During patrol reader gets hit with a de-aged serum, gas or whatever you guys would think.
Forcing the Batfamily to take care of baby reader.
Only for them to realised how they don't awfully remember connecting reader like this.
Realising that Reader must've had to grow up like a tall child because they forgot reader is still a kid. Yet, Reader acts so so much grown despite being the normal child.
After the effects are off, Reader is weirded out about how their family wants them.
And when the Batfamily realised that sooner or later, Reader will drift away...
But that won't do.
Reader is their baby, the littlest one. Reader just need a realization that they still need to be taken care of, even if the Batfam inject something in the reader's body without their notice.
Even if Baby!reader cries for their teenager life every night. The Batfam will always be there to comfort their baby sibling! Feeding them, bathing them, taking care of them! Their baby! <3
a/n: you have no idea how many times while writing this first instalment that i needed to take a break, if you know what i meaannn 🫠
summary: “alright, I’m sorry, geez,” Steve huffed with only a whisper of sincerity, “just come tonight, please? I mean, have you ever even been to a real party before? So how would you know that you don’t like it if you’ve never tried it? Just stop by for a second, and if it’s not for you, then you can just leave, simple as that.”
warnings: innocent!reader x stepbro!steve rogers, frat!bucky barnes, frat!ari levinson, smut, dark content, college au, move in day at university, frat party, alcohol consumption, kissing, virgin!reader, corruption kink, voyeurism, overstimulation, first orgasm, edging, dirty talk, size kink, masturbation, handjob
word count: 8043
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“Thanks for the ride,” you uttered as Steve’s car finally rolled to a stop in the campus parking lot. Cracking open the passenger side door, you slipped out and trailed back to open up the trunk, “but I can do this on my own, you know,” as the lid floated up to reveal the Tetris-like stacks of both of your stuff, you glanced up at Steve as he rounded the corner of the vehicle as well, “you really don’t have to keep up your end of the deal, our parents aren’t here to see.”
“It’s alright,” his burly arm reached over you to fish out a laundry basket stuffed to the brim with your things, “I know it was just your mom babying you as usual and whispering in my dad’s ear to get him to make me watch after you.”
“She doesn’t baby me, she just cares, a lot…” you shot back defensively, “and I don’t need anyone to watch out for me. I’m eighteen, not seven.”
“Oh yeah?” he let out a faint scoff, “so you wanna just haul all this junk around campus, looking for your dorm, which you have no clue where is yet?”
Your eyes then slowly narrowed in his direction before you muttered, “…well, maybe you could give me just a bit of a hand… just in the name of saving time instead of wasting my first day getting lost.”
And as you filled your arms with as much stuff as you could carry, Steve noted, “hey, I'm not offering to be your fucking tour guide,” as he slammed the trunk shut behind you, “don’t worry, I won’t now try to make you suddenly like me,” he spoke of the ship that sailed away a long time ago.
Arms full, you crossed the crowded parking lot till you reached one of the open gates leading into a lush green area where little paths weaved across the lawns and connected all of the towering buildings.
“Welcome to Highridge University,” Steve breathed as you walked under the gateway, “best fucking years of your life.”
For so long, you had dreamt of this moment, finally being out on your own, away at college, meeting kindred spirits and sipping from the well of knowledge. Glancing around, your teeth clamped down on the smile that rapidly grew and faintly calmed the jittery nerves that still tensed up your abdomen in nauseating butterflies.
“Where are you gonna live, again?” his glance briefly drifted to you.
“Uh…” one-handed, you swiftly scrambled to get out the papers folded up in your pocket, “… Manning Hall, room eight,” you read out loud once you finally found the information on the crumbled piece of paper.
“Manning, alright,” he exhaled, “I started out in Lichfield myself, but I’ve, uh–, dated a few girls who lived in Manning,” his comment promptly caused your eyes to roll in your skull before your feet began to shuffle after him as he led the way.
As you tried to keep up with his long stride, you watched as his gaze suddenly dipped to the contents of the laundry basket he carried before something caught his eye.
“Ah, no way,” he chuckled as he shifted the hamper to free his one arm and snatch up an item, “I can’t believe you brought this with you.”
Glancing over, fury swiftly began to simmer in your chest as you watched him clutch the brown plush bovine visage of Chocolate Milk, an old stuffed animal of yours.
“Hey!” you swiftly snatched the soft cow out of his hand.
But the loss didn’t get to diminish his flame as he only spotted the others buried deeper within the basket, hidden beneath the mass of Chocolate Milk, “oh my god, there’s more!”
“Will you please stop?” you begged as he picked up both an ivory bunny and a caramel-coloured bear, “okay, fine, so I brought a few stuffed animals with me, big whoop!” you screeched in hopes that he would for once show you an ounce of mercy as this was in fact your first time being away from home, so the sense of comfort that those toys brought seemed better than if you’d begged your own mother to stay with you till you settled in.
But even when Steve let go of the teddy bears and settled them back into the hamper, his laughter still continued to rumble in his chest, “oh, you’re so adorable, fuck…”
His laughter had thankfully subsided by the time you reached Manning Hall. Once you’d received your key, your feet began to carry you down the long corridors in search of your new home.
When you found the correct door, it already stood ajar, prompting you to slowly push it open before you peeked your head inside.
On the floor, next to one of the nightstands, there sat a dark-haired girl your age, haphazardly stuffing the small drawer with some of her things.
“Hi,” you gently tapped your knuckles against the open door before crossing the threshold.
Glancing over her shoulder, her eyebrows floated up before she exclaimed, “oh! You must be my roommate!” before she sprang up and rushed towards you, “hey, I’m Kate,” she reached out to shake your hand.
Setting down enough stuff to free one palm, you grasped hers and offered her a timid smile, “nice to meet you, I’m Y/n.”
Coming in behind you, Steve bumped against your side as he squeezed his eclipsing form in through the doorway, “where do you want this shit?”
“Oh,” you tried to get out of the way before his stride tumbled you down, “on the bed is fine, I think,” you gestured to the empty one.
Slipping in past you both, Kate then asked as he placed the hamper down on the small mattress, “is this your boyfriend?”
You nearly choked on your giggle as your wide eyes soared to stare back at her, “him? My boy–, no,” you tried your best to ignore the flutter that tingled deep within your belly at her assumption, “that’s my stepbrother. He’s just already a senior here, so we drove together.”
“Oh,” she exhaled before her face screwed up in immediate regret, “sorry.”
Fishing his phone out of his pocket, your stepbrother briefly glanced down at the screen before muttering, “well, I'll let you girls talk. I'm gonna go grab the rest from the car and then be on my way.”
Offering him a small nod, your gaze shadowed him as he exited the small dorm room, your eyes only ripping away from his fading visage down the hall when Kate soon uttered, “hey, I was about to go get my student ID. You wanna join?”
“Sure,” you nodded, stuffing both of your hands in your pockets, “do you know where it is?”
“Actually, I do,” she cocked her head proudly before sharing, “my girlfriend goes here, so I’ve already been visiting this place for an entire year.”
“Wait, wait, wait, let me readjust my grip,” the frat bro with a buzzcut wheezed to the other guy carrying the heavy beer keg. They were barely halfway up the steps that led to the fraternity’s porch as you approached.
“Seriously?” the one that looked like a Norse god halted with a huff, “you can’t keep pausing every five seconds or we won’t get this thing inside till next year!”
“Hi,” the quiet tone of your voice caused them to drop their squabble as both of their eyes promptly drifted directly towards you, “I’m sorry, is this the Kappa Alpha Nu house?”
“It most certainly is, gorgeous,” the blonde one let his stare take a journey down over your frame, “why? You wanna join?”
“No,” you shook your head, “I'm just looking for someone.”
“Okay,” the other one nodded, “well I'm pretty sure everyone’s inside,” his head invitingly tilted towards the open front door behind them before he added, “except for if you’re looking for Frank or Billy, they haven’t arrived yet.”
Slipping in behind them, the entryway that met you was generous and wide, with a broad staircase off to the side that stretched up to an open landing where numerous hallways spewed forth and weaved deeper into the house. Peeking around, you first poked your head inside the living room that bloomed off to the left, though the room that met you was completely vacant.
Though as you twisted to take your search somewhere else, a figure appeared from out of nowhere, curving around the corner, before you blindly bumped directly into the mass.
“Ow, fuck!” he cursed before you stepped off his toes that your shoes had accidentally stomped down on in the collision.
“Shit, sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going–…” your apology then promptly faded from your lips as you blinked up into the blue eyes of none other than Bucky Barnes.
“Y/n? What are you doing here?” your stepbrother’s best friend blinked back into your wide eyes before his glance dipped down to the deep neckline of your shirt, “and since when did these stop being mosquito bites?” he teased as a smirk began to bloom on his lips.
As you then tugged at your shirt to cover up more of your cleavage, Bucky only continued to brashly stare.
“Do you know where Steve is?” you avoided his inappropriate comment with a roll of your eyes.
“Yeah, he should be down any second,” his brawny arm curled up before he leaned his weight against the wall behind you, “so, how the hell are you? Taken any showers lately?” he briefly wiggled his brows, recalling the time over the summer when he had come over to hang out with his friend, only to naturally walk into your bathroom right as you were washing shampoo out of your hair.
“I’m fine,” you sighed as your cheeks began to burn, “glad to finally have a bathroom door with a lock that actually works.”
But then, before Bucky could torment you any further, three separate pairs of footsteps creaked on the staircase.
“Hey, Buck,” you heard Steve call out before he reached the bottom of the steps, “did you remember to invite the Delta Phi girls tonight, because–,” his sentence then crumbled as his gaze landed upon you. Stopping in his tracks, he blinked down at you with his eyebrows harshly knitted together before his glare flickered to his friend, “what is she doing here?”
Crossing the width of the entryway, you dipped your fingers into your pocket and said, “you forgot your phone in my room,” before you fished the device out and stretched it up towards him.
Finally crossing over the threshold behind you, the two guys hauling the keg perked up, “already trying out the new wares on campus? Nice.”
“What?” you twisted around to glare at them, your heart suddenly thumping in your chest, “I’m his stepsister…”
“Oh…” one of the guys on the staircase beside Steve murmured before turning to utter closer to him, “this is her? Seriously?” though hushed, his voice was still loud enough for each and every person in the room to hear what he said, “that’s your stepsister?”
The clearly lewd undertones of his cadence flew directly over your head as you then blinked up at Steve and asked, “you told them about me?”
“Oh yeah, he has,” the shaggy-haired one on the other side of your stepbrother eyed you a moment before he shifted down the last steps, “I'm Ari, president of this madhouse,” the towering man leaned against the thick bannister before he pointed out each other fraternity members surrounding him, “this is Marc, Thor, Curtis and I'm guessing you already know Bucky.”
“Yeah,” you briefly entertained Bucky and threw a glare over your shoulder at him, “our paths unfortunately crossed back in high school.”
As your eyes fluttered back, Ari, still standing tall before you, tilted his head and asked, “you stopping by our annual beginning of the semester bash tonight?”
“Oh,” you breathed, taken aback by the unexpected invitation, “thanks, but I don’t think I should. I have freshman assembly early tomorrow morning, and anyhow, I’m not really much of a party girl,” your fingers began to fiddle with the hem of your sleeve.
But then, before you could share any more of your completely valid reasons, Steve spoke up, “oh, come on,” he nearly groaned, “I was told to take you under my wing, so I can’t very well stand around and let you waste away your college years just like you did back in high school.”
“What’s wrong with how I spent those years?” you scoffed and crossed your arms across your chest.
“Uh, you had no life, no friends, nothing,” he counted on his fingers, “you were basically a nun.”
Throwing your hands up into the air, you exclaimed, “oh, well, I’m sorry we can’t all be the fucking prom king and go to parties every weekend without it affecting one’s GPA!”
“Alright, I’m sorry, geez,” Steve huffed with only a whisper of sincerity, “just come tonight, please? I mean, have you ever even been to a real party before? So how would you know that you don’t like it if you’ve never tried it? Just stop by for a second, and if it’s not for you, then you can just leave, simple as that.”
“Drinks for the beautiful ladies,” Lloyd winked as he and Bucky slithered into the cluster of sorority girls to hand out some beverages. You were leaning up against the nearby wall, shyly only having one foot into the conversation as your new roommate, who now stood with her arm around her girlfriend, Yelena, encouraged you to join in and meet everybody.
“Fuck off, Lloyd,” the redheaded ringleader of the girls barked after she’d seized a cup from him, “I can’t deal with you tonight.”
“Still playing hard to get, I see,” Lloyd only smirked back at Natasha’s scowl.
“Oh, I very much am not,” she uttered coldly.
“See, every party you tell me that and every party, I don’t care. It’s part of our thing,” he briefly waved a finger between the both of them.
“It is not part of our thing, we don’t have a thing, we will never have a thing.”
Though his feet didn’t shift at her warning, as his stare only narrowed to a squint before he concluded, “…so what you’re saying is there’s a chance.”
“Just leave me alone,” she threw up a hand between them to shield her from any more of his desperate attempts, “go flirt with some sad, lonely freshman.”
Though as you watched from the sidelines, you swiftly felt yourself stiffen up as Lloyd suddenly saddled up next to you and flashed you a dazzling grin, “hello… are you by any chance sad and lonely?”
Sucking in a breath, you nervously blinked up at him, “not particularly.”
But before the frat guy could make any other attempts, and make you that much further overwhelmed, Bucky’s palm landed on Lloyd’s shoulder before he offered him a band-aid for the rejections.
“Hey, I think I saw those twins from Callahan’s class out on the dance floor a bit ago,” he leaned in slightly to utter over the booming music that rattled the entire frat house.
“Really?” Lloyd gasped, promptly renewed with vigour before he darted off, leaving Bucky alone next to you.
“He seems… nice,” you tilted your head as your gaze traced him onto the dance floor, briefly flickering to Thor behind them all as he controlled the music and put his own spin on it.
“Ah, he’s not that bad when he’s sober,” Bucky shrugged before shifting to face you, “here,” he then held out a plastic cup for you to grasp.
“Oh, I’m not really much of a drinker–,” you tried to protest before Bucky rolled his eyes and shoved the beverage into your hand, “oh, okay, sure,” you blinked back into his steely blue eyes as he then brought the cup up to your lips and guided you to take a large gulp. The searing sting caused you to swiftly tilt your head back down as you then coughed because of how strong it was, “oh my god, what is that?”
“Just drink it, it’ll help, trust me,” he urged as you stared down into the well of what must have been pure liquor.
Cautiously, you took the older guy’s advice, sipping slowly as you let your gaze wander the space, though as you did, you expected Bucky to leave, but to your surprise, he didn’t shift to move away from your side, which then only caused a timid bubble to ache within your belly as your stare nervously flickered up to him, clueless as to what you should do next.
“So…” you exhaled tensely as you tried to make conversation, “you guys do this kind of thing a lot? Throw parties here?”
“Yeah, pretty much every weekend,” Bucky nodded after taking a sip of his own drink, “although this one in particular, the beginning of the year bash, it always gets a bit wild. Probably because we haven’t seen each other all summer long, so some years it gets a bit out of hand.”
“Oh… like, how wild do you mean? Does it turn into a clue movie?” you half-joked.
“No, nothing quite like that,” he chuckled at your slight terror, “although Scott did almost drown in the pool one time, so…” he shared, pointing to the man erratically shaking his thing in the centre of the dance floor, “he was fine, woke back up, but just don’t get alarmed if anyone pulls something particularly stupid before the sun comes up.”
Pursing your lips, you nodded faintly, “thanks for the tip.”
As your gaze continued to flicker across the expansive space and the drunken students letting loose, his own stayed glued to you before you eventually heard him utter, “so, have you gotten the grand tour yet?”
“What?” your neck swiftly twisted in his direction.
“Of the house,” he faintly gestured to the walls around him.
“…you wanna show me around?”
“Sure,” he shrugged, “well, I’m kinda just waiting around for it to become my team’s turn in beer pong, so I’ve got the time to kill.”
“Oh, alright,” you breathed, your pulse suddenly picking up at the thought of wandering the halls by his side.
“Cool,” he nodded before shifting his gaze to the room you already stood in, “so, this is the place,” he spread out an arm as if you hadn’t just been standing in this spot for twenty minutes.
“Yeah, I already figured that one out on my own,” you chuckled briefly before the palm he slid over your lower back caused it to fade away.
With his hold, he guided you around the corner, into the entryway, “so, the kitchen, dining room and the door to the basement are through there,” he then pointed to the different corners of the abode, “and through there is the living room and this room we use for meetings and shit.”
He then ushered you upstairs, where barely any partygoers had ventured up. Pointing down the various long hallways, he guided your vision to the different doors all down each of them, “so, Frank, Billy, Curtis and Miguel’s rooms are down that way,” he then gestured to the opposite direction, “Scott, Thor, Lloyd, Ransom and Marc are down there,” before his feet then shifted down the last corridor, “and down here is my room,” he pointed to the closed door that had his name on it, “Steve’s, Andy’s and Ari’s.”
Though as he spoke, your eyes fluttered to the door at the end of the hallway, standing slightly ajar. The movement that caught your eye on the other side caused you to swiftly glance to Bucky with a look of alarm, though he clearly couldn’t spot it from where he was standing as he continued to chat, his voice soon fading and flying over your head as your stare wandered back towards the dark room.
On a bed in the centre of the room, there was Ari, hovering and grunting above some blonde girl you didn’t recognise. It took a second for you to realise what they were doing, though when it sank in, a small gasp escaped your lips and caused the leader’s eye to snap up from the whimpering girl beneath him and lock with your own stare through the sliver. You wanted to look away, you knew that you should have, but you couldn’t.
And as you stood there, paralysed and suddenly panting, a wide grin began to bloom upon his lips as he held your eye and began to roll his hips with even more force, causing the chick on the bed to nearly fall off the mattress as each thrust drove her closer and closer to the edge.
Though as you finally managed to snap out of your trance, you nearly coughed as you scrambled to blink back to Bucky, “I’m sorry, what did you just say?”
“I said that I’m gonna go take a leak,” Bucky cocked an eyebrow as he watched your chest rise and fall rapidly beneath your shirt, “you good?”
“Yeah,” you breathed foggily, “I think I just need a second before heading back downstairs again…”
“Oh, well, I'm sure you can go hang out in Steve’s room for a bit,” he cracked open the door behind him and gestured for you to slip inside.
Slowly, your feet shuffled deeper into the room, the plastic cup in your hand soon resting on the windowsill as you momentarily cast your glance outside at the people down in the front yard, playing a rambunctious drinking game.
Though as your frame sank down with an exhale to sit on the edge of the bed, your head swiftly burying itself in your hands, loud moans seeped through the wall from the other room as they crescendoed in a cacophony that caused your head to spin.
Or perhaps it wasn’t just the lewd acts that were to blame for why you suddenly felt so dizzy. Ground unsteady beneath your feet, even though you were already sitting down, you noticed how inebriated you truly had become. Not that you had imbibed that much, but as the lightweight that you admittedly were and the minuscule experience your body had with such substances, it didn’t take much to have you feeling more molten than you ever had before.
“What are you doing up here?” you suddenly heard, causing your face to crawl out of its hiding place in your palms. Glancing up, you saw Steve’s shadow in the doorway.
“Steve!” you jumped slightly at his unexpected arrival, “you scared me,” you clutched your chest gently as you watched him shut the door behind him.
Moving over towards the desk in the corner, he briefly dipped down to find a bottle of whisky that rested in the bottom drawer. Casting a glance back at you over his shoulder, his eyes narrowed as he studied your form, “did I just walk in on something?” he asked as he unscrewed the lid, “you waiting for someone to come up here and fuck you on my bed? Kinky.”
“What? N-no! Oh my god, no,” you sputtered, sensing a mortified heat rush up to your cheeks, “I swear, Bucky was just showing me around a bit, and I wasn’t ready to go back to the chaos downstairs yet, that’s all, he was the one who said it was okay for me to take a break in here.”
“Hmm… you’re still sweet on him, aren’t you?” he guessed before tilting the bottle back for a swig, “is that what was happening here? Were you waiting for him to get back? Did I just cockblock you from finally getting that stick fucked out of your ass? If so, then I feel like I have a responsibility to warn you, he is hung like a fucking horse, so don’t be discouraged if you can’t take him.”
“I–, what?” you panted, blinking back at him wildly, “no, I’m not! I-I don’t like him, I’ve never–, what are you talking about?”
“Chill! I’m only joking,” Steve swiftly chuckled at your perplexed panic, “I mean, not about his size, both a blessing and a curse, you know,” he cocked his head, “seriously, you don’t gotta freak out like some innocent little virgin,” he laughed, though his words only caused you to freeze up, a reaction he swiftly picked up on, “…unless you–, oh shit,” growing silent, his stare stayed glued on you as he slowly sat the bottle in his hand down upon the desk behind him, “you are, aren’t you?”
“Well, you don’t gotta say it like that!” you groaned, keeping your eyes averted to the floor, “it’s not some terminal illness.”
“Sorry, no, I didn’t mean it like that, I just–… fuck…” he exhaled, “really?”
“…yeah,” you nervously fiddled with the hem of your skirt as you felt the mattress dip beside you, “you know my mom has never let me date anyone…”
“What about like other stuff?” Steve’s tone tickled your hot skin as he now sat right next to you, “you’ve done that, right?” though you only managed to meekly shake your head as an answer, “really? No one’s ever like touched you before? Or you’ve played with someone else?” he pried, and you once again shook your burning face from side to side, “wow,” he exhaled, “well, then I can’t even begin to imagine how much you must masturbate, damn.”
“I–, I–…” you tried to utter, though the truth of your inexperience seemed too difficult to say out loud, rendering you to once again wobble your head.
“Wait, seriously?” his eyebrows soared up even higher, “you haven’t that either?”
“Well, I’ve–, sort of–, I don’t know,” you stumbled, your gaze still hazy on the floor.
“How have you done it?” he then asked, making it that much harder for you to fill up your lungs with oxygen.
“Oh god,” you jaggedly shifted your vision to the ceiling, “this is so mortifying.”
“No, it’s okay, you can tell me,” he pushed in a gentle tone you didn’t think he had in him.
Gnawing at your bottom lip till a metallic taste met your tongue, you hesitantly muttered, “…kinda just, I guess, sit on a pillow or a stuffed animal or something and then–…”
“Shit…” a low groan rumbled in his chest, a sound that shot straight down between your thighs and worsened the throbbing already distracting you down there, “that’s the only thing you do? You just hump your pretty little pillow till you cum?”
“Well, I don’t know if I–, uh, reach that per say, I just kind of rock till it builds and then I’ve always stopped because–, I don’t know…” you uttered, mortified that your inebriated state had nudged you to share such matters, especially with him, “it’s stupid, I know. My anatomy knowledge is great, much better than yours, I know where stuff is and how things technically work, but when I was younger, I know it’s dumb, but it all kind of scared me, like what if I did it wrong and ruined something, and I know now that statistically speaking the odds of something like that happening are really, really low, but–, yeah…”
Steve’s eyes never left you for but a second, merely stared as you shared and eventually, after silence had swept through the room like a crisp breeze, he parted his lips and uttered, “do you want me to teach you?”
Finally, you turned your head to meet his gaze, “…you’re my stepbrother…”
“Yeah, of a couple of years,” he had the audacity to shrug, “and for most of that time, I’ve been away at school, so like, are we really?”
A stunned scoff then bubbled out of your throat, “our parents are married, so yes, that makes up stepsiblings.”
“Well, for now,” he tilted his head slightly, “were you living in the same house as I was over this summer? They clearly aren’t newlyweds anymore…” he stated before leaning in closer, “so, what do you say? Will you let me help you?” your eyes flickered down to your knee as his knuckles slowly inched closer and ghosted against your skin, “I promise, it’ll feel so fucking good, you don’t even know…” he nearly whispered as if he was trying to sell you on a drug you’d instantly get addicted to.
“I–…” you panted, “but wouldn’t it be weird that it’s you showing me?”
“No, it wouldn’t be weird at all,” his head gently shook from side to side, “unless you want me to go grab Bucky, I'm sure he wouldn’t mind either–”
“No, no!” you swiftly squeaked, “that’s not necessary,” as sharing such a secret with Steve had been bad enough, the thought of repeating the whole ordeal with someone else made you feel as if you might faint.
“Okay,” he breathed before he slowly began to inch closer, an action you swiftly put a stop to when you pressed a palm to his chest.
“Wait, what if I don’t like it?”
“Then you just tell me, and I’ll stop,” one of his hands floated up to rest on top of your own, still pressed against him, “promise,” he offered you a reassuring smile. Steve’s glance then flickered down to your lips before his eyebrows twitched slightly as he wondered, “so, if you’ve never done any of that stuff before, does that mean you’ve also never been kissed?”
“…well, I've played spin the bottle a few times, many years ago, does that count?” you recalled the awkward pecks in your youth.
“Not really,” the corners of his lips twitched before he asked you, “can I kiss you?”
“Can you–…” you echoed faintly before whispering, “okay,” utterly spellbound as you stared back at him, “what should I do?”
