MATTHEO RIDDLE— not horribly tall, but slightly above average. strong arms; what he doesn't have of height like the weasley twins, he has of muscles on his arms, even though not a ken-like amount, which he finds ugly. dark curls— inherited by his mother, the insanely crazy bellatrix lestrange, and beautiful eyes that he has no clue where he got from. long lashes, defined jawline.
in short, a handsome, easily found attractive, young man. and with that bad boy attitude? well, mattheo riddle is every girl's guilty pleasure of a daydream.
some, because they'd like to have their attitude and confidence fucked out of them, by mattheo riddle who certainly takes no bullshit. others, because they delusionally believe that they can somehow fix him— turning a doberman into a golden retriever.
mattheo riddle who's the only first year to not tremble under snape's gaze, because his father is voldemort. the thing, the person he fears the most.
mattheo riddle who doesn't even blink when teachers, older students and even intimidating people yell at him— this is child's play, compared to the cold, frightening aura of his father, and the eery sound of his mother talking to him; one second, she's calm, putting on a (scary) loving persona— then, she's raging, yelling and slamming things, hands on the table, almost throwing hands at her son.
mattheo riddle who stands on the end of the line, letting students get in front of him and even threatening some to take his place on the line, so he stands further behind. this only happens once, during that one professor lupin's class, with the boggart— because mattheo knows that it'd take the shape of his father, walking eerily towards him. not only does he hate the thought of having his classmates gossiping about him, about his family and making even more assumptions about him; but also knows that he'd stand there, paralyzed. incapable of even raising his wand, much less utter such an easy spell like riddikulus. for mattheo, what's ridiculous is his situation; how he'd love and thank the heavens, if he could have such a silly fear like insects, ghosts, or even clowns.
mattheo riddle who grows extremely confident because nothing scares him at hogwarts; after all, his father isn't there— the only thing that makes mattheo riddle tremble is his presence. anything else isn't half as frightening as coming back home to his mother, bellatrix lestrange, and father, voldemort he-who-must-not-be-named.
mattheo riddle who becomes scary and intimidating, so that no one can scare or intimidate him instead. he spent most of his third year at hogwarts practicing on the mirror— a way to turn his beautiful eyes into a dead stare, making sure that the shining glint of his eyes disappears, to become so scary, that no one would dare to mess with him like tom riddle does. or even draco malfoy, who tried to do this back on their first year, bullying mattheo into becoming his friend and follower—, but all of this was before they became genuine friends, along with theodore, lorenzo and blaise.
mattheo riddle who's known by the unhinged brother, less smart riddle— while others, who are aware of tom riddle's tendencies, call him the older psychopath brother, brilliant riddle. such a charming pair of siblings, aren't they?
mattheo riddle who smokes a whole package of cigarettes with theodore nott, when they're on the train back home. for holidays and for summer vacation, in silence, because they're too anxious and nervous to come back home, to leave their (although they're too proud to admit) safe place — hogwarts.
mattheo riddle who respects his older brother, tom riddle, because he thinks that in many ways, tom is like their father sometimes. and that scares him.
mattheo riddle who only learned how to swim and to stop fearing lakes, when his slytherin friends teached him.
( this happened on lorenzo's house, since he invited his friends to spend some days there, during summer vacation. after all, his parents are the less... frightening, in a way, and blaise zabini gatekeeps his mother from his friends, for obvious reasons. besides, lorenzo has the largest pool! upon realizing that mattheo stayed behind while they played in the swimming pool, the boys, for once, didn't turn the situation into a joke. draco stood behind, throwing opinions and dictating that they were doing it wrong— while theodore and blaise stood each by mattheo's side, making sure that he wouldn't get scared if he felt like he was drowning, while lorenzo is in front of him, advising on what to do. it was a mess. a mess that became a core memory of true friendship. )
even so, mattheo hates to go to a point of the lake where he's no longer tall enough to touch the sandy surface— because suddenly he's seven years old again, with tom riddle standing on the edge of the lake, smiling darkly at the sight of his baby brother drowning in the cold water.
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mattheo riddle who, after all of these years, still stares at his older brother with a mixture of resentment and sorrow— secretly, mattheo still wishes to be close with tom. to have a normal brotherly friendship with him, even if they're everything but a normal family. so, mattheo riddle, who envies pairs of siblings whenever he sees them around hogwarts halls, hugging, lightheartedly bullying each other. wishing he could trauma dump shared experiences of his parents with tom, who would've demolished inch after inch of mattheo's pride and feelings, calling him weak.
mattheo riddle who doesn't join draco when he bullies the weasleys. he never defends them either; he doesn't need to, because the redhead siblings stick around for each other. mattheo doesn't know if his heart feels like crying, or ripping apart with a vicious, angry jealousy that he doesn't have that. a sibling that cares enough to take care of him.
mattheo riddle who drinks and drinks and drinks until he passes out, or until he almost throws up his stomach away— rarely accepting any kind of help whatsoever, because he doesn't feel like he deserves it.
because pain and finding out a way to solve things by himself, is what he grew up used to. because his mother is a bipolar, sadistic woman; because his father is too feared by mattheo for him to even dare to consider asking for his help; because his older brother, tom riddle, isn't a pillar he can lean on to— rather, a pillar that would glady fall on top of him, crushing him under debris. he's another person to be feared, and who'd leave mattheo even worse than he already is.
mattheo riddle, who hesitantly accepts lorenzo and theodore's help. because lorenzo is too much of a mother of the group (whenever blaise isn't around, but mattheo doesn't think he'd ever allow the zabini boy to help him either. of course, this happens whenever lorenzo isn't planning his way to another girl's bed either) and by far, the most caring of the boys. or at least, the one who easily shows his worry without a hundred walls surrounding his heart.
and theodore nott, well— mattheo thinks that the term best friend is too corny, so he settles to admit that theo is the person who understands him the most. if he doesn't have tom, he has theo, to sympathize with his shitty situation, because theo's family and hardships are too similar, even though they don't share a last name.
they have matching wounds, inflicted by different people, but similar situations.
and because theodore is awfully moody, sarcastic and would punch mattheo into reason, well— mattheo unwillingly accepts theodore's (forceful) help.
· · ·
mattheo riddle who only ever has deep thoughts when he's throwing up from the alcohol, or becomes self-conscious of himself. of the evilness he provokes, of the unchanging way his fate was decided, as soon as he was conceived in his mother's womb. how he, no matter how he'd like to change, believes that he's a lost cause.
something that's not worth the effort, since mattheo riddle, younger brother of tom riddle, son of bellatrix lestrange and the dark lord himself, must have been born with a vicious evil heart. how could he not, with a family like this?
it must be on his dna. or so he believes.
when he's drunk, puke being wiped out from his lips and alone in the bathroom— this is the only time when mattheo riddle allows himself to pity himself. other than that, he'd scoff at the thought of doing so; because that's a weak thing to do.
and to survive his family, mattheo wouldn't dare to be weak a single day of his life. he might get killed if he allows a moment of weakness around his family. whatever family means, anyways.
⋯ ⋯ ﹒ 🪻 ’
mattheo riddle who's always the first one to start a fight— and never the one to end it. either his friends push him away, or he's held down by some spell casted by one of hogwarts' teachers.
however, he will start a fight with a group of five gryffindors, if they make a nasty comment about mattheo's friends. if they dare to assume, to gossip, to say one mean word about the friends that tolerate mattheo's behavior even on his shittiest days. the first thing he does is grab the last one talking by the collar, so that his fist naturally punches the guy's face. yes, mattheo can keep up a fight with five guys— even though he knows that, as much of a good and violent fighter as he is, there's no way that he won't leave with a few bruises (and bloody knuckles from rashly punching back and forth).
nevertheless, mattheo riddle won't ever allow theodore or his friends to join him, if he's about to have a 1v1. not even to intimidate or make a single threat— mattheo thinks that it's pathetic and coward to do so, which is why sometimes, mattheo doesn't help draco when he puts up a stunt against a single student (or a group that is outnumbered by malfoy's little friends). when draco comes back, mattheo won't scold him— but he won't shut up either, at least making sure that by some miracle, draco understands how coward it is to do that, from the sarcastic comment that mattheo throws with no hesitation.
⋯ ⋯ ﹒ 🪻 ’
mattheo riddle who actually has one of the most beautiful smiles. once his usual dead stare is gone, showing how those dark eyes of his can look so sweet and bright— squinting into half moons, when he truly laughs or smiles genuinely. his smile is one that makes you think that maybe, just maybe, there isn't any evil or meanness to this slytherin boy.
mattheo riddle who is so touch starved, that only a warm gaze from you, is enough to melt him and (at least mentally) get him on his knees. those dark eyes soften and follow every movement of yours— looking like a lost puppy, when you eventually shift your attention to something else, your gaze leaving him. he won't grab you, he won't yell for your attention out of pride— but if you were to look into his eyes, you'd see how mattheo silently hopes to some deity that you'll have your attention on him once again.
mattheo riddle who doesn't know how to be gentle, because he never knew gentle touches, caresses and soft approaches. this man is almost stupid because of this sometimes— mattheo isn't even aware of his own strength, so when he does hurt you unintentionally (by grabbing holding your wrist) and gets scolded about it... he'll genuinely look at you, confused. sure, he'll apologize— fine, sorry!
. . . however, mattheo isn't sure what he did wrong. was it really that hurtful? to him, he was simply holding you, not grabbing...
( because mattheo riddle was never held, only yanked or dragged along. )
mattheo riddle who would love to have people playing with his hair. twirl his curls around your fingers, tug at it (but gently, please! he easily complains at the slightest hint of discomfort!), massage his scalp, caress his dark hair— mattheo melts and for a moment, wonders if sleep does arrive to him this fast at night, like it does now that you're touching him there.
so yes, during classes, mattheo sneakily stands on the door frame— carefully watching where you decide to take your seat, before he marches up to you so he can take the other chair of said desk.
mattheo marches confidently, hands on his pockets and body a little bend to the front; focused on his target: you.
all of his concentration is locked on his goal: your attention for the whole class. and if he's too late, because some annoying girl or asshole with pants got there before him? one glare from mattheo, and they're gone.
mattheo doesn't even bother to take his books; he greets, crosses his arms on top of the table, settles his head there— and if you're too slow to understand what's this whole preparation for, well, mattheo has no problem to make his intentions clear, by (much gentler, this time) grabbing your hand and settling it on his head. among his dark curls.
and if you notice that they look softer and taken care of— well, mattheo won't be catch dead and much less alive saying it. but blaise noticed how mattheo bought a new shampoo, conditioner and a weird bottle that seems to help curly hair like mattheo's.
AND HOW DID AN ALL-IN-ONE SHAMPOO USER LIKE MATTTHEO, KNEW WHAT PRODUCTS TO USE IN WHICH ORDER, FROM DAY TO NIGHT? oh, that was easy; mattheo spent an evening leaning against the entrance of the slytherin common room, watching intently every student that entered or left during that hour of the day. his eyes glared up and down— searching for a slytherin, be it a witch or a wizard, older or younger than him, that has a type of hair similar (if not identical) to his.
finally, a slytherin girl was on her way to hang out with her friends. that is, until mattheo nonchalantly grabs her by the collar of her shirt, right when she innocently passes by him, then drags the girl along with him to a secluded corner of the slytherin common room.
( out of love for life and respect for their well-being, it's safe to say that her friends didn't come to save her. though, props to them, because they kept watching... just in case. of, you know, having to search for help. )
the slytherin girl trembles on her spot, rethinking her life choices; wondering if she had done anything to offend mattheo riddle, the dark lord's son— not the psychopath, the unhinged one. when he bends down, so that he's face to face with her, eyes squinting with his jaw clenched...
she closes her eyes. wondering if she'd be punched or have her hair grabbed to be slammed against the wall. however, after awkward ten seconds pass and her body is still intact, she opens one eye, to see mattheo making a grimace.
a grimace that would be funny if he wasn't so scary. a grimace that seemed to ask, 'what the fuck are you doing?'. which would have been verbalized, mind you, if mattheo didn't have a list of priorities at the moment. he opens his mouth, and this slytherin girl feared to have hallucinated such an innocent, random question.
'which products do you use for your hair?'
( ten minutes later, after having explained her hair routine in detail to mattheo riddle himself, who took notes and hummed for her to keep going, the slytherin girl goes back to her friend group. pale. she doesn't give details— no one would believe her. and she doesn't think that mattheo riddle would like having people know that he's about to spend 100 galleons on hair products to please you. )
౨ৎ please understand that i'm trying my hardest, ♡ ͡
my head's a mess, but i'm trying regardless . . .
🪻 ; . . . fandom : harry potter.
— i noticed that i have a few mattheo girlies enjoying my writing, so! please consider this a little bittersweet drabble for you. once again, tysm for the feedback! ♥︎
the headers + gifs + icons aren't mine. credits to the respective creators ! 🌷
summary: rafe cameron couldn't find peace in his heart and mind ever since you've given him the taste of his own medicine. it was like an old dim torch have lit itself up once again and suddenly his mind was only filled with you. he soon came to a conclusion that perhaps it's time for the both of you to swallow that jagged little pill and make his mistake the start of growth between you.
content: ex!rafe who yearns for reader, subtle angst + fluff + smut, 2k worth of plot/angsty build-up, starting with rafe's pov, exes to lovers, eating out ft. locking your legs around his head & pulling on his hair, unprotected piv; missionary, rafe not pulling out
The break up might seem come off as total ease on his side of the story when seen through your eyes. But Rafe Cameron have found himself in a confusing state where he felt he should go along a path that turned out to not align with his heart's desire at all. He should be happy, right? This was the path his choice have led him to, the fruit of his own decision. But you were right, every bit of you lasted even way after he left.
Perhaps that's why he could even bare a single second with that girl. His mind was constantly attaching the image of you onto her to at least make the relationship less unbearable, creating the illusion that she felt as good and deep as being with you does, that she kisses just as lovingly and passionately as you do, that she loves as messy and true as you do.
He couldn't understand why exactly it was necessary, things started out rather perfectly with her; every touch and words felt true and easy, the relationship stable as ever. Then, it just felt... forced.
"Maybe then you'll realize that you should worry more about how big your ego is and not about how much holes your small dick can fit in."
Oh if only you knew how many times he replayed those words in his mind over and over again, every word processed carefully in his mind to understand even now when he's sat neatly dressed and closely to his lovely girlfriend, who was happily yet calmly explaining the activities of her day, voice soft and mature- calm, while you were fun and messily perfect. Each sentences ever spoken by you banged on his head even more when his lips part and his voice escape his throat, interrupting her with these following cruel words,
"I can't love you."
