his own amusement but still indulges you.
you don’t even realize how long you’ve been pawing at him until his hand wraps tight around your wrist, holding it mid-air like he’s disgusted by how desperate you are.
“jesus christ,” rafe mutters, flicking his annoyed gaze down at you. “you’ve been whinin’ for the last ten minutes, y’know that? you gonna cry if i tell you no again?”
you blink up at him, already pouting — lip wobbling, lashes fluttering, kneeling between his thighs with your hands folded like you’re praying. you probably are. praying he gives in. praying he lets you put something in your mouth like you’ve been begging for.
“just wanna make you feel good,” you whisper, nuzzling your cheek against his thigh like a puppy desperate for attention. “makes me feel good too… please, rafe…”
you feel him tense under you, the muscle in his thigh twitching like he’s trying real hard not to let the sound of your voice crack his composure. he doesn’t answer right away. he leans back against the couch, spreads his legs a little wider, lights a cigarette like he’s bored. like he hasn’t been hard in his jeans the whole time you’ve been begging.
“you’re so pathetic,” he sighs, taking a long drag. “got nothin’ in your little head but dick, huh?”
you nod, whining softly at the way he says it. you like when he says mean things. it makes you feel warmer, floatier, needier. you crawl up between his knees and rest your chin on his thigh.
“please,” you mumble again, breath hot. “just wanna make you feel good. want you in my mouth. m’good at it, promise…”
he chuckles, low and mean. reaches down and taps ash onto your bare shoulder just to watch you flinch.
“fine,” he mutters, unzipping his pants with one hand. “but you’re not doin’ it for me, baby. this is all for you. i’m not even gonna touch you. i want you to get yourself off with my cock in your mouth if it makes you so fuckin’ happy.”
you moan at the sound of it, already drooling.
“yes, sir,” you whisper, all heart-eyes and trembling hands.
and he just watches you with a lazy smirk, puffing on his cigarette while you sink down, happy as can be with your mouth full — just the way you like it.
puppy!reader having to comfort rafe :( like after a fight with ward or something happens with sarah hes just super upset and maybe hes crying and puppy just wants to help him!!
you find him in the garage. sitting on the cold cement floor, head in his hands, the sleeves of his hoodie bunched up at his elbows. he doesn’t look up when you creep in. doesn’t even flinch.
"rafe?" your voice is quiet. careful.
he’s breathing heavy, jaw clenched like it hurts. knuckles scraped from punching something that didn't fix anything. there’s a wet sound when he sniffs — and you realize he’s crying.
your heart breaks a little. maybe a lot.
you sink down beside him, folding yourself small, like a little pup curling by his side. you don’t say anything at first. you just let your shoulder press against his, your warmth settling into him.
"i didn’t even say anything bad," he mutters, voice cracked and bitter. "he just—he never listens. he never fucking listens."
your fingers brush his, hesitant. and then you grab his hand in both of yours and hold it to your chest.
"i'm listening," you whisper.
he doesn’t respond for a long time. but then you feel his head tip, heavy and tired, until it rests on your shoulder. his fingers squeeze yours. just a little. like he’s saying thank you without saying it.
"you’re the only one who doesn’t make me feel like shit," he says, voice muffled into your collarbone.
"you’re not shit," you say immediately. "you’re rafe. and i love you. even when you’re mean. even when you break stuff. even when you’re sad."
his breathing shudders again, and this time he pulls you closer — tucks you into his lap like he’s the one needing comfort now. like you’re the only thing he has to hold onto.