“Just relax,” he then gently grabbed each side of your face with his wide hands, “and follow my lead.”
It simultaneously felt like an eternity as well as only the blink of an eye before Steve had closed the gap and pressed his lips to your own. At first, it was soft and slow, his right thumb briefly swiping against your cheekbone as he kissed you, but then you felt his tongue flicker forth, making you gasp, before he seized that opportunity to slip past your guard and let his tongue dance against your own, the sensation of which caused you to positively melt as you relaxed into the kiss and mirrored his efforts.
You had no clue how much time had passed once you finally parted, and you blinked your dazed eyes back at him.
And in your haze, he first shifted back deeper onto the bed, before he gently manoeuvred your frame to slot you in between his legs, “here, lean back against me,” he drew you closer till your back was pressed up against his chest.
Twisting your neck to look up at him, you were still too stunned to speak, only suck in a shaky breath as he then pressed a peck to your temple.
“You ready?” he murmured against your hairline as his hands slid down atop your own, his fingers swiftly interlocking with your smaller ones.
“I think so,” you uttered nervously.
“So, let’s start off with the basics,” his low voice only worsened the tingly sensation that now roared in your body like a roiling flame, “could you tell me what places you’ve explored before and where you haven’t yet?”
“…well, I guess I’ve touched most places before…” you hesitantly began, “my hands usually run all over my body when I–, you know… but I’ve never put anything inside, and I only touched my–, uhm, clit one time, really long ago,” your confession began to make you feel so dizzy, you feared you might faint at any moment, “and it was just really intense and–, I don’t know, I was scared that it was too much, so I never tried it again, not directly anyway, just–, you know, pillows and such…”
“Alright,” he uttered, letting go of your hands.
Your eyes grew as they then traced Steve’s touch, first sweeping up to gently cup both of your boobs. Your cunt clenched around nothing as he briefly brushed his thumbs over the pebbles of your nipples, poking through the thin fabric of your shirt. You found yourself barely breathing when he eventually let his palms roam further south till they were at your hips, and his fingers began to hike up your skirt and let it crumble around your waist.
“Let me see…” he murmured directly in your ear as he poked at your bent legs to pry them open, “oh my god, look at you…” you felt the deep groan vibrate in his chest as he caught sight of your panties and the embarrassingly soaked patch darkening the cotton, “you are so fucking wet…”
Steve then slowly slid his touch down over your covered core, merely cupping your lightly, though still making it near impossible for you to breathe. But your whole body twitched as he lightly curled up his hand till only the tips of his fingers still grazed you, before he then began to draw a feathery pattern of circles, tickling your deprived centre.
“How does that feel, huh?” he kept up the ghostly touch.
“I-it’s–, o-oh my god,” you whimpered, doubtful if you could take whatever else he’d dare to throw at you when even such a light touch managed to make you tremble, “Steve.”
Seizing his teasing, his fingers then hooked in the hem of your underwear before pulling them to the side, sticky strings of your arousal clinging to the cotton, “oh, fuck…” he groaned before his instincts overtook him and his fingers caught the waistband before ripping them down your legs till their rushed journey halted at your ankles, resting around them and loosely trapping them together.
Pushing your legs further apart, one hand then traced your inner thigh while he hooked his other burly arm across your chest, just beneath the swell of your tits, occasionally squeezing so tightly that your boobs were pushed up even higher as he efficiently strapped you in, impossibly close to his broad chest.
Painstakingly slow, he slid his touch closer and closer to your glistening core, till he reached the places that you never had the nerve to truly touch on your own.
“Oh, f-fuck!” you gasped as the rough pads of his fingers just lightly dragged through your folds.
“Christ, you’re sensitive,” he kept on peeking over your shoulder as he drew a slow circle over your clit, “look at you, fucking trembling like a leaf, and I've barely touched you yet.”
“Barely?” you echoed breathlessly, “what do you mean–, how is this barely? I-I don’t know if I can–, it’s–, fuck,” you whimpered against his touch, “it’s too much,” your thighs trembled on either side of his wide palm, “I don’t know if I can take it, I think you might have to stop.”
“No, no, no, it’s not too much, you can take it, I know you can,” he urged before he bent his strong legs and hooked them over your own, trapping your wiggly limbs and holding you down and open for him, “just trust me, I’ve got you, all you gotta do is just relax, okay? Just give into it.”
His feathery pressure on your puffy pearl then increased, making your hips buck beneath his touch as a moan rippled out from deep within your lungs.
“Oh, fucking hell, there you go,” he smiled from behind you, “look at that little pussy, fucking crying out now that she’s finally getting some attention.”
Your fingers twitched just beneath his arm, still flexing over your ribs, and a murmur slipped out past your whimpers, “I can’t believe this is actually happening…”
Though as Steve’s touch drove you mad, his fingers slipped down to catch some of the slick that leaked out of your untouched hole, before he went into autopilot and didn’t sweep back up to bully your glistening clit, but instead began to circle your virginal entrance.
“No, wait,” you instantly began to freak out, “n-not there!”
“You sure?” he let himself trace your tight opening one last time, “alright, maybe next time then…”
Once his fingers had swept back up and focused in on your puffy pearl, rolling it firmly beneath his touch, you felt your body reach the agonising point where you’d always chicken out.
“Steve, I–”
“Hm?” he hummed in your ear and kept up his efforts, surely feeling your clit throb beneath his fingers, “you getting close?”
“I-I–,” you gasped, trying your best to fight the feeling, “this is usually when I stop.”
“Oh yeah?” you could plainly hear the smirk on his lips.
“Mhm,” you nodded, staring down at his efforts that barely even paused.
“So, this is what you’d do, huh? You’d ride your pillow and then just stop?” as he uttered that last word, he abruptly took his hand away, “just leave yourself all edged and needy?” your hips bucked after his fading touch, “that’s usually something I’d do to my girls just to be a menace and make them all dumb and desperate, but that’s just what you do to yourself all of the time?” your whole frame quivered against him as you weakly tried to grab for his hand, even as he brought it completely out of your reach, “damn, gotta admit, wish I had known that earlier… I could have sneaked into your room afterwards and lent a hand, helped you go all the way. That’s what you needed, wasn’t it? You just needed your big bro to come in and hold your hand through it because you got scared? It’s okay, I’m here now, I’ve got you, big brother’s got you.”
“You’re not my brother–”
“Damn right, I’m not,” he nearly chuckled before he began to touch you once again, rendering any retort you had lined up to fly straight out of the window as shaky moans instead flowed from your lungs.
Though the cruel pause had given your body enough time to calm down just a tad, it barely took any time at all for Steve to push you back towards that intimidating ledge and hold you there as you peeked over the edge.
“Steve, I don’t know if I can–, it’s–”
“Baby, it’s okay, you can do it,” he pressed a kiss to the top of your head, “just trust me, it’ll feel so fucking good, you don’t even know,” the hand he had plastered against your ribs slid up to grasp one of your tits, denting the softness with his long fingers, “just let it happen, relax.”
Shaking uncontrollably, your face tilted to hide in the bulk of his arm as the most blinding and overwhelming sensation you’d ever felt in your entire life rippled through your form, white-hot pleasure in a dose that you hadn’t thought imaginable.
“Oh, there you go, fuck,” he moaned and tried to draw your very first orgasm out as long as he could, “atta girl, that’s it.”
When his movements finally stopped, his messy hand slipped down to rest against your twitching thigh, hazy whimpers ever flowing from your lungs as you reeled in the staggering sensation.
“Holy shit…” you eventually managed to pant shakily.
“Told you it’d feel good,” he uttered cockily before pressing a kiss to your temple.
Your eyes fluttered shut as he then began to caress your thigh gently, sweeping his touch up and down the goosebump-ridden flesh till your breathing began to slow.
But then as you felt yourself relax even further back against him, wiggling slightly to get more comfortable, you noticed something hard poking your back. Assuming that it was something in his pocket, you shifted once again, but still couldn’t escape it, though with each of your squirming attempts, a low groan was conjured deep within Steve’s chest.
“What is that?” you then muttered, “is it your phone? Could you take it out of your pocket?”
“No, it’s not my phone,” he couldn’t help but chuckle at your innocence, swiftly causing you to freeze up, “you got me hard.”
Gasping loudly as if he hadn’t just had his hand on your pussy, you shot up to a sitting position and swiftly crawled around to direct your wide eyes straight at him. Skirt falling down to cover you back up, your panties however still remained around your ankles as you shifted to kneel on the bed before him.
“Oh my god,” the stunned expression plastered all over your face caused him to melt, “you’re so cute…”
Blinking back at him, you stammered, “that was–… you’re–…”
“Hard? Yeah,” he casually uttered, “kinda impossible not to be after what just happened,” he let his hand drift down to palm himself through his pants, guiding your vision to flutter down as well to finally look at the prominent bulge that strained against the zipper of his jeans. And as his touch slowly rubbed against the mouthwatering hardness, teasingly squeezing it for an ounce of relief, his head then cocked as he continued to stare at you, “can I ask you something?”
Downright hypnotised as you stared down at the overwhelming display of his arousal, you only managed to hum as a reply, “mhm,” as you stayed transfixed on the clothed hardness that somehow both terrified and exhilarated you at the same time.
“Have you ever seen a cock before?”
Meeting his unwavering gaze, you blinked, “…in textbooks and stuff…”
“How about up close?” he asked and you swiftly shook your hazy head, “you wanna see mine?”
“I–… what?”
“Do you wanna see mine?”
“U-uh…” you could barely think as you felt the sore sensitivity between your unsteady thighs somehow blossom back into the same agonising tingles that had taken hold of you before, “okay.”
A sharp breath filled your lungs as you watched him free his dick. Your eyes swiftly grew even wider as he enveloped the hand, still glistening with your juices, around the fat girth. Slick and sloppy sounds filled the room with every leisurely stroke as he began to slowly jerk himself, your thighs unconsciously squeezing together at the show.
“You good?” he chuckled lightly at the way your eyes had gone glassy.
“Mhm…” you foggily nodded, struggling to grasp onto even a single thought, “it’s–… a lot bigger than I imagined…”
“Have you been imagining what my cock looked like?” he relentlessly teased.
“No, no, I mean, just in general,” you fumbled over your words as he kept up his silky strokes, “yours is bigger than I imagined them to be in real life.”
“You wanna touch it?”
“…t-touch?” your eyes fought to blink back up and lock with Steve’s own.
“Yeah, come on,” he then grabbed your hand and brought it towards his length. At first, he let you just graze your fingertips against his dick, guiding your touch as he slowly dragged it across the velvety skin, all the way from the bulbous head, glistening with shiny precum that beaded at the tip, to the fat base where his heavy balls bloomed beneath.
“Oh–,” you swallowed as he then wrapped your fingers around his girth before engulfing them with his own broad hand, still shiny from your wetness, “it’s–, really hard.”
“Yeah, well that’s what you do to me, baby,” he smiled as he tightened his fist around your own, though even so, his girth was still too big for your own fingers to meet on the other side, “this is all for you…”
His free hand then grabbed your chin before he ravenously pressed his lips to your own, kissing you fiercely as he began to move your hand and guide your touch over his throbbing length.
Eventually, as you broke from the kiss, you peeped down at his cock, tight in your grasp.
His fingers kept on clutching your chin, holding you close, as he then purred, “here, like this,” his wide hand flexed around your smaller one, “a little tighter, don’t be scared, you won’t hurt me–, yeah,” he then moaned as you obeyed his command, “fuck, that’s it…” briefly letting his eyes flutter closed as he breathed through the pleasure. Though as he blinked his gaze back open, his broad thumb brushed against your knuckles as he asked, “you wanna try on your own?”
“O-okay,” you uttered before his guiding touch faded and you timidly tried to emulate his efforts, “like this?”
“Yeah, that’s good,” he groaned as you slowly slid your careful touch up and down the length of his cock, “shit, you’re a natural, baby,” his fingers that clutched your chin briefly shifted before his thumb poked up to brush the pad against your bottom lip, “keep going like that and I’ll blow in no fucking time.”
“Oh,” you swiftly ripped your stare away from his dick as you misunderstood his words, “should I stop then?”
“Don’t you fucking dare,” he growled before claiming your lips once again, not holding back in the slightest as he let the kiss grow sloppy and desperate.
Rejoining his touch to your own, he began to speed up your actions, making you stroke his thick girth even faster than before. And as he tilted away from the greedy kiss, a glossy string of saliva still kept you both connected.
Panting as he neared the finish line, he cast a brief glance down at his fat cock slick in both of your hands, before he threw his head back and moaned loudly as he unravelled at your touch.
“Fuck…” he panted as he let go of your palm, now sticky with his hot load just as his own hand was as well. Chest still rising and falling rapidly, he caught your frame and tugged you even closer, “come here,” he murmured as he pulled you into a limp hug.
“Was that okay?” you asked in a small voice as you curled into his chest.
Catching your jaw, he tilted your head back enough for you to catch his eye before he uttered, “that was fucking perfect,” and he kissed you once again. As he drew back, his gaze lingered, eventually fluttering down towards your lips before he brought his fingers up towards them, still messy with both your nectar as well as his own load, “open up.”
“What?” your brows knit together as you blinked down at the sticky digits he ghosted against your lips, tilting your head back slightly in confusion.
“Give it a taste.”
“Why would I do that?” you nearly laughed.
“Because it’s normal,” the older guy told you, “most people love cleaning up after their messes, so you probably do too.”
“Seriously?”
“I shit you not,” he said, though you kept on staring back at him in doubt, “what, do you want me to prove it to you? Fine,” he then extended his thumb for him to suck it clean, “there,” he released the dinger from his lips with a pop, “now it’s your turn,” he twisted his hand back down towards your mouth.
And hesitantly, you found yourself parting your lips for him, “there you go…” he groaned as he slipped two of his long fingers inside your mouth, “see? Tastes good, doesn’t it?” his gaze stayed transfixed upon your lips wrapped around his messy digits as he slowly let himself shift his fingers, greedily fucking your face for a bit, “shit…” he cursed as you licked them clean and he pulled them back out, a murmur swiftly slipping from his lips as he continued to stare, “I can’t wait to train this little mouth to do all sorts of tricks…”
“What?” you asked as your mind began to scramble for the meaning.
“Oh, nothing,” he sighed and ignored your naiveté before he pulled you back in for another hug, “nothing at all, sis…”
I wonder how daddy!Rafe would react after catching sick little!reader, who is supposed to be resting, out of bed and playing with their toys
Rest
Pairing: dark!daddy!rafe x little!reader
Warnings: age regression, dark themes, drugging
A/n: this one got a bit darker than intended but I couldn't help myself bc I actually think this is how he would handle this situation in his twisted rafe way yk?
⭒𖥸⭒
He just wants what's best for you and when the doctor says you need to rest Rafe would most definitely make you rest, if you wanted to or not.
"You stay right here while daddy's makes some calls. I warn you once, just because you're sick doesn't mean I won't punish you if you dare to leave this bed, a'ight?" He looks at you sternly, tucking you in and tries not to smile at your pouty face, your arms crossed and kicking your leg one time.
"I wanna play! The bed is boring." You cough loudly, your throat burning like hell.
"And I want you to get healthy, so you're gonna rest and take your medicine later like a good girl." There was no room for arguing and you huff, turning your back to him and grabbing your tablet.
He just shakes his head, leaning down to kiss your head before leaving the room. Once you hear the door click shut you throw the blanket off your body. You got up from the bed and walked over to the big pile of stuffies, grabbing some of them you carry them to your little table where you have all your tea parties.
Rafe should've known better. He keeps forgetting that littles mostly don't understand common sense and don't see what's good for them and what's not. That's why you don't see why you can't keep doing what you normally do in little space, not understanding that if you don't rest that your body could get even more sick.
Half an hour later, after all calls have been dealt with and made a small request to Rose, Rafe went to check on you only to find you in fact not in your bed. Even though you were facing the door you haven't noticed him yet, still babbling to your lamb.
"What exactly do you think you're doing?" Rafe asks, standing in the doorway with his hands on his hips, the frustration clear on his face.
You freeze, looking at him with wide eyes while he approaches you slowly.
"Didn't I tell you to rest? Care to explain how I find you sitting here and in fact not resting, huh?" He doesn't even give you a chance to speak, standing beside you he places his hand on your forehead and sighs loudly at feeling how your fever got worse. Suddenly you feel incredibly warm and a little dizzy.
"Don' feel good." You mumble, your body leaning against him automatically for comfort.
"Yeah, I figured that. That's what happens when you don't listen to daddy." He clicks his tongue before scooping you up, carrying you over to your bed.
Just as he lowers you down Rose walks in, holding one of your sippy cups and handing it to Rafe, looking a little concerned. "Are you sure you-"
"Thank you, Rose. I'll handle this on my way now." Rafe quickly cuts her off, shooting her a warning glare. You don't know what he means and just wave at Rose sweetly while coughing.
She just nods, giving you a small smile before walking off again, closing the door behind her.
He turns his attention back to you and smiles, holding the sippy out for you to take which you happily did, feeling how warm the cup it is. You sigh when the warm tea goes down your aching throat.
Rafe keeps brushing a hand over your hair, watching you empty the sippy and notices how your eyes already start to get droopy, trying your hardest to keep them open.
"There we go." He coos, gently grabbing the cup and placing it on your nightstand. "How you feelin' baby?"
"M'sleepy..." You yawn, pawing at your eyes.
"That's normal. That's your body trying to help you with your fever, just close your eyes." He says, covering you with your weighted blanket before kissing your forehead.
When he pulls back again he chuckles at you already sleeping, the drugs having you completely knocked out.
Pan isn't above using fear to get you right where he wants; terrified of everything but him.
The storm over Neverland wasn't a natural one.
It was a manifestation of Peter’s temper, a swirling vortex of charcoal clouds and jagged, violet lightning that rips through the sky because something on the island had displeased its king.
You aren't used to being afraid.
Usually, you treat the island like a giant, dangerous playground, skipping through the Dreamshade thickets and singing to the shadows. But this, the way the thunder vibrates in your very bones and the trees shriek as they bent, felt different.
It felt like the island itself was screaming.
You stumble through the undergrowth of the jungle, your breath coming in ragged gasps. The rain wasn't wet; it was heavy and cold.
A crack of thunder explodes directly overhead, so loud it felt like the earth was splitting open.
"Peter!" you cry out, your voice small against the roar of the wind.
You burst into the clearing of the camp, but the Lost Boys were nowhere to be seen, likely cowering in the caves to escape Pan’s localised wrath.
In the centre of the camp, standing perfectly still while the world tore itself apart around him, was Peter Pan.
He stands with his back to you, his green tunic damp, his shadow stretching out unnaturally long and jagged across the dirt. He looks like a god of ruin.
Another bolt of lightning struck a tree barely twenty feet away, the scent of ozone and burning wood filling the air. With a small cry of genuine terror, you bolt. You didn't think, you just acted on pure instinct, sprinting across the clearing and throwing yourself at him.
You crash into his back, your arms wrapping tightly around his waist, your face buried between his shoulder blades. You were trembling, your heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his spine.
The effect was instantaneous.
The howling wind dies down to a low whistle. The violent rain slows to a soft, rhythmic pattern. The oppressive weight in the air evaporates, replaced by a sudden, eerie stillness.
Peter doesn’t move for a long moment. He looks down at your hands clasped over his stomach. A slow, dark smile spreads across his face, not one of comfort, but of supreme, terrifying triumph. He loves it when the world scares you, because it drives you straight into the cage of his arms.
He turns slowly within your grasp, peeling you off his back only to tuck you firmly against his chest. He hooks a finger under your chin, forcing you to look up at him. Your eyes are wide and watery, a stark contrast to his, which were cold and calculating.
"There you are," he murmurs, his voice a low hum that vibrates through your chest. "Back where you belong."
"The sky... it was breaking," you whisper, clutching the front of his tunic. Your eccentric bravado has vanished, leaving only the fragile girl he works so hard to keep dependent.
"The sky does what I tell it to do," Peter says softly, his hand sliding into your hair and gripping just firmly enough to let you know you weren't going anywhere. He leans down, his nose brushing against yours.
"Are you frightened, little bird?"
"Yes," you admit, shivering.
"Good," he whispers, his thumb tracing the curve of your bottom lip. His gaze was obsessive, drinking in the sight of your vulnerability. He didn't want to soothe your fear so much as he wanted to be the only thing that could protect you from it.
"Remember this feeling," he warns, his voice dropping to a haunting, melodic tone.
"The world is a cruel, dark place. The stars are cold, and the shadows have teeth. But here, with me? You're the safest thing in existence. Because the monsters are all afraid of me."
You nod, leaning your head against his heart. You can’t hear a heartbeat, just the faint, rhythmic ticking of a clock that didn't exist. To you, it was the sound of home. To him, it was the sound of a trap finally snapping shut.
He wraps his cloak around you, shielding you from the dying rain, his eyes watch the tree-line with a predatory glint.
He has you right where he wants you: terrified of everything but him.
pairing: Dark!NHL!Garrett Graham x Figure Skater!Reader
synopsis: After a devastating injury ends your figure skating career, you’re left searching for anything that makes you feel like yourself again. Garrett Graham gives you exactly that, until you realize the person putting you back together might be the same person you can’t escape.
warnings: dark!older!garrett, dom/sub dynamic, degradation, humiliation, possessiveness, overprotectiveness, controlling relationship dynamic, power imbalance, praise/approval dynamic, fake dating trope, depressed!reader, dub/con, heavy topics 18+ PLEASE READ AT YOUR OWN RISK
word count: 6.9k
off campus masterlist
The meeting was supposed to start ten minutes ago. You tapped your leg nervously as if that would will your agent into opening her office door.
You were starting to wish that she had just dropped you from the sports agency through email instead of making you show up in person.
But you understood why she hadn't.
You’d signed with Emily at Frozen Edge Sports when you were only eighteen years old, and she’d become too much of a friend to end your relationship the easy way. It would just hurt less if you didn’t have to see the pity in her eyes up close.
You’d been skating since you were five years old. Your father pushed you into it, but at a certain point, you’d become the one putting pressure on yourself. It never occurred to you for all those years, but you’d given up your entire childhood for one thing.
You’d won your first U.S. championship at eleven years old. The best day of your entire life was not qualifying for this year’s Olympics, but when you won Bronze at the World Junior Figure Skating Championships when you were fifteen years old.
You'd nearly killed yourself that season. You begged your parents to homeschool you so you could spend more hours at the rink, and you even turned down Stephan Greenwoon, the heartthrob of Arlington Catholic's Cougars hockey team—when he asked you to be his date to junior prom.
It had all been for nothing because at the young age of twenty-two, you were officially a has-been.
That’s what four torn ligaments in your right knee can do to a bright future.
Despite the surgeries and the intensive physical therapy, your light continued to dim. Although you eased back into practicing again, you just couldn’t seem to land the jumps that helped you qualify in the first place. Your sponsors were kind and waited a few months before they broke their contracts.
Unfortunately, you weren’t making Emily, the main person keeping your career afloat, any more money.
Your own money would run out soon, and your parents' help only went so far in a city as expensive as Boston. You'd thought about putting your bachelor's degree in Communications to use, a degree you had no passion for and no idea what to do with. Your Olympics-destined best friend, Anna, was kind and paying more than her fair share of rent right now to help you out. She was waiting for you to snap out of your funk, and honestly, you hoped something would change too.
The nearby elevator dinged, and you avoided eye contact with whoever was stepping out. As the person walked past you, you were hit with the smell of expensive cologne. He approached the secretary's desk, and your eyes lifted as the deep timbre of his voice reached your ears. “Hey, I have a ten a.m. appointment with David and Emily.”
“Of course. I’ll let them know you’re here, Mr. Graham.”
Your brows raised at that. His eyes turned towards you just as the confusion spread across your face. His face was familiar, chiseled, and sculpted by dark curls. A duffel bag with the Bruins’ logo hung at his side, as if he’d just arrived from practice.
That didn’t make sense. You had a ten o’clock appointment with Emily. And it was about twelve minutes past that time.
“Hey.” His smile stretches at the sight of you, and your heart pounds as you realize he’s walking up to you. “You must be Y/N. I’m Garrett.”
Garrett Graham. The Bruins' rookie center. All six feet of him.
It takes too long for you to realize he’s holding his hand out to you. He appears professional, composed, and nothing like his reputation. You stand, smoothing down your gray athleisure set, and you politely shake his hand, “Uh, hi. Yeah, that’s me.”
“I’m a big fan,” He admits, still managing to sound cool and not like a fan at all. “I watched your routine at the U.S. Championships. The one where you skated to that Lana Del Rey song. It was insane.”
Your lips part in shock. You’re not sure how long it’s been since someone gave you a compliment that wasn’t covered in layers of condescension.
"You watched figure skating?"
"I watched you."
He laughed before the words could become awkward.
"I mean, I don't know much about the sport, but that routine was incredible. I was sorry to hear about your injury.”
“Yeah…”
“You back on the ice yet?”
“Oh, um,” The dreaded question. You keep your face from falling and smile sheepishly, awkwardly, “A little bit. Not too much. Still can’t put much weight on my right knee, but I’ve still been trying to support the other girls while they train.”