The gentle smile on her face falters, flinching just a tad from the sudden confession, as if she had been hit, "I don't unders... What are you saying, Rafe...?"
His elbows rest on his thighs, his face resting on his opened palms as he let out a long, rough breath. "I'm saying I'm sorry and I think we should break up..." He slowly said, shaking his head as if he knew how wrong it sounded. "It'll eventually hurt you much more if I don't end it now."
"But... why...? We were doing so well..."
"No. I've ruined everything already. But you don't have to know more than that simple fact."
The guilt twisted his heart, knowing that he have wasted the love a girl like her could have spent on someone actually meant for her. Because he'll never be meant for anyone other than you. Just you, only you, always you.
Before she could even begin to summarize the true meaning of his words and come up with a response, Rafe decided to stand up right away, placing enough bill on the table to at least treat her well for the last chance he's able to, leaning down to press an apologetic peck on her cheek,
"I'm sorry." He mumbled against her skin one last time before walking away, refusing to stick around and watch the first tear roll down her cheek, "I'm no good."
There was only one woman able to truly occupy his mind all to herself. That woman will never not be you. No matter how hard he tried to push the thought of you aside, it's like your face was already carved permanently onto his brain anyways. A sickening curse, or at least he thought so. Perhaps it was a blessing after all, opening his eyes about the blind-love relationship he was in.
It was only a month since that night when you put him in his rightful place; under you.
That single month consisted 30 days of Rafe Cameron being haunted repeatedly by someone not even dead, as ridiculous as that may sound. 30 days of Rafe Cameron learning how so fucking flawed he is, learning that he will never be perfect nor complete, always dragged by every little idiotic mistake he made up till this point as he drives his truck over to the one place he never thought he used to feel more at home in, instead of Tannyhill.
He figured that being perfect was just impossible, no matter how much one tries to cover up a mistake. The closest thing to feeling the bliss of perfection was just to be with you. His soul would never feel completed without yours.
"Shit..." Rafe let out a long breath as he walk up to your doorstep, a lump in his throat that he just couldn't swallow, just like he couldn't learn to swallow away the mistakes of his past, "Right... Here goes everything..."
His knuckles barely brushed the wooden surface of the door before the door opened right away, revealing your fucking gorgeous figure standing in the doorway, raising an eyebrow and tilting your head to the side in that judging way you always do. Oh god, he missed you
Rafe stood there with his fist still hanging in the air, "...Hi." He let out hesitantly, not even trying to cover up the way his eyes roam the features of your face that he wish he could've trace with his fingers instead of just his gaze.
You found yourself leaning against the doorframe of your front door, eyeing him up and down as a tired sigh managed to escape you, as if you were already drained out from just being near his presence.
"What can I do for you this time, Cameron?" You ask, clicking your tongue, "Want me to suck your dick again because your prissy girlfriend wouldn't?"
He couldn't help but scoff, always finding himself amused yet annoyed by your absolutely unbearable sassy mouth that always have been able to rile him up so easily. "Not my girlfriend."
You snorted, "Let me guess, engaged?"
"Broke up."
Hearing his answer, you paused and looked at him in surprise, eyes searching for any signs whether he's lying or not, carefully scanning him. But it was clear as daylight in his low, quiet voice that he have in fact broken up with that girl.
Without waiting for you to say another word, he stepped forward just once, a step right outside your door. "Can we... talk?" He gruffly mumbled, as if embarrassed by the question he asked, even more when he added, "Inside?"
Those were the three words you were convinced Rafe Cameron would never use, especially to you. Those three simple words usually indicates mature and resolving conversation, something you doubt the two of you could even have.
"Better make it worth my time."
"I will. I promise."
And once again, Rafe Cameron have caught you off guard. He was never the type to simply say "I promise", at least as far as you knew. What else have changed?
So soon enough, you found yourself sitting across Rafe in your living room, you on your couch and he on an armchair. The sight was so familiar yet so strange at the same time. You didn't even think a word would be spoken again between the two of you after that night.
Rafe let out a small breath, one that may sound like a frustrated breath to you but truly a nervous breath to him. "So... I've been thinking about-"
"Thinking? That's new." You snorted.
He scowled at you, rolling his eyes, "Can I just speak for once?" He grunted, hands running through his hair messily, hinting more and more on how nervous he truly felt at the moment, heart pounding at his chest.
When your lips stayed sealed and silent, he took it as a green light to continue speaking, shoving inside his pocket to stop his fingers from fiddling with his ring, "23 minutes." He blurted out, "That's how long I've been single. That's how long it's been since I left her." He said, eyes never once leaving yours. "And I'm fucking telling you, it was you that was on my mind. Fuck, even before I broke up with her."
His words of confession, as sudden as they sound, they also sound terrifyingly raw and genuine. Like it came straight from the deepest pit of his mysterious heart. Somehow, it scared you to death. Perhaps because you've been so sure that you were never gonna fall back into his arms, which you'll never let go of once you melt into them.
"Yeah? That so?" You scoffed out, tilting your chin up as if to intimidate him, "What am I supposed to do with that information?"
Rafe stared at you with his eyebrows raised, lips parted. He was expecting a different reaction. One that'd show that maybe there's still an ounce of care deep inside the heart he knew he broke when he carelessly replaced you with her. "What are you- Jesus fucking Christ, I'm trying to tell you how I feel! Spill my soul out or however that saying goes!"
And yet you sat still, holding your own emotions back too good that he almost thought there were barely any feelings left behind your eyes as you stared back at him quietly yet so gorgeously.
"Answer me! Shout at me!" He raised his voice, standing up from the armchair, "Tell me, for fuck's sakes, why do you keep haunting every move I make?! Why do I see you in every corner I glance at?! Why do I need you so bad?!" His hands are back to his hair now, fingers gripping the strands tightly this time, breathing roughly and stepping over to the couch, hoovering above you.
Rafe Cameron might be one big asshole, but damnit he'll never lose the ability to make your heartbeat race even just a bit.
"You tell me, Rafe." You answered, leaning back on the couch, "Does it make sense to miss something you threw away carelessly for a walmart version of the same thing?"
"No! Shit, I know what I did, okay?!"
"So you were aware of the decision you made, right? You did it all with a clear head?"
His hands now drag down his face frustratingly, groaning. "I can never do or say anything right, can I?" He grumbled, "Are you even listening to me? Can't you tell that the truth is being bared right in front of you?" He asked while throwing his arms around, narrowing his eyes which were filled with so much anger and desperation towards you.
That flicked off the last bit of self-control you had left, now standing up as well. "How am I supposed to tell if all you ever done to me were lie, lie, and lie?!" Your voice finally raised as well.
That, somehow, made Rafe let out a breath of relief, letting him know that you, at some point, still cared enough to be riled up over the bad memories. "I never lied." He say, voice low, "I replaced you like an idiot, sure, but I never lied during our time together."
"Then how would I know you're not lying now?"
Then, without hesitation, he grabbed one of your hands and led it to press and lay flat against his chest, specifically where his heart is, his own bigger hands covering over yours. In which underneath your palm, you felt his heartbeat thud fast and hard, the silence also allowing you realize he have been breathing roughly, as if he had been running a marathon.
When your eyes flickered up back to his, you see his glassy blue eyes. Looking at you, tracing your features intently with dilated pupils.
"Please." He breathed, "I fucking love you."
Your eyes opened wide, taken aback as his voice just let out the one sentence you didn't think he'd even remember what the meaning is.
"I'm a rich stupid asshole who have all the money in North Carolina to get anything I want." He blurted out, "Well right now, I only want one thing that I can never be good enough to have, but I'm telling you– shit, begging you, to let me learn." Both of his hands held your hand tighter, gripping so tightly as if he was afraid you'd slip right through his fingers. "Let me learn how to be a man. To be your man."
For awhile, there was only silence between the two of you. Two lost souls that have only known rage and hatred blindly for too long, forgetting to look for the right path– which would only lead them to each other again. For only in his arms would she find home, and in hers only would he melt like putty.
Leaning closer than you already were, your lips captured his in a soft, gentle kiss. Your lips pressing against his so carefully as if you'd ruin this right away if you let go of your need for him completely.
But Rafe Cameron was a difficult and wild man. Loving him was meant to be one leap of faith.
The moment Rafe's hands held your cheeks, you instinctively wrapped your arms around his neck while he leaned down to deepen the kiss. "You don't know how badly I need you," He mumbled against your lips, his own lips trailing wet kisses around your face, making sure every inch of you know just how much he loves you, "I can't sleep without thinking of—"
"Fuck's sake, just shut up and prove it to me."
You sighed against his cheek, heart jumping when you heard his rough, breathless chuckle as he slowly led you to rest on the couch, laying you flat on your back.
And even when he felt like his cheeks were burning, he still had the time to give you a cheeky grin, "Impatient?" He asked while his lips were on your neck, painting red, loving marks on your skin while his hands roamed through your body.
Soft, pleasure-filled noises were pulled out of your throat, the feeling of his hands were already hypnotizing enough, barely making out the fact that he had pulled your shirt off your head. "Once a jerk, always will be a jerk, hmm?" You grumbled.
"Yeah? Well, this jerk's in love with you." Rafe softly spoke, lips now trailing more kisses down your body, from your chest, your stomach, and down to where the waistband of your pants is, "May I?" He oddly enough asked politely, almost careful with your body as if you were made of fine china.
You nodded, needing not a single second to think about your answer, even whispering back a "please?"
A gentle smile rested on his lips while his fingers hooked themselved into the waistband of both your pants and panties, pulling them both down at once, revealing your soaked and eager cunt.
"Oh god..." He groaned quietly, laying a kiss on your inner thigh before heading straight for your heat.
Unlike the way you remembered him, he was strangely cautious and tender with his mouth. However, it didn't change a thing about how good his tongue works on you, flicking your clit just at the right pace and passionately mouthing at your pussy, the sound of his desperate grunts muffled by your cunt and sending vibrations up your body.
"Rafe..." You managed to let out in a whimper, fingers tangled in the mess of his hair, gripping and pulling at strands without even considering how it'll only make him groan even louder against your cunt.
You could feel his slick tongue sliding in and out of the entrance of your pussy, hungry and yearning. All Rafe ever wanted was to taste you on his lips again, for your sweet release to wash away the taste of her that still lingered bitterly on his lips. As much as you could explain, he was quite literally making out with your pussy, holding both your ass-cheeks in both of his palms while he only dunk his head deeper in-between your legs that have now trapped his head tightly between them.
Feeling high as you grind against his tongue, your back arched while your head was throwned back against the pillows you had on the couch. Your legs were locking his head in even tighter from the escalating pleasure, it barely came to mind how terribly difficult it must be for him to breathe at the moment.
Rafe soon leaned back to catch his breath, shooting you a toothy grin along with a rough chuckle, yet it was all love and surrenderness in his eyes. "Let go for me, would you?" He asked quietly, "Please just let me taste you." His tongue swept over his bottom lip right before he dived right back into your pussy, lapping at your soaked slit even faster now.
"Fuck!" You moaned, pulling at his strands even harder now to the point there weren't much space left between his face and your heat, nose mushed against your sensitive clit, "Rafe please..." you gasped out, breath ragged and hitched while mindlessly mumbling, "more, more, more..."
And so he did. He gave you more than you could ever imagine. He lapped at your folds, sucked on your clit, and ate you out like a mad man who have suffered from great starvation and thirst in a desert, yearning for you, the oasis that will keep him alive with all the he needs.
He kept on going till you came undone right on his tongue, still grinding against his face while louder moans were escaping your lips. You could hear the sound of Rafe slurping up the juices that was still oozing out of your cunt, not letting a single drop go to waste.
"God, you're so perfect..." He breathed, the back of his hand coming up to wipe away the mess you've made on his mouth, "You're all I ever needed... I know that for sure now..." he mumbled as he took off his shirt before leaning down to capture your lips in a kiss again.
This time, the kiss became sloppy and messy, his tongue numb and still haunted by the taste of your sweet release. Both of you were already breathless just from him eating you out, panting and moaning into each other's mouths, hands exploring each other's body like treasure maps. It all felt so familiar, so right.
Those fingers of yours grip onto his shirt, pulling it over his head and throwing it away to the floor of your living room, "I'll never ever let you think anyone else can have you..." You sighed as you press kisses onto his chest, trying to repay what he had done for you just a second ago, "Let me..."
Yet the moment your fingers tug on his waistband, his fingers wrapped around your wrist, stopping you all of a sudden. You look up at him, hazy eyes widening in panic, wondering why he stopped you– wondering if he changed his mind.
Rafe shook his head, forehead coming down to rest on your own. His eyes never once left your own, not even when he gently lay you back down on his back. "Not today, okay?" He whispered quietly, "Let me make you feel good... Let me worship you..." He cooed, pecking the palm of your hand before pinning them up above your head with one hand, his other hand busy with the task of taking off his pants, his eager cock awaiting to be set free from the prison-like boxers and jeans.
The whole living room already felt like it was boiling, filled with heat and intimacy. It only got hotter when Rafe leaned down, body laying ontop of yours just lightly, lips beside your ear as he whispered with a kiss to your earlobe, "Just lay there and be gorgeous for me, please? I just need to let you feel my love."
You nodded wordlessly, still catching your breath. Your mind was fogged, the only thing you could think of was Rafe; his blue, vulnerable eyes. His now messy hair. The little groans he'd let out. His bricked up length that you've stolen glances at, your entrance already calling for him to fill you up already.
Then, with his hand guiding the tip, his dick was finally pushed through your folds and into the warmth of your pussy.
"Ah shit, baby..." Rafe groaned, eyebrows creased in pure delight of the feeling of you wrapped around his length yet again.
The hand he used to pin yours above your head finally let go, giving you the freedom to touch him however and wherever you wanted, in which one of your hands went to thread your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck and hold onto his back with your other one.
His thrusts started out gentle and painfully slow, taking his time to memorize the way your walls would clench around his girthy length, savoring the feeling and the reactions you've given him. Once he became impatient enough, he pulled out just enough before thrusting his full length all the way back into you, pulling loud, satisfied moans from both of you.
"Gosh, Rafe..." you whined, back arching and pulling him closer to you. Your legs now wrapped around his hips, silently encouraging him to thrust deeper into you. "Don't... don't stop..."
Those hips of his moved faster as the seconds pass by, his breathing loud and ragged in your ear, arms around your waist tightly while helping you move your hips against his. "I can never stop, baby, never..." he groaned, palm moving to hold your hips and thrust even harder.
