Stupid Emotional Obsessive Little Me @loserboysandlithium - Tumblr Blog

𝓢𝔀𝓮𝓮𝓽 𝓣𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓽𝓼 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙷𝚊𝚛𝚍-𝙷𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚀𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜

𝒸𝑜𝓁𝓁𝑒𝑔𝑒 𝒽𝑜𝒸𝓀𝑒𝓎!𝓇𝒶𝒻𝑒 𝓍 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇

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c/w ᝰ.ᐟ viral trends: if you were athletic, what sport would you play? brat!reader, teasing, oral sex (m. receiving), fingering, unprotected p in v, multiple orgasms, spanking, praise, pet names (baby, pretty, princess, bunny, good girl + no y/n), rough-ish sex + ‧˚꒰🍨꒱ #bruised male ego ₊˚⋆

“Pissin’ me off. You know that?” He looks over at you with a scowl. You give him a little face and he rolls his eyes, blowing out a frustrated breath.

He looks back at the tv screen, lifting the spoon to his lips, eating a little ice cream, trying to act like he's not rolling that stupid question you had over ten different ways.

His arm is wrapped around your shoulders still, lying lazily on the back of the couch, but his body angles away slightly like the suggestion of “pissed-off-boyfriend”. Just enough for you to notice—just enough for you to snort to yourself.

He shakes his head to himself, still finding it irritating several minutes after the fact. You scoop another bite into your mouth, feeling his eyes follow the movement.

You keep your attention fixed on the television with the most innocent expression you can manage, determined not to acknowledge the giant sulking hockey captain sitting mere inches away from you.

The silence drags on for another few seconds before he finally shakes his head.

“What? You wanna try mine?” you ask, lifting your spoon to his lips but he pushes it away with two fingers.

“I still can’t believe you.”

“Seriously?” you giggle.

“Yes, seriously!” he insists as you take the bite yourself. “The audacity.”

Your shoulders bounce as you fight off the laugh threatening to break past your lips.

“I’m being so serious right now, baby.”

“I know,” you whisper, the words barely breathing past your lips as you try not to crack.

“No, you don’t.”

“I do.”

“You absolutely do not,” he counters.

He looks down at you, waiting for your undivided attention. You turn your head, looking up at him, watching the forgotten ice cream on his spoon drip off onto his bare chest.

You lean in, grinning, running your tongue up his warm, tight skin and he scoffs again, pushing your head away.

“Knock that shit off,” he scolds you through a half-laugh. “You don't get to lick me.”

His arm slips away, shifting from you completely, putting space between the two of you. He fixes his hat, muscles flexing with it, the gold chain around his neck flickering in the low light, just a pair of grey sweats and cozy socks on his body.

Your cheeks puff as you trap another laugh behind them when he gives you a jaded look for checking him out after all that.

“What?” His eyes narrow at you, voice still dancing between irate and amused. “You’re laughin’.”

“M’not.”

“You are.”

“I’m literally eating dessert, Cameron.”

“You can do both,” he mutters through a mouthful of ice cream himself.

“I don’t think I can.”

“You absolutely can because you’re doing it right fucking now—”

“Calm down,” you laugh when his voice cracks as it tumbles from his lips.

He thumps you on your head with his spoon and you push him away. Rafe leans a little closer, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. “I don’t appreciate being mocked.”

“I’m not mocking you, baby.”

“Yes, you are,” he snips. “You're extremely easy to read.”

“Can't a girl ask questions?” you ask, looking back toward the movie.

He mutters under his breath, sliding a rough finger under the strap of your tank top, lifting it, letting it fall with a little snap, stinging comedically versus ever-so-slightly like he hoped it would.

“I have never been so disrespected in my own home,” he mumbles like a tired father.

The laugh slips free before you can stop it. “You so dramatic.”

“So dramatic?” he asks, turning his body toward you, sitting up straighter. “So dramatic?”

You have to bite the inside of your cheek so hard it almost hurts just to keep yourself from laughing again. “I just asked what sport would you play if you were more athletic? I didn't mean to make you emotional.”

He pivots toward you slowly, eyebrow cocked, begging the silent question. Emotional… Are you fuckin’ kidding me?