You’d been cleared to start training lightly, but your knee had another thing to say. You couldn't even count how many times you wiped out the last time you were on the ice.
He gives you a look that’s more empathetic than you expect: “Well, that fucking sucks.”
“Yeah,” You agree, “It does.”
Your agent's door opens seconds later, and Emily appears, waving the two of you into her office. “Do you know what’s going on?” You ask Garrett as he walks beside you. Why in the world is Garrett Graham joining in on your final meeting with your agent?
“Uhm,” He presses his lips together as he decides to think over his words carefully, “I think it’s better if you hear it from Emily.”
What the fuck is going on?
The two of you join Emily and David, who you learn is Garrett’s agent. It becomes pretty clear as the mundane introductions occur that you’re the only one who has no idea why all four of you are meeting.
Every time she opens her mouth, you expect her to finally explain.
She never does.
David is the one who eventually decides to stop pretending.
David, an old white man whose look is so corporate it actually frightens you, is the one who decides to cut to the chase. He’s balding, overweight, and he stands in contrast to Emily, who’s tall, blonde, and a former Olympic swimmer.
“We’d like to arrange a mutually beneficial relationship between the two of you."
Your heart drops to your stomach.
"We’re all aware that your injury, Ms. Y/L/N, is likely going to prevent you from competing in the Olympics. That means many of the sponsorship opportunities previously arranged for you are no longer guaranteed. Millions of dollars in potential earnings are now at risk."
You sit completely still.
"Talent and good character, which you still have, are important to our agency. But relevance is also a factor in this industry. By establishing a romantic relationship with Mr. Graham, we believe you’ll be able to maintain public interest and preserve some of the opportunities that may otherwise disappear.”
The room goes silent, your heart fully stops beating in your chest, and you have to force yourself to take a breath.
Is this a worse fate than being fired?
Being told that you're no longer valuable?
Knowing the only way you’ll have a career is if you become a rookie hockey player’s girlfriend for clout?
“Emily," You force your voice from your throat. "What is he talking about?”
“I think this is the best option for you, Y/N."
Shame floods your features as your body goes rigid. Your hand instinctively drops to your right knee, your fingers tracing the scar there, pressing against the place where the pain still lingers even though your injury has technically healed.
“I want the best for you. I’m trying to find a way for you to maintain your lifestyle, your fans, and your financial security while you figure out what comes next.”
Garrett chimes in when another silence settles over the room, “I don’t mean to be rude. This sounds great and all. I’m just not sure what I’m getting out of all of this.”
“Credibility,” Emily answers, eyes flicking between the two of you. “You have two different reputations. Y/N, you’re recognizable, poised, and charitable. You’re a good girl. And Garrett…”
She looks back at him.
"You’re talented, but you’re also seen as cocky. Hot-headed. The new rookie with something to prove."
"You think she balances me out?"
Garrett nods, as if he’s truly considering this. “You’re not serious?”
He looks over.
“What?” He lifts his hands slightly, confused. “You’re not considering this?”
He had everything to gain. Your life was slipping through your hands as the days passed.
Emily continues, eyes focused on you, as if she were desperate for you to understand her point of view. “There are a lot of details for us to work out. There’s absolutely no rush. We can start by setting up a few chance meetings and events where you can be photographed together. We’ll see how social media responds, and that’ll help guide our next moves.”
Feeling suffocated, you stand up. You were mentally prepared to be let go; you weren't prepared for this.
“For four years, you've told me to protect my image. To protect my brand. To make sure no one else controlled my career. And now you’re telling me all that I’m good for is being someone else’s girlfriend.”
“I’m trying to help, Y/N,” Emily says, more dejected than before.
“This isn’t personal; this is business,” David adds.
You can’t help but scoff, and you take a final look at Emily now that she’s dragged the two of them into your business. “I trusted you.” Your voice cracked despite your best efforts.
“Wait–” Garrett turns in his chair to face you, and no matter how kind he seems, you’re too embarrassed to face him.
“This actually has nothing to do with you.”
Anna: Hey, how’d it go?
You decided not to reply rather than explain to your friend that you had cried your eyes out in a single stall bathroom and were now trying to collect yourself and get the hell out of this building.
God, you looked horrible. You dabbed a cold towel under your eyes, wiping away your smudged mascara. Despite reapplying your lip gloss and letting your hair down, you still found yourself frightened by your own appearance.
You made your way out of the lobby bathroom, out the revolving doors, and onto the busy sidewalk. Looking down at your phone again, you realize your rideshare is still eight minutes away.
Then—
“Y/N!”
“Are you retiring?”
A group of photographers and a reporter suddenly surrounds you. You stumble backwards as the reporter forces a microphone into your face.
“Is it true you’re not going to the Olympics?”
“Were you released today?”
You freeze.
No, no, no.
Flashing lights start to blind you. Your whispered “please stop” and your “no comment” are drowned out by the camera shutters.
“Have you accepted you’ll never compete again?”
A large camera nearly knocks you to the ground.
A deep engine rumbles from the street, cutting through the chaos, and you catch a glance at a black car that skids to a stop in front of the sidewalk. A car door opens and Garrett appears. He doesn't hesitate, rounding the front of his Jeep and shoving his way in between you and the mob.
“Back the fuck up!”
His voice cuts through the noise, command sharp enough to make them hesitate.
He grabs hold of your waist, pulling you against his body, an act that would typically freak you out, but for some reason, you find yourself clinging to him. Your fingers curl into the fabric of his sweatshirt. He lifts you off your feet, not on purpose, but because he’s so much bigger and stronger than you that his attempt to shield you from the crowd accidentally pulls you onto your toes.
“Garrett, are you guys dating?”
“How did you two meet?”
“Did the agency arrange this?”
He opens the passenger door and lifts you inside, the door slamming behind you. You cover your face with your hands as the flashing continues, now directed inside the car, and Garrett slides back into the driver's seat.
“Fucking hell,” He curses as he speeds off, engine roaring, the vibrations rolling through you. “They should’ve never let you walk out of there by yourself.”
Knees pulled to your chest, you hiccup as tears fall again. You’re grateful you’ve already cried off the rest of your mascara.
“Are you okay?” You shake your head, too emotionally tired to hold up any sort of shield. Garrett rests one hand casually on the steering wheel and the other on the middle console. “Fucking assholes.”
You rest your arm next to his, your skin brushing against the fabric of his black sweatshirt. The noise seems to quiet around you, your heart's pounding starts to slow, and you feel the desire to hold onto him again.
You don't know why you feel safer.
You don't even know him.
Fingers grazing against his, Garrett decides to close the gap between you, interlacing his fingers with yours.
He releases a deep breath, glancing over you before he says. “That was shitty, I know. I honestly thought Emily had already mentioned that whole plan to you. I’m sure it caught you off guard.”
“Were you going to agree just because you feel bad for me?”
Garret doesn't flinch, although the words come out sharper than you intended.
“I was going to agree because I wanted to get to know you.”
You stare at him. His jaw tightens as he focuses on the traffic ahead.
“You wanted to get to know an athlete with no career left?”
“Honestly?" He says. "I think you’re just lost, Y/N.”
You blink. “What? You don’t …” Your lips part to argue, and then he squeezes your hand, and that seems to keep your emotions from escalating. His touch grounds you. “What do you mean?”
“You’re trying to solve a problem that doesn’t have an answer just yet. And when a possible solution was presented to you, you immediately shot it down. I don’t know. Maybe you’ve gotten comfortable feeling … broken.”
You were broken. Your body did not work the way it used to. As someone so tuned to her own body, that fact was evident.
“Maybe you don’t want to take control of your own life…” You didn’t appreciate the introspection into your personal problems, and yet, his words made too much sense. “I mean, I totally get spending so long in complete control of your career, your mind, your body. It would make sense that you’d want a break from that.”
He strokes his thumb over your hand.
“I do,” You say automatically, solemnly, “I want control. People look up to me. My friends are counting on me.”
Garrett hums, nodding his head, and by the way his attention stays on the road, you can tell he doesn’t believe you.
And somehow, that bothers you more because you’re not sure you believe yourself either.
“It’d be wrong to let them down. Let myself down.”
“Seems like you don’t have much control over that, you know, if you can’t skate.”
His words sting.
“How would you feel if you couldn’t play anymore?”
You expect him to pause; he doesn’t, his answer is immediate. “It would probably suck for a while.”
“That’s it?”
“What? It’s a job; it’s not my entire existence.”
“Well, it’s different for you.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah, I qualified for the Olympics.”
“That’s fair.” Garrett agrees, which surprises you. “Are you hungry?”
He’s not what you expected, at all. Because some small, desperate part of you wants to stay in this car. Wants to keep holding his hand and let him decide what happens next.
You barely know Garrett Graham.
But somehow, impossibly, he already sees right through you.
Garrett ends up buying you a hamburger and fries, something you hadn’t eaten since you started training for the Olympics, and you enjoy it in the passenger seat of his car. The two of you sit in your apartment building’s parking garage. Your moments of silence aren’t uncomfortable, and you attempt not to be thrown off by how comfortable he already feels around you. He offers to walk you up to your place, but the thought of him seeing your depression room after all of this chivalry makes you want to spiral again.
Although he looks disappointed, he takes no for an answer. Not before he gives you his number.
You don’t leave him with a clear answer on how you feel about the “fake dating” relationship, and you don’t mention it to Anna either. Honestly, you convince yourself that meeting Garrett Graham was a part of some strange dream you had and that you could go back to wallowing in despair.
Except the internet doesn't let you forget.
It only takes a day for the video of you and Garrett saving you from the paparazzi to go viral on the internet. You’re sure this is the relevance that Emily had insisted Garrett would be able to give you. Millions of views and thousands of comments on a single TikTok. You still weren’t sure about being famous for something other than figure skating.
That weekend, you hear from Garrett for the first time, hours after he wins his game against the Florida Panthers.
Garrett: What are you doing tonight?
You: Why do you ask?
Garrett: Because I want you to come out with me.
Your eyebrows furrow.
You: Out with you where?
Garrett: Did you injure your sense of adventure as well?
You sit up from your bed, pushing away your laptop playing Dirty Dancing, and stare down at your phone, incredulous.
You: What is wrong with you?
Garrett: What’s wrong is I haven’t seen you all week.
You: You’re not my boyfriend.
Garrett: I’m starting to understand why you don’t have one.
You: Fuck off.
You should’ve known he was an asshole. A stupid, smug, handsome asshole. Frustrated, you bring a pillow to your face and scream. Screw him for interrupting your self-care night all to yourself. Anna was in New York prepping for being on the Drew Barrymore show next week. This was your personal time. What right did he have to question your sense of adventure?
His rude comments throw you so off kilter, you can no longer enjoy your movie. You rise from your bed, oversized t-shirt falling against your upper thigh, and start to pace across your room. You should say something else, something clever, but you find yourself coming up short when trying to craft a reply.
A knock at the door interrupts your thoughts.
Hesitantly, you leave your room, padding across the living room of your high-rise two-bedroom apartment and slowly approach the door. Another knock, this one much louder, makes you jump. You see a head of dark, curly hair when you peek through the peephole.
“What the fuck?” You whisper.
Another knock. “Open the door, Y/N. I can hear you.”
You curse again. The second it opens, Garrett steps inside like he belongs there, leaving you stumbling backward.
“How did you get here so fast?”
He’s clad in a dark bomber jacket, expensive chain, and dark sneakers. Effortless confidence. “Oh, yeah, I forgot to mention I live in the apartment building across the street.”
You stare at him.
“Whatever, you have to leave!” You exclaim as he walks further into your place. It’s modern in style and has pink accents everywhere, Anna's and your favorite color. He ignores you completely, turning to the right, toward your open doorway, and he enters your room, completely determined. “Garrett!”
He seems to ignore the complete disarray that your room is in and heads straight to your closet.
“I’ll call the police!”
You follow behind him, horrified.
He chuckles at that. “Sure, go ahead.” He looks you over then, at your lack of pants and messily strewn hair. A faint smirk appears. “Love the outfit, princess, but you’re not going out like that.”
“I’m not going out at all.” Knowing you weren’t bold enough to call the police on him, you huff and take a seat at the edge of the bed.
“Uh huh.” Garrett goes through all your drawers before he picks out a silver, sparkling mini-skirt and black, thigh-high boots. “Bingo. Put these on.”
Both items you hadn’t worn since your accident. With the weight you’ve gained from not working out, you’re not even sure you’ll fit into the skirt. “Absolutely not. I can’t even walk in those things anymore.”
“You can hold onto me–”
“No, Garrett.”
“Don’t be a fucking brat, Y/N.”
That sends the air straight out of your lungs.
“I’m not–”
“You are,” Garrett drops the boots at your feet, and you jump. “I told you to put them on.”
He stares down at your flustered face, not in a challenge, but because he was giving you one option. Back down. You bit down on your tongue, hard, your chest rising up and down as you struggled to breathe. He said so much and nothing at all in the intensity of his gaze. An unspoken threat hung heavy in the air. Did you want to find out what he’d do if you didn’t obey?
Carefully, you bent down and grabbed hold of the left boot, pushing your feet into the shoe before pulling the black leather fabric all the way up to your knee. To your surprise, they still fit over your calves.
“There you go.” His voice is quieter now.
You bite down on your tongue harder, eyes focused on his feet, as his voice caresses over you. You do the same with the right foot, this time your hands lingering for an uncomfortable amount of time on your right knee.
“Good girl.”
The praise makes your breath catch.
And you hate how much you notice it.
“Now, take off those granny panties.”
“I don’t want to.” Your voice is small, unrecognizable.
“I didn’t ask what you wanted.”
“It’s either no panties or these.” He holds out a pair of black, lacy panties. Those were a part of a gift that Anna had gotten you when you turned twenty-one. No one had ever seen you in them. “I’ll let you decide that.”
You stand, wobbling, like you did the first time you got back on the ice. Garrett grabs you by your hips to steady you. For a moment, you get stuck in his gaze, and the hungry way he’s staring at you. “Panties, princess.”
He’s so insistent. It’s overwhelming. And it’s not like you to listen to a man. Or anyone, for a matter. You’re independent. You make your own decisions. You’re anything but that, now, as you reach down to slide off your boyshorts. He holds onto you as you step out of them. He kneels then, and you hold onto his shoulders as you step into the black lacy pair of underwear.
“Garrett!” You yelp when he grabs you by your bottom, pressing his nose into the fabric that’s now wrapped tightly against your center. He inhales deeply, and you feel that warmth spreading to your core. He pushes you back onto the bed then, and you land with a bounce. “What–what are you doing?”
“What am I doing? I know I want you on my arm tonight, but I’m debating if I should fill your cunt before we leave or end the night inside of you.” Garrett strips off his jacket before he lifts your thighs as he settles between them. You’re speechless when he presses his lips to yours. He wastes no time exploring you, parting your lips, and sticking his tongue in your mouth. When he pulls away, allowing you to get a breath, he’s made up his mind. “Both work, actually. Both sound good.”
“Garrett,” You whine.
"What? Tell me what's wrong. You don't like it when I touch you?"
"I hate it." In a swift movement, he forcefully pins your hands above your head. "Garrett!"
"Then why are you grinding against me?"
Fuck. You tilt your head back in frustration.
“I had a feeling about you. I knew you were a dirty little princess,” Garrett grunts against your skin. His jeans are tight enough for you to already feel how hard he is, and he wastes no time creating friction between you. “All pent up.”
“Fuck, I wanna taste all of you.”
“Garrett–”
“Warm you up, yeah?”
You whine louder, unrecognizable to yourself.
“Oh no, you don’t want that? Want me to make it hurt?”
“Please.” Tears sting your eyes. How did he know exactly what you needed to feel? That you liked the pain. That you wanted to feel worthless. That you needed someone else to finally tell you what to do.
“Dirty fucking princess. I’m gonna have so much fun with you.”
It burned between your legs. Garrett had kept his word. Made it hurt. And you’d finished while he rocked his hips, deep inside of you, his thumb rubbing circles into your sensitive bud.
He’d dragged you to the club along with his teammates and worn what he had done to you like a badge of honor, all night. As soon as you got used to walking in the heels again, the vodka shots, unfortunately, made it harder again.
A party for other athletes is actually the last place you’d usually want to be—athletes who have successful careers and are close to winning another playoff. You’ve managed to go six months without being in a room like this, and Anna had been begging you to integrate yourself back into the world. Except, you hadn’t been sure this was even your world anymore.
Tonight, you hoped your thigh-high black boots and sparkling mini-skirt would give you an heir of confidence and nonverbally say I’m totally fine, totally sexy, and I can live without figure skating.
The nightclub was decked out in black, gold, and white in celebration of the Bruins’ win tonight. There were packs of puck bunnies who’d paired their thigh-high boots with the jerseys of their favorite players.
You didn’t wonder long if you belonged here because being on Garrett’s arm made it so the sea of people parted everywhere the two of you walked. People only had kind things to say when they greeted him, which meant you got less of the back-handed compliments you were getting used to.
No mentions of “Oh my God. I used to love you!” or “You were so good last year!” Garrett, somehow, was making you feel less like you were “talented” in the past tense and more like you could exist without any of those labels. He gave you a taste of what it would be like to be Garrett's girl.
When you started to leave your body, feeling like a million eyes were on you, Garrett grabbed your chin and forced your eyes onto his. “Look at me. No one’s gonna hurt you.” Except me, his eyes seemed to say. “I’ll handle it”
You try to relax and to use all that poise and sensuality you’d learned from skating and channel it into dancing with Garrett.
After the two of you have danced hard enough to leave you covered in a layer of sweat, Garrett guides you over to the bar.
“You’re glad you came, aren’t you?”
You’re not sure glad is the way you would describe it.
“You didn’t really give me a choice.”
“You didn’t want me to.” He says smoothly before he orders you a Vodka Red Bull. As you wait for the bartender to mix your drink, he leans down to speak into your ear, “Hey, so, a few of the guys and their girls are going to Vegas tonight.”
“Oh,” You lean up to say, “That sounds fun.”
“Good." Garrett smiles. “We’re going too.”
You shake your head quickly. “Absolutely not. Vegas? Tonight? It’s already almost midnight!”
“You can sleep through the flight.”
Concern fills your eyes but Garrett turns his focus on grabbing your drink and forcing it into your hands. “I’m not prepared to fly. And you don’t have plane tickets, do you?”
“Drink that.”
“Garrett–”
“Don’t be rude. I just paid twenty bucks for that. Drink it.”
His tone is stern, and you can feel the seriousness even over the pounding EDM music. Again, there’s no challenge in his eyes.
He doesn’t have to raise his voice.
He doesn’t have to argue.
He just looks at you like he already knows you’ll listen.
The worst part is that he's been right the entire night.
You take a sip, instantly cringing at how strong it is. Garrett isn’t satisfied when you flash your eyes up at hiim. A non-verbal command. More. Taking a breath, you take a longer sip.
"There you go."
"You're annoying."
"Maybe."
He smiles again, white teeth flashing, and you're starting to understand why all of Boston has become obsessed with him.
“You got somewhere to be tomorrow, princess?” Your teeth bite at your straw, slightly frustrated and mostly buzzed.
"No."
“That’s what I thought.”
After midnight, when you’re in the car with Garrett, you realize that Garrett didn’t have a single drink tonight. Meanwhile, your head was spinning, mini-skirt riding up and knee high boots that were now pooling around your ankles.
The last time you were in Vegas was for a competition years ago. You’d done your fair share of partying in the early days of college but ever since you locked in for the Olympics, you hadn’t done any heavy drinking. Which meant you’d become much more of a lightweight than you remembered.
“I can’t go through TSA like this,” you mumble, sinking into the passenger seat.
An old rock song plays quietly through the speakers.
“I’ll get arrested.”
Garrett glances over.
“No TSA where we’re going, baby.”
“What?” You moan, “I thought we were getting on a plane.”
“A private plane.”
You gasp, “No freaking way. You have a plane.”
“I don’t have a plane, princess. I have friends who have a plane.”
“I have to text Anna.”
“I’ll text her for you when we get on the plane.”
“Fuck,” You felt like you were talking in slow motion. “This has been the weirdest night of my life. I can’t believe I fucked Garrett Graham.
A pause.
"Me."
Your eyes start to close.
"America’s sweetheart.”
You don’t see the smile that crosses his face.
You’re asleep before the car even reaches the runway.
The bed you wake up in is soft but obviously not yours. The room is blurry when you first open your eyes, the sun peeking in through a nearby window, a loud hum immediately flooding your ears. The sound is deep and constant.
A plane.
You swore you dreamt that part of the night. There’s no way you agreed to go with Garrett all the way to Vegas. Then again, you were completely sober when you let him inside of you.
Running your fingers over your skin, you realize the only piece of clothing you’re still wearing are your underwar. As the panic continues to sink in, the bed dips beside you, and heavy arm wrapping around you. A shirtless, sleeping Garrett, settles beside you, his hips pressing into your bottom.
“Garrett,” You whisper, your heart racing in your chest. He moans in response, hands reaching to grab a handful of your breast. “Can you wake up?”
“What?” He asks gruffly, annoyed.
“Why am I naked?”
“What?” He asks again, half asleep, “I undressed you. You were wasted last night.”
“But you didn’t …” Your voice trails off as the question hangs in the air.
“Of course not..”
“Oh…okay.”
He presses a soft, unexpected kiss to your shoulder and your worries melt … slightly. “Disappointed?”
“Of course not.”
“Okay,” He says, unbelieving. He continues to grab your breast, placing kissess along your shoulder and the back of your neck. He’s hard, erection straining against his briefs, and pressing into your ass.
“I think I’ve lost my mind,” You think out loud.
Garrett hums, strong fingers trailing down your stomach and towards your center, “Doesn’t help that you’re touch starved.” This observation makes you want to roll your eyes, “You’re so responsive.”
You breath out, holding in your moans, “Are we landing soon?”
“There's time, don’t worry.”
Garrett presses you into the bed, stomach and the side of your head against the sheets. He positions himself at your entrance moments later.
"So needy."
He slips inside of you like last night, knowing you’re wet but not wet enough to take all of him.
He holds the back of your neck tightly, pressing your face further into the mattress as he roughly grabs the flesh of your bottom. He spanks you as he takes you deeper. It hurts, but that's what you like the most, and from this angle, he can watch as your face contorts in pleasure.
“I think I’ll take you everywhere with me.”
He spanks you so hard it’ll surely leave bruises. The feeling makes you grit your teeth, but you don't ask him to stop. You don't want him to.
“My little stress reliever.”
“I can use you however I want, right?”
His words, the shame, the friction against the bed- it quickly sends you tumbling over the edge. Your body shakes as you squeeze him tighter. His hips stutter. “Fuck.”
“You like that.”
“This is what you’re good for, princess. Making me feel good.”
His goal is not your pleasure. It just so happens that his taking what he needs from you is what feels best.
“Oh my -- Garrett!”
It’s his name on your lips that brings him to his own end. He pins you tighter to the bed, another reminder of where you belong.
Beneath him.
It’s eye-opening, the relief, and how much you like the feeling.
You think you would want to feel this way all the time, if that were even possible.
For now, though, surrendering to him feels easier than fighting to hold yourself together.
Two days later, you pace inside the luxurious hotel suite, the lights of the Las Vegas strip shining through the floor-to-ceiling windows.
“It’s just a bikini, Y/N,” Anna’s voice comes through your phone. You stare down at your screen and see her camera propped up in front of her as she wipes off her makeup from the day. You're three hours ahead of her, your night just beginning as hers is coming to an end.
She's wrong.
It’s actually the opposite of a bikini.
It’s a piece of clothing that Garrett Graham has picked out for you and expects you to wear to a huge pool party tonight.
It’s unforgiving of your scars or your changing body.
“You’re allowed to have fun, you know?”
“I know that.”
“Do you? Because you’ve spontaneously decided to go to Las Vegas with Garrett Graham and wearing a bikini in public is where you’re drawing the line.”
“You know, you’re not helping, you’re supposed to tell me that I’m being crazy. That I’m fucking up my entire life.”
“Fucking up your life? Girl, do you know how many girls would kill to be in your position?”
You sigh, frustrated.
“I can’t do this, Anna.”
“You can.”
“Can’t!”
“Fine, you’ve never listened to me. Maybe he can convince you, though.”
You scoff at that. “What does that mean?”
“It means that, for some reason, Garrett Graham is the only person who’s been able to get to you since all of this happened. I just have a feeling that I’m gonna wake up in the morning to some paparazzi photos of you looking gorgeous in that bikini and having the time of your life.”
Anna ends up being right because everyone, like Garrett, seemed to know you better than you did yourself.
It doesn’t take any convincing for Garrett to get you into a red bikini. All he has to do is tell you to put it on. You give in instantly.
He leaves you no room to feel insecure with him. There’s no way you can’t feel gorgeous because Garrett doesn’t go longer than five minutes without his tongue down your throat.
You shower that night together, after the pool party, and Garrett takes his time carefully dragging the soapy washcloth across your skin.