Your living room was anything but quiet now, filled with a harmony between your united moans, the tiny noises coming from your couch due to all the movements, and the sound of skins meeting roughly each time his hips meet yours.
As if it couldn't get anymore better, one of Rafe's hands slid between the two of you, fingers finding your still sensitive clit from the previous orgasm. He rubbed rough circles onto the sensitive bud recklessly, enjoying the way your eyes rolled to the back of your head and a louder and breathier moan escaped your lips.
The pleasure was only escalating more and more, you barely even realized that you had dragged your nails down Rafe's back till he let out a loud groan into your neck.
"I love you." You blurted out, gasping when he slammed his cock deep in you, hitting all the right spots.
He leaned closer into you, arms now back around your waist to truly hold you instead of just your hips. "You do?" He asked, blue eyes begging you to say yes.
So tender with his words and gaze yet so mean with the way he thrust into you mercilessly.
"I do, Rafe... f-fuck!" You moaned, "I love you!"
"I love you so much more, baby." He grunted, lips attaching themselves onto yours, muffling the moans from both of you as you both feel that familiar tingly feeling rushing through your bodies. "So close, so close.." he mumured into your mouth.
"Please cum with me..." you had whined.
Then, with just a few more thrusts, Rafe shoved his cock deep into your pussy, his lips parting with a short hitched breath. You could feel his load being shot right into you along with your own orgasm crashing at the same time, back arching off your couch to the point your chest and his were pressed together, both hands greedy with each other's bodies while your mixed fluids now leak slowly between your bodies and pooling onto the fabric of the couch.
"Shit..." you whined, face red and eyes droopy, "You're cleaning my couch right after this..." you say softly, grinning just weakly.
Rafe managed to let out a small chuckle, breathless and humming as he carefully pull his length out of your hole, his body now resting completely ontop of you, head on your chest just like the way he loved it.
"I'd do anything for you." He whispered, looking up at you and brushing your hair away from your face, "I'll never make the same mistake as I did back then. I promise."
Your eyes softened, almost forgetting about the whole point of this, "I think we'll make it work this time, Rafe..." you quietly responded.
He shook his head, taking your hand and pressing kisses onto your knuckles. "I know we'll make it work." He said, confident and sure. "We'll learn together. Every mistake I make will be yours to correct. Every fury you feel will be mine to soothe."
Rafe placed your hand above his heartbeat once more, which still pounded slightly fast against his chest. Yet it was all you needed to listen to to learn how love sounded like.
𝙋𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜: frat!Rafe Cameron x innocent Pogue!reader
𝙒𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: dark, dubcon, unhinged inner monolog from rafe, misogynistic rhetoric, classist rhetoric (in the context of kooks, pogues etc), daddy kink, innocence kink, loss of virginity, smut (oral + p in v), oral (female receiving, fingering, MAJORR size kink, spanking, daddy issues, condescension, babying, dirty talk, swearing, very unbalanced power dynamic, which rafe gets off on, slut-shaming, derogatory name calling, manipulation, college au, reader is a freshman and rafe is a senior, 18+ only, mdni
𝙎𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮: Rafe bets his friends he can fuck you in one week.
𝘼/𝙉: It's here! The full fic. Word count: 23k. Please let me know what you think - reblogs and feedback mean the world to me. Read the warnings before you read, and enjoy!
“Her.”
Rafe looks over at the Pogue girl Topper’s nodding at and smirks. “Been there, done that. Pick a different one.”
Topper scoffs, “She literally moved here last week.”
“And?”
“OK… What about her?” He brazenly points at a leggy blonde that stands out in her group of Pogues.
“Last weekend at the beach party you threw. She gives good head.”
“Jesus Christ dude, is there anyone left??”
Rafe chuckles, leaning back and stretching his legs out while his friends stare at him in disbelief. He sometimes wonders if they know how stupid they look. Like followers. His followers. Hanging on to his every word, oohing and aahing at whatever he did. Making him feel like he was a God among men. Which he may as well be, considering that’s how most people at this college looked at him.
That’s why he loved fucking the Pogue girls. Almost exclusively. There was something about the power imbalance. Most of them came from poor families, looked at Rafe like he was a God. It didn’t take much for them to spread their legs for him, impressed by his power, turned on by his wealth. Hell, even the Kook girls were the same. But Rafe hardly ever took them home. They were spoiled sluts who hung around the country club wasting their lives and spending their daddies” money. Yeah, they didn’t pique his interest at all. Not as much as the Pogue girls who worked at the country club. In their little housekeeping outfits, deliberately teasing him in the hopes he’d take one of them home.
Yeah. It was safe to say Rafe Cameron had a type.
“Well, what about that one?”
Rafe rolls his eyes, about to say that yes, he had indeed fucked whatever girl Topper was pointing at this time. Because he’d fucked all of them. Because of who he was. Because of what he was capable of. Because of the family he came from. Because of what being a mere notch on Rafe Cameron’s bedpost meant to every single slut he’d ran through.
Except he doesn’t. Because Topper is pointing at you. And he’s never seen you before in his life.
You look so out of place, despite the fact you’re with a group of Pogues. And he knows you’re a Pogue. Like a shark with blood and a predator with its prey, he can always tell. And yet you stand awkwardly on the outskirts of the group, smiling yet not quite participating in whatever conversation is going on. You push your glasses up, straighten your skirt, pretend to look for something in your book bag. You’re shy. Self-conscious. Insecure. Rafe smiles.
“Who is she?”
“Aha! You haven’t slept with her!” Topper cheers like he’s won the fucking lottery. Sometimes Rafe wonders why he’s friends with him.
“Who is she?” He repeats like he hasn’t even heard him.
“She’s the new chick,” Kelce says, “except she’s not exactly new in town.”
“I heard she was home-schooled,” Topper snickers, “That’s why she’s fucking weird and has no friends. Even the Pogues don’t want her.”
Rafe observes you some more. Watches the bright smile on your face, how you try to chime in to whatever conversation the girls around you are having. They nod at you politely yet dismissively. They’re not your friends. As Topper said, you don’t have any.
Insecure. Weak. Vulnerable.
He licks his lips.
“How long?”
“Huh?”
He runs a hand through his hair impatiently, “How long do you wanna bet it takes me to get her into bed?” He nods in your direction.
Topper raises an eyebrow.
“You can’t be serious, man. She looks like she doesn’t even know what sex means.”
Kelce laughs, “She looks like she can’t even say it. Like she spells it out every time, s-e-x.”
They’re right. You look very innocent, but all that does is incense him. Rafe’s used to easy sluts who spread their legs after one drink or a ride on his motorbike. But you. He can tell you’d be harder to crack. But there’s something so fucking hot about how naive you look. How shy and sweet you are. How ruined he could leave you. Splayed out on his bike, legs quivering, all sweaty limbs and shy pants after he’s done having his way with you—
“How long?” He repeats, not in the mood to waste time and already getting hard picturing innocent little you with your tiny skirt flipped up and his head buried between those soft thighs, your sweet little confused cries because no one’s ever touched you like that, and—
“A week.”
“Mm?”
“A week to fuck her. With proof.”
Rafe stands up and stretches, licking his lips as he watches you retreat to a small bench, getting your little book out and burying your nose in it.
“That’s too easy. What do I get when I do it?”
“If you do it, you can decide what you get then. But as I said before, we’d need proof.” Kelce says.
“Yeah, proof,” Topper echoes, a glint in his eye as he looks over at you, “Pictures.”
Rafe shrugs, already kind of bored, “Sure.” He’d taken plenty of pictures of his conquests in the past. Him and his boys had a group chat where they shared that kind of shit. And the idea of taking pictures of you in such a vulnerable position gets him harder than anything. Sweet little freshman baby fucked dumb by the big bad senior, posing for pictures afterwards all teary-eyed but submissive. They all got submissive for him, even after he was done using them.
You flip a page, completely engrossed in your book and looking every bit the naive baby he’s imagining you as. A little lamb who has no idea she was in the presence of a fucking lion. And he bets you’re a virgin. Homeschooled with no friends? Forget virgin, you probably haven’t even had your first kiss. And that gets him so fucking horny, right there in the middle of the campus courtyard. The idea that you’re so pure, so untouched. So happy, so unassuming. A little fucking baby.
He’d have fun ruining you.
***
“You sure do love reading, don’t you?”
It’s the following day when Rafe finds you sitting by yourself in the corner of the library, with nothing but your book to keep you company.
You jump like a little mouse, pushing your glasses up your nose and gulping up at him, fear briefly flitting across your face before you force a small smile. And he likes his girls jumpy, he likes them slightly afraid of him. He knows he has that effect on people in general, but he wonders who’s told you about him.
“Sorry, were you — uh — were you talking to me?”
Rafe smirks, “Yes. Who else would I be talking to?”
“Oh, uh, I’m not sure…”
“It was a rhetorical question.”
“Oh, of course,” you look embarrassed, and he watches you squirm under his gaze for a good few seconds. “I… um…”
“You find books more interesting than people?”
“Huh?”
He chuckles, pulling up a chair next to you, noting how your eyes widen as he takes a seat, “Why are you always reading?”
“I don’t know, I guess I just like to read,” you shrug.
“You sure do.” He wonders if he could get you to read your precious book out loud while he went down on you, licked your virgin cunt while you cried because it felt too good. And then he’d spank you if you stopped or messed up a word, and like a stupid dumb fucking baby, you’d sniffle and wail through each paragraph, hold back your moans while he went to town on your little pussy till you wet yourself, and he’d suck your—
“Are you making fun of me?”
You pose the question so innocently— hell, you practically whisper it, and it knocks Rafe straight out of his daydream to find you blinking up at him with Bambi eyes.
“What?”
You bite your lip, “I’m sorry, it’s just that I’m not so good at understanding if someone’s joking or not. I’m not… uh… I’m not used to being around so many people, and it makes me nervous and I can’t tell if someone’s being genuine or if they’re making fun of me.”
“You were homeschooled, huh?” Rafe stares at you intently, noting how you play with your hair nervously, and your fingers tap against the hard cover of your book. How you can barely make eye contact with him for longer than a few seconds.
“Yes. My mom taught me and my older brothers.”
Rafe nods, taking his time to answer. He looks at you some more, enjoying how it makes you uncomfortable. You fidget nervously, and it amuses him every time you peek up to meet his gaze before a look of alarm crosses your face and you divert your eyes down to your book once more.
“You’re a shy little thing, aren’t you?” He says finally, chuckling at the embarrassed look on your face.
“I… I guess. I do want to make friends but it’s pretty overwhelming.”
“I’ll be your friend.”
He does a good job of hiding his predatory, wolfish smile. And he wonders if you can see the glint in his eye as he mentally undresses you. You look so small and weak, especially compared to him. Gullible too. Too innocent for your own good, the way you gape up at him as if he’s offered you gold on a platter. It makes him want to stroke your soft cheek, pat it and tell you what a good little girl you are. For being so naive.
You shake your head as if trying to straighten out your thoughts. He can tell, he has that effect on women too.
“Oh, you don’t have to, I uh—”
“Rafe Cameron?! In the library?!” An annoying, high-pitched voice shrieks, making you jump as it cuts you off mid-sentence.
It’s a kook girl. A cheerleader. Rafe can’t be fucked to remember her name but he’s sure he’s hooked up with her. She’s one of those ones, the ones that hang out at the country club and try to catch his eye. One of the desperate sluts who thinks if she spreads her legs enough times for him, that he’ll make her his girlfriend or some stupid shit like that.
“Rafe, what are you doing here?” The cheerleader sidles up to him, her hand on his chest and batting her lashes in his direction in some pathetic form of seduction. She ignores you, and you shrink into yourself, hastily burying your face in your book.
“What do you want?” He asks, not quite as interested in her answer as he is in continuing to stare at you. How you try to act like you don’t care, but he knows you’re hurt from being ignored, from being treated like you’re invisible.
“Nothing. Just wondering what you’re up to.” But she flashes him her fuck me eyes, her nails scraping suggestively against his chest. Rafe yawns, considering it. He has time before his next class (not that he could be fucked to turn up to class half the time) and his dick’s hard from talking to you. And since you probably don’t even know what the word blowjob means…
“Go in there,” he nods at one of the private study rooms in the far end of the library, and the fucking slut nearly trips as she scrambles to obey him. Rafe takes his time, stretching his legs before slowly getting up.
You peek up from your book, “Are you guys gonna go study in there?”
He could’ve bust a nut then and there from how fucking innocent you sound. Batting your little eyelashes at him like you’re trying to seduce him without even realising it. He knows he’ll be thinking about you, weepy and on your knees, while the kook girl blows him. Fuck, and if he plays his cards right, he’d have you by the end of the week. And he always plays his cards right.
“You could call it studying.”
You nod, “OK, well, goodbye then.” You look back down at your book, but risk a glance up at him again, which he finds very amusing.
“What’s your name, homeschool?”
You tell him.
He sounds it out, before shooting you one last smile, “Well, I’ll see you soon. Won’t I?”
You give him a puzzled look, but it’s replaced by your usual wide-eyed Bambi stare when he pats your hand, his thumb lingering, stroking your skin. He wonders if you’ve ever even touched someone of the opposite sex before. Judging by how your breath hitches softly, he doubts it.
Fuck. He can’t wait to ruin you. Play the slow game and enjoy that sweet virgin snatch before any other man ever could.
That’s what he’s thinking of when he’s got the cheerleader on her knees in front of him. That sweet little look on your face, the look of curiosity mixed with shyness and that little hint of indignation. Fuck, he wants to ruin you. And he would. With proof.
***
Day two. Rafe finds you walking down the hallway, your books clutched to your chest and eyes trained to the floor. Cutest little skirt making your perky ass pop, winking at him enticingly with every step as if you’re deliberately seducing him. Makes him want to slap your cute little ass, reprimand you for teasing him and half the men on campus without even realising it. He wonders what you’d say if he just did it. Spanked you in front of everyone. You’d probably start blubbering like a little baby. He has to forcibly stop picturing it before he gets uncomfortably hard.
You’re alone. As usual.
“Hey, homeschool,” he falls into step beside you, eyebrow raising in amusement when you don’t slow down nor look at him.
“Oh, h-hello, Rafe.”
“What’re you up to today?”
“Nothing, just going to my next lecture.”
He grabs your wrist, watching as your breath hitches, and yet you still don’t look at him. Damn, what had gotten Bambi so scared?
“You’ve got time to talk to me, don’t you?” He asks, but it’s not really a question. And you know it, judging by how you swallow harshly.
“I’m so sorry, I don’t want to be late—” You attempt to tug your little hand out of his grasp but you’re so small and weak that it barely has any effect.