You keep your eyes on the movie for another second before finally glancing over, and he's there for a question you'll hear loud and clear.

“What did you call me now?”

“…Unathletic?”

“No. Emotional.” He chuckles, letting out a long breath through his nose, shaking his head like he’s trying very hard to stay calm as a smile threatens at the corner of his mouth. “Are you actually outta your mind?”

“Rude,” you whisper.

“And I skated five miles last game.”

“Wowzers,” you giggle.

“My slapshots are over a hundred miles an hour, princess. You can't even drive that fast. And you're gonna sit there and act like that shit isn't athletic? You looked at me and came to that conclusion?”

Rafe lets out another long groan, dragging a hand over his face before pointing the spoon at you.

“You know what?” He sits forward. “I’m not done.”

You angle toward him, still trying not to smile. “You’re not?”

“I bench three-fifteen.”

“Hot damn.”

“Three-thirty-five on a good day.”

“Oh, thank god—”

“I squat four-fifty.”

“Sensational,” you answer, watching his nostrils flare.

“I’m givin’ you my actual stats and you don’t give a fuck—you’ve seen me shirtless.”

“A few times—”

“A few? All the fucking time.”

“I mean… You are a whore. I’ll give you that—”

“I’m making this embarrassingly easy for you. Use your eyes,” he huffs, flexing for you, trembling with the effort. He rolls his shoulder, showing off his triceps too.

“Wow…” you murmur, letting your eyes wander over his broad body. “…Big boi.”

“…Did you just call me big boi?” he asks, staring at you another second before his eyebrows lift.

“Good boy?”

Rafe’s lips fall open like that title might have very well crossed the line “…I hate that,” he admits.

“Huh?”

“I hate that I liked that. Stop sweet talkin’ me when I’m pissed at you.”

You blink at him, all innocence again. “…Why are you pissed?”

“Shut up… Fuckin’ brat.”

Your head snaps toward him, acting offended yourself. “Rafe Cameron.”

“Rafe Cameron,” he mocks you, lifting his voice to a higher octave.

“Don’t be a bitch about it. It was just a question.”

His eyebrows furrow. “Thin ice.”

“What?”

“That's what you're skatin’ on,” he mutters, his abs tightening with his laugh, the ice cream-slicked spoon gliding along his tongue, looking at you out of the corner of his eye.

Rafe drops his spoon back into the bowl with a dramatic sigh, settling his big body into the couch a little more before he looks over at you.

“Can't even enjoy my sweet treat right now.” He points at you again. “Fuck you.”

“Ughhh,” you scoff, “I’m just messin’ with you, baby.” You reach forward, plucking your phone out of the place you had it resting, thumb tapping with a beep before you toss it to the side.

"…You're joking?"

“‘Bout what?” you ask, your lips curling into a smile.

“‘Bout what, my ass,” he scolds. “You were recording that shit.”

“Well…” You tilt your head, scraping the last bit out of your bowl. “I could lie—” You gasp as his hand closes around your wrist, eating your last bite of ice cream before you can react. “RUDE!”

“ME?” he fires back with the same offense. “You’re rude. And wrong. I’m athletic as fuck. Take it back.”

“I know, baby. I know,” your voice turns impossibly sweet, more sympathetic than not, like you’re trying really hard to believe that just as much as he does, which only fires him up more.

He lets your wrist go and you lean across the little space between you, cupping both of his cheeks in your hands and squishing his face until his lips pucker into an unwilling pout before you kiss him.

He lets you do it too, chuckling through it as you rub your thumbs over the apples of his cheeks.

“I believe you,” you breathe. “So fast.” Your lips pushing against his again. “So talented.”

“Shut up,” he mumbles.

“Six miles a game is so damn impressive, baby.”

“I said five.”

“You’ll get there,” you breathe as his hand comes up to cradle the back of your neck, pulling you into his lap, his other arm hooking tight around your waist.

“You’re impossible,” he mutters.

He kisses you deep, sugar lingering on his soft lips before his tongue slips in. Rafe’s hand drifts lower, dipping between the waistband of your leggings, squeezing the supple flesh underneath in his big palm.