“Plane leaves tomorrow morning.”
“Okay.”
“You’ve been a very good girl for me this weekend.”
You knew what it meant. You kept close to him no matter what party or event he wanted to take you to. When he wanted to be inside of you, you let him bend you over.
“Uhm.” You force yourself to take a deep breath. “Thank you.”
“You think you deserve a reward?”
Was the free vacation and a dozen orgasms not enough of a reward?
You turn to face him, eyes blinking up at him nervously, warm water beating against your back. “I don’t know.”
“I think you do.” He grabs hold of your chin with one hand. With the other, he reaches behind you to turn off the water. “I want to spank you.”
A sharp inhale. “Is that …is that not a punishment?”
“Not for you.”
The steam escapes the glass shower as Garrett leads you back into the bathroom. He takes his time drying your hair and your skin, paying attention to every curve of your body. You notice the way his fingers hover over your scar. When you flinch away, he grabs your leg tighter, a reminder to stay in place. To not run away from him.
Pleasure or pain, whatever he decided to give you.
You had to take it.
You wanted to.
It was getting harder and harder to hide how desperate you were.
“I’m tired.”
“So you don’t want your reward?”
Garrett stands, wrapping a towel around his waist, dark hair still dripping onto the skin of sculpted chest.
You bite down on your lip, afraid to tell him no. He looks you over closely.
“Fine. Go to sleep if you’re tired.”
He turns away from you, walking over to one of the Jack and Jill sinks.
“I feel sore too. From earlier.”
Garrett hums, ignoring you, and although he’s had his tongue in your mouth all night, you start to feel upset that he’s turned his attention from you.
He wants you to beg now. Beg for him to hurt you.
You haven’t moved yet, twiddling your fingers, and Garrett hasn’t said another word.
“Is this how you treat all your girlfriends?”
Garrett sighs, drying his hair in the mirror, “Just you.”
“Why?”
“Because you’ll let me. And you like it.”
“I don’t,” You argue. “Okay, sure, it’s fun in the bedroom. But all the time? If we …if we started dating like our agents suggested, this is how you would treat me?”
“Is that what you want? To date me?”
“No,” You answer too quickly, “I don’t know. Not if this is how it’s gonna be.”
Garrett turns, tossing his towel to the side, before he stalks over to you.
“You’re full of shit.”
“I’m serious–”
“Get on your knees.”
“Garrett, it’s not gonna work. I’m not playing …I don’t want to play your game anymore.”
“Get on your knees, princess.” His voice vibrates through you. The peaks of your chest rise as he stares down at your naked body.
“Please stop–”
“On your knees, baby. You want to be my good girl, I know you do.”
You lower yourself down gently, your eyes traveling down his legs before they land on the tile floor.
"Show me how good you are."
“Crawl to the bed.”
Your knees ache almost as bad as your warm center.
Garrett follows behind you as you slowly, surely taking in the sight of your bare bottom, as you make your way across the tile and then onto the carpet of the bedroom. The room is straight out of a porno. A king-sized bed, red-felt headboard, and a mirror that hangs on the ceiling directly above the bed. Red velvet curtains partially cover the view of the Vegas city life, and the sound of the city- honking cars and nightlife roars on in the background.
Garrett grabs you and lifts you onto the mattress like you weigh nothing.
“Face on the bed. Ass up.”
Your body moves before your mind can tell it what to do.
Much to your disappointment, seconds pass, and you realize Garrett has left the room. You hear shuffling in the kitchen, and you frown. You keep your position perfectly, which is the sickest part. Minutes later, Garrett returns with a glass of water in hand.
“Do you like when I tell you what to do, Y/N?”
“Yes…”
“Yes, Garrett.” He corrects you.
“Yes, Garrett.” You parrot back.
"Then don't complicate things. Let me give you what you need."
He sets down the glass of water on his bedside table before he disappears into the bathroom. Again, you don’t move.
Tears sting your eyes, the embarrassment settling deep. He returns, now wearing a pair of black Calvin Klein underwear.
The bed dips as Garrett gets into the bed, pulling the covers over his body. He waits another long minute before he says, “C’mere.”
Hesitant, you lift your head. His tired eyes burn into yours. He pats the spot beside him, and you crawl slowly, like a dog, until you’re beside him. He lifts the covers so you can slide your body next to you. You sniffle, wiping your tears, as you lay your head on his chest.
“I’m sorry.” You apologize, not forgetting to add, “Garrett.”
“I know, baby, you're just overwhelmed. Let’s go to sleep.”
Summary: Logan loves going down on you. He lives for it, he craves it, he loves everything about it. But what he didn’t expect was your reaction when you were the one who goes down on him.
Warning/s: Minors do not interact. Smut. Mature. 18+. Oral sex (F and M receiving). Unprotected sex. Comfort. Crying. Established relationship. They are unhinged, horny, and thinking about sex all the time but they love each other too. Be responsible for your own media consumption. Grammar/Spelling. If I missed anything, let me know kindly!
Word Count: 3.5k
A/N: I’m in no way a pro when it comes to writing smut but I try and this is me trying (and probably experimenting on my writing too). Got inspired while listening to Tears by Sabrina and a conversation I had with my best friend.
I have another Logan fic in progress but it’ll be some time before it’s up since I’m not confident about it yet. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this one. Like, reblogs, and comments are very welcome and appreciated!
MASTERLIST.
Please do not translate and repost.
Divider by chrisssiren.
Logan is sick, he’s sure of that. But the thing is, as cliche as it may sound, you are the only person who could cure him. He had known a long time ago that he loves going down on girls, he lives for it. But nothing ever prepared him for you and the changes you brought into his sex life.
He’d been with many girls before you, yes. What you and he are doing—at least, some of it—he had done it before. You knew it, having to be one of the witnesses of some of those sexcapades he did in the past. However, that’s never been an issue between you two. Sex with you is something that Logan has never experienced before. But no, it’s not some, “You’re different from other girls” kind of bullshit. It’s the feeling that was different.
You see, the girls he had been with? It was always rushed, short-lived. It was only for the sake of sleeping together. But with you? You build up the moment, but still make sure not to waste time. You make him feel hot and excited, but give him what he wants to balance it out. You let him do what he wants, but signals him when to stop. You make him crave for you, crave for it. And when you especially know when he needs it? You give it to him, no questions asked.
And Logan would always savor the moment when you just unfold your legs for him, when you let him lap at your center like a starved man, and when you encourage him to keep going; even stretching your legs further so he could have more space.
Logan loves your pussy, and he loves every single second of being down on you and if he could live between your legs, he would.
There’s something so addicting about having them wrapped around his head, or when you spread it for him so he could bite on your inner thighs, or the way it almost suffocates him when you’re on top of him, riding his face while he busies himself admiring the swell of your breasts; the way they move when you jerk forward because his tongue hits a certain spot, or the way your chest falls up and down so you can get enough oxygen in your lungs, or when your nipples hardened he just had to let go one of your legs so he could play with them.
Yet he loves it more when you tugs at his curls, moaning for him. The sound you make going straight to his cock, thrusting on the bed or in the air depending on where you got him eating you out. He loves the look on your face—how your mouth forms an o-shape when he sucks at your sensitive nub or when you cover it to muffle the sounds because his friends are sleeping, how your eyes glaze when you’re near, how your lips turn swollen from too much biting, and how your head falls backwards to reveal your neck, thinking about biting the flesh once he’s fucking you.
Logan swore he could cum by just eating you out, but looking at you enjoying yourself? That’s another thing he needs to control. He could combust with a single, “Making me feel so good, Johnny.” but he’d do his best to restrain himself. He’d only allow himself to finish once you do because for him, it’s you before everything else. There were times that even after making you cum three times, he’d hold it in because that won’t be enough. He’d wait for you to say, “Please, let me feel you. I want it.”, that he’d permit himself to let go and you’d be so full of him. Then, he would look at your face only to see you smiling at him, so lost in the pleasure and so fucking beautiful, and he’d take pride knowing he’s the one who made you feel that way—and he feels like cumming again, his cock hardening inside you once more.
He thought that would be it, nothing else could make him feel like he’s doing it for the first time aside from eating you out and you, looking so pretty for him. But boy, was he wrong.
It happened for the first time when Logan felt a little more beaten up after practice. Completely drained and exhausted from all the physical and mental challenges hockey takes from him. You knew the moment he slumped beside you on his head, dropping his gym bag on the side, that he’s spent.
“Hey, gorgeous. I missed you.” Logan’s hands automatically searched for your waist as his head hits your lap, his hair still damp from the shower. He relaxes the moment your hands massage at his scalp, down to the back of his neck, and to his shoulder blades. His usual protective guard is down and at that moment, under your gaze, he’s just a guy who needs comfort.
Your boyfriend needs comfort.
“I missed you too, baby. How are you?” Logan lifted his head a bit, his eyes cast downward, his body barely holding his weight, but he didn’t say anything. He just smiled at you before seeking your warmth again. You bit your lip and maybe, seeing him like that—sore, tired, worn out—is what triggered your desire to take care of him. He spends so much energy in hockey, in studying, in the garage, in everything that he does, including looking out for you without being asked that seeing him vulnerable makes you want to put him first. So an idea popped in your mind.
“Hey, come on, lay down properly.” Logan obliged, rather slowly. You were standing at the foot of the bed, supporting his movements. Once he’s comfortable, you start removing his clothes. He didn’t think much of it at first, he always sleeps with only his boxers on and you learned about it early on in your relationship. It even got to a point that you were the one undressing him and you’d cuddle under his covers.
However, Logan felt your hands caressing his legs as you crawled on top of him. Your fingers tugged down at his boxers until it reached just above his knees, but before you could take it off, Logan caught your hand, crease forming between his brows. He understands immediately what you were trying to do, and it’s not that he doesn’t want it. He’s just not sure if he could do any action tonight and he will never forgive himself if he allows it to happen only for you to not to feel good.
“Thank you, gorgeous, but I don’t think I can do—”
“Who said you’re doing anything?” You raised one eyebrow at him, the corner of your lips curving into a tempting smile that had Logan heaving a deep breath. He knew it’s happening, you looked so good and while the rest of his body is tired, his cock sure isn’t as it slowly grows hard between his thighs, directly under you. “Just lay down for me, John, okay? You’ve been working so hard, you deserve to be rewarded for it.”
And nothing ever prepared him for what happened next.
Logan never presented the idea of blowjob, nor you brought it up yourself. In the entirety of your relationship, you never went down for him. You never put his length in your mouth, you never gagged at the feeling of him hitting your throat, and you never knew what it was like to look up at him over your lashes. But just because it never happened, doesn’t mean you never wonder what it would be like.
It’s not like you never gave head before. You have a fair share of experience yourself like Logan, but you keep on wondering if it would feel like the way it made him feel. He told you about it, how going down on you made him feel like an entirely different person. That the way your pussy feels against his mouth was nothing like he ever felt before. That if your legs suffocate him and he dies accidentally, he’d still thank you for it.
You knew it wasn’t about the experience, you knew it was the feeling. Because you trust him, you allow yourself to be vulnerable and comfortable with him that the intimacy instantly feels different. So, you took advantage of the moment to test it out yourself.
“Are you sure about this? You know you don’t have to, right? We can just—”
But Logan’s head dropped back down on his pillow when he felt your hands around him, pumping him slowly, getting him to completely relax for you. A heavy and ragged sigh escaped his lips at the feeling, his broad shoulders sinking into the mattress, shutting his eyes close to regain some control. And he thought that he’s doing a great job at it, he’s getting used to the feeling of the slow movements of your hands that he willed himself to open his eyes.
“Fuck, that feels good, gorgeous.” He rasped, voice thick and rough at your ministrations. The exhaustion of the day leaving his body. The tension, the expectations, the brutality of the world outside his room fading behind him as he let you take care of him. His hands gripped at his bed, not wanting to pressure you to take anything further by putting them on your head.
You shifted your weight, finding a more comfortable place between his thighs. And then you see it before you feel it; the intimacy did feel different.
You saw how Logan does his best to keep his hands to himself, you feel how he tries not to thrust upwards in your hands, you feel from the way he remains so compliant with your touch that he’s not rushing you, and you saw how his eyes glint with encouragement to do whatever you want next—continue or stop, entirely up to you.
The moment was slow and heavy with trust. And that did something to you, probably the way it did something to Logan.
It made you feel good, confident, trusted, and loved.
When Logan felt your movements have slowed, he peeked at you to see that you got this dazed look on your face. He was about to reassure you that it’s okay to stop when you looked down at his dick and leaned forward, replacing your hands with the warmth of your lips. Logan choked on his breath, the words caught in his throat as he felt his self control leaving his body as he completely surrendered to you.
Logan’s entire body went still for a second, a low, guttural moan vibrated in his chest before he forced himself to relax again. His fingers gripped at the sheets again, tighter this time as his knuckles turned white. You saw this from the corner of your eyes and tapped at his thighs, reaching for one of his hands and guided it above your head. He had to fight every instinct to take over because of the action, but he reminded himself that tonight, this is what you want.
You moved over him, finding your rhythm as your eyes flicked up to look at him. His head was still thrown back, buried in his pillow, exposing his adam’s apple. His sweat glistened on his collarbone and you moaned at the sight, he looked completely undone and ruined by your touch. And the same feeling came back.
Looking at Logan, completely at your mercy and stripped of his usual protective and strong stance made you clench your thighs together. You continue pumping at his length while switching between sucking and lapping at the head, his tip leaking pre-cum. Logan’s grip on your head tightened and it should hurt, but you just took him further inside your mouth. You gagged slightly, the sound causing him to massage your jaw, motioning for you to breathe through your nose as he guided your head to stay in place.
“That’s it, gorgeous, don’t forget to breathe.” You understood what he said, you knew when to stop if it gets too much for you, but your mind started to jumble. Because how could he be so sweet and caring yet so filthy at the same time? When you felt your lungs needing some air, you pulled back, a string of spit connecting your lips to his cock. And Logan was about to throw a praise when you lick from his base before taking him whole again.
“Fuck me—slow down, gorgeous. You’re killing me.”
It feels too good; the thickness in your mouth, the taste of his pre-cum oozing out directly on your tongue, the control he’s trying to gain, the way he grips at your head and caresses your cheeks just to feel himself bulging from it. Everything feels too good and without meaning to, a stray tear spilled over your lashes, tracking down your cheek and landing softly on his thighs. Logan snapped up immediately at the unwelcomed feeling, only to see you crying. The immense pleasure brought by your mouth dissipates in the air as he scrambles to seat.
“Woah, woah, hey, talk to me.” He whispered, afraid that if he went a little louder, you'd cry even more. He wanted to move to your side, but for some reason, your hand is still wrapped around his length and you’re still between his legs. Logan tried his best to meet you eye-to-eye with the position, his hands gently cupping your face, his thumbs wiping away the dampness on your skin. “Sweetheart, please, talk to me. What’s wrong? Did I hurt you? Was it something I did? Was I too much?”
You only shook your head at him and Logan had to stop the sigh that wanted to escape his lips when he felt your hand gripped him, and instead focused on making sure that you’re okay. “Hey, it’s alright, we can stop now, hmm? It’s alright, I got you.”
But then you opened your mouth and Logan cursed at himself because maybe he heard it wrong, maybe he heard you wrong. There’s no way you’re crying because of that, right? His girlfriend, who is usually composed, independent, strong-willed, and doesn’t take shit from others, is crying.
All because of his dick.
He studied your face, your eyes that were blown out with lust, your lips hanging open in anticipation, your brows creased together awaiting his response. But above everything, he saw honesty and trust and it dawned on him that he didn’t hear it wrong. Logan heard you correctly.
“I don’t want to stop. I want your cock.”
Because that’s what you really said and you didn’t plan on taking it back.
Not when Logan’s eyes darkened with want as he held your face so softly, waiting for you to take your words back. Not when the words made you shudder when it left your lips, not when it caused you to rub your thighs together, not when your eyes basically watered again at the thought of it in your mouth, in your hands, in your pussy. Not when you’re pushing Logan back on the bed to hover above him, so sure of yourself, repeating the words.
“I love your cock, Johnny.”
Logan doesn’t know what to do. You are equally as obsessed as he was and he doesn’t know what to do with that. He never cried when he’s down on his knees, trapped between your legs, but he sure felt like it every single time. You make him addicted, you make him starve and crave, and you make him mad about it. And seeing you, like a reflection of himself, enjoying yourself, destroys him in a delicious way.
You spent the rest of the night sobbing at the feeling of his length in your mouth and Logan lives for it. He’d smile at you, comfort you, and praise you for it while anchoring himself to keep it together.
“Fuck, gorgeous, you take me so well.”
“You love it? Say it again, come on.”
And between his praises and the fullness of him inside your mouth, you’d look up at him just to ask, “It’s my dick now too, right?”
And Logan had to physically stop himself from pulling you back down his length, his grin widening with mischief and his eyes twinkle with something you’ve never seen before. Without breaking eye contact, his thumbs traced your lips before sliding it inside, your tongue automatically swirling around it as you await for his answer.
“So fucking right, gorgeous, it is.”
The night ended with both of you tangled in his sheets, satisfaction and pride swimming in your system. You were safely tucked beside him after your unexpected discovery, Logan peppering your head with kisses. And he thought, that was it. What he didn’t know was that behind your peaceful form, you discovered another thing.
You love Logan when he respects you in bed. But you love it more when he gets filthy.
He was on his way back to the hockey house when it happened the second time. He just bid goodbye to a classmate when his phone buzzed in his jeans. It was a message from you. An entirely unhinged message from you.
“I need it, please.”
Logan drove so fast back to the house and when he opened the door of his room, there you were, dressed in his jersey. But it didn’t take long for both of you to get undressed. The moment escalated so quickly as you dropped to your knees in front of him, tugging at his pants.
“Take it out, baby.”
And Logan never complied so fast in his life. Not even when Coach Jensen told him to do better with his moves, to skate faster. But you got him on chokehold with just your words and the next second, you were taking him in your mouth, the dirtiest words escaping his lips.
“You want it so bad, yeah? You missed it?”
“So pretty like this. Keep going. Come on, you got it.”
“Open your mouth wider, gorgeous. I thought you said you wanted it?”
And you’re equally as bad as him. The words you thought that you’ll never say are encouraged out of you because of Logan, and the way he looks at you with so much adoration and pride.
“This is only mine, right? It’s mine.”
“It feels so good in my mouth, Johnny, I don’t want to stop.”
“Yes, I wanted it. I can take it. Please.”
Logan thought—once again and he’s wrong—that would be it. But you’re sneaking into the shower room when you know he’s the only one using it and would join him. Saying how you could not wait any longer and you’d end up spending an extra hour in the showers because both of you couldn’t get enough of each other.
Or at Beau’s party, when he looks too good drinking with his friends and he’d throw teasing glances your way and he’d take it far by sending you a message, mentioning how one of the rooms was his for the night and he’d be waiting for you. Both of you would end up making out and eventually, him on top of you. He fucks you like he’s never done before, but you’re crying for it and he’d be damned if he doesn’t make it worthwhile.
And Logan is fucking sick. Because he couldn’t take the image of you crying for him, for his dick. Sometimes, he couldn’t help but wonder if you’re thinking about it too, because he does. In the middle of the class, during practice, while showering. Any chance that he could get, he’ll think about it. During those times, he’d shoot you messages.
“Can’t stop thinking about you, gorgeous.”
“Bet you’re soaking wet for me right now.”
“So fucking hard for you, gorgeous. Is your class over?”
He’d smile so hard because your replies matched his energy, it matched his freak. He’d go over them, read them over and over again just to make sure that he’s reading it right.
“I dreamed of you fucking me and I want it now.”
“Can I come over before practice? I’ll just suck a little.”
“Do you think we can get a replica of your dick? Just for study purposes.”
Both of you are so obsessed with each other that even your friends noticed it right away. The changes in your relationship that weren’t there in the beginning, the stolen glances, the mischief behind the smiles, the sneaking in the middle of a conversation. When you and Logan disappear at the same time, they'll understand what’s happening quickly. When they catch one of you smiling at your phone, they know that you’re exchanging unhinged messages yet again.
But underneath all that—the sole reason why both of you are crazy about the sex, about each other—was the foundation you built together over time; the trust, the intimacy, the care, the love, and the understanding where the pleasure should end and begin. The respect you put into the relationship and the boundaries you’ve set, the communication between what you can cross and not.
So, yes, Logan is sick, but at least you cure him and he does the same to you—in more ways than one.
A/N: Thank you for reading, lovely! Stay safe always ♥️
garrett doesn't want to be possessive. really, he doesn't. your soft edges bring out the worst in him.
tw: dumbification, dirty talk, fingering, oral, bondage, daddy kink, probably not a very healthy relationship, toxic!garrett....
wc: 733
an: mdni pls!!! unedited and posting from drafts!! really like this concept. lmk if you guys are into it and i will explore it more! tysm to everyone who has sent in requests. so grateful and excited to work on them. i will do my best to do your marvelous ideas justice! pinky promise. — berry
garrett hated the word possessive. it made him feel like some insecure loser harboring a complex bigger than his daddy issues.
it’s something he didn’t want to be. something he was working on. fuck, it was something he had gone to therapy for.
he’d spent countless hours processing why he felt insecure in his relationships. unpacking the destructive behaviors he was so prone to.
and then you showed up. little, unassuming you.
you — who styled your hair with lacy bows, smelled like a freshly baked lemon meringue pie, and smiled at him so sweetly your cheeks would turn bubblegum pink.
he was fucked.
had been since the first time he saw you on the quad. you’d been handing out flyers to join your volunteer group at the hastings animal shelter.
he knew there was no going back. he was irrevocably fucked.
that was months ago. now that he has you, old habits are bubbling up to the surface.
he really doesn’t mean to be like this. he knows he shouldn’t be caging you in. keeping you all to himself. shutting others out.
he shouldn’t always ‘forget’ to charge your phone when you’re over, or shove it between the couch cushions when you’re not looking.
shouldn’t delete the dinners you’d planned with friends from your calendar when you’re in the bathroom.
and he really shouldn’t have your wrists tied up to his bedframe when you’re supposed to be halfway across campus taking lecture notes on kafka’s the metamorphosis.
but he can’t help how pretty you look pouting down at him while he stuffs his tongue up your tight cunt. watching you bite down on your glossy bottom lip. he can’t find it in himself to care one fucking bit.
you’re rubbing your wrists together against the leather of his belt. wriggling against his grip to get more friction than he’s giving you.
“such a brat sometimes,” he mutters, only half-meaning it. really just meaning to rile you up.
he pulls his mouth away from your heat and you can see the pearly sheen of your last orgasm on his stubble. “sit pretty and take what i’m giving you, baby. know you can be a good girl f’me.”
“i am a good girl,” you huff. you jostle the makeshift cuffs, and garrett’s bedroom echoes with the sound of the buckle clattering against his bedframe.
garrett raises a brow, and your face goes pale. “not gonna tell you again, baby.”
he decides maybe you need a little more guidance today. he sprawls his palm against your warm belly and pushes lightly on the soft skin of it. “stay.”
you sigh contently at that, and garrett knows he’s won. he knows sometimes you just like to test his limits. make him prove that he should be in charge. that he knows best.
but when you melt under him so easily, what you’re really after is so obvious.
“like being told what to do, don’t you baby? just turn your brain off and be a good little fucktoy.”
he leaves a trail of kisses up your thigh, and inserts two fingers into your weeping cunt. your soft pink walls flutter as they open up for him.
“you like being used, huh? is that it? like it when i use this pretty cunt?”
he gets his mouth back on your clit, and sucks hard.
“yes! love it so much…wanna come so bad, daddy!”
you’re a squealing mess. heart beating out of your chest like a jackrabbit. pretty manicured hands balled up into little fists above you. he can see your brain whirring, trying to get a hold of yourself.
you know better than that, garrett thinks.
“tell me you love it when daddy uses you,” he hums, and the vibration of it shocks your eyes wide open. he looks up at you and marvels at how fucked out you look. pupils dilated, and drops of sweat dripping down the valley of your breasts.
your throat bobs as you gulp, wracking your brain. trying to find your voice
“c’mon, baby.”
“love it when you use my pussy, daddy.”
you look absolutely pathetic, hiccuping and whining as he inserts a third finger.
you’re usually all soft pleads and sweet moans in the bedroom. garrett never makes you talk dirty. but you want to make him happy. always such a good girl for him.