“C’mon, homeschool. That’s no way to treat your one and only friend.”
He’s walks you into a corner, and he likes how you gape at the wall before turning and looking up at him. He’s so much taller than you, bigger than you in every single way.
“Rafe, I…” you sigh, shifting from one foot to the other, “My friends said some things…”
“Friends?” You don’t have any.
“Some of the girls I know. They saw us talking yesterday at the library and they…” you sigh, “They said you were probably just playing a joke on me.”
Fuckin’ jealous pogue bitches.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yes. They said there’s no way you’d talk to me for any other reason apart from as a joke. And they…” you bite your lip, looking so cutely distraught and it goes straight to his dick. “They said some other things… about you.”
Of course they fuckin’ did. Always talking behind his back, but never to his goddamned face. Nothing but a bunch of jealous, gold-digging whores.
He doesn’t say anything, just merely looks at you as if he expects you to tell him. And he knows you will. You’re too innocent to keep secrets.
“They said that you… that you’re scary sometimes.”
Rafe remains impassive, waiting for you to continue.
“That you… that you pick on a lot of us Pogues. E-Especially the boys. That you and your friends bully them.”
He snorts. Bully. What a juvenile word. Sure, he pushed the dipshit Pogues around here and there. They deserved it for all the trouble they ran around town causing, disrupting the natural order of shit. And he could fuck their girls better than they ever could. Especially that fuckin’ idiot JJ Maybank…
“They also said that… never mind.” Again, you try to tug away from him but to no avail.
“Tell me.” He likes how you struggle under his scrutinising gaze.
“It’s… it’s not appropriate.”
“Say it. Now.”
You lower your voice, “They said you like to use the girls. The pogue girls. Th-That you have a kink for them.”
The scandalous words have hardly left your mouth before you duck your head down as if embarrassed. God, you were so fucking innocent. Rafe wonders how he should play this.
“Huh. Is that so?”
“Y-Yeah. One of the girls I talk to… She said that you…” you swallow, biting your lip, “that you’ve been with her and all her friends too. That you tell them all the same thing but it’s always a lie and you just end up using them.”
Rafe nods, “Hmm.”
“I’m sorry, Rafe, but I don’t think we should—“
“That’s funny. I thought you were smart. You know, with all your books and the glasses and shit.”
You blink, “What?”
He shrugs, “I didn’t think you’d go ahead and pass judgement on someone without even getting to know them first.”
“It’s not that–”
“I mean, here I am, wanting to be friends with you. And I’ve been nothin’ but nice, haven’t I?”
He’s still got you backed into a corner, and he watches as you flinch when he emphasises his words. He knows people get intimidated by his intensity, but there’s nothing he hates more than people talking shit behind his back. Especially low-life Pogues. And he likes how scared you look right now, pouty lips all downturned and alarm in your eyes.
“I asked you a question, homeschool.”
“Yes, you’ve been nothing but nice! It’s just, I heard all these things, and–”
“And you chose to believe them.” He steps back abruptly, “I’ll see you around, I guess.”
He walks away, about to count to three in his head but you beat the count before he can even begin.
“Rafe, wait! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to judge you.”
He stops, allows you to catch up.
“You’re right, I…I shouldn’t listen to other people.”
“You shouldn’t.” Rafe agrees, easily taking your heavy textbooks from where you’ve been balancing them in your arms. You gape, but he just continues smoothly: “Where’s your next class?”
You tell him, “But you don’t have to walk with me or anything–”
“I’m your friend, homeschool. That’s what friends do.”
*
Day 3. You’re eating your lunch on a bench outside all by yourself. Rafe’s heading to his car with his friends. They usually cut classes most days to hit the beach or the country club. Rafe doesn’t see the point of college anyways, not when he was poised to inherit all of his father’s businesses, money and property. And with the ideas he had, he’d expand tenfold on whatever Ward was doing now, make a shit ton more money than his old man ever did. That would show him…
”How’s the bet coming along, Rafe?” Topper asks.
“Wait till the end of the week.” Is all Rafe says. He doesn’t need to give progress reports to his dumb fuck ass follower friends.
“That means he’s nowhere near cracking that virgin pussy.” Kelce chuckles. “No worries, brother. She looks like she’s got a stick up her ass anyways. Not loose like the rest of the Pogue whores.”
He ignores them as they laugh. But they’re right. You’re not like the rest of the Pogue girls. They’d grown up wild, promiscuous, loose. Trained to catch the attention of a rich Kook like himself, filled with self-serving motivations to marry into money. But he can already tell you’re different. With your cute little outfits and respectful, quiet demeanour. You look like you’d fit in where he was from.
Too bad he was only going to fuck you before discarding you like he did the rest of them.
“I’ll catch you guys later.” He says, making a beeline for you.
“Hey,” he chucks you under the chin, smirking when you jump.
“Oh, hey Rafe.” You look beyond his shoulder, “Your friends are all leaving.”
“Yeah. The waves are good this time of day.”
You gape, “But don’t you have classes?”
He takes a seat next to you, making sure to stretch out while you shrink into yourself. Still so nervous around him. He snickers, “You gonna tell on us?”
You look aghast, “No! I would never–”
“I’m just kidding, homeschool.”
“Oh,” you look embarrassed, “Sorry. Sometimes I–”
“Can’t tell if someone’s joking or not,” Rafe completes, “I remember. I’ll be more straight up with you.”
You nod, and he can tell you’re trying to think of something else to say. But you’re too nervous, too awkward. And so you just bury your head in your book again, all while he watches you. You’ve got a bottle of apple juice and a half-eaten sandwich of some kind on the table next to you. Cut up into little triangles. He bets you’ve done it yourself. Fuckin’ cute.
“You dress cute.” He says, and again, widened Bambi eyes stare up at him. He chuckles, “You know, the little skirts and plaid and shit. It’s cute.”
“Thank you.”
“You do it on purpose?” He can’t help but ask, because he wonders if a part of you knows what you’re doing. Knows you’re dressing like a sexy little angel out of his wettest dreams. All little and cute and innocent, so much smaller than him. Weak. All pastel and pretty, like you’d look so fucking sexy on the back of his bike. On his arm. On his dick.
“I don’t know what you mean by that,” you say, sounding every bit as innocent as you look. Damn, homeschool must’ve done a number on you. But he likes how sheltered you sound. It gets him so fucking hard, and a part of him almost feels sorry for how primed you are to be taken advantage of. “I wear my mom’s old clothes, or stuff I find in the charity shops.”
He’d had maids and housekeepers who shopped in places like that. He remembers him and his siblings giving them their old clothes once they’d grown out of them.
He nods, “You look pretty.”
Your breath hitches, and you really don’t know how to respond to that, because you slam your book shut and stand up, “I, uh, I have to go. I don’t want to be late for my next class.”
He watches you leave, distracted by your ass again but not enough to miss the little smile that quirks on your lips as you bid him farewell and walk away.
*
On day 4, Rafe walks up behind you in the busy hallway, pressing his huge hand on your lower back and pushing you into another secluded corner. He smirks when you squeak, but he likes how easily he can push you around because of how weak and small you are.
“Hey.” He told himself he’d take it slow (well, as slow as he could take it in the span of one week) and yet he can’t help but press into you a little bit. It’s innocuous enough, but your eyes widen as per usual, and the feel of your hot little body against his much larger one is enough to give him a boner. It’s how he could easily push you into an empty lecture hall and have his way with you if he so wanted to. Sure, you’d cry and resist at first, but they all gave in in the end. And if someone caught them, he’d pay them off.
Rafe Cameron owned the world. Nothing could stop him.
“Hello, Rafe.” You breathe, and he loves how his name sounds when you say it. He imagines you moaning it when he has you on his lap, pressing you down on his dick while you cry and whimper because it’s too much, it’s too big. But your greedy little virgin pussy would take every inch of his fat dick, and he’d do all the work, of course. You’d be too busy crying, and he’d bounce you up and down on his dick while you grabbed at his arms, his hair, his face. He’d tell you to scrape your nails down his back, leave a fucking mark or two so daddy could remember you.
“Come for a drive with me? I’ll buy you lunch.”
Despite your shyness, a fire flashes in your eyes, “I can buy my own lunch!”
He raises an eyebrow. As if on cue, you lower your gaze.
“Sorry, I mean… thank you for your offer, Rafe. But I can buy my own lunch.”
Surprisingly though, you agree to the drive. And he still has his hand pressed against your back, guiding you out to where his car’s parked. You ogle at it, probably never having seen anything as expensive. He wonders if your family even owns a car, or if you even know how to drive. It would be hot if you didn’t, it made you look even more helpless. In need of someone like him to protect you, take care of you. Someone powerful and wealthy like himself.
“Wow, I’ve never been on this side of the island before!” You say, oohing and aahing as you stare out the window. Rafe’s never seen anyone so easily excited by the neighbourhood he’d grown so used to. But he supposes the mansions, sports cars, country clubs and private beaches would be impressive to anyone who hadn’t grown up with easy access to all of that.
“No?”
“No, but my brother’s friend works there, I think.” You point to the vast golf course at the back end of one of the clubs. “He says the tips are really good.”
Rafe frowns. You were talking to other men? No, not you. You were too sweet, too innocent. He was sure he was the only man you spoke to. Or even if you were speaking to others, he doubts a golf caddy pathetically running after balls would be much competition. And yet, he bristles, wanting to change the subject.
“Do you have a job?” Rafe asks.
You shake your head, “No. I sometimes tutor some kids in the neighbourhood but nothing permanent. I’d love to have a part-time job with proper wages like the country club or library or something, but my family’s kind of protective of me.”
“Mm?” He’s deliberately being quiet, wanting to hear you talk, wanting to learn more about you.
“Yeah. That’s why I was homeschooled. My mom’s scared someone’s gonna take advantage of me.” You pause, before giggling, “It took a lot to convince her to let me apply for colleges, but I think she’s finally starting to see me as an adult who can make my own decisions and protect myself.”
The irony isn’t lost on Rafe, but he finds himself leaning closer. You have this way of talking, so soft and breathy, yet energetic and full of life at the same time. Like you’re a storybook character, like you’re someone out of this world. Like an angel dropped down from heaven and sent just for him. You’re his type to a tee. God, he wants to fuck you so bad.
“What would your mom say if she knew you were out with me?” His hand creeps up to rest on your knee. You’re wearing jeans, which he doesn’t approve of but he decides to give you a pass since it’s windy today.
You don’t notice his touch anyways; you’re too busy pondering over his question. But there’s a glint in your eye, “Sh-She wouldn’t approve. But that’s only ‘cause she doesn’t know you.”
The corner of his mouth twitches, his thumb rubbing circles against the denim of your jeans. “And you do?”
You swallow, finally realising he’s got his hand on you. Surprisingly, you don’t move. It’s almost like you’re frozen, those big fuck me Bambi eyes making a comeback, “Uh…I…We’re friends, aren’t we?”
He smirks, “Yeah. Friends.” His hand creeps up higher, stroking your thigh softly, wishing you were wearing one of your little skirts so he could feel your bare skin. But it’s thrilling anyways, touching your quivering body while you’re defenceless inside his car. He could lock the doors and have his way with you right now. Hell, people outside would get quite the show but it wouldn’t be the first time he’s fucked in public.
Poor little you. Losing your virginity in the front seat of his car. He’d drag you into his lap, bounce you up and down on his cock. But not before making you beg for it first. And you’d cry so fucking bad, because it would hurt. Because he’d promise he’d be gentle but he knows himself, he knows he’d lose control like he always did. Fuck you so goddamned hard, he’d have to lay you down in the backseat afterwards because you wouldn’t be able to stop shaking. Then drive you back to his house, carry you into his bed and have his way with you again. And again. And again.
“Rafe?”
“Yes?”
“You’re not hanging out with me because you feel sorry for me, are you?”
That grabs his attention, “Why would you think that?”
You shrug, “No reason. I just… Well, you have so many friends. I guess I don’t quite understand why you’re hanging out with me.”
“I like you.” He shifts even closer, his hand steadily stroking your leg while you remain stiff, “Do you like me?”
“H-Huh?”
“You heard me, homeschool.” And yet he knows you’re distracted by his fingers tracing shapes on your thigh. Not random shapes, though. It’s his initials. Over and over again. R.C., he wonders if you can tell.
“I, uh, y-ye–” You’re having trouble getting your words out, and it amuses him. He can see you visibly shaking, and he wonders if it’s out of fear or anticipation. Or both. He leans down, bringing his face close to yours.
“I didn’t quite get that.” He licks his lips at how weak and intimidated you look. “Say it again.”
It’s an order, and you clear your throat, shake your head as if to clear your thoughts.
“Yes,” you whisper, as if it’s something scandalous, “Y-Yes, I like you.”
He pulls back abruptly, leaving you gaping at him.
“Let’s get something to eat. I’m starving.”
He buys you a panini from a little artisan bakery, with a strawberry iced tea and a packet of chocolate hearts with a cherry cream filling. You protest at first, unzipping your bag to pay for yourself, but he’d sooner roll over and die than let a woman pay for anything.
“Toss me one,” he says, and you throw a little cherry-filled truffle at him. He catches it between his teeth, and your eyes light up, clearly impressed.
“Wow, that was cool!”
“C’mere, you’ve got a little something…” He grabs your chin gently, pulling you forward before rubbing his thumb against the side of your lip, wiping away a bit of chocolate. “Messy girl.”
Your breath hitches, but you stay still for him like a good little girl. His thumb lingers, and he wants to press it into your mouth, make you suck the chocolate off it. Then tell you he had something else for you to suck on. Push you down and make you warm his cock with your mouth while he drove you back to campus. One hand on the steering wheel, the other pressing your head down, making you take his big cock despite you whimpering and panicking because you can’t breathe.
He rubs your lower lip with his thumb for a moment before pulling away. You clear your throat, snapping out of whatever reverie you’ve been in, straighten up against the seat and put your seatbelt on. You still look like you’re in a daze, however, and he wonders if you’re wet from him wiping your face clean.
“I-uh-we should head back please, if that’s okay?” you say, voice slightly shaky as you avoid eye contact with him. “I don’t want to miss my afternoon class.”
He grins, “You a teacher’s pet?”
That makes you smile, and you shrug shyly. It almost enamours him.
He gets you back to campus on time, and you give him a little wave before you jump out of his car and walk inside. And god, it’s insane how hot you are. Even in your jeans, which have cute little embroidered flowers on the butt. Makes your ass look insane. Like it’s begging to be grabbed, smacked, fucked.