“Should make you suck my cock right here for teasin’ me, pretty,” he mumbles into your kiss. His hand reaches farther, your panties already soaked when his finger traces along the fabric. “You get wet off tormenting me, or what?”

“Maybe,” you breathe.

“Hmm… I got a question for you, baby,” he mutters, letting the tip of his thick finger dip in your wet hole. He pushes in and out slowly, letting that comment dangle in the air for a moment.

“What?” you ask impatiently.

“You athletic, bunny?”

You chuckle against his lips, your chest pushing a little tighter to his. “Maybe,” you whisper, and a crooked smile slides across his lips.

“Run.”

“…What?” you laugh breathlessly, the man still teasing your pussy with his fingers even after the threat.

“You heard me… You. Better. Run,” the words drip past his lips into yours.

“Rafe.”

“I’ll even give you a ten-second head start, baby.”

“You’re kidding—”

“One.”

“…Rafe.”

“Two.”

You scramble over his lap so fast you stumble a little, feet finally finding the hardwood with a slap, fixing your tank top, tugging up the back of your pants as you scurry toward the steps, but he’s already to seven.

“Eight… Nine…”

Behind you, Rafe’s voice follows at the exact same steady pace, his spoon scraping up the last bit of his ice cream, completely unconcerned by your growing panic as your foot hits the first step.

“Ten…”

You squeal, grabbing the banister to keep yourself from slipping as your socks slide against the polished wood.

By the time you hit the middle of the staircase, you’re laughing so hard you can barely breathe, glancing over your shoulder, your eyes matching his.

Rafe’s long legs eat up the distance, moving like the captain of a D1 hockey team—fast, ridiculously athletic, and somehow already much closer than you could ever imagine.

Your scream echoes through the stairwell, bouncing off the high ceilings while Rafe’s laugh follows right behind it.

It isn’t even a normal laugh anymore. It’s loud and completely unhinged. Your heart pounds against your ribs, feet scrambling for any extra bit of traction while you practically throw yourself up the stairs two at a time.

You make it maybe three more steps before a pair of strong arms wraps around your waist, tossing you over his shoulder. Your entire world flips upside down, your eyes landing somewhere around the back of his gray sweats.

“Rafe!” you squeal—Crack! His hand lands against your ass with a playful smack.

“You’ve been runnin’ that mouth for thirty minutes,” he pants. “We threw gloves. I caught ya. Not my fault you’re slow as shit.”

He turns his head, chuckling against your skin before he bites teasingly. He isn’t actually angry—you know that much—but he’s absolutely decided you’re not getting away with tormenting him for the better part of half an hour without paying for it somehow.

“You’re in trouble,” he informs you matter-of-factly as he clears the last few stairs. You groan dramatically, going limp over his shoulder.

Your heart races wildly, every laugh stealing what little air you have left as you throw yourself farther up the staircase.

Rafe’s breathing barely changes. His footsteps never slow, never stumble, his strong legs carrying him up the stairs with the same effortless burst that gets him to loose pucks before anybody else on the ice.

And somewhere in between the first step and the last, you realize you probably should’ve picked a less athletic man to bully for the last thirty minutes.

“I’m sorry. Okay?” you giggle.

“Nah,” he chuckles, shouldering his bedroom door open, kicking it shut behind him with the heel of his foot. “Told you to run,” he reminds you, sounding entirely too pleased with himself. “Gave you a ten-second head start like a gentleman.”

You smack his ass in mock protest, still breathless from laughing all the way up the stairs but before you can say anything he’s flipping you back over.

Your body lands on the comforter, a surprised gasp tripping past your lips as you press yourself up on your elbows to get a better look, but he’s already climbing over you.

The mattress dips beneath his weight as he catches your face with a single hand, smiling so hard he can barely keep a straight face.

The two of you end up rolling sideways, tangled together in a mess of limbs and discarded clothes.

“Fuck, baby,” he teases as his body presses down on top of yours, watching you struggle to catch your breath. “Breathin’ hard and I don’t even have my fingers in you yet.”

“—You should though,” you whisper, the sweetness in your voice almost breaking him. “Felt so good downstairs.”