“such a perfect little fucktoy for me, aren’t you?”
you get in trouble with dean, and the bedroom turns much less vanilla than usual.
warnings: MDNI, mean!dean, hard dom!dean, a lil bit of bdsm, dub con, oral fixations, hints of puppy play, dumbification, degradation, reader rides dean’s boot…, confused!reader is facing a moral dilemma
word count: 2.3k
a/n: whew!!! here it is! my first ever completed request!!! shoutout anon. this idea was so much fun,,, kinda sorta ran wild with it idk something came over me. lmk if u like it :) — berry
dean was a puck bunny magnet.
it didn’t matter where he was — class, the rink, malone’s, hell, even his own house. one was always just around the corner. batting their long pretty lashes at him. clawing at his biceps with their french manicures just to grab his attention.
to dean’s credit, he never gave in.
well– not since he met you.
you’d seen the performance a hundred times over. he’d flash them a practiced smile and a polite ‘thank you,’ before parting the crowd in search of something (or someone) actually worth his time.
your heart still turned a tinge sour every time. plagued by age old insecurities and infinite what ifs. usually, you swallowed all of those icky feelings down.
but tonight the girl begging for dean’s attention looks a little too much like you. the chatter of the party is a few notches too loud. and the beer you drank earlier is currently curdling in your stomach.
so tonight, you decide to try something new.
you scan the backyard, and lock eyes with your target.
reclined on a deck chair, he’s pretending to listen to beau’s teammate bitch about how fucking terrible their offensive line has been playing.
he’s got a half-drank bottle of miller high life dangling from his hand. the condensation of it is a steady drip, drip, drip onto his levis.
hunter davenport.
bingo.
you knew it was a fucking stupid idea. the kind of idea your brain only conjures up after taking a shot of room temperature tequila.
but just because you know what’s good for you doesn’t mean you turn your ass around.
no, dean deserves this, some deep dark part of you thinks. he deserves to know how shitty you feel every time you see a puck bunny feening for his attention.
you march up to hunter. plaster a bright a smile on your face, and convince yourself you’re making the right call. ignoring that rotten feeling in your gut screaming at you to find dean. it’s your body betraying you, you decide. you pull the trigger anyway.
“hunter! it’s so great to see you. you’re usually never at these things.”
you cringe at the truth hidden beneath your words. he’s usually not at these things because these things are at your boyfriend’s house off campus. your boyfriend who wishes hunter davenport was buried six-feet under. your boyfriend who stays up at night plotting how to do it himself.
you squeeze your eyelids shut, bracing for the retort you’re expecting to be slapped in the face with. some mean, cruel comment that hunter is somehow always armed with.
you pray for a portal to open up, and spit you out into an alien dimension where you have a shred of confidence.
you really thought you could flirt to hunter davenport. what a fucking stupid idea.
you’re about to raise the white flag, to be noble and walk away, when hunter’s face breaks out in a wide-toothed grin.
“hey, trouble.”
oh?
he flashes his canines at you, and you swear his teeth glimmer. his eyes trace the outline of your silhouette, figure accentuated by your mesh mini dress. his gaze lands on your breasts.
you look down. your nipples are pebbled from the cold air. standing at attention through the mesh fabric.
you’re quick to cross your arms and shield him from the view he thinks he’s so privy to. the view he sees as an invitation.
“i didn’t realize dean would let you off your leash with so many people around. must be my lucky day.”
oh. right.
this is why you didn’t talk to hunter davenport. he was a pretentious fucking asshole.
“i’m not–” you sputter at the comment.
“dean doesn’t.. i’m not on a leash," huffing, you set a hand on your hip.
you can see hunter wracking his brain for some quippy comeback. but the smug look is wiped clean off his face the second a shadow overtakes it.
you feel someone breathing down your neck, and a heavy arm wraps itself snugly against your middle.
dean.
“what the fuck is going on here, davenport? what are you playing at?” dean’s gaze is hard-set on hunter.
“dean, chill out. it's fi–” hunter is practically cowering under the weight of dean's stare.
“actually, no. y’know what? get the fuck out of my house. i’ll deal with you later.” dean’s voice is steady and cold. he doesn’t yell. he doesn't need to. he points to the back gate, and hunter has already left with his tail between his legs.
“upstairs. now.”
you don’t need to hear another word before you’re sprinting through the crowd of strangers.
your heart is beating in your throat. the lace trim of your dress is itchy on your skin as you take the stairs two steps at a time. you almost trip over the last one on your way up.
when you get to dean’s bedroom, you’re blurting out apologies before he even gets the chance to shut the door.
“i’m so so sorry, dean. i didn’t– didn’t think he’d be like that. i didn’t think it through, i swear,” you hiccup as you plead, throat tight and scratchy — straining just to get the words out.
“please, please don’t be mad.”
dean’s got that unimpressed look on his face. massive arms crossed cooly over his chest. his large frame kicked back with one boot against the door.
he looks so handsome tonight in a creamy white henley and faded jeans. the mean, unforgiving look in his eyes doesn’t suit him. it makes you burst into tears. this is all your fault.
“you’re un-fucking-believable, you know that? running off to fucking davenport in my house. didn’t realize you were such a little attention whore. can’t handle not having my eyes on you for two seconds, can you?”
a loud sob escapes you. you wanna scream and plead and promise him you want nothing to do with hunter. you were just being stupid.
but you keep your mouth shut and hang your head. try and convince yourself his words are empty. devoid of any real meaning. you’re jumping through hoops trying to tell yourself your boyfriend doesn’t think you’re a whore.
you sniffle and wipe at the flood of tears pouring from your bloodshot eyes. you look like a wreck, you’re sure of it.
maybe dean’s right. none of this would’ve happened if you’d just been good.
“i’m just so so sorry, dean. i just– i missed you. you were busy and i–”
he gives you an accusatory look that shuts you right up. he’s not interested in excuses right now, obviously.
you try again.
“i wanna make it better. please, let me make it better. i’ll do anything.”
his ears perk up at that. he cocks his head. “you’d do anything, huh?”
you nod furiously. it’s true. you’d do whatever he asked if it meant he’d stop looking at you like this. like you'd disappointed him.
“anything you want,” you promise.
dean’s toying with you. pretending to weigh his options. maybe he’ll granting you forgiveness. or maybe he’s planning how to make sure you regret ever going up to davenport in the first place.
he pushes his body off the door. walks a few steps over to the end on his bed and slowly lowers himself down. he sits and stares at you.
you’re standing in front of him, pulling at the mesh fabric of your dress. tracing the pretty cheetah print pattern of it. distracting yourself by thinking of a happier time — last weekend, when dean had bought you this dress at a boutique downtown. he'd chanted sweet nothings to you in the dressing room.
“crawl.”
“w–what?” your eyes pop open.
he’s got his hand beckoning you forward in a come hither motion. his legs are spread wide and you feel yourself start salivating at the bulge in his jeans.
“crawl to me.”
you weigh it in your brain.
you and dean definitely weren’t vanilla by any means. he was prone to settling a rough hand around your throat every now and then. slapping your ass in doggy. but you’d never delved into anything teetering on bdsm.
you decide dean knows best.
you gulp in anticipation, legs shaky as you lower yourself onto your knees.
it feels so primal, having his eyes on you as you bring yourself to all fours. a natural submission. feeling any sense of power slip through your fingers as the fibers of the rug eat at the skin on your palms. knees scraping against the fabric. your bones aching against the wooden floorboards.
you move toward him, and you see his hand slip under his waistband. lazily playing with his cock. and, god, you want it so bad.
the heady smell of him hits you when you arrive at his feet, eye-level with his crotch. it’s a woody musk mixed with the denim fabric of his jeans. you want to bury your face in it.
“sit.”
you immediately obey. panties completely soaked through. slippery arousal dripping down your thighs.
you’re wet.
the realization is a sucker punch. you pause. the anxious, flighty feeling bubbling up is like dark storm clouds over your head.
you like this.
maybe you shouldn’t.
you’re reeling. navigating the ocean of your brain a million thoughts per second. thinking that you’re dirty. that this is wrong. thinking why the fuck do you like being treated this?
and the worst one of all — oh god. dean’s really going to think you’re a whore now.
“hey, where’d you go baby?” dean’s voice is so soft and shaky it makes your guts tangle into something poisonous. he’s touching your face so lightly, dragging his thumb up and down your jaw.
“you need to stop? shit. baby, i shouldn’t have pushed you that hard.”
if it weren’t for the panic attack you were on the brink of, you would’ve laughed.
“no, no, dean i–” you take a deep breath in and muster up the courage. “i don’t– i don’t think the punishment is working.”
“god, baby, i’m so sorry. had a feeling that was too far. smack the shit out of me next time i–”
“dean, i–,” you sigh. “you don’t understand. i liked it.”
god, what were you even saying? how are you supposed to tell your boyrfiend that you like being punished. that you like it when he’s mean to you.
“sorry, what?” dean stops in his tracks.
fuck it.
“i think i like it when you.. um– get mean? how terrible is that. god, you probably think i’m disg–”
“oh, baby.”
he lifts your chin up. looks deep into your eyes.
you hope he doesn’t see the deep rooted humiliation you feel.
no, it seems like he doesn’t. or maybe he’s putting it to the side for now. because he’d got this fond look in his eye. readjusting himself to lean in closer to you, pressing a kiss against your forehead.
you preen at that, nuzzling your head further into his hand.
“my girl likes being roughed up a little? likes being on her knees for me?” his thumb forces its way into your mouth and you latch on. swirling your tongue around the digit instinctively.
“jesus, baby, you’re so fucking hot. just wanna be told what to do, yeah? c’mon then, baby. show me how bad you want me.”
you hear his boot tap against the floorboards, and look down at the laces swinging side to side.
“c'mon. be a good girl for me, baby,” he coaxes. it’s a warm invitation. one you really can’t refuse. you lick your lips at the thought of it.
taking a shaky breath, you lift your hips, and he’s quick to fill in the gap with his boot. you carefully settle yourself down onto it. wince at the feel of the hard leather against your heat. it’s so much pressure so quickly. it has your pussy throbbing against the laces as you start grinding against it.
“oh fuck– dean,” you choke out, grasping at his jeans and twisting the denim fabric in your fist. trying to ground yourself.
he leans back with a smirk on his face.
“ride out your feelings for me, angel. show me what a good puppy you can be.”
you suppose you asked for this. and god it feels so fucking good, riding his boot with his hand tangled up in your hair. your clit snagging between the laces. pussy juices leaking onto the leather. it'll probably fucking stain.
dean’s always been a dirty talker. and you’re lucky it drowns out that little voice inside your head telling you how wrong people would think this is.
“you wanted to be my puppy this whole time, didn’t you? just needed a little guidance, babydoll. fuck– keep rolling your hips like that. make a fucking mess on me, pup. i’ve gotcha.”
you know you’ve never been this wet before. then dean starts bouncing his leg up and down, and a white hot heat burns in you as the leather vibrates against your core. the coil in your tummy is about to snap.
“dean– can’t. i’m gonna, fuck– dean!” you squeal, pain searing deep in your bones and throttling you headfirst into an orgasm.
a soft command, let go f’me, puppy, is all you need before you’re squirting all over the black leather of his boot. body convulsing and pretty tears welling up in your eyes.
“you’re such a good girl,” he coos, lightly tapping your damp cheek. “you liked that? making a mess on me?”
you nod dumbly, still grinding out the aftershocks.
“since you liked it so much, you can clean it up too.”
he raises a brow, daring you. seeing just how far you’ll push yourself for him.
if he only knew.
you inch yourself backwards. arch your back till your ass is wagging in the air, and you’re eye level with your slick pooling on his boot.
it doesn’t take long before you’re practically making out with it. tongue threading between the laces.
it’s so mindless and oh so fucking hot. you can’t help yourself when you reach down, pushing your panties to the side and rub circles on your raw clit.
it’s heaven, until you feel the sharp sting of dean smacking your ass and you pout, pulling your hand away from your core.
“did i say you could play with yourself, pup? maybe davenport was right. should keep you on a fucking leash next time.”
The day you were born was the day your mother died.
The sterile scent of hospital corridors gave way to your father’s screams and your brothers’ tears, and your innocent existence pierced your family’s heart like a dagger. That dagger, over time, rusted and turned into a poisonous obsession.
Six men: your father, Ethan, and your five brothers – Damien (27), Adrian (26), Marcus (25), Victor (23), and Lucian (20).
In their eyes, you were the living memory of the woman they had lost, an apology, an object of obsession.
And you… you were sixteen, the sleepy mess of high school. Your eyes were always heavy beneath your long lashes; your soft cheeks often bore the imprint of a book or your arm. You were unbearably cute, with a sweetness that melted hearts. You had made an art out of lounging, napping, and drifting into dreams during class. No one could get angry at you, because when you lifted your sleepy eyes and gave that innocent smile, icy hearts thawed, anger dissolved. But that innocence was a dangerous allure to the shadows surrounding you.
Father Ethan’s eyes were always on you. When he looked at you, there was a ghost of a lost woman in his gaze. His touches lingered too long, his hand trembled when resting on your shoulder.
“My little girl,” he would murmur in a hoarse voice, “you’re all I have left. You’re my only light.”
Though his words sounded like praise, behind them screamed the terror of losing you. When you slept, he watched from the crack of the door for hours, his face twisted with grief and desire.
Damien, the eldest, was a control freak. Every app on your phone, every text, every GPS signal—he knew about all of them. He had to know the exact minute you left school. Once, in math class, your head dropped to the desk, fast asleep. When the teacher woke you, your phone buzzed in your pocket. A message from Damien:
“Bored with class, princess? You’ve fallen asleep. I’m waiting outside.”
Cold sweat knotted your throat. How did he know? Was someone in class reporting to him? Or… was there a camera? The thought made your stomach churn.
Adrian was the silent observer. His gaze on you was predatory, like a hunter’s. He rifled through your notebooks, your drawers, even your trash bin. One day, he found a small, innocent note buried at the bottom of your bag:
“You were really funny today :)”
It was from a boy at school. The next day, that boy didn’t come. When he finally returned a week later, his face was covered in bruises, and he never spoke to you again. At dinner that night, Adrian smiled at you.
“You should stay away from bad people, little sister,” he said sweetly.
Your throat closed, you couldn’t swallow another bite.
Marcus was the master of toxic sweetness. He smothered you in gifts and praise. “You’re the sweetest girl in the world,” he said, caressing your cheek. His touch made your skin crawl.
Once, your handsome literature teacher had lent you a book. Marcus saw it in your hand. The next week, the school announced the teacher had “suddenly resigned for personal reasons.” Marcus then gave you a brand-new, expensive book set.
“I’ll take care of you,” he said, locking eyes with you. “No one else is worthy of someone as special as you.”
Victor was quick to anger. If he saw you near another boy, his face darkened. At a party, when a classmate asked you to dance, Victor grabbed his arm and yanked him back.
“She’s my sister,” he snarled. “Don’t touch her.”
That night, he drove you home at terrifying speed, his hand clamped on your thigh.
“You’ll always stay with me,” he muttered. “You’re safe here.”
And Lucian… the four-year gap only made his obsession more dangerous. He didn’t see you as a “little sister” but as his missing piece. While you slept, he sat on the edge of your bed, stroking your hair, watching you.
One morning, you woke to find his gaze fixed on you. His eyes burned with a warped kind of love.
“You’re always in my dreams,” he whispered. “You have to be mine. No one else’s.”
The confession froze your blood. This wasn’t love—it was madness.
Days blurred together, the house walls closing in like a prison. Every movement watched, every breath controlled. Their “love” was a silken noose around your throat: soft, but deadly.
One day, desperate for air, you told Damien you’d be at the library, but slipped away to the park. For an hour, you savored freedom, the wind kissing your face. Then your phone buzzed. A message from Ethan:
“Where are you, little girl? You weren’t at the library. I was worried.”
Your heart nearly burst from your chest. When you lifted your head, across the street you saw Victor’s black car. The windows were tinted, but you knew—he was inside, watching.
That night, dinner felt like a courtroom. Silence screamed. The food went cold. Ethan’s eyes devoured you.
“My little girl,” he said in dangerously soft tones, “why do you worry us? We love you. We only want to protect you.”
Lucian suddenly stood, trembling with fury.
“WHERE DID YOU GO?!” he shouted. “Who were you with? Tell me!” His fist crashed against the table, rattling the dishes.
“I was alone…” you whispered, trembling. “I swear.”
“LIES!” Marcus roared. The sweet mask slipped, his face twisted with rage.
“We saw you! You weren’t alone! Who was it?!”
Adrian stepped forward, his voice cold and sharp.
“You need us, little sister. The outside is dangerous. You are ours. You’ll always be ours.”
You backed away, chair scraping against the wall. There was nowhere to run. Tears streamed down your cheeks.
“Please…” you sobbed. “Let me go…”
“Let you go?” Ethan’s voice turned razor-sharp.
“We will NEVER let you go! Your mother left you to us! You are her legacy, our sacred duty!”
Lucian yanked you from the wall into his arms.
“You can’t leave!” he growled in your ear. “You’re MINE! For all of us!”
Damien remained calm, pulling his phone from his pocket.
“We’ll have to tighten security. Maybe homeschooling is best.”
Adrian took you from Lucian’s arms, his grip harsh but careful.
“You’ll be more careful now,” he said icily. “We love you. This love is your life. You must respect it.”
Marcus approached with that eerie smile, holding a glass of milk—the one he brought you every night.
“Drink this, sweetheart,” he murmured softly. “It will ease your stress. We’re always here.”
He pressed the glass into your shaking hands. The milk’s surface rippled as your tears dripped into it.
Your gaze flicked to your mother’s portrait. She seemed to smile, yet her eyes warned you. This house was a cage, its guards men who loved you to the point of madness.
As you raised the glass to your lips, the milk tasted bitter, metallic. Silent tears slid down your cheeks. This so-called love was a murder disguised in devotion, gnawing away at your soul.
And you knew, in the embrace of these six shadows, you were living in a nightmare you would never truly wake from.
summary: (Y/n) has spent years trapped in a messy, emotionally charged situationship with Valarr Targaryen. But after a drunken birthday wish, Valarr’s feelings suddenly become impossible to ignore. (Inspired by Obsession 2026).
rating: E - Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, dark fiction, obsessive behavior, unhealthy relationships, manufactured love, emotional dependency & manipulation, loss of autonomy, psychological horror, reader is not a good person, stalking/tracking, possessive behavior, emotional distress, self-harm, abuse, noncon, murder, coercive control
NAVIGATION | CHAPTER TWO
For a moment, everything feels normal. You can feel like morning sun on your skin, the rays showing up orange under your eyelids.
Your eyes open slowly; you freeze.
Valarr is already awake, lying on his side, watching.
Your pulse refuses to slow down. “How long have you been awake?”
“A while.” His voice is quiet, “I couldn’t sleep.”
You force out a nervous laugh, “Why not?”
Valarr reaches up, brushing a strand of hair away from your face.
“My dreams are bad.”
The answer shouldn’t make your stomach twist. But it does.
“What happens in them?”
His eyes don’t leave yours.
“I’m alone.”
Before you respond, a ringtone suddenly shatters the silence.
Valarr’s phone lights up on the nightstand.
FATHER
The call ends.
Immediately starting up once again.
FATHER
You stare at the screen.
“Valarr…”
Instead, he leans forward and presses a kiss against your lips.
The phone rings again.
He doesn’t even seem to notice it, pushing his tongue past your lips and across your teeth.
The phone buzzes on the nightstand.
You push him away by his shoulders, leaning your head away as he leans down once again.
“Shouldn’t you answer that?”
He sighs, rubbing himself against you. “It can wait.”
The phone stops ringing, then rings again.
“..It seems important.” You say quietly as Valarr humps your leg.
He sighs dramatically.
Without warning, he grabs it, throwing it.
The device slams into the wall.
CRACK
You jump.
The phone falls to the floor in pieces, silence follows.
Valarr was already looking at you when your head snapped back to face him.
“I’m so sorry, baby.” He says, grabbing your hands hard. “Did that scare you?”
You stare at him; his eyes are wild. They bounce between your own.
The broken phone lies forgotten across the room.
Neither of you mention it, acting like it never happened.
Valarr follows you into the kitchen while you make coffee.
Follows you into the living room while you try to watch television
Follows you when you get you to grab a blanket from the hallway closet.
Every time you turn around, he’s there.
Watching. Smiling.
“Baby?”
You glance up from your phone, “What?”
“You still love me, right?”
The question catches you off guard.
You laugh, “Yes.”
The tension immediately drains from his shoulders.
“Okay.” He settles back against the couch, satisfied.
Five minutes later—
“Baby?”
You lower your phone, “What?”
“You still love me?”
You stare at him; he stares back expectantly.
“…Yes.”
“Oh” He smiles, “Okay.”
The third time he asks, it isn’t funny anymore.
The fourth time, your stomach starts to twist.
The fifth time, you stop counting.
-
You wake up that night with a crushing weight around your waist.
Valarr.
His face is buried against your shoulder. His arm is wrapped so tightly around you that your lower back aches.
Carefully, you try to move.
Immediately, his eyes open. “Where are you going?”
“The bathroom.”
Relief floods his expression, “Oh.”
You blink, before starting to climb out of bed. His hand catches your wrist.
“Can I come with you?”
You stare at him, “...When I pee?”
He nods, completely serious.
“Please.”
You laugh because surely, he’s joking.
Valarr doesn’t laugh. He follows you to the bathroom.
-
This is what you wanted.
Wasn’t it?
Valarr kisses your neck while you’re making breakfast.
Wraps his arms around your waist while you’re brushing your teeth.
Pulls you into his lap whenever you sit beside him.
Looks at you like you’re the only person in the world worth seeing.
A week ago, you would’ve killed for this.
Now every time your phone buzzes, your stomach tightens.
You glance down.
Valarr
where are you
You frown. You’re standing in the bathroom.
Twenty feet away.
LOVE OF MY LIFE
bathroom
Three dots appear instantly.
Valarr
oh okay
i missed you
Something cold crawls down your spine.
-
Duncan notices first. Of course he does.
The four of you are sitting together at the bar.
Trivia night.
The same booth, same drinks, same routine.
Everything should feel normal.
It doesn’t.
Valarr hasn’t taken his hands off of you once.
His arm remains around your shoulders.
His thumb brushes absentmindedly across your collarbone.
Every two minutes, he’s staring at you deeply, like he’s checking that you’re still there.
Duncan notices. Lyonel notices too.
“You alright?” Duncan asks quietly.
You nod immediately. “Yeah.”
Duncan doesn’t look convinced. Neither does Lyonel.
Before Duncan can say anything else, Valarr answers.
“They’re fine.”
His voice is calm.
Pleasant. Normal.
The way his hand tightens around your shoulder isn’t.
Valarr makes you leave trivia night early. You rub the bruise left on your shoulder as he leads you to the car.
-
That night, he makes you say his name over and over again.
“Again.”
“Valarr..”
“Again.”
His pace is brutal.
And when he started crying, you try to stop him.
He doesn’t.
Instead, he sobs into your shoulder, hiding his face. And even though he thrusts at the same pace, he begs for you to stop saying his name.
After Valarr falls asleep, you carefully slide out from beneath his arm. The movement takes nearly five minutes.
Every tiny shift makes your heart pound.
You move into the living room, grabbing your laptop from the coffee table and sitting down at your desk.
You start search:
one wish willow real
You quickly delete ‘real.’
one wish willow
The official website appears first:
One Wish Willow | Buy Now!
Single Use Only. Grants one wish. No Multiple attempts. Using additional One Wish Willows will not change or affect your other wishes. Only one wish per…
You scroll down.
eBay listings:
ONE WISH WILLOW FOR FREE IF YOU WISH FOR NIKKI FREEMAN’S LIFE TO GO BACK TO NORMAL!!!! (FREE SHIPPING!!!!!)
What the fuck?
Reddit.
You click on the first thread:
One Wish Willow – does it work?
My friend swears by the One Wish Willow. Does anyone know if it actually works?
You scroll down further:
NO, THEY 100 PERCENT DON’T WORK!!!! They’re collectibles. Anyone who broke a stick is an idiot
YES!!!! They are really hard to find, but my mom who has been ugly her whole life is gorgeous now! She doesn’t even look old!
Yes! I swear they work! It’s the most insane thing I’ve ever seen!
No!! The whole thing is a joke; even the number on the back is a prank. I called and some weird guy answered.
You click.
And click.
The deeper you read, the worse you feel.
“Baby?”
You scream. The laptop nearly flies off your desk, as you scramble to close it.
Valarr is standing in the doorway.
The hallway behind him is completely dark, the light barely illuminating his face.
His hair is messy from sleep. His breathing is irregular.
His eyes are fixed on you.
“What are you doing?” He asks softly.
“Nothing.”
Valarr tilts his head.
You force a smile. “I just couldn’t sleep.”
His entire face brightens. “Oh.”
He walks toward you immediately.
“That’s okay.”
Before you can react, he grabs you and pushes you onto the couch.
He sits beside you. Close.
Too close.
His hand finds yours.
“I’ll stay awake with you.”
You didn’t sleep for the rest of the night, his head resting against your neck.
Like a collar.
-
The next morning, you force Valarr to leave.
Not for long, just long enough to pick up groceries.
Just long enough to prove to yourself that he can still function without you.
Valarr looks genuinely distressed standing by the front door.
“Do I have to?”
You blink. “Yes.”
His fingers twitch. “But what if you need something?”
“I’ll text you.”
“What if I don’t see it?”
“You will.”
“What if-“
“Valarr.”
He immediately falls silent.
For a moment, his face goes completely blank.
Then he smiles. “Okay, baby.”
The second the door closes behind him, you exhale.
The house feels different without him in it.
Bigger. Quieter. Yours.