He breathes out heavily through his nose, slumping back against his seat. His dick is uncomfortably hard. God, you didn’t even realise how much you’d teased him tonight. Sitting tight and pretty in the passenger seat of his car, so quiet and pretty. So innocently impressed by Figure 8, and by him. How shy you’d been when you’d admitted that you liked him…
He gets his phone out, blindly texting one of the desperate girls on his phone. He needs a release. And he’d be thinking of you the whole time.
*
On day 5, Rafe tells you to give him your number. From his peripheral, he can see a bunch of Pogues whispering and watching while he takes your phone and puts his number in.
“Have your little friends been talking more shit about me?”
You flinch. He can’t help the intensity of his tone sometimes, and he’s noticed you never swear and, like a jumpy little mouse, probably feel intimidated when he does.
“No, I haven’t really spoken to them in a while.”
Rafe grins, “Yeah?”
“Yes. I’ve been busy with schoolwork.”
He saves his number on your phone before pressing it into your back pocket for you. You gape, eyes darting around to see if anyone saw. He wonders just how prim and proper you are, and how quickly he could get you to come undone once he got you comfortable and behind closed doors.
“You’re not too busy to text me, right?”
You smile, looking down and fidgeting with your binder. He notices you’ve got little stickers on it, like cupcakes and hearts and shit. What a fuckin’ baby.
“Text you? I don’t really– I have to a test tomorrow that I need to study for.”
But he knows you’ll text him. They always did. You weren’t any different.
“What are you smiling at?” Kelce asks, pulling up beside him as Rafe watches you head into your next class.
Immediately, he straightens his face, “Nothing man.”
“You falling for that homeschool freak Pogue?”
He snorts, “You wish. I have standards.”
“You sure about that?”
He whips his head sharply to stare down at his friend, “You want me to repeat myself?”
Rafe doesn’t miss the flicker of fear in Kelce’s eyes. They’d never admit it, but he knows his friends are afraid of him. Of his mood swings, his unpredictability. He doesn’t care. In fact, he prefers it this way. They weren’t like him, they were weak-minded, beneath him. He kept them around because of semantics, because of who their parents were and who his dad was. And because they proved to be minorly useful sometimes when he needed help to get shit done.
All the girls he’d been with had been afraid of him too. When he fucked them, he often lost control. But it turned him on, how they’d swallow their fear in case they offended him, or set him off. Once, he’d fucked a girl who just wouldn’t stop shaking. Sure, he’d showed her his gun right before he’d bent her over, but it was her problem if she was frightened by something as mundane as that.
You weren’t scared of him. Yet. Intimidated, sure. But he’d kept that side of him well under wraps when it came to you. You were too sweet, too pure. And you were a good girl, incapable of crossing him in any form. He didn’t have to scare you to get what he wanted from you. No, you’d give it to him, like the good little girl you were. Naïve, innocent little girl.
*
Rafe: Hey.
Y/N: Hi, Rafe. How are you?
He finds himself smiling at his screen. There’s a party going on downstairs, but Rafe couldn’t care less. It’s the same thing every other night. His friends showing up at his house and bringing along a whole entourage of people he doesn’t give a fuck about. Sarah used to do it a lot before she moved out, invite her fuck ass Pogue friend group into his house as if they were ever welcome there.
Rafe didn’t want any Pogues inside his house. Unless they were girls that he intended to sleep with. But he appreciated it when they showed themselves out once he was done using them.
Rafe: What are you up to?
A minute passes by, then another one. Fuck, he hates that you’re making him wait. What a fuckin’ tease. He wonders for the hundredth time if you’re doing it on purpose. No, not you. You’re too innocent.
Y/N: Nothing, I just finished cleaning my room. Wbu?
It’s insane how the visual of that gets his dick hard in less than a second. The thought of you doing something as domestic as cleaning. The good little college girl, who went home straight after school and spent her evenings dusting and vacuuming or whatever it was that cleaning entailed. Unlike the Kook sluts his friends were probably fucking downstairs. They were pathetic party girls who’d easily spread their legs for a line or two.
He calls you, losing patience with this texting bullshit. He runs a hand through his hair impatiently when you don’t immediately pick up, huffing and gulping down the remaining whiskey in his glass. Slamming it down on his desk when you still don’t pick up. Fucking tease. He grabs a baggie from one of the drawers, prepares a neat line; despite promising himself he wouldn’t do it tonight. Fuck that. Ten seconds have passed; you still haven’t picked up. He snorts it quickly, about to throw his phone out the fucking window, except you choose that moment to pick up.
“H-Hello?”
“Hi,” he sounds slightly breathless, but who the fuck cared. He refills his glass with more whiskey, taking a sip to calm himself down. “Took your time to pick up, huh?”
“Yeah, sorry about that,” you say hastily, “I got distracted.”
He feels a sudden surge of jealousy so violent, he doesn’t know how to act for a moment. Distracted by fucking what?
“The lights went out, so I had to go reset them,” you explain, and he barks out a laugh. Jesus fucking Christ.
“Y-You sound kinda breathless, Rafe,” you say, “Is everything okay?”
“Why wouldn’t it be okay?” He downs his drink and sets it aside before his hand slips down. God, you sound so hot. All breathy and innocent, even just over the phone. “Tell me what you were doing.”
A pause, and then you force out a chuckle, “I told you, I just finished cleaning.”
“What like vacuuming and shit?”
“Yes.”
Over the years, Rafe had slept with a number of maids Ward had hired on multiple occasions. He’d fucked Wheezie’s babysitter a few years ago, the housekeeper too. His father had a knack for hiring hot Pogue girls, and maybe that’s where Rafe’s kink for them started.
He could imagine you working for him – he’d make you wear the sexiest little barely-there maid outfit. You wouldn’t question it because you were too innocent. With your little feather duster, trying to clean except you’d be too small to reach certain areas. Fuck, he wouldn’t last five seconds in the same room as you. And he wouldn’t have to because you’d be his hired help, his property. He’d have you bent over his desk, fuck you so hard till you couldn’t stop shaking, till you were crying like a baby and apologising for not focusing on cleaning all while he carried you up to his bedroom. Locked you up in there so nobody else could see you. His girl. All his.
“Uh, Rafe?”
“I wanted to talk to you,” he says.
A pause.
“Really?” You clear your throat, “Where are you? I can hear music.”
“Shit, yeah. Like, there’s a party or whatever going on downstairs. My friends came over unannounced.”
“Oh.” He can sense a level of dejection in your tone. He bets you’re thinking about it, thinking how it’s just a reminder that he has his own group of Kook friends. And you’d never be one of them. You’d never truly fit in. You were either one or the other. Hell, Sarah had proven that when she’d transitioned into the slums. But maybe there was a way to bring you into his world, a way that would stick.
He has to forcibly shake his head to remind himself you’re just part of a stupid bet.
“I’d rather speak to you than them.”
“That’s not true, Rafe.”
“I like how you say my name.” He’s palming his dick now, knowing he’s treading over the line and could easily scare you off now if he’s not careful. But fuck being careful. He’s never really been careful before in his life. He hasn’t had to be. “An’ I’m serious. I told you, I like you.”
“Rafe, I… I just can’t shake the feeling that–”
“That what?” He spits into his palm before resuming touching himself. And shit, he doesn’t know if it’s the drugs or if it’s really just the sound of your voice that’s got him so goddamned horny. He wonders if you’ve ever touched yourself before. If you even knew how to.
“That you’re just playing a big joke on me. I mean, even the people from the Cut think I’m this weird, homeschooled freak.” You laugh, but he can tell you don’t find it funny, “It’s just hard to believe that you’d want to be my friend.”
“They think I’m a freak too,” he says, being honest for once. “Only difference is they don’t talk shit about me because they know I’d kill them.”
“You’re funny, Rafe.”
You’re too innocent to realise he’s not kidding. Not in the least.
“And if anyone says anything about you, I’ll kill them too. I’m serious.” Fuck, he feels like his dick’s gonna goddamn explode. The thought of protecting you like that, like he was responsible for you. Like you were all cute and helpless and he was the one taking care of shit, the one protecting you. That’s all he’s done his whole life, take care of shit and get shit done. And nobody’s ever fucking appreciated him for it.
“Well, thank you, Rafe. I’ve never had anyone stick up for me like that.”
He likes how you keep saying his name now that he’s told you he likes it when you say it. Means you’d be real good at taking instructions. He can imagine telling you what to do when he finally has you in his bed. Order you to get on your hands and knees. Then he’d spread your cute little ass, eat you from the back while you moaned his name over and over, thanking him for taking care of you, weeping how much you appreciate him, how much he means to you. How much you need him.
“A-Are you still there?”
“Shit, yeah. Yeah, I am.” His dick’s red and painfully hard, and he’s still trying to pump it steadily but now he’s imagining your tight little virgin cunt wrapped around it. Soft like velvet, warm and wet. Pulsating around him. Never had even a finger up there but you’d take his big dick, because he owned you, because he was your protector, because you were too weak and helpless without him, and–
“Could you, uh, fuck, say my name again,” he orders you, not caring in the least if he scares you off.
“Rafe?”
He cums into his fist like a goddamned teenage boy, biting down to keep from making any noise. God fucking dammit, you’d listened again. What a good fucking girl. He wants to tell you that, tell you how good you were for him just now, how obedient and submissive you were without even realising it.
“If you’re busy, it’s okay and you can go,” you say softly.
“No, wait…” he clears this throat, grabbing a bunch of tissues from his desk. He can’t believe you hadn’t caught on to him jacking off. “I wanted to ask you something.”
“Yes?”
“Do you want to come over tomorrow? To hang out?”
“Like, uh, at your house?”
“Yeah.” He needs you in private, needs you on his turf where he can control just about everything. God, was it even about the bet anymore? Or just this newfound fucking irrevocable need to fuck you just for his own personal satisfaction? Maybe both.
“I don’t know, I’ve never been to a guy’s house before.”
That just makes him even more determined to be your first.
“C’mon, it’ll be fun. We can go after your classes finish or whatever, and I’ll drive you home afterwards.”
“Rafe…”
He shuts his eyes for a moment, savouring the sound of your voice. He wonders if he can get you to call him daddy. God fucking dammit, just the idea of that was getting him hard again.
“Look, we’ll order some food, watch TV. Whatever you want. It’ll be fun. And it’s what friends do.”
That last part gets to you. He can tell. He knows how badly you want to have friends. He knows you’ve never had any. Not good, permanent ones like you saw in movies and TV shows. Hell, Rafe’s not sure he himself has real friends. But he doesn’t care. The idea of friendship means nothing to him. He’s best when he’s on his own because nobody else could be trusted. But what is important is having a girl like you in his bed. A girl like you who looks up to him with shining eyes, like he’s your goddamned entire world. A girl he plucked up from poverty and saved, and you’d appreciate him more than anyone in his dumb fucking family ever did.
“Say yes,” he all but orders you, but he already knows the answer before you say it.
“O-Okay, yeah. Yes, that sounds like fun. I’d love to come.”
*
“What do you mean you’re not coming?” Topper frowns, crossing his arms over his chest, “You were supposed to bring the, you know…”
Rafe rolls his eyes, wondering why he’s friends with a fucking loser who can’t even say the word coke. That’s why nobody on the goddamned island wanted to sell to Topper. Hell, even Barry refused to.
“I have plans.” Rafe answers, checking his watch for the tenth time. Your final class of the day was due to end any minute now, and he couldn’t wait to get you into his house.
“What plans? You were gonna help me with Sarah tonight.” Topper was a whiny fucking bitch, but even Rafe had to admit he was a better fit for his sister than that lowlife John B.
“I’m not helping you with shit, man.” He mutters disinterestedly, although he had promised a few nights ago that he’d help him. He’d been high as a fucking kite, though. So it didn’t exactly count. “Look, she’ll get bored eventually when she realises his broke ass can’t provide shit for her. Then she’ll come crawling back.”
Topper shakes his head, “No, Sarah’s not materialistic like that.”
Rafe smirks, “You don’t know her.”
“Well, speaking of broke, how’s it going with that homeschool girl? You guys sure seem to be hanging out a lot.”
“Do you have brain damage, Topper?”
“What?”
Rafe corners his friend against a wall, relishing the immediate fear in his eyes, “I seem to remember you placing a bet a week ago.”
“Well, yeah, but –”
“So why the fuck,” he hits the locker lightly behind Topper’s head, “are you asking me about hanging out with her a lot?”
“Chill, dude. It’s just,” he looks hesitant, scared as he’s barely able to make eye contact, “It’s okay if you like her, you know?”
Rafe feels a wave of emotion, something he can’t quite pinpoint. And that makes him mad, because what the fuck was he feeling? He has to clench his fists by his side to stop from slapping the taste out of Topper’s mouth. Why did him bringing you up irritate him so much? Jesus, reign it the fuck in.
He takes a deep breath and steps back, forcing a chuckle, “You think I’m gonna slum it like that?”
Topper grins nervously, as if Rafe hadn’t had him pinned against a locker like a little bitch just a second ago. He straightens up, “I mean, it’s not exactly a secret what your type is.”
Rafe laughs, and Topper relaxes and joins in after a moment or two. That’s when Rafe slams him against the locker again.
“Get it through your thick fucking skull, Topper. I may fuck a Pogue but I’d never date one. Got that?”
“Yes, okay, Jesus Christ, man.” Topper pushes Rafe off him and backs off, “Do whatever the fuck you want.”
That’s when Rafe starts laughing again. “I will, pussy.”
Topper fucks off after that. Sometimes, Rafe wonders what his deal is. He acted up in front of the rest of the group, then tried to act all sensitive and understanding in private. Like Rafe had time for that shit. And how dare Topper insinuate that Rafe had feelings for you? Hell would freeze over before he ever caught feelings for a Pogue.
He realises a bunch of people are staring at him. Goddamit. Fuck all of them. When he was younger, Ward had sent him to see a therapist once a week. He’d quit going once he’d realised it was everyone else who was the problem, and not him. But one thing the shrink had taught him that had stuck was to breathe slowly and count to ten whenever he felt angry or overwhelmed.
That’s what he’s doing when you arrive.
“Hey, Rafe. I’m sorry I’m late. The professor held me back.”
“Why?” He barks out before he can contain himself. He’s already on edge, and now some dumbass professor is keeping you back in class because you undoubtedly get his old, shrivelled dick hard and you’re too innocent to even realise it.
You blink, “He really liked the essay I submitted last week. He even said he wants to use it as an example for his other classes!”
“That’s great,” Rafe plasters a smile on his face but he’s only half listening, “Let’s go.”