“Is that so? Glad you were enjoying yourself, pretty,” he mumbles, and you can just hear the “but” waiting to leave his lips after all of that bullying. “You’re not gettin’ off that easy.”

His mouth parts against yours, tongue sweeping slow and hungry, tasting you as his hand moves away. You moan into him as your hands slide up his chest, finger twisting into his hair, dragging him closer.

Rafe’s hips press forward, grinding slow and heavy between your legs, gold chain swinging at his collarbone, dragging cool against your skin.

His hand slides up your body as his lips toy with your breast, biceps swelling when he tilts down, mouthing at your chest and sucking at the gentle skin of your cleavage. He moans around you when you bring his fingers to your lips.

His eyes flick up to yours—dark and heavy as you slide two into your mouth. The tips press against your tongue and your lips seal tight, cheeks hollowing.

He lets out the filthiest groan as you swirl your tongue—just like you would if it were his cock in your mouth—and you know from the look on his face that he’s remembering that little threat he made downstairs.

“You want it, huh?” he asks as you whimper a soft ‘yes’. “Suck it. Maybe I’ll forgive you.”

“Baby,” you sigh, your lips trembling at the corners when you fight back a smile, forcing your lips into a pout.

“You want me to feel bad for you?” he chuckles, rolling you effortlessly on top. You giggle with delight, your hand slapping against his muscular chest as you steady yourself.

His hand tangles in the back of your hair, pulling you down to his mouth. His lips brush against yours, humming out a pleased sound having you on top like this. “Got twenty more minutes of teasin’ you. Do a good enough job and I’ll make it ten—”

“Football,” you grin.

“What?”

“I would have said football.”

“Keep talkin’,” he warns, his palm reaching up, resting on the top of your head, guiding you down. You laugh breathily, dragging your tongue along the deep ridges of his stomach, pressing kisses as you work lower and lower.

He sinks a little deeper into the pillow, lashes lowering as your fingers wrap around his thick dick, pumping as a line of spit falls from your lips.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans. “That’s it.” The praise falls from his lips as his hand rests behind his head, propping himself up for a better look as you tap his swollen tip against your tongue.

The thick muscles in his thighs clench with each slap, jaw dropping as your lips wrap around him tight, one hand slipping into your hair.

You moan around his length, taking him deep, watching his eyes roll back. “Christ… Just—Just like that, baby,” he pants, guiding your head, using your mouth to stroke him.

You let him use you—let him fuck your throat—spit slicking your chin as your eyes water and your hands grip his thighs for balance.

The wet sounds fill his room—every moan, every gag, every obscene sound making you more and more desperate.

His big hands rest on the back of your head, eyes pinching shut, fucking up into your mouth from the bottom. Your nails drive into his thighs, throat hot with the effort as his dick swells on your tongue.

You can tell he’s close, his breathing quickening with each passing second—that praise leaving his lips coming out a little more slurred as your soft lips glide up and down his dick.

“Thinkin’ about cummin’ just like this, pretty. What do you think?” he grits through his teeth—a smug smile painting his features.

You mumble around his dick and he grins, pulling you off him, leaving you reaching for air.

He rolls you again, spreading you open, a scream leaving your lips when he slaps your pussy. Your legs clamp together and all he does is shake his head with a grin, clicking his tongue, gripping your thigh to pin it down again.

He drives into you, burying himself to the hilt, your hands finding his hips, trembling at how deep he is.

Your gasp snaps into a moan, back arching off the mattress, when he draws his hips back, the muscles in his chest and stomach flexing tighter when he drags his body. His eyes fall, eyeing his wet cock, the head dropping between his shoulders as he blows out a deep breath.

“Wanted you so bad I barely made you beg,” his words grumble past his lips as his chain swings in your face.

You pull him down by his necklace, crashing your lips to his again. Your teeth scrape his lip, his tongue licking into your mouth. You’re so wet he slides in and out of you with ease, slick sounds echoing between your bodies.

He grinds down, hips circling, making your breath catch. “Yes,” you cry, clenching around him, and he groans—loud and filthy.