You grab your keys and leave.
You don’t tell him where you’re going.
You don’t text him, don’t leave a note.
You just drive.
Barely thirty minutes later, your phone rings.
Valarr.
You let it go to voicemail.
A second call comes immediately after.
Then a third.
Then a fourth.
Your stomach twists as you silence your phone.
The texts start seconds later.
Valarr
where did you go
answer me
please
baby
please answer me
im scared
why arent you answering
please
please
im coming
Ten minutes later, you hear someone yelling your name.
You spin around.
Valarr is sprinting across the field.
His shirt is wrinkled; his hair is a mess. He looks like he’s been crying.
People turn to stare.
Valarr doesn’t notice.
Or doesn’t care.
He reaches you and immediately grabs your shoulders.
“Oh, thank God.” His voice breaks.
You pull away. “How did you find me?”
Valarr face goes blank.
Just for a second.
“Tracker.”
You blink. “What?”
“A tracker.”
The smile he gives you is small.
Like he’s admitting to borrowing your favorite shirt.
“I put it in your car.”
The world seems to tilt sideways.
“You did what?”
His smile falters. “I didn’t want anything to happen to you.”
“You put a tracker in my fucking car?”
“I bought you flowers.”
You stare at him, “What?”
Valarr lifts the bouquet he’d apparently been carrying the entire time.
Orange lilies, crushed from how tightly he’s been holding them.
Your chest tightens, “Valarr.”
His breathing speeds up. “Please don’t be mad.”
“You tracked me.”
“I was worried.”
“You tracked me.”
“I love you.”
The words come out desperate.
Like he’s throwing them at you and hoping it sticks.
You take a step backwards.
Valarr’s face immediately crumples.
“No.”
Another step.
“Please.”
His hands begin to shake.
“I need space.”
The second the words leave your mouth something changes.
Valarr goes pale.
“No.”
“Valarr-“
“No.”
He starts scratching at his own arms. Hard.
Hard enough to leave angry red marks.
“You don’t mean that.”
“I do.”
“No.”
His voice cracks.
“Please calm down.”
“I’m trying.” He isn’t.
Tears stream down his face.
His hands tangle in his hair.
He starts pulling. Hard.
Hard enough that you physically flinch.
“Please don’t leave me.”
“Valarr-“
“I’ll do better.”
His voice breaks.
“I swear I’ll do better.”
“Stop.”
“Tell me what you need.”
“Valarr.”
“I’ll fix it.”
People are watching.
Whispering.
You feel sick.
“I’ll fix everything.”
“Valarr.”
“I love you.”
His breathing becomes ragged.
Almost hyperventilating.
“I love you so so so much.”
Fear finally settles in your chest.
Cold. Heavy. Real.
“Okay.”
The word leaves your mouth before you can stop it.
Immediately Valarr stills.
You stare; he stares back.
Like someone hit a switch.
“Okay?” He asks softly.
Your throat feels tight.
“I’ll come home.”
The same blank face reaches his face.
Then relief floods in.
“Okay.”
He wipes his eyes.
Smiles.
Offers you the flowers.
Like everything was fine.
-
That night, you can’t sleep.
Valarr can. He’s wrapped around you like a second skin.
Breathing softly against your shoulder.
Your phone vibrates.
Once.
Then again.
Carefully, slowly, you reach for it.
Dunk
i need to see you
Another message appears.
now
Your stomach drops.
something is really fucking wrong
You stare at the message.
Then at the sleeping man wrapped around your body.
Outside, rain taps softly against the window.
For a moment, you consider ignoring Duncan.
Pretending everything is fine.
Pretending you can still fix this.
Then another message appears.
please
The screen illuminates the darkness.
You don’t realize your crying until a tear hits the phone.
Beside you, Valarr shifts slightly in his sleep.
Your entire body goes rigid.
For a horrible second, you think he’s awake.
But his breathing remains slow and even.
Carefully, you lift his arm from around your waist.
Valarr makes a quiet noise in his sleep.
You freeze.
His grip tightens instinctively.
Then loosens.
You wait another thirty seconds before finally slipping free.
Your heart pounds so hard you’re convinced it should wake him.
It doesn’t.
You grab your shoes and leave.
-
The rain stopped by the time you reach Duncan’s house.
Twenty minutes.
Twenty minutes spent trying not to cry.
Twenty minutes spent trying not to think.
Duncan opens the door before you can knock.
“I’m surprised Valarr isn’t-“
The second he sees your face, his expression falls.
“Oh, sweetheart.”
You look away immediately.
Duncan steps aside, you walk inside.
The house is quiet. For a moment, you enjoyed the quiet.
Then Duncan finally spoke, “He’s getting worse, isn’t he?”
Your throat tightens. “Duncan-“
“Don’t.”
His voice isn’t angry, just tired.
“You don’t have to protect him.”
You state at the floor, “He loves me.”
The words sound pathetic even to your own ears.
You don’t even know if you believe them.
Duncan laughs, a hollow sound.
“That’s not what this is.”
You immediately shake your head. “You don’t understand.”
“No.” His jaw tightens. “I understand perfectly.”
The room falls silent.
“He wasn’t like this before.”
The second the words leave your mouth, regret hits.
summary: (Y/n) has spent years trapped in a messy, emotionally charged situationship with Valarr Targaryen. But after a drunken birthday wish, Valarr’s feelings suddenly become impossible to ignore. (Inspired by Obsession 2026).
rating: E - Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, dark fiction, obsessive behavior, unhealthy relationships, manufactured love, emotional dependency, loss of autonomy, psychological horror, mutual toxicity, reader is pathetic!!
NAVIGATION | CHAPTER ONE
You laugh softly under your breath.
“Valarr...” You start quietly, testing the sound of it. “We’ve known each other for a while now and I just need to tell you...” You swallow.
Outside, rain taps softly against the windshield.
“I-I really like you, and I hope you like me like that too. I think I lo-"
KNOCK KNOCK
You yelp, whipping your head toward the driver’s side window to find Duncan grinning at you through the glass, curls damp from the rain.
“You practicing your Oscar speech in here or what?” He shouts through the window.
You roll your eyes, taking the keys out the ignition as he opens the door for you. “Fuck off.”
Duncan slips his head into the car, his wet hair dripping onto your lap, you can smell the cologne and cigarette smoke emitting off of him.
“You’ve been sitting here for like ten minutes.” He glances at the look on your face, his grin widening. “You finally gonna tell him?”
“Tell who?”
“Oh, brother.” Duncan says dramatically, leaning on the interior driver side door, you scoff as you exit the car.
“I’m serious,” he continues, closing the door behind you. “You’ve been doing this weird little dance with Valarr for years now.”
You leaned against the car after locking it, “It’s not a dance.”
“Right.” Duncan deadpans, standing right in front you, shielding you from the rain with his upper half. “Just friends that casually fuck each other, stare at each other like dying Victorian lovers, spend every Thursday night attached to the hip at all times-”
Your face warms, “We’re not attached at the hip.”
Duncan looks at you with a straight face that says, 'Are you fucking kidding me?'
You sigh heavily, pushing yourself off the car. “Can we please just go inside?”
The bar is loud by the time you enter, crowded with people yelling over one another while some shitty 2000s song plays overhead. A familiar warmth wraps around you immediately.
Your eyes immediately caught Valarr’s. That happened every time. Every trivia night.
His expression softens instantly, sharp features easing as he stands from the booth.
“There you are,” he says with a soft smile. Something in your chest tightens.
Lyonel waves his arms dramatically from beside him. “Finally! We were two seconds away from replacing you with some dude named Steve.”
“Does Steve know 2000s pop culture like me?” You ask, sliding into the booth.
“No,” he admits. “But he had spirit.”
Valarr moves before you can fully sit down, one hand instinctively settling against your waist to guide you into the booth beside him.
Duncan notices. Duncan always noticed.
You ignore the look he gave you.
“You’re late.” Valarr whispers in your eye, warmth radiating off him.
“You survived.”
“Barely.” His knee presses against yours beneath the table.
The night blurred pleasantly after that.
Lyonel cheated shamelessly.
Duncan argued with a table across the room over a sports trivia question.
Valarr stays close enough that his arm brushes against yours every few minutes.
At one point, he absentmindedly fixes the necklace tangled beneath your shirt collar while you argue with Lyonel about movie directors.
Small things, tiny things.
Things that meant nothing.
Things that meant everything.
“Can you two just get together already?” Lyonel asks suddenly near the end of the night.
Silence drops over the booth.
Duncan looks down at his drink.
You froze.
Valarr laughs softly, shaking his head.
“There it is,” he muttered. “Was wondering how long it’d take tonight.”
Your chest tightens painfully.
Lyonel points between the two of you, “I’m serious. The tension is actually becoming concerning, mentally.”
“We’re fine,” Valarr says easily.
Fine.
The word digs beneath your ribs.
Not together, not interested, not in love.
Fine.
Valarr glances toward you, expression softening slightly when he notices your silence.
His hand squeezes your knee once beneath the table.
Like that fixed it.
Like that makes everything fine.
-
By the end of the night, you’re drunk enough that the city lights blurred together outside the car’s windows.
“You’re staring,” Valarr says from the driver’s seat.
“I’m thinking.”
“Dangerous.”
The inside of his car smells like cedarwood and the cologne he always wears. The familiarity alone is enough to make your chest ache.
“You know,” you say quietly. “You never answered Lyonel’s question.”
Valarr’s grip tightens slightly on the steering wheel, “You were drunk five minutes ago. Now suddenly you’re interrogating me?”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
He pulls up outside your house. Neither of you moved.
Your heartbeat thuds painfully against your ribs.
“Come inside,” you whisper.
Valarr looks over at you immediately.
You swallow, “We can-“ your voice catches slightly. “We can hang out a little longer.”
The look in his eyes darkens briefly.
Want. Affection.
Something deeper you can never fully name.
Then it disappears just as quickly.
“You’re drunk,” he says softly.
“I’m not that drunk.”
“You are.”
“We could just go to bed together. “ You laugh weakly, “All you ever want to do is to fuck, why not now?”
Valarr’s expression shifts instantly. Something almost wounded.
“You think that’s all I want from you?”
Your breath catches.
“Valarr-“
“You know I can’t do be in a relationship right now.”
Your throat tightens, “Why not?”
He looks away first. “You know I’m bad at this stuff.”
“That’s not an answer.”
Valarr sighs quietly, “Why ruin what we already have?”
The words hurt more than you expected. Because he sounds so sincere.
That’s the worst part.
You nod slowly, staring at your hands. “Right.”
You reach for the door handle before you could embarrass yourself further.
Valarr grabs your wrist gently, you look back at him.
For one horrible second, you thought maybe he was going to stop you.
Instead, he leans forward and presses a soft kiss on your cheek.
“Get inside safe, baby.”
You hated that word.
Because, even after the heartbreak, your stomach still flips when he says it.
You step into the rain without another word.
Inside the car, Valarr watches until your front door closes behind you.
-
The smell of vanilla frosting and alcohol lingers heavily throughout your house.
Half-empty bottles littered the kitchen counter beside paper plates smeared with icing and discarded candles.
Valarr sits beside you, one arm stretched lazily along the back of the couch behind your head.
Your birthday party had started hours ago, but nobody seemed particularly interested in leaving yet.
Not that you mind.
Not when Valarr keeps looking at you like that.
Like you’re something precious.
Duncan set your birthday cake down on the coffee table with a sigh.
“Okay.” He says, clapping his hands together once. “Presents. Open my gift first, it’s objectively the best.”
“I love your confidence," you mutter.
You open Duncan’s gift first, a crystal necklace.
Thoughtful enough to make your chest ache a little.
“Oh,” you say softly. “Duncan..”
“What?” He asks quickly, already defensive. “Don’t make it weird.”
Lyonel gags loudly, “Oh my God, he gets so sentimental.”
“Shut the fuck up.”
You laugh, leaning to your right to hug Duncan tightly.
Valarr watches the interaction quietly beside you.
His fingers run against your back before moving his arm back toward the couch.
“Mine next.” Lyonel announces dramatically, tossing a poorly wrapped box into your lap.
You rip the wrapping paper off eagerly. Inside sat a long triangular box covered in red text and graphics.
You blink up at him, “What is it?”
Lyonel grins, “A One Wish Willow!”
Duncan groaned immediately, “Jesus Christ.”
You turned the box over, revealing the large text shown on the back, ‘Spark the middle and break in half.’
“You’re joking.”
“Mostly.” Lyonel admits, shrugging.
Valarr leans slightly closer beside you, gaze flickering over the text. “What is it supposed to do?” He asks.
“It grants one wish, duh.” Lyonel grins.
You laugh, “Where did you find this? Etsy?”
“Found it in one of those gem stores, I went with Dunc.” He says, nudging Duncan.
Duncan took another sip of his drink, “My cousin had a bunch of those in college.”
Your head snaps toward him immediately, “And?”
“I dunno he liked to collect them or some shit; he was pretty weird.” He says quickly.
Lyonel points at you dramatically, “You only get one wish, so make it count!”
“Right,” you deadpan. “I’ll use it responsibly.”
Valarr stretches before sitting up. “How about another shot?” He suggests, already walking toward the kitchen for the tequila he brought over.
Lyonel watches Valarr leave the room before leaning in. “Maybe you can wish for him to finally commit to you,” he says with a smirk.
Duncan scoffs beside you.
“Shut up,” you mutter quickly.
Later, after too many drinks and several more rounds of terrible horror movies, the night finally began to wind down.
Duncan hugs you first. “Text me tomorrow,” he said quietly.
“I always do," You say with a smile.
Lyonel shoves him to the side, wrapping you in an aggressively dramatic hug.
“Don’t forget about your wish,” he whispers jokingly into your ear.
You roll your eyes, “Goodnight, psycho.”
Valarr was the last to leave.
You follow him to the front door, the alcohol still buzzing pleasantly through your body.
“You sure you don’t wanna stay?” You ask.
Valarr pauses while slipping on his jacket.
“I’ve got brunch with my father tomorrow, he said it's pretty important.”
You sigh dramatically, “Boo. Lame.”
“I know.” He says. “But,” he steps closer, “I can come over tomorrow night.”
Your heartbeat stutters slightly. “Yeah?”
Valarr hums, fixing your shirt collar. “We can celebrate properly.”
The look he gave you made your stomach flip.
Then, before you could say anything else, he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss against your cheek.
“Happy birthday, baby.”
And just like that, he’s gone.
Hours later, your house had finally gone quiet.
You sit alone on the couch wearing one of Valarr’s hoodies, a half-finished glass of wine dangling lazily from your hand while some animal documentary plays in the background.
Your eyes drift absently toward the pile of gifts still sitting on the coffee table. Then toward the triangular packaging.
You stare at it for a long moment, then reach for it.
“This is so fucking stupid,” you mutter to yourself.
Still, you turn it over carefully, examining the back of the packaging once more:
‘Usage: Open the package to a magical jingle and a fun pop surprise! Hold the One Wish Willow gently, break it in half, and state your wish clearly. Wait up to 24 hours for your wish to come true. Disposal: After granting your wish, the One Wish Willow loses its magical properties.’
You snort softly.
Your phone buzzes suddenly beside you.
Valarr
hey
idk if i can come over tmr
something came up :(
Your chest tightens painfully.
You look down at the box again.
Then back at the text thread.
Then back at the willow.
“Fuck it.”
You pull open the packaging.
A strange tune immediately emits from the packaging.
The melody sounds distorted.
For one brief moment, nausea rolls through your stomach.
You laugh nervously to yourself.
“This is insane.”
You look at the branch in your hand.
And think about Valarr.
Your throat tightens.
“I wish Valarr was obsessed with me.”
SNAP
The sound echoes through the quiet house.
You stare at the broken branch for another few seconds before laughing again.
“Jesus Christ.”
You toss it carelessly onto the coffee table, sinking deeper into the couch cushions.
-
BANG BANG BANG
Your eyes snap open.
The television still plays quietly somewhere in the background, the blue glow flickering across the dark living room. Your neck aches from sleeping awkwardly against the couch cushions.
BANG BANG BANG
You jolt upright, “What the fuck-“
Several more frantic knocks rattle the front door hard enough to make you jump. Your head pounds.
Still half asleep, you blindly reach for your phone buried between the couch cushions.
3:07AM
97 missed calls.
122 messages.
All from Valarr.
Your stomach drops.
“What the fuck…”
Another bang shakes the door.
You stare at the screen in disbelief.
Valarr
please answer
where are you
baby please
please i need to see you
please please please answer me
im outside
Your heart pounds violently against your ribs.
You rush toward the front door.
“Valarr?” You call out shakily.
No response.
Only more knocking.
You look through the peephole. Your stomach twists.
Valarr stands on your porch soaking wet from the rain, breathing heavily while peering through the small glass window beside the door.
His hair is damp; his clothes are the same ones he wore earlier.
His expression looks wrong.
Wild. Panicked.
You unlock the door carefully.
The second it opens, Valarr’s head snaps toward you.
The relief that floods his face is so intense it almost scares you.
“(Y/n).”
Before you can react, he pulls you into a crushing hug.
“I needed to see you,” he says frantically against your hair. “I really needed to see you.”
“Valarr, what the fuck?” You say groggily. “What’s going on?”
“I thought something happened to you.”
Your eyebrows pull together, pulling away from him. “What?”
He grabs your face. “When you stopped answering,” he says, breathing unevenly. “I called and called and called and-“
He cuts himself off abruptly, dragging a hand through your hair. “I thought maybe you were hurt.”
Your stomach twists uneasily.
“Valarr, I fell asleep.”
“I know that now.”
The way he says it feels wrong somehow.
Too relieved.
Too intense.
“Did you drive here?” You ask carefully.
“Yes.”
“At three in the morning?”
“I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”
His grip tightens around your face.
Not painful, just desperate.
His pupils are blown wide.
His breathing uneven.
“I’m ready,” Valarr blurts suddenly.
Your eyebrows knit together, “What?”
“We have to be together.”
Your stomach drops, “What?”
“I love you.” His voice cracks slightly. “I love you so much, I can’t-I can’t do this anymore.”
Your brain struggles to catch up.
This is what you wanted. Isn’t it?
So why does it feel so wrong?
“Valarr…” You say slowly. “Are you drunk?”
“No.”
“You’re acting crazy right now.”
“I know.” He says it so sincerely it scares you more.
Valarr grips your face tighter, trembling slightly.
“We’re meant to be together,” he whispers desperately. “Please tell me you feel it too. Please.”
His eyes shine with tears.
Your chest tightens painfully.
Because part of you, some horrible part of you, still feels wanted. Still feels relieved.
“Valarr…” Your voice shakes. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“Yes, I do.”
Then suddenly he kisses you.
Messy. Desperate. Needy enough to make your stomach twist.
You push against his chest quickly.
“Okay-okay, stop.”
Valarr immediately pulls back.
Not angry, terrified.
Instantly terrified.
“I’m sorry,” he says quickly. “I’m sorry, I just-I missed you.”
You stare at him.
“You saw me four hours ago.”
“I know.”
Valarr smiles faintly. “But it felt longer.”
Something cold settles uneasily in your stomach.
Rain pours softly behind him while silence stretches painfully between you.
Then Valarr smiles again.
Bright. Love-sick. Beautiful.
Wrong.
“Can I come inside?”
Every instinct in your body tells you something is off.
But it’s Valarr.
The man you’ve loved for years.
The man who finally said it back.
You step aside slowly.
“Yeah,” you say quietly. “Come inside.”
Valarr visibly relaxes. “Okay.”
He grabs your wrist gently while walking into the house. You close the door carefully behind him.
“I think you should sleep for a little bit,” you say cautiously. “You’re clearly overwhelmed or something.”
Valarr turns toward you immediately. “We’re sleeping together.”
You stomach tightens. “I just meant maybe you could take the bed I could-“
“No.”
The word comes too fast. Too sharp.
Valarr immediately softens again when he sees your expression.
“You’re really gonna make me sleep alone after I drove all the way here?” He asks quietly.
His fingers tighten around your wrist slightly.
“I just thought maybe you needed some space.”
“I don’t want space.” His voice almost sounds offended by the idea.
You swallow hard. “Okay.”
Valarr smiles immediately again. “There you are.”
Like you’ve just stopped misbehaving. The thought sends a chill down your spine.
As he leads you toward your bedroom, your eyes flick briefly toward the living room table.
Toward the opened One Wish Willow packaging still sitting there.
Your stomach twists violently
There’s no way.
Right?
-
The room is dark except for faint moonlight spilling through the curtains.
Valarr lies behind you in bed, pressed tightly against your back.
One arm wraps securely around your waist. His face buries itself against your neck.
You stare forward silently. Wide awake.
Valarr presses slow kisses against your throat. Then your shoulder. Then lower.
“Valarr..” You whisper carefully. “Maybe we should just go to sleep.”
“I am sleeping,” he murmurs against your skin.
His hand slides slowly across your stomach possessively.
Your pulse jumps nervously. “Don’t you have brunch with your father tomorrow?”
Valarr hums lazily. “I let him know I couldn’t make it.”
Your eyebrows pull together, “What? You said it was important.”
“You’re more important.”
The words should make your chest flutter.
Instead, they make something cold settle heavily in your stomach.
Valarr gently turns you onto your back so you're facing him.
The expression on his face nearly steals the air from your lungs.
Pure devotion. Complete adoration.
It’s too much. Too intense. Too sudden.
He leans down, kissing you softly.
“I love you,” he whispers against your mouth.
Then again.
And again.
Like he needs to keep saying it or he’ll stop breathing.
You kiss him back despite yourself.
Because this is wrong.
You know it’s wrong.
But somewhere deep down, beneath the fear and confusion and nausea-
Summary: After the incident in Hybern you were taken back to the Spring Court by Tamlin himself, months later you are finally back home in the Night Court. However things have changed, the friends you used to know are now more protective than ever ...
Warnings: Possessive, Teasing, (Soft Yandere), Mentions of K*lling/Pain
------
It had been months since you had last seen your friends, no.. scratch that, your family. The Night Court was your family, they took you in when you needed it most and were always there supporting you through thick and thin.
You missed them dearly and now you were finally on your way back home to them. You were close, on the edge of the Winter Court boarder to be exact, it wouldn't be long until one of the bat boys noticed you were close by.
Minutes after that thought had passed you saw him, high up in the clouds was a familiar black silhouette and he was racing towards you. Before you could open your mouth to get any words out the shadowsinger had landed next to you quickly pulling you into a crushing hug.
"We missed you so much sweet girl, you have no idea" Azriel spoke gently continuing to hold you against his broad body. You never answered but rather hugged him back even tighter if possible letting tears flow down your puffy, red cheeks.
"Home?" you asked gently, pulling away to look into his deep hazel eyes. Through your tears you could start to even see his eyes slightly watering.
He quickly nodded, picking you up with ease he soon pushed off into the sky. He flew home as quick as he could excited to reunite you with the others.
Soon the city lights of Velaris came into view as did the house of wind. Azriel softly landed on one of the many balconies over looking the vibrant city where he quickly let you down but not before pulling you into one more bone crushing hug.
Once he was done squeezing you he grabbed your hand and led you through the archway into one of the main rooms where Mor stood watching with her mouth slightly hung open. It was as if she was in shock you were actually here and it wasn't actually her imagination or some sort of realistic dream.
A quick few seconds passed before she finally stopped gaping and ran over to you where she then pulled you into a tight hug almost knocking the wind out of you. Just as quick as the hug started it ended, she pulled back with her hands still on your shoulders gently looking you over.
"Oh honey.. we missed you so much! Did that beast harm you in anyway? Are you hurt?" She questioned quickly.
"No Mor.. im ok! Really I am.. I missed you so much. I thought about you guys every night" you replied sweetly. It was the truth, you had thought about your family every night. Every night you had to spend next to Tamlin, every day you spent at his side you were really just thinking about your friends back home and how much you longed to be with them, and now you actually were.
She continued to look you over for a few minutes making small talk when Amren walked in. You and Amren got along as well as she got along with anyone. Too many it might seem as though she was being mean when she would tease you but it was honestly out of love.
The small woman gazed at you from the door way of which she had just come through having a similar reaction to Mor, she questioned if it was really you standing there in front of her.
However before she could make a move towards you or say anything you heard the footsteps of two males behind you.
You quickly spun around to see Cassian and Rhysand walking towards you quickly. Eyes locking you dropped you train of thought and quickly ran towards the two large Illyrian men before you. They quickly scooped you up into big bear hug where they whispered sweet nothings into your ears.
"Our sweet baby bat" one started only to be interrupted by "I missed you so much my love" the kind words continued at a steady flow when you felt more arms start to wrap around you. Mor and Azriel had joined the group hug which now just left Amren standing out awkwardly.
The petite girl slowly inched towards the group before she herself joined the family hug. It was a rare sight to not only see the Night Court acting so soft but especially Amren. She would never dare to admit it but you were the only one she was willing to let her guard down for.
It felt as though you all stayed like this for hours all silently weeping happy tears. Your family was finally whole again and little did you know but they would never let it be broken up again, never let you be taken from them again.