He calms down some as he guides you out of the hallway and toward the parking lot. He almost grabs your hand when it gets a bit too crowded, but remembers himself just in time. He couldn’t be caught holding hands with a Pogue. It was too intimate, and like he’d said to Topper, he’d never let it get to that point with a Pogue. Instead, he places his hand on your lower back and pushes you forward. You smile at him, and it goes straight to his… well, not his dick, surprisingly. But it goes somewhere within him, and he feels it again. Something he doesn’t really recognise or know how to deal with. So he forcibly pushes it back inside himself.
“You look cute,” he says once he’s got you outside and there’s more room to breathe. You look like an angel in the afternoon sunlight, dressed in the cutest little sundress he’s ever seen. It’s this pinkish-orange, like the colour of the sunset, and you’ve got matching ribbons in your hair. Like you’ve really made an effort to get all dressed up just to go to his house.
“Thanks,” you look down as if you’re embarrassed, like you don’t know how to take a compliment, “It’s my mom’s dress.”
“It’s really pretty,” he says softly, before clearing his throat and looking away.
He gets you to his car, lifting you up by your waist and helping you into it. And that turns him on so much, how small and sweet you look. Like a little fairy in his arms. None of the other girls were like you. Not at all. He wonders what you’re wearing underneath, and feels his cock thicken in his slacks with anticipation when he realises he was probably going to find out today.
You don’t say anything when he pulls up into the driveway of his house. Ward had fucked off on some business trip and taken Wheezie and Rose with him so he had the place to himself. That’s how he liked it best, it gave him space to think and breathe without the constant noise of his family. Well, Wheezie was an exception. He didn’t mind her too much.
“Wait here,” he says, getting out the car and walking around to open the door for you. You allow him to lift you out again, this time your hands landing on his shoulders. And it’s fucking insane how that tiny, voluntary touch does things to him that no other girl has ever done before.
Now, he doesn’t think twice before grabbing your hand and pulling you down to the large, ornate wooden double doors. You’re distracted anyways, eyes wide as saucers as you ogle the mansion that Rafe’s never thought twice about. But he reckons it’s a step or two above whatever shacks the people from the Cut lived in, so he allows you to remain silent and let it sink in.
Finally, you exhale slowly, “This is… uh… wow. I can’t believe there’s people in this world who live like this.”
Rafe smirks, squeezing your hand, “Yeah. Do you want a drink?”
He leads you to the bar in the corner of the living room, again lifting you up and placing you on one of the stools. You giggle, “I can climb on myself, you know.”
“Yeah? You seem to like it when I pick you up, though.”
He winks, and notes how you duck your head and smile shyly, your hands wringing together on your lap like you’re nervous. God, you were so fucking cute.
“What’s your usual drink of choice?” He asks, going behind the island to inspect the liquor. His friends had gone through a lot of it at the party the night before, but the house help had restocked everything this morning.
You blink, “Um, water?”
He stifles a laugh, pouring himself his usual whiskey with ice, “You’re a good girl, huh?”
“I tried some of my mom’s wine once but it tasted horrible,” you shrug, “I don’t know why people like it so much.”
“Try this.” He pours you a Peach Schnapps with lemonade and ice, “It’s sweet like you.”
You hesitate, but end up taking it. And he watches as you take a tentative sip, and he knows you like it because you take another one. And then another. He can’t help but feel proud for introducing you to your first alcoholic drink.
“You’re not as bad as people say you are,” you say out of nowhere, and his expression immediately sours.
“People have been talking about me to you?”
“No, it’s just the stuff I’ve heard. Like what I told you before. But it can’t be true, because you’re so nice to me so it just doesn’t add up.”
He grips his glass tight, about to lose it because yet again people were talking shit about him behind his back and never to his fucking face. Because they were all a bunch of pussies who knew he’d beat the shit out of them or kill them if they said anything to his face. But then you speak again.
“Do you always drink after school?”
“Huh?”
“Like, alcohol. Do you drink a lot? Like every day?”
“No.” He lies. “Only sometimes.”
He takes you out to the patio, where the sun is shining and you look so fucking pretty in your little sundress. Like you fit right into his world, next to the pool with a drink in your hand, sat next to him and looking at him with sparkling eyes as if he was your god. He wonders if you’ve naturally grown more comfortable with him through the course of the week, or if it’s just the alcohol. Probably the alcohol, since no one was ever really comfortable around him.
Either way, he puts his hand on your leg just like he had a few days ago in his car. Your breath hitches, but you don’t make a move to stop him. Instead, you opt to take another sip of your drink, and he wonders if he can get you drunk tonight. Shit, did he even want to? It was no fun fucking a drunk girl.
“Tell me more about you,” he strokes the soft skin of your bare thigh, feeling your goosebumps underneath the pads of his fingers. “You ever had a boyfriend or anything?”
Your eyes widen, “No. I, uh, you don’t tend to meet any guys when you’re homeschooled.” Embarrassed, you giggle before looking away. He reaches out, grabbing your chin lightly and making you look at him again. Fuck, your lips were so sexy. So pouty and perfect, begging to be kissed. “What about…what about you? Have you had any girlfriends?”
He shrugs, “A few.”
You nod, “Of course you have. That was a stupid question. Sorry, I forget not everyone’s as far behind in life as I am.”
“You’re not far behind.” He says, although you are and he prefers it that way.
“I am. Every other girl my age has had all the experiences you’re supposed to have. Drinking, partying, boys, all of it.” You sigh, “Sometimes I feel like I’m so far behind that I’ll never catch up.”
Rafe inches his hand upwards, till he reaches the hem of your dress halfway up your thigh. He plays with the fabric, and he can tell you’re acutely aware of what he’s doing. You don’t make a move to stop him, but you do press your legs together.
“There’s still plenty of time to catch up,” he says softly, “I can help you.”
You smile up at him, holding up your drink, “You already have. I’d never drank with friends before now.”
“Congratulations,” he says, clinking his glass with yours, “To one of many firsts.”
He downs his drink and so do you, and he’s quick to get a refill for both of you. He’s guessing you’re a lightweight, and again the thought of getting you drunk crosses his mind. But that would be way too easy.
“I’m capping you after this one,” he says, handing you your second Peach Schnapps.
You giggle, “Are you gonna cap yourself too?”
“No.” He chucks you under the chin again, “But, see, I’m not a baby.”
“Hey!”
He kisses you. And shit, he hadn’t planned on catching you so off-guard. Hell, he’s caught himself off-guard. But he couldn’t help it. Couldn’t help how kissable your lips looked, all pouty and bitten. And you taste like cherry lip gloss mixed with peaches and lemonade, and you’re so pliant underneath him, and he’s kissed a shit ton of girls but it’s never felt like this.
You pull away with a start, shocked as you stare up at him. Breathing hard and biting your goddamned lips before they turn into the shape of an o.
“I’m sorry,” Rafe says, although he’s not, “I’ve been wanting to do that since the day I first saw you.”
Your breathing is shallow, and with a shaky hand you put your glass down on the crystal table in front of you. “I’ve never, uh, I’ve never kissed anyone before.”
“Well, it’s easy. I could show you.”
You swallow, “I don’t want this to be like, a pity thing.”
Rafe exhales slowly, “You’re here in front of me in this tiny fuckin” dress, acting all cute and innocent and you think I want to kiss you out of pity?”
Your jaw drops, “Hey, it’s not tiny!”
He kisses you again. And sure, maybe he should’ve asked permission since it’s, well, your first kiss. But frankly he’s never had to ask permission to do anything in his entire life, and he wasn’t about to start now. The way he sees it, you wouldn’t have worn a slutty dress and agreed to come to his house if you didn’t want him to make a move on you.
Again, you pull away, “Rafe, I– don’t… I don’t know how to kiss, I’m sorry–”
He cups your face in his hands, pulling you closer and pressing his lips against yours again. Just to feel your soft, quivering lips against his confident ones. He kisses you once, twice, three times. Coaxing you to open your mouth, to let him in. Fuck, a part of him just wants to shove his tongue down your fucking throat, show you what it means to really be kissed. But he’s already pushing his luck right now.
“I’ll teach you,” he says, “But you need to do exactly what I say, okay?”
He can’t believe his goddamned luck when you nod. God, you were just so fucking hot, prancing around his house in your little dress, all impressed by his riches and shit, drinking your drink he made you like a good little girl, and now here you were, agreeing to whatever he said.
He taps his leg, “Get on my lap.”
Your eyes nearly bug out of your head, “Wh-What?”
Rafe smirks, “Didn’t you just agree to do exactly what I say?”
He’s surprised with the amount of patience he has with you. If you were another girl, he’d have thrown your ass out to the curb for asking too many annoying questions. Or bent you over, shoved your face into a pillow to shut you up and had his way with you. God knew he’d done that more times than he could count over the years. He was aware of how much bigger and stronger he was than you and every other girl, and that fact turned him on more than anything. The fact that he could, if he wanted to, completely take advantage of you however he wanted. And all you’d be able to do is cry and beg him to stop, which would just turn him on more.
“I did, I’m sorry, but I don’t–”
Easily, he grabs your hips and lifts you up onto his lap, makes you straddle him with one leg on either side of him. Your dress is just about long enough to still cover your modesty, but now he’s acutely aware of your panty-covered pussy just inches away from reach. Fuck, he wonders what kind of panties you’re wearing, and if you’d let him look…
“There. Comfy?”
“Well, I guess, but…”
He pulls you into another kiss, this time catching you mid-sentence so he’s able to slip his tongue into your mouth. And you’re so fucking shy, just rigid while he explores your mouth. But he doesn’t mind. You taste so fucking sweet, and it’s getting him so hard, knowing he’s the first man you’ve let touch you like this, kiss you like this.
He can feel your breath hitch as he strokes your face, his thumbs running across your cheeks before his hand tangles into your hair. He yanks you closer, grazing his teeth against your plump bottom lip. You gasp, and he chuckles into your open mouth. His tongue plays with yours, coaxing you to kiss him back, but not really caring too much if you don’t.
And god, he wants to thrust up into you so bad. You’re sitting right on top of his fucking hard dick, and you don’t even seem to realise it. In fact, you shift around, that cute little peachy ass rubbing against his boner, and he wonders if you even know what a boner is.
When you pull away this time, your eyes are bright and excited. And he loves how he’s kissed the gloss off your lips, and how he can still taste you on his tongue.
“Wow, that was…” you giggle, breathless yet excited from finally having your first kiss, “I don’t have anything to compare it to, but that was good!”
Rafe has to crack a smile at your innocence, and his hand lands on your bare thigh, tracing his initials on it again, “Yeah? You like kissing me?”
“I…um… yeah I do,” you say shyly, before closing your eyes for a moment and taking a deep breath, “Could we uh, could we try again? Could I try?”
Well, shit. He’s never devoted this much time and energy into just kissing a girl, but his dick grows even harder at how you’ve plucked up the courage to ask him that. And so he simply nods and sits back, lets you figure out what it is you want to do.
Your cute little hands hold on to his broad shoulders shyly. And you lean up, fluttering your eyes closed like it’s some kind of fairytale for you and you’re the little princess kissing her prince charming. It’s part enamouring, part pathetic. But Rafe feels it again, that unfamiliar feeling bubbling up in his chest. He shakes out of it, focusing on your plump lips that hesitantly press against yours.
He sits still; lets you explore his mouth. Your tongue pokes out, swipes against his. And the feeling goes straight to his dick. And then he’s kissing you back, because he doesn’t have the goddamned willpower to just sit there and do nothing. There’s an animal inside of him and you’ve awoken it, more than any drug or alcohol ever could.
And he gets rougher, biting your lip till you gasp into his mouth. His hands slip up and down your bare arms before he takes your hand, squeezes it before pressing it down on his chest, wanting you to touch him, feel how much bigger he is than you.
“Good girl,” he mutters when you don’t move your hand, and then he fingers the hem of your dress. “Gonna let me touch you a little bit?”
“Rafe, maybe not too much–”
“C’mon, princess, you have to touch while you’re making out, right? That’s lesson number two.” He distracts you with another rough kiss, grabbing your jaw and squeezing while he brings you closer to his mouth. Kissing down your jaw and neck before returning to your lips, smirking when you squeak out a little involuntary moan. That’s when he slips his hand up your dress and cups your ass. Perfect little handful of your bubble butt, and he gives it a little squeeze to test the waters. You’re too distracted with kissing him, and so he squeezes harder. God, so fuckin’ soft and pliable, just like how he’d imagined.
“Nice ass,” he murmurs against your lips, and that’s what jolts you out of it. He curses inwardly when you pull away, pushing against his chest when he doesn’t immediately stop. And a part of him knows how easy it would be to just pin you down on this fucking sofa and have his way with you. Tell you how it’s your fault for wearing this fucking dress, your fault for seducing him in his own home, acting so sexy and innocent and getting him so riled up. Teasing him with your shy little kisses and squeaks till he had no choice but to hold you down and fuck you.
“I’m sorry,” you say as you slide off his lap, straightening your dress, “I just… I got overwhelmed.”
He blinks, and he’s this close to pulling you back on top of him, telling you he didn’t give you permission to stop, that you had to listen to him because this was his house and he’d been kind enough to invite you over. And he could make you feel so good, if you just stopped being a goddamned little prude.
Instead, he forces a smile, “You’re a pretty good kisser for someone who claims she’s never done it before.”
You beam, relaxing immediately, “Oh, you’re just saying that. I bet I was really bad.”
“My memory’s kinda foggy, I think you’re gonna have to remind me,” he pulls you back into him, and you giggle as he presses light kisses on your lips, his arm going around your shoulders while your hands tangle into his hair.
It doesn’t go any further than that, though. You stop him when he tries to touch you again, and a part of him wants to slam his fist down on the glass patio table in frustration. And yet, something stops him from just overpowering you and taking what he wants. No, that would be too easy. He’s about to crack you, he can tell from the way you look at him with those big eyes, now full of trust and comfort. He just needs more time.
Too bad he only had one day left to complete the goddamned bet.
“You should come over again,” he says when he’s done up your seatbelt for you in his car. He finds he likes doing all that shit – opening the door for you, lifting you into your seat, clicking your seatbelt into place, all of it. A stark difference from other girls, where often he’s tossed their clothes at them and motioned for them to leave after he’s done hooking up with them.
“That sounds nice,” you say, waiting for him to come round and get into the driver’s seat, “And I told you; you don’t have to drive me all the way home. I could’ve just got the bus.”