“Look at you. Crying on my cock—” he grunts, slamming his hips forward so hard your body jolts, skin smacking against his. “Fuck, pretty girl. You made a goddamn mess for me, huh?”

Sweat drips off his brow, biceps flexing as he squeezes your hip, keeping you flush to him, using the leverage to slam into you harder.

His hands hook behind your thighs, folding you in half, pinning you to the bed as he drives into you. Your nails claw at the sheets, then at his back, then into his hair, pulling at the roots.

“Rafe—Rafe, holy shit—” he dips down to kiss you—his cock sinking impossibly deep.

“You’re right there. C’mon, pretty girl. Stop bein’ a brat and fuckin’ give it to me.”

Your head falls back, mouth open in a silent cry as your body tightens, every muscle trembling as he keeps hitting that exact spot.

“C’mon, baby. Let him hear who makes you cum.”

Your orgasm rips through you hard, a choked sob escaping your lips as you clamp around him, shaking under his weight.

“That’s it,” he whispers against your mouth, still thrusting through the aftershocks. “Good girl. Good fucking girl.”

You’re soaking him, dripping down your thighs, pulsing around him as he keeps fucking you through it, working you toward another.

“Feel that mess you made?” he asks, smugness laced in every word. “Proud of you, baby. So filthy for me. Need you on top.”

He pulls out fast, making you whine at the loss of him. Rafe wraps his hand around his dick, pumping as he watches you climb on, hovering over him, delicate fingers circling your clit as he licks his bottom lip.

You spread your thighs, sinking on his tip, taking the first few inches, moving up and down teasingly before you take the rest—eyes locked on his, nails digging into his chest.

You ride him hard, your bodies colliding in messy, rhythmic slaps, the sounds of your pleasure filling the room.

Rafe grabs your waist, lifting you just enough to slam back up into you. “You’re gonna cum for me again,” he rasps. “Right fucking now.”

And you do—your belly tightens, the band snaps, and his name tumbles past your lips as your head falls back. Your throat’s ragged from sobbing his name, thighs drenched in sweat and slick, shining under the low light.

“Goddamn, baby… I’m almost there,” he mutters, reaching up to hook a hand around the back of your neck and kiss you, his hips stalling out as a whimper slips from his lips when he sighs that he’s cumming, filling you with his heavy load.

You shut your eyes in exhaustion, his smile sliding against yours as his nose nuzzles yours. His cock throbs inside you still, his heartbeat thudding against yours.

He kisses you again anyway, both of you still breathing hard, forehead resting against yours. His smile lingers, lazy and completely satisfied at how exhausted and fucked-out you look.

“You know…” he murmurs, brushing a thumb across your cheek. “You still haven’t apologized.”

“Yes, I did,” you laugh.

“Mm-mm,” he grunts, pressing a kiss against your forehead.

“Literally said I was sorry,” you pant, drawing in a breath as he waits for you to finish your sentence, not even trying to hide the teasing look on his face.

“For ruinin’ my sweet treat?” he lifts an eyebrow. “No, you fuckin’ didn’t.”

A laugh slips out of you before you can stop it.

“This?” he asks, tipping his chin toward your body. “This reaction’s apology enough for callin’ me unathletic, baby.”

His eyes drift over your face, taking in your damp skin, the little wisps of hair stuck to your forehead, the way you’re still trying to catch your breath.

“Stop,” you chuckle, turning your face away a little as he looks up at you like you’re the prettiest thing he’d ever seen.

“Look at you… So sweaty,” he teases softly, his voice losing most of its bite as his fingertips tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “So fuckin’ beautiful.”

Heat climbs into your cheeks, your lip bitten to hold back your smile. “Stop teasing me, Rafe Cameron.”

“Coming from you?” he smiles, grabbing your cheeks between his fingers before stealing another slow kiss. “M’serious that more than made up for you fuckin’ with me,” he whispers, the words deep—vibrating against your mouth. “Now delete that fuckin’ video.”

“Absolutely not.”

Rafe’s smile spreads against your lips before he lets out a quiet, defeated chuckle, already knowing exactly what your answer would be. He gives your hip a playful squeeze and shakes his head once.

“Well, fuck,” he sighs. “Round two, princess.”

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