-Days Later-
Almost a week had gone by now and you had spent practically every minute with your family. There was never a time when one of them wasnt by your side.
Azriel and Cassian constantly had a watching eye on you, Azriel went as far as to even have his shadows watching over you when he couldnt be there himself.
Mor would always start conversations with you happy to have her best friend back by her side. She would always question if Tamlin had ever done anything to you, she never let it slip but she hated his guts and would absolutely take any chance she got to end him for taking you.
Amren would tease you constantly, again to others it might have seemed harsh but this was her way of comforting you as well as herself.
Rhys was probaly the clingiest of all, he was by your side 24/7 constantly touching you, talking to you or going out of his way to do or get anything you needed. He secretly hoped Tamlin and the rest of his court would all suffer painfully but he never let that wish show in his eyes or smiles he gave you.
"Rhysie?" you asked sweetly, looking up at him and into his loving eyes with your own innocent ones. Thats what he saw you as, a sweet innocent girl that needed protection from all the dangers of Prythian.
"Yes my love? Is there anything you need?" he questioned you.
"I was wondering if we could go into the city today?" You had not left the House of Wind since your arrival and were itching to get back into your old ways with your family by your side. "Maybe we could all go to Rita's like we used too? You know get dinner and dance?"
He looked at you with worry written all over his face, he was scared to let you leave for he was scared you would be taken again. "I dont know my sweet girl, it might be to dangerous".
You looked at him sadly, your eyes starting to glaze over slightly with tears. You just wanted things to be like how they were before, before things went bad.
"Shh my love.. I will talk to the others, we just want you to be safe" he reassured you while slowly stroking your hair back and behind your ears. He lowered himself down to press a soft kiss against your forehead before giving you a small smile.
If only you knew his real intentions.. yes of course they wanted to keep you safe but it was more than that. They never wanted to let you out of their sights again not even for a minute, you had no clue as too what lengths they would go too to achieve this...
------
A/N: Hi, I hoped you guys liked this! Let me know if you want a part two! (TBH I will prob write one anways lol)
In His Arms | a/b/o | Alpha dark Rhysand x omega reader
A/N: Hii! This is NOT my first fic. I originally wrote on the account of heartlesstate for the ACOTAR community. I lost the account though so to any of my old or new followers, hi! I hope you enjoy this. This is different from my normal and isn't for everyone, so please READ THE WARNINGGS!!!!
Summary: You have a panic attack during college, and your alpha- the highlord, (Rhys duh) Snatches you up and comforts you. This is a comfort fic.
Warnings: MDNI, cussing, A/B/O fic!!, alpha Rhys and omega reader, scenting, dark/yandere inner circle, female reader, she/her pronouns, allusions to sex and murder- no smut though.
word count: 1.9k
The constant drumming of your finger as it hit the table soothed you, a repeating pattern keeping your mind focused instead of wandering to the..less positive thoughts. Four hours left. You only had to make it four more hours. Then you could grab your bags and disappear from this college. And then tomorrow you’d wake and up and repeat. Again and again and again. This class wasn’t too bad, your professor taught about the history of the many wars that had taken play in Prythian. It was interesting- but it wasn’t any news to you when you had a pack who practically lived through most of it.
You’re an omega. One of the last. They were mostly killed out by brutal and savage fae alphas who were ridden with uncontrollable desires. Now, only about ten remained. Where they were? Nobody was really sure. Probably hiding, scared to become extinct. You knew at least four were with Helion. He kept them safe , offering a sanctuary to the ones he had found. None of them required to mate or required of anything really- just deeply cared for. You wish men like Helion were more common, then there wouldn't be very few of your kind left. Helion had found you when you were young, hiding in the cellar of an old village house. No parents around. Blood everywhere. The stench of fear. He had taken you in, raising you and giving you a better childhood. When you turned 20, you had the dream of studying in the Night Court, shrouded in mystery, stars, astrology , hot men, everything you could dream of. You were never vocal about this dream, often observing the highlord of the night court when he came to catch up with Helion.
No, it wasn’t until you were sick, spying on them in the garden having tea, that you tripped.
Before the ground could smack you in the face, sturdy arms and a pair of leathery wings wrapped around you, breaking the fall. Violet, stunning eyes stared at you, amazed. As if you had solved world hunger. The smell of rainfall surrounded you both, comforting your inner omega. The trance broke as Helion appeared, dramatically screeching about his poor baby. You jerked away, embarrassed. “I-I’m so sorry highlord..”
“Rhys. Just Rhys is fine, darling. You’re the one who has been spying every time I come to see Helion, hm?” He spoke, letting you move away from his hold. You turned neon red, looking down unsure what to say. Helion laughed. ”oh, This is y/n, shes been curious of the night court for awhile now. She wants to study there. But my poor sick baby shouldn’t be out and about right now! She was diagnosed with the flu. Poor thing hasn't been doing well.” Helion exclaimed, patting your head. He wasn't helping your embarrassment.
The night highlord tilted his head, his brows crinkling in worry. “Get better.” He demanded. As if you could control it..
“Get better, then I’ll take you to the night court where you can stay and do whatever you want there.” He purred mischievously, winking.
Your remembrance of how you and Rhys met made you flush. Things were different now. You were in his inner circle now, his pack. He was your pack alpha. You got into the top college here, excited- but now all you felt was burned out and stress. The anxiety tea Madja gave you wasn’t helping anymore. There were so many people here. Being one of the last omegas didn’t help. Everyone stared. All these faces, all the voices- your clothes weren’t fitting right, your hair wasn’t working with you, you forgot your water bottle, you couldn’t stop shaking. Couldn’t focus. You couldn’t handle this.
Your breaths came out more ragged, things were blurry. You felt like you were falling. The scent of a panicked omega caught attention quickly. More people were looking- you could feel Rhy’s claws scraping your mind, trying to reach you. More voices around you, people in front of you. Oh gods. This is humiliating. Someone reached for you but before they could, a loud, ground shaking, growl sounded. You distinctly remember someone screaming before being shrouded in darkness. But the panic wouldn't stop, your body practically vibrating in stress. Then claws grasped your mind, clutching it tight, holding it. Holding you. You opened your eyes to find your alpha. He let out a deep rumbling sound that comforted you. His wings tightened around you, keeping you safe. The world was quiet now. He grasped your head, laying it on his chest and running his claws through your hair. It smelt like rainfall now. His pheremones were out, trying to sooth you instinctevly. You sniffled, hands holding his shirt. You could tell you were in his room.
“Rhys..I’m sorr-”
He let out a commanding growl. “Do not apologize. You’re allowed to break down. It's normal. But darling omega I need you to tell me when you aren’t feeling good. You haven’t talked to me all day. I don't like living in constant worry about you. Neither does our pack. Your the omega- our treasured, precious thing. It's dangerous enough for you to be out alone. But I’ve made my court the safest place I can for you. But when you ignore me, and won’t let check in on you, everyone worries. Azriel is gonna start going along with you to college, and if you don’t want him near he’ll leave shadows with you so we at least have eyes on you..”
Rhys failed to mention he already had over 10 people in each of your classes who were solely there to ensure your safety and to update him on you. He also didn’t mention Azriel had 5 of his best spies constantly following you when you left Rhysand’s side. He didn’t want to scare you. But if something had happened to you- their pack would crumble. Everyone depended on you. Your joy- your laugh, your scent- brought peace to them. Kept them going. You were their sun and moon. Their angel. Their oxygen even. Rhysand pressed his face to your neck, nuzzling. His scent had faded off of you in the time since last night. He had gotten you comfortable enough to start sleeping in his room. It benefitted you, letting him hold you and keep the nightmares away. But it benefitted him too. He could scent you, and keep you close to him. Some nights he couldn’t help but think it wasn’t enough. He needed to be as close as possible. In your head, in your skin- inside of you. He needed you and him to be one. These dark thoughts kept him awake, staring at your bare neck. No mating bite yet. Sometimes his inner alpha urged him to bite you. To take what was his. To make you his mate. Not yet. Not until you were ready for him. He thought.
You calmed in Rhysand’s grasp. You nodded. “I.. I just don’t like being open. I feel like a burden.” You explained. He hummed. “Baby, you’re not a burden. I want all of you. We all do. We want your fun moments, your happiness, your sadness, your depressions, your struggles. Everything.” His words comforted you, and you nodded. You could deal with his protectiveness. After all, history records most alphas kept omegas locked in houses for fear of there safety. Rhysand let you free- he let you go out alone. He was respective, and kind.
“Did someone scream in the class before you grabbed me?” You asked, the memory of the sound coming back.
“I don’t think so, darling. I teleported in and grabbed you and then teleported back here.” He purred, running a hand up and down your back. He stood from his bed, holding you effortlessly. You squeaked at the sudden movement, looking around as he carried you to the bathroom. With a flick of the wrist, the bath started filling with water. Rhys set you down on the counter. “Lift your arms.” He cooed, grabbing your shirt and removing it. You were a little shy but nakedness was normal between a pack. At least according to your alpha. It wouldn't be the first time he has seen you naked. Back when you were with Helion he had stayed, his alpha instinct refusing to let him leave a sick omega’s side. He had assisted in helping you get better, and when your fever had gotten out of control he stripped you and held you in an ice bath. Sure- once you got better you were embarrassed. Rhysand finished undressing you before sitting you in the bath. For the rest of the bath he washed your hair, and washed your body. He let you clean yourself down there though, not wanting to scare you off. Then he sat down beside the bathtub, letting you vent about your day as he massaged your shoulders. Azriel knocked later on, causing Rhysand to puff up like a big bird and growl. His wings spread. His alpha was still on edge because of your stress. You giggled at him, making him turn and smile.
“Come in.” He relented. Azriel came in, a soft look on his face. Your body was covered by the water and bubbles so you weren’t embarrassed. He approached and bent down, kissing your forehead gently. “Are you feeling better?” He whispered. Azriel was always so gentle with you. You blushed, and nodded. He smiled warmly. “Good.” He turned to Rhysand, “The issue was cleaned up, and everything is take care of.” He said, a somewhat dark look in his eyes. Rhys smirked, looking mischievous. He nodded, and azriel bowed to you before disappearing in the shadows. It had been an inside joke for a while for him to bow for you. You can’t quite remember when it started.
“What was that about?” You questioned. Rhysand chuckled, grabbing your face. “Nothing for your big brain to worry about dear.” He whispered before smooching your head too. You didn’t miss he was trying to cover Azriel’s scent either. Deciding not to pressure your mischievous alpha, you let it go. He wrapped you in a towel before snapping his fingers and old t shirt of his appeared on your body. Your highlord carried you back to his bed, where he laid down and brought you close in his lap. Your eyes closed, and it felt like there wasn’t a single bad thought in your head right now. Everything was peaceful. The world din”t matter anyone all that mattered was staying here. Where you belong. In his arms.
BONUS:
Cassian stared at azriel. “Where’d you go?”
“Our omega started having a panic attack during a lecture, and when Rhys got there, some alpha had been trying to grab her. He misted the guy. I had to clean it up and make sure word didn’t get to her..good thing everyone knows touching the highlord’s omega will get you killed, so nobody had a problem keeping it secret. If word gets to her though, i’ll fucking tear whoever told her to shreds.” Azriel growled, sitting down beside Cassian. Cassian sighed. “People still don’t learn.. I'm losing count on how many fools died because they did something to her. You think they'd get the idea.” He commented. Azriel nodded. Anyone who messed with you had to face the wrath of a thousand burning suns from your pack. Nobody fucked with what belonged to them.
A/N; Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed, and asks are open. <3
c/w 𑣲⋆garrett teaches you how to give head, talking you through it, #men who yearn earn, mutual pining, first kiss, praise, spit, deepthroating, “boot riding” adjacent, gagging, jealous!garrett, pet names, (good girl, baby, pretty + no y/n) + garrett is very casual about you per usual ◡̈
“…Please?” The words leave your lips so gentle and sweet.
“You—Are you sure?” He stammers, more focused on how soft your lips are and how pretty you look just like you are now.
“Garrett, c’mon.” You sigh heavily, your focus falling down his body, seeing the difference almost instantly, his heavy cock swelling the fabric underneath his gray sweatpants.
“It’s just—” His words catch in his throat as you tug your sweater over your head, showing off your bra underneath. “Holy shit.” He throws his head back to the ceiling, hands bunching up the fabric of his sweats, holding himself back.
You huff out a sharp breath, feeling your frustration mount. After everything you’ve done for this man this semester, he can help you with this one little thing. You stand up and his expression goes wide in panic, hands flying up to grab your hips.
“Woah—Hey. Hey, now,” he stops you, looking back at you like you weren’t actively reading the situation. “Just. Don’t go. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t say sorry. I’m not going to beg for your help, Garrett.”
“You are not begging me for anything,” he panics, a desperate laugh clinging to his words as his hands go tighter on your hips. “I just—why?” he asks almost bashfully, licking his lips to fight back a smile as his gaze falls to yours.
“Same reason you wanted me to tutor you. I don’t know how to do it. I want to. You’re a guy…”
“I am,” he chuckles, stepping a little closer.
“You can teach me,” your voice softens, the heat of his body radiating onto your bare skin.
“Who?” he asks, his attention falling to your lips. “You learnin’ to give head just ‘cause?”
“I’m going to a party this weekend.”
“…Yeah?” he asks as he shifts his weight, his eyebrows drawing in ever so slightly as his gaze lifts to yours.
“I tutor, you know—”
“Some of the football guys, yeah,” he tracks, answering for you, getting a little impatient about who this is all for.
“Just getting this vibe from Beau. I don’t know. He’s sweet.”
“Beau Maxwell?” Garrett asks, arms pulling away from you to cross over his chest, biceps pulling the arms of his t-shirt taut. “Is he just bein’ nice? Or…”
You scrunch your nose in annoyance, scoffing before you turn around. “Whatever, Garrett.” You chuckle weakly, bending over to grab your skirt and your sweater, but he’s scrambling again.
“Stop. Just, don’t—calm down,” he grabs the clothes off your hands, tossing them back to the floor. He lifts both hands, lashes fluttering as he rakes his fingers through his curls.
“He’s not just being nice. He’s not pitying me—”
“Well, that last part didn’t leave my mouth,” he chuckles tiredly, his hand rubbing the back of his neck as his gaze travels down your body. He hangs his head for a moment, lost in thought.
“And, I know I’m just your Ancient Lit tutor, but don’t tell women to calm down—”
“You’re right. You’re right about everything, actually.”
You blow out a breath, rolling your eyes. “Well, as fun as it’s been standing in front of you for the last fifteen minutes in my bra and panties begging you to teach me—”
“You didn’t beg,” he answers, cutting you off as you spin out, his hand reaching out to grab your hand, fingers tracing down your arm to find yours, urging you closer. “You asked me once. You said please. That’s not begging.”
His thumb rubs along your knuckles, his lips tugging to the side as he thinks a little more.
“Beau’s my friend. That’s why I asked if he was being nice.”
“Okay?”
“He was supposed to be in the class with me across the hall, then I saw you walk into Ancient Lit—”
“Mhmm…”
“And I switched classes,” he continues, the corner of his mouth tipping up like he’s playing it back.
You nod, your eyes following the chain on his chest as it flickers with his quicker breathing before he speaks again.
“Already felt like I was doin’ something wrong asking you for help on day one before we even got our first assignment… Seems like a conflict of interest if I teach you how to do that, feeling like I feel. Do you know what I mean?”
The question breathes past his lips and, just like Garrett, your heart starts to race a little faster. “I think so.”
“Yeah, I like you,” he answers honestly, the words cracking a little at the end with nerves. Your cheeks swell with warmth, the little tingles in your body getting stronger.
“Were you gonna tell me?” you ask.
“Eventually… Just didn’t feel right letting you do that without knowing—” You steal the words off his lips with a kiss and he deepens it instantly, arms wrapping around your body, fingers sliding into your hair. He kisses you so deep your back bows, but he has you, holding you in his big arms, his soft lips pressing against yours.
He kisses you again, softer this time, then one more, smiling into your kiss.
“I can still teach you,” he whispers, taking off his shirt.
“Yeah?” you ask.
“If you want me,” he sighs when your palms rest on his strong chest.
“Beg,” you breathe, and he laughs against your mouth, liking how that word sounds leaving your lips.
“You want me to beg?” he asks, feeling as you hum a mhmm against his mouth. “I want you.” His rough palm falls with those words, slipping under the lace of your thong, squeezing your ass. “You have no idea what I’ve been dreaming about doing to you. This… This is exactly what I need. So, please, baby.”
“Baby?” you hum.
“You’ll call me that one day,” he says confidently, feeling your soft giggle against his lips. “Got a good feeling about us.”
“Teach me,” you smile, and he sighs, the muscles in his shoulders softening.
He looks at you for a second before he says anything, the corner of his mouth tugging up like he still can’t believe you chose him in the first place.
“You gonna let me teach you anything else?” he says quietly against your lips, stealing a kiss.
“Maybe,” you tease, fingers falling down his stomach, tracing over his abs, feeling them flex tighter under your touch. “Second session.”
“Seriously?” he asks breathlessly, following your gaze as your nails trace along the top of his sweats. “Sounds perfect.”
“So, what do I do now?” you whisper, fingers looping under the band of his pants.
“We’re startin’ the lesson from up here?” he asks, chuckling warmly when you mumble yes. “Kisses. Just like you are now. S’perfect.”
“Okay,” you hum.
“Move to my neck, and your hand.” The words leave him slowly as he grabs yours, lifting and placing you on top of that thick bulge between his thighs. “Right here.”
His breathing changes and his voice dips lower as he guides you to rub your hand on top. “Gotta tease me a little. I want this too fuckin’ bad, okay? Make me sweat a little. Don’t let me have it yet.”
You hum out a yes, kissing your way along his sharp jaw as your hand strokes his long, hard cock over the cotton. You can feel him tilt into you a little, pushing himself into your hand.
His face turns into you a little when you get to his ear, hands resting on your body still. “Tighter,” he mutters and you can hear the smile in his voice as your hand squeezes around him.
“Like that?”
“Just like that.”
You kiss under his ear and his head falls to the side, your lips working down the column of his neck, feeling his pulse hammer against your lips.
“Lick,” he murmurs, his hand coming up to cradle the back of your neck to keep you close, your tongue tracing up the trail of kisses you just left. Garrett shudders out a breath, goosebumps fanning across his tan skin.
“Talk to me,” he rasps, turning his face slightly to look you in the eyes, the tension between you thick. “You want it? Let me know.”
“What I want to do to you?”
“You can lie,” he answers softly, tipping your lips toward him when his fingers hook under your chin.
“I don’t wanna lie.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” you answer as he draws you in for a kiss.
“Tell me.”
“I want you to teach me—”
“No,” he stops you, his brows furrowing when it sounds like less than he was hoping for—like you’re using him instead of wanting this too.
“Listen,” you breathe.
“Yes, ma’am,” he answers, through a soft smile.
“I want you,” you whisper, tilting closer with each word. “To teach me what you like. So, I can do it again. And, again. I want to get so good at it, that it’s all you can think about.”
“Fuck, baby,” he huffs, gaze lingering as you drop down on your knees in front of him, pressing kisses as you go, his cock painfully hard. “How are you—you sound like you know what you’re doing.”
“In theory,” you answer, wrapping your fingers around the gray material at his hips. “Not in practice.”
“That book you have, huh?” he asks as his fingers find their way into your hair, guiding you to look back at him from where you sit on your knees.
“Mhmm,” you answer, dragging the cozy material down his legs, watching his thigh muscles tense and soften.
“Looked it up. Had to figure out why you were blushin’ like that yesterday before class,” he drawls, cupping your chin in his hand, thumb tracing your bottom lip. “Look so fuckin’ good on your knees, you know that?”
“Thank you,” you whisper, his smile spreading with yours. Your hands work up his thighs, resting on his boxers, tracing along the length of his thick dick, straining the material, his tip leaking through the fabric.
“Suck that. It’ll fuckin’ kill me,” he sighs as your focus stays fixed on the dark spot.
“Over your boxers?” you ask, already leaning in, your gaze flicking up to him. “You don’t want my mouth?” The question leaving your lips a hell of a lot more like taunting than asking, making him chuckle.
“You have no idea,” the words barely leave his lips when your mouth wraps around him, the fabric resting against your tongue. The taste comes second, his tip warm and throbbing—his hold on your hair tightening the wetter it gets.
You can feel the arousal soak the lace between your thighs, a steady pulse thumping, your body aching for contact—especially when that first sound of pleasure falls from his lips.
“Goddamn,” he groans, his jaw locking. You reach up without being told and he sucks a sharp breath through his nose when you cup his heavy balls in your hand. “Mhmm…” the praise breathes through a pleasured hum, nodding as you roll them in your hand, still sucking him through the cotton.
“More?” you ask, your breath hitting the place you mouthed, air filling his lungs at the sensation.
“Shit, pretty—yeah,” he slurs, drinking you in with his heavy stare as your hands follow the band of his boxers, tracing his sharp v-lines. You lean in, pressing a kiss on the soft skin below his bellybutton, just above the elastic.
He tips his chin toward you, shaking his head.
“You’re gonna be so good at this, baby,” his voice softens. “So fuckin’ perfect at everything. Why wouldn’t you be?”
His praise goes straight through you, your body drawing closer, settling a little more. He shifts his stance ever so slightly, his jaw tightening as he feels how wet your pussy is when your weight lands on top of his foot.
Your body moves instinctually, rocking your hips a little, feeling some relief you hadn’t known was building. “Feels good?” he asks, already seeing it in your body language. “Teach you how to ride my thigh. You’ll love it.” His words come out a little distracted as he watches your hands disappear behind your back.
“Next lesson?” you ask through a little smile.
“Don’t know if I can wait,” he confesses. “Take it off,” his voice dips, and you unclasp your bra, letting it fall away. He pushes out a breath, looking down at you, feeling that desperation he told you would come if you teased him—and you are.
You lift your hands, pinching the cotton, pulling down his boxers too. His cock strains—long and weighed down—that heavy walk he carries around campus clearly needed.
Your mouth starts to water, the blushed tip of his dick leaking with wet. “Kiss it off, baby,” he hums and you nod. Your lips press against the warm head of his dick, kissing it off just like he asked. “Just toy with me, yeah?”
Garrett’s words come out a little tighter and breathless. His eyes roll back in his head when your tongue curls around his tip, dipping in the slit, your other hand stroking slowly.
“Tongue out,” he tells you, wrapping his big fist around his dick, slapping the tip against your tongue. “Beautiful,” the word comes out quiet. “Kiss again,” he guides you. You press your lips into a pout, slick from spit, and he rubs his head against them messily.
He hums out a sound of approval, nodding down to his dick. Your hand circles him again, tongue dragging up the side of him as well, following a vein that maps all the way from base to top, your name dripping past his lips as his head hangs between his shoulders, chain swaying off his neck.
“Take as much as you want. You’re doing so fucking good—so, so good,” he sighs. “You can’t fit it all. That’s okay, baby. Just use your hand for the rest. Get me good and wet.”
You spit on his tip and his eye rolls back like there were two options to get him slicked up and you chose the best fucking one. Your hand circles around his thickness, stroking at the base a few times.
“Please,” he exhales, and your lips tilt into a smile before your lips wrap around him fully, taking him deep in your mouth.
You moan around him, discouraged for a moment about how much of him is left and how little you’ve taken in. Your mouth is stuffed, the look on his face letting you know that it’s more than enough for him.
“Holy shit,” he gasps. “Fuck, you feel so good.” When your hand wraps around him again, his eyebrows knitting tight.
You can feel his blood pumping through his cock, his hold on your head careful, like he wants you to guide the pace and not the other way around. For a moment he seemingly forgets about the task at hand as you work him with your mouth and your fist.
“Like—fuck me…” he sighs, losing his train of thought, the muscles in his thighs trembling. “Like this, baby.” He wraps his hand around yours at the thick base of his cock, twisting it slightly instead of jerking it back and forth.
“Yeah. That’s it,” he breathes, smiling as you start to bob around his length, rutting your pussy on top of him with the tempo of your mouth.
“Gonna use you a little,” he pants, resting his hands on your cheeks. “Tap out if it’s too much, alright? Breathe through your nose.”
He gives you a few shallow thrusts, melting like putty in your hand when you gag around him, smiling when you don’t push him away, resting your hands on the back of his thighs instead to keep you right where you’re at.
“Good girl,” he hums, making you choke on his cock again and again. Your vision starts to swim with it, tears pooling along your lashes. Your eyes flutter shut and the wet rolls down your cheeks.
“Goddamn,” he mumbles as he reaches his thumb out, tracing it under your eye, catching some tears as they fall.
“You’re a natural, baby,” he hums, sucking the tears off his thumb, handing back control, looking down at you like he’s proud.
“Let me thank you after this.” The words breathe past his lips as you suck and stroke, jaw aching from the stretch, moaning around his dick, the vibrations making his jaw tighten as he realizes just how much pleasure you’re getting from having his heavy cock in your mouth.
“You’re so fuckin’ wet… Fuck my thigh. Let me clean that up for you—teach you how to ride my face instead.”