He blinks. He didn’t realise buses even functioned in Figure 8, but either way, he can’t have you on a public bus. Especially not in that dress, where every man would be leering at you and you’d be none the wiser about it. The control freak in him is itching to be let out, to tell you exactly what you were and weren’t allowed to wear in public, tell you how you weren’t allowed to speak to any men except him. And you weren’t allowed to argue or contest any of this, because he was in charge of you now, and–
“No buses,” he says firmly, his hand resting comfortably on your thigh as he drives, “Anyways, come over again tomorrow. We can go in the pool or whatever.”
He feels you go rigid, “Th-The pool?”
He glances at you, “Yeah. It’ll be fun.”
You laugh nervously, “Uh, I’m not too great with water. I don’t really swim or anything.”
Rafe has to do a double-take, “You realise you live on an island?”
Even he knew that every child born in Kildare could swim before they could even walk. It’s just the way it was. They were surrounded by water. Rafe doesn’t even remember learning how to swim; it was almost like he knew how to do it by default.
“I know how to swim, I just don’t like water,” you say, and there’s something off about your tone. Something he can’t pinpoint, but you turn to the side and look out the window. Silent for the rest of the drive. Rafe doesn’t push it, although your odd behaviour has piqued his curiosity.
It’s only when he’s pulling up into the pitiful dirt road of a street where your house is situated that you clear your throat.
“Look, Rafe, you’re my friend now. And I don’t really like keeping secrets from you. I’m sorry I was so quiet just now.”
Cute. He likes how much you apologise to him. It shows how respectful you are, how much you respected him as an authority figure.
“That’s okay,” he says.
You take a deep breath, “I used to go out in the water a lot when I was younger. With my dad. He had a boat, and I would help him. But…”
Your voice trails off for a moment. Rafe thinks he knows where this is going, and a part of him is touched you’d share something like this with him. A tiny, obscure part of him, that is. He can’t help but squeeze your leg reassuringly, and you clear your throat again and blink several times. Like you’re trying not to cry. And Rafe’s never had the patience for emotional chicks, but it’s different with you.
You force out a little laugh, “I don’t want to go into details. But one time we were out pretty far, and the weather was bad. Like, really bad. The waves were rough and…” You swallow, looking down into your lap and wringing your hands together, your chest rising and falling rapidly, “And… Well, I was fine but… my dad…”
Shaking your head, you don’t say anymore. You don’t have to. Your eyes are wet and glistening, the muscles in your face working overtime to stop the tears from coming out. He parks the car in front of your house, turning to face you. He’s never been in a situation like this before, and he’s not sure how to act.
Fiercely, you wipe away the one or two rogue tears that have escaped down your cheeks, “It happened so long ago, I barely remember it. But I’ve been scared of the water ever since.”
He nods, “It’s just you and your mom now?”
“Yes. And my brothers. But they’re always working, so it’s just me and her. That’s why she’s so protective of me… I, uh, I don’t have a dad anymore.”
Rafe knows what it’s like to lose a parent, but he can’t fathom ever talking about it or voicing his feelings on it or some shit like that. His loser therapist had tried to get him to talk about his mother, but he hadn’t. He couldn’t. It was just muscle memory at this point, to force any thoughts of her straight out of his mind. It was easier that way. And now, it was like he could barely remember her. And he hated it, but it made it easier too.
He’s never been good at comforting anyone else. And a part of him is glad you’re not sobbing your eyes out right now, because he’s not sure how he’d handle that. So he’s happy when you clear your throat again and smile up at him.
“I’m not sure why I told you that, I’ve never had a friend to tell that to before. I guess I just feel comfortable with you, Rafe.”
What the hell had he done to make you so trusting of him in the span of less than a week? God, you were like an innocent little angel, sitting in his car all tiny and vulnerable. Making him feel like a goddamned fucking monster for the thoughts he had towards you, what he planned to do with you. Suddenly, the bet feels so stupid and insignificant. God, this was why Rafe didn’t speak to the women he fucked. They went all emotional on him, and now he wasn’t sure how to act.
“I feel comfortable around you too,” he says carefully. He’s never been great with his words, but he grabs your hands that continue to wring nervously together. His big, warm hand dwarfing your tiny ones, and he realises you’re shaking. And there’s a part of him that wants to protect you against everything. Take you back to his place, lock you up in his room so he could keep an eye on you and keep you away from anything and anyone who could ever hurt you and make you cry.
Even if the only person who could hurt you the most right now is Rafe himself.
You leave after that, thanking him again and again for giving you a lift home. He wants to walk you to your door, but you run off quickly, and his mind’s too distracted to follow you. He drives off once he sees you’ve safely closed your front door behind you, his mind moving a million miles per minute.
Jesus Christ, why’d you have to go and open up to him like that? This would be so much fucking easier if you hadn’t done that. He hates that he should know better, that he knows that he should leave you alone. You were too innocent, too vulnerable for his bullshit; to be caught in the middle of some dumbass bet he’d made with his friends. God dammit, he hates himself for agreeing to that stupid bet, seems so fucking juvenile looking back. Wished he’d picked a different girl at the very least, someone not as lovely a you.
Most of all, he hates himself because he knows that despite everything he’s just found out about you, he still has every intention of fucking you. Daddy issues and a phobia of water. It was almost like fate was handing you to him on a silver platter. He had to fuck you. He’d figure out the rest later.
*
Kelce: One day left, loverboy.
Topper: Can’t wait to see the pictures.
Rafe mutes the groupchat before throwing his phone aside. He’d goddamn throttle his friends if they were in front of him right now. Sometimes, he gets these violent tendencies. He doesn’t really know what to make of them except it feels good to have some kind of release. Usually that comes in the form of pushing around a sorry ass Pogue, but that option’s not really available right now.
Instead, he searches blindly for the coke he’s stashed in his bedside drawer. Again, he’d promised himself he’d cut down, but this was just to take the edge off. It didn’t count. Not really.
He wonders what you’d think if you knew how often he took drugs. Well, you wouldn’t because he’d keep you well away from that part of his life. Even when he made you his girlfriend, he’d keep you separate from all the partying. And he’d never allow you to even look at any type of Class A drug. And who knows, maybe he’d become better for you, maybe he’d go stone cold sober if you wanted him to.
That makes him laugh. Going sober for a Pogue. It was insane of him to even consider it.
Again, he has to remind himself to take his emotions out of it. All you were was a stupid Pogue, and a part of a bet he was going to goddamned fulfil. And he wouldn’t allow himself to think anything more of it. He may have had a momentary lapse of judgement yesterday, but today was a new day, the last day of the week he had to fuck you.
How? He wasn’t too sure. Reports of a storm meant you couldn’t come to his house again like how he’d planned. Even now, Rafe could hear the harrowing winds outside. Like a goddamned cyclone. And the rain pelting down unforgivingly, and the distant roar of the sea, waves crashing like they’d taken on a life of their own.
The weather on the island was usually all sunshine, but once in a blue moon a storm would hit like now. Residents were always told to wait it out and stay inside. For Rafe, that meant copious amounts of drugs and alcohol. Sometimes a girl or two to keep him company. But the idea of fucking anyone that isn’t you right now makes him sick.
He thinks about texting you, but what would be the goddamned point? If he couldn’t physically be with you today? He knows the weak, pussy part of his mind just wants to talk to you in whatever form he can. But he needs to bury that bullshit down deep inside him and never back, and–
His phone vibrates. It’s you. And he hates how he feels his heart jump to his fucking throat. You’ve called him all on your own, which means you were thinking about him like how he was thinking about you.
“Rafe?” You sound sexy like you always do, all breathy and weak and needy. A bit panicked too.
“Hey,” he says, trying to sound nonchalant, “What’s up?”
“Hey, calm down.” Rafe barely recognises the gentle quality of his voice as he straightens up, “What’s wrong, princess?”
“I’m scared.”
You say it so softly, with an air of embarrassment and shame, that at first he doesn’t quite get what you’re saying. But then he does, and something kicks in inside him. This innate need to protect you. You sound so small and needy on the phone, and you called him. You need him.
“What happened? Did someone hurt you?”
“No, no. Oh, Rafe, it’s the storm. It keeps getting worse.”
He chuckles in relief that you weren’t in any immediate danger, “Well, shit. Yeah. Looks pretty wild, huh?”
“I hate it,” you whimper softly, “and I’m sorry I called. But my mom’s stuck at work, and my brothers are crashing somewhere else. So it’s just me, and, and…”
“Hey, calm down. It’s okay, you’ll be okay.” He’s never had to comfort anyone before, but it comes naturally with you. “As long as you stay inside, the storm should pass. Just watch TV or something.”
“The lights are gonna go off any second,” you sniffle, “They always do when the weather gets bad.”
They did? Rafe never noticed shit like that. Then again, he doubts you had the luxury of backup generators where you lived. He pauses.
“Gimme twenty minutes. I’ll come over.”
“No!” You say quickly, “Rafe, it’s too dangerous.”
He snorts. He’d been in far more dangerous situations than a little bad weather. But the less you knew about that, the better. “I think I’ll be okay, princess.”
“B-But we’re not allowed out. You’ll get a fine.”
Rafe can’t count on one hand how many times he’d been fined by the dumbass police on this goddamned island over some petty bullshit reason or another. A fine meant nothing to someone with money. He was above the law, and most people on this island knew it.
“Stay put. I’ll see you soon.”
Rafe actually enjoys driving in the storm. The roads are deserted, and he can speed without worrying about anything else. And he does speed, and he runs more than one red light too. Gets to your house quicker than he thought he would. Past all the other tiny shacks all boarded up because they weren’t built well enough to withstand the storm.
“Rafe! You came!”
You sound like a fucking needy little baby, but something pulls at his heart when you hug him harder than you ever have before. And you’re so small, on your tippy toes so your arms reach around his neck. Automatically, his arms wind around your waist and he holds you close, and he can feel you trembling, your face buried in his chest as you hold on to him tightly.
“Yeah. Roads were empty. Didn’t take long.” He mutters, looking around the inside of your house. Pitiful. And pitch black, because you were right, the power had gone out. He hates that you live here. You’d fit in so much better at Tannyhill, in a pretty pink silk dressing gown and dripping with diamonds he’d buy for you. And you’d be so thankful for him, tell everyone that he saved you, how well he took care of you. How he gave you everything you could ever want, and how much you appreciated him.
At that moment, a clap of thunder makes you jump and squeal. Quickly, you pull him inside and shut the door. That’s when he notices that you’re crying.
“Hey, it’s okay. C’mere.” He pulls you into another hug, and he’s never seen another human being look so scared, so vulnerable. It makes him feel so powerful, like the man he knew you needed. “You’re safe now, I’m here.”
It feels natural, his lips pressing a kiss into your hairline. Like you’re his little baby, like he’s been trusted with something so precious and now he has to protect you. And you’re too scared to be your usual jumpy self, and you just snuggle closer into him. A flash of lightning lights up the whole room, the storm relentless against the weak confines of this sorry excuse of a house.
“Maybe we should head back to mine.” He suggests, but you whimper again.
“No, no, we can’t go out there. It’s not safe. Rafe, please.”
He doesn’t think he’s ever seen another human being so scared before. Not even when he was fucking that one girl after he’d showed her his gun. Even now, he consciously tucks his gun further down the waistband of his chinos. Of course he’d brought it with him, he wasn’t going to enter the Cut without a piece on him.
“Okay, okay. We’ll stay here. When’s your mom coming home?”
“Not till tomorrow once the storm’s died down.”
He licks his lips. It was too good to be true.
You’re still holding on to him as you lead him into your bedroom. He wonders why you’d take him straight there, but he guesses it’s your safe place. And you’ve got candles lit up, and they brighten the room enough for him to notice how small it is. The size of a shoebox, with a single bed covered in pink sheets and a bunch of stuffed animals.
Despite everything, his dick hardens.
“You’re a really good friend, Rafe.” You say honestly, “Nobody else would’ve come over like this.”
He shrugs, sitting on the edge of your bed and patting the mattress next to him. It’s not even his house and yet he feels like he needs to take control. And you obey, taking a seat next to him. But you’re preoccupied with your own fear, doing that thing where you fidget with your hands in your lap.
“I wouldn’t do it for anyone else.”
You look up at him with wide eyes, biting your lip like you can’t quite believe what he’s said, “I-I’m not special, Rafe, I–”
You’re cut off by another clap of thunder, this one so loud it makes the whole house shake. You scream bloody murder, and honestly, if you were anyone else Rafe would’ve laughed. But it’s you, and so he just watches. It’s fascinating, the way you clutch onto him like he’s your saviour, and he wonders just how this opportunity had basically just fallen into his lap.
He pulls you into his lap, knowing you won’t protest. Not in the state you’re in. You’re wearing a pair of black leggings and a little white tank top. No bra, because he can feel your nipples, hard and poking out from the fabric of your top. He can feel them against his chest as he hugs you again, and he can also feel you shifting on top of him. Your peachy little ass rubbing against his dick like you’re a fucking tease except he knows you’re none the wiser, that you have no idea the effect you have on him.
He’s so turned on, it feels like he might explode.
“I’m sorry,” you apologise for the umpteenth time, “It’s just so scary. Wh-What if the storm gets worse, Rafe?”
“It probably will,” he says, feeling slightly wicked. He holds you tighter against him, wanting to feel the brush of your breasts against his chest again. Fuck, he wants to cop a feel so bad. “They were saying something about a severe weather warning on the news. Not like anything we’ve ever seen before.”
“Noooo,” you moan like a goddamned baby, cuddling into him even more.
“It’s okay,” he says, running his hand up and down your back, “You ever, uh, you ever think of distracting yourself from the storm?”
You hiccup and blink up at him with wet eyes, “Nothing works, Rafe.”
He smirks, “I could distract you.”
“H-How?”
He runs his thumb over your lips. They’re wet with your salty tears, and yet like muscle memory, you part them for him. You watch him in wonder, your breathing shallow as he pushes his thumb into your mouth, his other hand holding you in place by your hip.
“Suck.” He instructs gently, and your eyes are as big as saucers. But in your frightened, vulnerable state, you obey immediately. And it feels like he’ll bust a nut right there, watching as you suck his thumb on command like a little fucking baby. Like he’s your daddy.
“Good girl,” he says, stroking your hair out of your face so he can watch you better. “Now listen to me, I can help you. I can distract you so that you forget all about the storm. Do you want that?”
You nod slowly, almost like you’re entranced by him. Not that he needs the green light from you, but it’s hot to see you agree so easily to whatever he’s saying. Fuck, you really were just like an angel fallen straight from heaven and into his lap. Perfect for him in every single way. So soft, so impressionable. Completely untouched. Ready to be ruined.