His breathing changes and the grip on the back of your head suddenly tightens. The wet sounds fill the room around you, cock slipping through your spit, moans and grunts breaking past his lips getting closer and closer by the second.
“Gonna—I’m gonna cum, baby. You don’t have to swallow it,” he breathes, but you know he wants to finish deep in your throat.
Your hands move a little higher, nails sliding down the back of his ass and thighs and he loses it completely, climaxing with a deep moan, ropes and ropes of cum slipping down the back of your throat.
Your eyes slam shut and you swallow hard, sucking through it until he’s holding you in place, panting in overstimulation, each slide of your tongue making him flinch.
He smiles as he pulls you off him nice and slow, his breath leaving him shakily.
“Fuck, baby,” he hums. “Lemme see.”
You giggle breathily, holding out your clean tongue for him. He shakes his head and smiles, helping you up to your feet. His hand cradles your cheek, the other wrapping around your waist as he reaches for a breath.
“How was that, baby?” you ask.
His forehead tilts to rest against yours, his thumb brushing the apple of your cheek. “Baby?” he breathes, kissing you gently.
You tilt your head, lips drawing to the side. “I have a good feeling about us too?”
“You do?”
“I do.”
He kisses you again, deep and claiming. “That was perfect.”
“Yeah?” you ask sweetly, feeling his hands wrap around your body, dropping low, rough thumbs slipping under your lace thong, pulling it down this time instead, humming against your lips as your breasts press against his bare chest, your panties tumbling down your thighs.
He lifts you effortlessly off your feet into his strong arms, walking with you to his bed, resting you down on top before mounting it fast, caging you under his weight.
You suck in a sharp breath as he rolls you on top of him, your knees sinking into the mattress. His hands drag up your thighs, resting on your ass, pulling you closer to his lips. The warmth of his breath hits your wet pussy and your head falls back.
c/w 𑣲⋆garrett teaches you how to give head, talking you through it, #men who yearn earn, mutual pining, first kiss, praise, spit, deepthroating, “boot riding” adjacent, gagging, jealous!garrett, pet names, (good girl, baby, pretty + no y/n) + garrett is very casual about you per usual ◡̈
“…Please?” The words leave your lips so gentle and sweet.
“You—Are you sure?” He stammers, more focused on how soft your lips are and how pretty you look just like you are now.
“Garrett, c’mon.” You sigh heavily, your focus falling down his body, seeing the difference almost instantly, his heavy cock swelling the fabric underneath his gray sweatpants.
“It’s just—” His words catch in his throat as you tug your sweater over your head, showing off your bra underneath. “Holy shit.” He throws his head back to the ceiling, hands bunching up the fabric of his sweats, holding himself back.
You huff out a sharp breath, feeling your frustration mount. After everything you’ve done for this man this semester, he can help you with this one little thing. You stand up and his expression goes wide in panic, hands flying up to grab your hips.
“Woah—Hey. Hey, now,” he stops you, looking back at you like you weren’t actively reading the situation. “Just. Don’t go. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t say sorry. I’m not going to beg for your help, Garrett.”
“You are not begging me for anything,” he panics, a desperate laugh clinging to his words as his hands go tighter on your hips. “I just—why?” he asks almost bashfully, licking his lips to fight back a smile as his gaze falls to yours.
“Same reason you wanted me to tutor you. I don’t know how to do it. I want to. You’re a guy…”
“I am,” he chuckles, stepping a little closer.
“You can teach me,” your voice softens, the heat of his body radiating onto your bare skin.
“Who?” he asks, his attention falling to your lips. “You learnin’ to give head just ‘cause?”
“I’m going to a party this weekend.”
“…Yeah?” he asks as he shifts his weight, his eyebrows drawing in ever so slightly as his gaze lifts to yours.
“I tutor, you know—”
“Some of the football guys, yeah,” he tracks, answering for you, getting a little impatient about who this is all for.
“Just getting this vibe from Beau. I don’t know. He’s sweet.”
“Beau Maxwell?” Garrett asks, arms pulling away from you to cross over his chest, biceps pulling the arms of his t-shirt taut. “Is he just bein’ nice? Or…”
You scrunch your nose in annoyance, scoffing before you turn around. “Whatever, Garrett.” You chuckle weakly, bending over to grab your skirt and your sweater, but he’s scrambling again.
“Stop. Just, don’t—calm down,” he grabs the clothes off your hands, tossing them back to the floor. He lifts both hands, lashes fluttering as he rakes his fingers through his curls.
“He’s not just being nice. He’s not pitying me—”
“Well, that last part didn’t leave my mouth,” he chuckles tiredly, his hand rubbing the back of his neck as his gaze travels down your body. He hangs his head for a moment, lost in thought.
“And, I know I’m just your Ancient Lit tutor, but don’t tell women to calm down—”
“You’re right. You’re right about everything, actually.”
You blow out a breath, rolling your eyes. “Well, as fun as it’s been standing in front of you for the last fifteen minutes in my bra and panties begging you to teach me—”
“You didn’t beg,” he answers, cutting you off as you spin out, his hand reaching out to grab your hand, fingers tracing down your arm to find yours, urging you closer. “You asked me once. You said please. That’s not begging.”
His thumb rubs along your knuckles, his lips tugging to the side as he thinks a little more.
“Beau’s my friend. That’s why I asked if he was being nice.”
“Okay?”
“He was supposed to be in the class with me across the hall, then I saw you walk into Ancient Lit—”
“Mhmm…”
“And I switched classes,” he continues, the corner of his mouth tipping up like he’s playing it back.
You nod, your eyes following the chain on his chest as it flickers with his quicker breathing before he speaks again.
“Already felt like I was doin’ something wrong asking you for help on day one before we even got our first assignment… Seems like a conflict of interest if I teach you how to do that, feeling like I feel. Do you know what I mean?”
The question breathes past his lips and, just like Garrett, your heart starts to race a little faster. “I think so.”
“Yeah, I like you,” he answers honestly, the words cracking a little at the end with nerves. Your cheeks swell with warmth, the little tingles in your body getting stronger.
“Were you gonna tell me?” you ask.
“Eventually… Just didn’t feel right letting you do that without knowing—” You steal the words off his lips with a kiss and he deepens it instantly, arms wrapping around your body, fingers sliding into your hair. He kisses you so deep your back bows, but he has you, holding you in his big arms, his soft lips pressing against yours.
He kisses you again, softer this time, then one more, smiling into your kiss.
“I can still teach you,” he whispers, taking off his shirt.
“Yeah?” you ask.
“If you want me,” he sighs when your palms rest on his strong chest.
“Beg,” you breathe, and he laughs against your mouth, liking how that word sounds leaving your lips.
“You want me to beg?” he asks, feeling as you hum a mhmm against his mouth. “I want you.” His rough palm falls with those words, slipping under the lace of your thong, squeezing your ass. “You have no idea what I’ve been dreaming about doing to you. This… This is exactly what I need. So, please, baby.”
“Baby?” you hum.
“You’ll call me that one day,” he says confidently, feeling your soft giggle against his lips. “Got a good feeling about us.”
“Teach me,” you smile, and he sighs, the muscles in his shoulders softening.
He looks at you for a second before he says anything, the corner of his mouth tugging up like he still can’t believe you chose him in the first place.
“You gonna let me teach you anything else?” he says quietly against your lips, stealing a kiss.
“Maybe,” you tease, fingers falling down his stomach, tracing over his abs, feeling them flex tighter under your touch. “Second session.”
“Seriously?” he asks breathlessly, following your gaze as your nails trace along the top of his sweats. “Sounds perfect.”
“So, what do I do now?” you whisper, fingers looping under the band of his pants.
“We’re startin’ the lesson from up here?” he asks, chuckling warmly when you mumble yes. “Kisses. Just like you are now. S’perfect.”
“Okay,” you hum.
“Move to my neck, and your hand.” The words leave him slowly as he grabs yours, lifting and placing you on top of that thick bulge between his thighs. “Right here.”
His breathing changes and his voice dips lower as he guides you to rub your hand on top. “Gotta tease me a little. I want this too fuckin’ bad, okay? Make me sweat a little. Don’t let me have it yet.”
You hum out a yes, kissing your way along his sharp jaw as your hand strokes his long, hard cock over the cotton. You can feel him tilt into you a little, pushing himself into your hand.
His face turns into you a little when you get to his ear, hands resting on your body still. “Tighter,” he mutters and you can hear the smile in his voice as your hand squeezes around him.
“Like that?”
“Just like that.”
You kiss under his ear and his head falls to the side, your lips working down the column of his neck, feeling his pulse hammer against your lips.
“Lick,” he murmurs, his hand coming up to cradle the back of your neck to keep you close, your tongue tracing up the trail of kisses you just left. Garrett shudders out a breath, goosebumps fanning across his tan skin.
“Talk to me,” he rasps, turning his face slightly to look you in the eyes, the tension between you thick. “You want it? Let me know.”
“What I want to do to you?”
“You can lie,” he answers softly, tipping your lips toward him when his fingers hook under your chin.
“I don’t wanna lie.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” you answer as he draws you in for a kiss.
“Tell me.”
“I want you to teach me—”
“No,” he stops you, his brows furrowing when it sounds like less than he was hoping for—like you’re using him instead of wanting this too.
“Listen,” you breathe.
“Yes, ma’am,” he answers, through a soft smile.
“I want you,” you whisper, tilting closer with each word. “To teach me what you like. So, I can do it again. And, again. I want to get so good at it, that it’s all you can think about.”
“Fuck, baby,” he huffs, gaze lingering as you drop down on your knees in front of him, pressing kisses as you go, his cock painfully hard. “How are you—you sound like you know what you’re doing.”
“In theory,” you answer, wrapping your fingers around the gray material at his hips. “Not in practice.”
“That book you have, huh?” he asks as his fingers find their way into your hair, guiding you to look back at him from where you sit on your knees.
“Mhmm,” you answer, dragging the cozy material down his legs, watching his thigh muscles tense and soften.
“Looked it up. Had to figure out why you were blushin’ like that yesterday before class,” he drawls, cupping your chin in his hand, thumb tracing your bottom lip. “Look so fuckin’ good on your knees, you know that?”
“Thank you,” you whisper, his smile spreading with yours. Your hands work up his thighs, resting on his boxers, tracing along the length of his thick dick, straining the material, his tip leaking through the fabric.
“Suck that. It’ll fuckin’ kill me,” he sighs as your focus stays fixed on the dark spot.
“Over your boxers?” you ask, already leaning in, your gaze flicking up to him. “You don’t want my mouth?” The question leaving your lips a hell of a lot more like taunting than asking, making him chuckle.
“You have no idea,” the words barely leave his lips when your mouth wraps around him, the fabric resting against your tongue. The taste comes second, his tip warm and throbbing—his hold on your hair tightening the wetter it gets.
You can feel the arousal soak the lace between your thighs, a steady pulse thumping, your body aching for contact—especially when that first sound of pleasure falls from his lips.
“Goddamn,” he groans, his jaw locking. You reach up without being told and he sucks a sharp breath through his nose when you cup his heavy balls in your hand. “Mhmm…” the praise breathes through a pleasured hum, nodding as you roll them in your hand, still sucking him through the cotton.
“More?” you ask, your breath hitting the place you mouthed, air filling his lungs at the sensation.
“Shit, pretty—yeah,” he slurs, drinking you in with his heavy stare as your hands follow the band of his boxers, tracing his sharp v-lines. You lean in, pressing a kiss on the soft skin below his bellybutton, just above the elastic.
He tips his chin toward you, shaking his head.
“You’re gonna be so good at this, baby,” his voice softens. “So fuckin’ perfect at everything. Why wouldn’t you be?”
His praise goes straight through you, your body drawing closer, settling a little more. He shifts his stance ever so slightly, his jaw tightening as he feels how wet your pussy is when your weight lands on top of his foot.
Your body moves instinctually, rocking your hips a little, feeling some relief you hadn’t known was building. “Feels good?” he asks, already seeing it in your body language. “Teach you how to ride my thigh. You’ll love it.” His words come out a little distracted as he watches your hands disappear behind your back.
“Next lesson?” you ask through a little smile.
“Don’t know if I can wait,” he confesses. “Take it off,” his voice dips, and you unclasp your bra, letting it fall away. He pushes out a breath, looking down at you, feeling that desperation he told you would come if you teased him—and you are.
You lift your hands, pinching the cotton, pulling down his boxers too. His cock strains—long and weighed down—that heavy walk he carries around campus clearly needed.
Your mouth starts to water, the blushed tip of his dick leaking with wet. “Kiss it off, baby,” he hums and you nod. Your lips press against the warm head of his dick, kissing it off just like he asked. “Just toy with me, yeah?”
Garrett’s words come out a little tighter and breathless. His eyes roll back in his head when your tongue curls around his tip, dipping in the slit, your other hand stroking slowly.
“Tongue out,” he tells you, wrapping his big fist around his dick, slapping the tip against your tongue. “Beautiful,” the word comes out quiet. “Kiss again,” he guides you. You press your lips into a pout, slick from spit, and he rubs his head against them messily.
He hums out a sound of approval, nodding down to his dick. Your hand circles him again, tongue dragging up the side of him as well, following a vein that maps all the way from base to top, your name dripping past his lips as his head hangs between his shoulders, chain swaying off his neck.
“Take as much as you want. You’re doing so fucking good—so, so good,” he sighs. “You can’t fit it all. That’s okay, baby. Just use your hand for the rest. Get me good and wet.”
You spit on his tip and his eye rolls back like there were two options to get him slicked up and you chose the best fucking one. Your hand circles around his thickness, stroking at the base a few times.
“Please,” he exhales, and your lips tilt into a smile before your lips wrap around him fully, taking him deep in your mouth.
You moan around him, discouraged for a moment about how much of him is left and how little you’ve taken in. Your mouth is stuffed, the look on his face letting you know that it’s more than enough for him.
“Holy shit,” he gasps. “Fuck, you feel so good.” When your hand wraps around him again, his eyebrows knitting tight.
You can feel his blood pumping through his cock, his hold on your head careful, like he wants you to guide the pace and not the other way around. For a moment he seemingly forgets about the task at hand as you work him with your mouth and your fist.
“Like—fuck me…” he sighs, losing his train of thought, the muscles in his thighs trembling. “Like this, baby.” He wraps his hand around yours at the thick base of his cock, twisting it slightly instead of jerking it back and forth.
“Yeah. That’s it,” he breathes, smiling as you start to bob around his length, rutting your pussy on top of him with the tempo of your mouth.
“Gonna use you a little,” he pants, resting his hands on your cheeks. “Tap out if it’s too much, alright? Breathe through your nose.”
He gives you a few shallow thrusts, melting like putty in your hand when you gag around him, smiling when you don’t push him away, resting your hands on the back of his thighs instead to keep you right where you’re at.
“Good girl,” he hums, making you choke on his cock again and again. Your vision starts to swim with it, tears pooling along your lashes. Your eyes flutter shut and the wet rolls down your cheeks.
“Goddamn,” he mumbles as he reaches his thumb out, tracing it under your eye, catching some tears as they fall.
“You’re a natural, baby,” he hums, sucking the tears off his thumb, handing back control, looking down at you like he’s proud.
“Let me thank you after this.” The words breathe past his lips as you suck and stroke, jaw aching from the stretch, moaning around his dick, the vibrations making his jaw tighten as he realizes just how much pleasure you’re getting from having his heavy cock in your mouth.
“You’re so fuckin’ wet… Fuck my thigh. Let me clean that up for you—teach you how to ride my face instead.”
His breathing changes and the grip on the back of your head suddenly tightens. The wet sounds fill the room around you, cock slipping through your spit, moans and grunts breaking past his lips getting closer and closer by the second.
“Gonna—I’m gonna cum, baby. You don’t have to swallow it,” he breathes, but you know he wants to finish deep in your throat.
Your hands move a little higher, nails sliding down the back of his ass and thighs and he loses it completely, climaxing with a deep moan, ropes and ropes of cum slipping down the back of your throat.
Your eyes slam shut and you swallow hard, sucking through it until he’s holding you in place, panting in overstimulation, each slide of your tongue making him flinch.
He smiles as he pulls you off him nice and slow, his breath leaving him shakily.
“Fuck, baby,” he hums. “Lemme see.”
You giggle breathily, holding out your clean tongue for him. He shakes his head and smiles, helping you up to your feet. His hand cradles your cheek, the other wrapping around your waist as he reaches for a breath.
“How was that, baby?” you ask.
His forehead tilts to rest against yours, his thumb brushing the apple of your cheek. “Baby?” he breathes, kissing you gently.
You tilt your head, lips drawing to the side. “I have a good feeling about us too?”
“You do?”
“I do.”
He kisses you again, deep and claiming. “That was perfect.”
“Yeah?” you ask sweetly, feeling his hands wrap around your body, dropping low, rough thumbs slipping under your lace thong, pulling it down this time instead, humming against your lips as your breasts press against his bare chest, your panties tumbling down your thighs.
He lifts you effortlessly off your feet into his strong arms, walking with you to his bed, resting you down on top before mounting it fast, caging you under his weight.
You suck in a sharp breath as he rolls you on top of him, your knees sinking into the mattress. His hands drag up your thighs, resting on your ass, pulling you closer to his lips. The warmth of his breath hits your wet pussy and your head falls back.
Summary: after pining for his sister’s best friend for a while, Rafe finally has the chance to get you all for himself without the pogues interfering.
Pairing: soft!dark!rafe cameron x sisters best friend!little!reader
Warnings: DARK THEMES, mentions of age regression, reader is an introvert, rafe is obsessed, manipulation, drugging, kinda kidnapping, word count: 1,7k
A/N: it’s basically just another version of this one-shot because I love this whole scene and season 2 Rafe in general 😛
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Rafe didn’t mean to fall for his sister’s best friend, but the fact that you’re the complete opposite of him keeps him drawn to you, especially your quiet and soft-spoken personality, a ray of sunshine when you feel comfortable with the people around you.
So he can’t understand why you also started spending more time with the pogues ever since Sarah got together with John B. They are no good for you in his eyes and will only drag you down the wrong path.
He had a great bond with you before the whole thing with Peterkin happened, even with some stolen kisses here and there that you never dared to mention to Sarah.
Now you’re trying your best to avoid him, obviously believing what Sarah told you and taking the side of your best friend without even letting him try to explain his actions to you.
It’s pissing him off immensely. You won’t talk to him nor look in his direction when seeing him around in Kildare and he clenches his jaw whenever he sees you around the pogues, realizing that you’re drifting further away from him with each passing day.
This evening Rafe has other things to worry about. The cross is laying in the transporter together with Renfield's body that he still has to get rid off before taking the cross to The Coastel Venture.
Your fingers fumble with the key from the transporter that you managed to steal from Rafe’s room with the help of Wheezie and Sarah, not knowing that your best friend already stumbled into her brother and has been locked into her room soon after by him.
"Please let this work." You pray quietly, the key almost slipping from your hand as you lift it up to the lock, breathing out in relief when it unlocks and pull open the door.
Your whole body freezes the second pair of open eyes stare right back at you. Dead. This person you’re staring at right now is visibly dead. Your hands tremble as you take a step back in shock, your breathing getting faster with panic.
"Oh god…oh my-" You turn away slightly and brace your hand on the transporter while you keep stumbling backwards, yelping in surprise when you crash into a firm chest.
Rafe’s hands shoot out to grab your arms, keeping you close as he lets out a sigh. "I really wish you didn’t do that, kid."
"G-Get off me!" You squeak out, trying to twist out of his grip but he only uses it to his advantage and wraps one arm around your waist, his free hand reaching up to clamp over your mouth before you could scream out for help.
"Not a sound." He growls into your ear, dragging you inside the house and down to the wine cellar, pushing you inside one of the rooms before locking the door in front of him, his breathing ragged.
That’s the best thing that could happen to Rafe. He’s got you for himself now and can finally talk with you about everything. No matter what you say now, he can’t just let you run off after what you’ve seen.
That’s his chance of making you his.
"Rafe!" Your cracking voice pulls him out of his thoughts, feeling you bang your fists against the door from where he’s leaning against. "Rafe, let me out! Please!"
"I’m not letting you out, Y/N. Not until you calm down, okay." He says calmly, hearing you let out a sob. "Don’t freak out on me now. Take some deep breaths."
"Let me out. Please. Let me out." You ramble to yourself, fisting your hands in your hair and pace back and forth as you try to regulate your breathing, screaming mentally at your brain to keep it together when it’s trying to slip into your littlespace to cope with the current situation.
You jump in your spot when the door unlocks and see Rafe step inside, wrapping your arms around yourself as you try to put as much space as possible between you both.
"Hey, it’s okay." He holds his hands up in a non-threatening way when he sees you tense up at his appearance, taking in the tears that are spilling from your eyes. "C'mon, you really think I would do something to you?"
"Did you kill him?" You whisper out, afraid of what the answer might be.
"No. I swear, I didn’t do shit. It wasn’t me." He is quick to respond. "I- I keep getting into stuff that makes me look bad. Everything I do is for my family, for my dad. You gotta understand. Sarah and…those damn pogues have been telling you shit the whole time."
You shake your head. "No, you’re lying- you-" You choke on your words, sinking down to your knees when they threaten to give out.
"Hey, hey." Rafe coos, crouching down as well and holds his hands out to catch you if needed. "I know you’re confused, overwhelmed even. But you have to listen to me for once. Hear my side of this whole mess."
You clutch at your chest, your mind feeling hazy from everything he’s telling you. How he had to shoot Peterkin to save his father, how Sarah has been provoking him and that he didn’t mean to shoot her, that he wanted to talk with you this whole time but didn’t get the chance, how much he missed you.
It all mixes up in your head and you pull your knees to your chest, trying to sort your feelings and the information you just received in a haste, not even noticing how close Rafe has been getting to you slowly because you’re too busy with making an opinion on all this.
"Shh, breathe." He pleads rather softly despite the situation, gently grabbing one of your hands to place it against his chest so you can feel his now calm heartbeat. "It’s gonna be okay. I got you now, yeah? It’s just you and me."
You don’t protest when he moves to help you back up from the ground, leading you over to the armchair and motions for you to sit down, tilting your head up with his finger.
"Stay here. I’ll be right back." He promises, cupping your cheek for a moment before he turns to leave, locking the door behind him just in case you take the chance to run off.
You sit there in silence, wringing your hands together when you suddenly remember Sarah. Where is she? Is she okay? What if her and the others are worried about you?
Before you could spiral further again, you hear the door unlock. Rafe steps back in, holding a plastic cup in his hand and places it in your hands, sitting down on the other armchair. "Drink. It’ll help."
You eye the cup in your hand warily, glancing at him before taking a hesitant sip, tilting your head slightly when you taste your favorite juice.
"I remember you telling once that it’s your ultimate favorite, so I had it stacked for whenever you came over for Sarah, well when you used to come over anyway." He tells you, scratching at the nape of his neck.
"You did?" You murmur softly and keep drinking from the cup, not noticing how Rafe watches your every sip as if he’s waiting for something.
"Course I did. You’re the only friend of Sarah’s that doesn’t give me headache. Which was…confusing to me at first but you’re really something else, and I always liked that about you."
You purse your lips at his admission, yet before you can form a response you start to feel hazy again, not from being at the edge of slipping but from feeling tired out of a sudden.
Rafe sees the change instantly, reaching out to take the cup from your slipping grasp to put it aside and gets up from the chair to steady your swaying self. "It’s okay, you’re alright."
"Wha…" You slur, barley registering that he slips his arms under knees and back to lift you up, not understanding what’s happening.
"Don’t fight it. It’s only gonna get worse if you do. Just relax and close your eyes for a bit." Your hear him say, though it sounds like his voice is muffled as he carries you out of the cellar.
Once your body fully sags in his arms, Rafe lets out a long exhale, knowing there’s no going back and that he’ll do anything to keep you at his side from now on.
"Now that I got the cross for us, we’ll have it real nice. You’ll see." He grunts as he makes his way outside to where the transporter is parked, rounding it to maneuver you into the passenger seat carefully.
He walks to the back of the vehicle to close it up again, turning his head to face Rose when he hears her come out and keeps putting the lock back in place.
"You took care of Sarah?" He asks, merely to make sure she won’t cause more trouble rather than in concern.
"Yes. What are you gonna do about Y/N?" She asks, afraid that Rafe will do something unpredictable again.
"Don’t worry about it. She’s my problem, not yours." He declares, about to walk towards the drivers side when Rose calls his name again firmly. "I’m gonna handle her. She’ll come with us. You take care of Sarah and Wheezie. I’ll meet you guys later."
Without another word, he climbs behind the wheel and slams the door shut, taking a deep breath as he looks over at your sleeping figure.
He reaches over to brush some of your hair behind your ear, adrenaline cursing through his veins at the fact he’s got you sitting next to him, even if you didn’t get a choice in that matter but in his mind he had no other choice than to give you something to keep you calm.
Rafe shakes his head and starts the engine, peeling down the driveway from Tannyhill with a satisfied expression on his face, he’s got you in his grasp now after all this time.