“That’s good,” he mutters vaguely, thinking of everything he was going to do to you. He takes his thumb out of your mouth, noticing how you pout involuntarily, like you’d gotten used to the feeling of sucking on it. Fuck, he could give you something else to suck on. “Give me a kiss.”
“H-Huh–”
“Do it. Just like how I taught you yesterday. You remember our lesson, don’t you?”
You nod, “Yeah, but will that really work? I mean–”
It’s like God himself is on Rafe’s side because there’s a loud boom of thunder at that exact moment. And you jump in his lap, tears welling in your eyes. Your chest rises up and down, and you bite your lip again, your gaze zeroing in on his mouth. Slowly, you lean up, shyly pressing your lips on his. But there’s a desperation to it, and Rafe’s returning kiss completely envelopes you whole.
He makes out with you for a while, smirking through your little pants and moans mixed with a whimper every time the weather gets especially brutal outside. He’s never been with such a goddamned scaredy cat baby before in his entire life, and it turns him on beyond belief. In the state you’re in, he could get you to do anything.
Rafe’s hands slip up to grab your little top, tugging it upwards. And this time, he almost loses it in frustration when again, you stop him.
“Rafe, Rafe no stop.” You push his hands off, straightening your top back over your midriff. “Couldn’t we just… just kiss?”
He presses his lips together in a thin line, “You trust me?”
“Of course, I just don’t know if I want to–”
“Look, didn’t I say I would distract you? I mean, shit, I could just leave.”
Your jaw drops, a flash of fear glimmering in your eyes. Instinctively, you grab onto his bicep with your tiny hands, a pleading look on your face, “No, don’t!”
He smirks, “I won’t leave. But you need to trust me to do what I need to do to distract you. Because the storm’s just gonna get worse.” He grabs your chin when you avert your gaze, forcing you to look at him, “Hey, c’mon. Who has more experience with this shit, you or me?”
“Y-You.”
“Yeah. And who’s older?”
“You are.”
“That’s right. Which means you need to trust me to make these kinds of decisions, because I know what’s best for you. That’s why you called me over, right?”
You don’t say anything, but this time when he tries to take your top off, you don’t protest. And Jesus fucking Christ, he was right. You’re not even wearing a bra, almost like you were deliberately trying to seduce him. Acting like a whiny little damsel in distress, pulling him into your pitiful little pink room, all candlelit and shit, on your little bed with your stuffed fucking animals.
Your nipples are hard, and he can’t help but cup your breasts. They’re so tender, so soft just like you. He’d imagined this exact moment many times over the course of the week whilst he’d jacked off to you, but nothing could compare to now. The way you tremble beneath his touch, knowing no one’s ever touched you like this before. He squeezes gently, watching how your breath hitches.
He’s overcome with animalistic instinct in just a second, and leans down to take your breast into his mouth. Sucks your nipple sweetly, before biting down. You cry out, arching your back so prettily, feeding him more of your nipple as you push it into his mouth. He bets you probably don’t even understand why it feels so good, having never been touched like this ever before.
He pinches your other nipple and you gasp. He smirks and does it again, looking up at you to see you gazing imploringly down at him.
“Th-That hurts,” you say pitifully.
“Yeah, but you like it, don’t you?” He takes your hands in his, bringing them up to his hair. Like a good little girl, you get the message. Your hands fist into his hair as he continues to play with your tits, licking and sucking all over them, pushing them together, biting your nipples and sucking the sensitive skin around them, wanting to leave his mark everywhere.
“Rafe, I, that… oh… oh my–”
“Stand up, baby.”
You squeak at the pet-name that falls so naturally from his lips, and he can tell you like being called that. It’s from the way your eyes widen, and how you scramble to obey. God, you were a little tease but you took instructions so fucking well.
You stand between his legs, and it gets him so fucking hard that you’re still barely eye level with him even when he’s sat down.
“Take your leggings off.”
You open your mouth to argue, but this time he just flashes you a look and you’re quick to shut the fuck up. That, and he distracts you with his hands running up and down your sides, squeezing your waist, then your hip. Finally landing on your ass with a light slap as if to tell you not to keep him waiting.
You push your leggings down and step out of them, till you’re standing between his legs in just your pink flowery panties and nothing else. And he feels a hunger he’s never ever felt before, looking down at you ravenously as if you’re a piece of meat and he’s a goddamned starved lion. A part of him just wants to grab you and stick his cock inside you while you scream and thrash and beg him to stop while you secretly enjoy it and cum again and again.
“Turn around,” Rafe says slowly, because despite his animalistic thoughts, he wants to savour this. And you do, letting him see your sexy butt adorned in just your panties. He hooks his thumb under the elastic, snapping it against your skin and laughing crudely when you yelp. “God, you’ve got such a perfect ass. I knew that since the moment I saw you.”
“Wh-What?”
“You heard me. You’re always wearing the cutest little outfits, like you were showing it off just for me.” He grabs your left ass cheek, squeezing it hard while you moan in pain or pleasure, right now he doesn’t really give much of a fuck. His other hand palms his cock through his pants at the sight.
“I wasn’t!” You say indignantly, as if he’s accused you of the absolute worst. “I wasn’t showing off, Rafe!”
“Sure you weren’t,” he snorts, “Now bend over, lemme see it better.”
He can’t believe it when you don’t hesitate this time, almost like you’re seeking his approval. Like you’re under some kind of submissive spell now, making everything even easier for him. You bend over, and your cute little ass is directly in his face. He pushes your panties to the side, gives the soft flesh a feather-light kiss before spanking you again. You yelp all cutely, but stay in position for him. What a good fucking girl.
“Stand up straight, look at me again.”
You turn back around, biting your lip as you look at him anxiously. Around you, the whole room seems to vibrate as another boom of thunder strikes. You make a noise in your throat, before grabbing onto his bicep again. You keep doing that, and it makes him feel strong, big, important. Like you’re a little baby seeking protection from her daddy.
“I’m gonna take your panties off now, okay?” He doesn’t know why he tells you before he does it, but he watches as you relax. There’s a war going on behind your eyes, he can tell. He knows part of you is liking how he’s making you feel, and part of you is desperate to distract yourself from the storm, and it’s battling the part of you that wants to keep your modesty, the part that knows this is a bad idea, that itching fear that he’s not a good guy, that he’s taking advantage of you.
Slowly, he slips your panties down your shaking legs, and you keep holding on to his arm like you’re scared to let go. Like the storm would come and get you the moment you stopped holding him like a little baby. He lets you, liking how weak you feel against him.
And then you’re completely naked in front of him, stepping shyly out of your panties that are left on the floor in a heap along with the rest of your clothes. And he’s still fully dressed, and that juxtaposition turns him on beyond belief. He can smell your pussy, and it’s driving him crazy. Makes him want to just pin you down and have his way with you. It incenses him in a way he’s never really experiences before.
His hands grab your hips, yanking you closer. He feels a wave of impatience, pushing you down till you’re sitting on the bed. He gets up, pushing your legs apart with one of his own. You gasp, and he sinks down to his knees, pressing a soft kiss to the skin just below your belly button.
“It’s time for lesson number three, baby,” Rafe murmurs softly, “this is how I’m gonna distract you, okay? Shit, I’m gonna make you feel so good, you’ll forget all about the storm. You gonna let me do that?”
You swallow, “H-How, Rafe?”
God, you were absolutely clueless. Made him feel like a fucking monster for taking advantage of you like this. But he liked it, liked how good and sweet and innocent you were, even now when he had you naked on your pretty princess bed with your legs spread for him.
“I’m gonna kiss you down here for a while, alright baby?”
“Down there?” You suck in your breath prettily, as if the very idea of that sounds so insane to you. God fucking dammit, just how much had your mother sheltered you?
Instead of explaining further, Rafe spreads your folds with two of his fingers, smirking when he sees you glistening and wet. And God, what a pretty and perfect pussy you had, all slippery and wet, like it was begging to be fucked. And even now, as you sit there breathing heavily, your pussy seems to get wetter just by him spreading it. You’re leaking down onto your pretty pink sheets, and it’s all because he’s merely touched you there.
You’ve gone silent, the storm seemingly already forgotten as you just watch him. Your chest rises up and down, and it’s like every other part of you is frozen in place. In awe, until he notices a slight movement in your pelvis. Involuntarily, you hump the air, like your poor pussy is begging for some type of contact or friction. He smirks.
“You have an accident, princess?”
You look absolutely aghast, “No!”
Rafe leans forward, inhaling deeply. And you smell so goddamned sweet, and he can’t wait any longer. He lays his tongue flat against your virgin cunt, and he can feel you throbbing with anticipation. He licks upwards, and you grab onto his hair, tugging hard as you yelp.
“Oh my God–”
He looks up, “Not God, baby. Just me.” Absentmindedly, he flicks your clit with his thumb and your entire body jerks. He chuckles, “And there’s another thing I’m going to need you to do.”
“What?”
“You’re going to call me daddy while I eat your cunt, okay?”
For the fifth time this evening, your jaw drops, and you gaze down at him in indignance, “What? But Rafe, you’re not my–”
“Your daddy? I mean, you do want me to take care of you, don’t you?” He smiles when you don’t immediately respond, “That’s why you called me today. Because you felt unsafe, like how you’ve felt your whole life ever since you lost your real daddy, isn’t that right?”
He half expects you to shove him off you, scream, lose it, slap him, kick him out of your house for going there, for trying to take advantage of your obvious daddy issues. But it’s like you’re in a trance, and he keeps going, “You want someone to take control, to reassure you that everything’s gonna be okay. That’s why you’ve let me take care of you this whole week, right? Because you need me, you like how I make you feel.”
He softly strokes your bare thighs, noticing that you’re shaking under his touch. And you look like you’re about to cry, in your most vulnerable state in front of him. And yet he keeps going, his voice like a calm lull, almost hypnotic with how you look at him with your huge, unblinking eyes.
“I can be your new daddy, princess. You’re gonna let me, aren’t you?”
Rafe doesn’t wait for your response. Instead, he grips your thighs harder, spreading them as far as they’ll go. He spits on your mound, watching his saliva drip down to your pussy. You’re watching too, with stricken, hooded eyes. Like you’re frozen in time and space, and he’s the only constant.
Leaning forward, he envelopes your clit between his lips, giving it a harsh suck. Your entire body convulses, and you moan the loudest he’s ever heard you. Thunder claps at the same time, but you’re louder than it, and your hands grab on to his hair, and you press your cunt into his face, practically smothering him but he fucking loves it.
“Tell daddy to lick your cunt,” he orders, his voice deeper and lower than it’s ever been, and a slight threat in his tone, “say it, or else I’ll stop everything.”
“L-Lick it, please,” you beg so prettily, keeping your voice barely above a whisper. Rafe sits back, looking at you expectantly till you make the prettiest little noise of impatience. You shoot him a pleading look of desperation, but he doesn’t let up. You cry out, gripping his hair harder before ducking your head in shame, “P-Please, okay? Please lick my cunt, daddy.”
Rafe could’ve orgasmed right there at the sound of your sweet, delicate voice pleading with him, finally addressing him as daddy. Instead, he sucks hard on your sensitive, engorged clit, and you scream bloody murder. He snickers against your soaking folds, grabbing your thrashing hips, stilling them slightly but allowing you to rock them against his face till it’s shining with your wetness.
“Messy little girl,” he mutters, “excited, aren’t you? Never had this virgin pussy eaten, huh?” he grows sloppy, messy with his licks. Tonguing your sensitive nub till you’re a writhing mess above him, incoherent little gasps and moans tumbling out of your mouth as you continue to hump against his face because you’re a goddamned virgin who doesn’t know how to act because you’re feeling so good.
Rafe’s practically making out with your pussy, and he’s never enjoyed going down on a girl as much as he is right now. It’s how responsive you are, it’s how this is all so new to you so you don’t even know nor care to hold anything back. You’re rubbing your pussy on his face like all you can think of is how good he’s making you feel. And he fucks you with his tongue, unable to quite believe how sweet you taste. Like an angel, his angel. All his.
“It’s…It’s too much, Rafe!” you cry out, and yet you’re rolling your hips with abandon, riding his tongue while he sucks and licks you out like he’s starved.
“You can take it,” his voice is muffled, and you try to wrap your thighs around his head except his grip on them is too strong. It’ll leave bruises in the shape of his fingers all over your soft skin, but he likes that. He wants to bruise you, mark you, make you his in every way possible. So next time when you wore a slutty little sundress, every goddamned man on this island would know you’re taken. Fuck, he’d get his name tattooed on your goddamned pussy, and–
You cum, squeaking so prettily he wants to bottle up the sound and keep it safe in his memories forever. Your first orgasm, and all it took was a couple of minutes of him eating your cunt. And your muscles squeeze around his tongue, and you cry and moan like you don’t even know what’s happening. Your grab at his hair, pulling so hard because you’ve probably never felt like this before.
And Rafe doesn’t stop, his tongue swirling circles while you hump and grind against his mouth, riding out your orgasm, moaning his name over and over again. Outside, the weather gets worse, and at one point he notes the whole room shakes as if the goddamned roof’s about to blow off. You don’t give a fuck though, and he doesn’t either.
“Oh, Rafe, oh, oh oh, it’s too much!”
Now, you’re trying to push him off you, but selfishly he keeps tongue-fucking you. His thumb rubs your engorged, sensitive clit. He knows it’s too much for you, but he’s too fucking turned on to stop.
“C’mon, baby. Don’t be like that. Lemme give you another one.”
“No, I-I can’t, I, oh fuck!”
He slaps your clit, and a squelching sound fills the room. You gasp, and he just snickers, having entirely too much fun with you. And again, you twitch your hips, inadvertently pushing your cunt into his face again. You’re out of breath and sensitive from your first orgasm, and yet your greedy little pussy wants to give him another one.
“You like it when your daddy slaps your cunt?”
You’re such a shy little thing, gaping at him as if he’s said the most insidious thing on earth. And yet, your cunt squeezes around his tongue, and he you up as you continue to leak into his mouth. He looks up at you, “Tell me you like it.”
“I, uh, I like it, uh… daddy, oh gosh!”
It takes just one more spank and you come undone, cumming all over his face and he licks you throughout. Long, languid stripes of his tongue flat against your wet folds, then he switches to fucking you with it, and your fuckhole’s so goddamned tight, his tongue barely even fits a little bit, but it doesn’t stop him. He’s got one hand slipped down his pants, jacking off because this is the hottest thing in the world he’s ever witnessed. Innocent little baby crying after orgasming from getting her pussy spanked by her daddy.
He feels like a lion closing in on the fucking lamb, forgetting himself for a second as he gets up. Aggressively pushing you down till you’re lying flat on the bed, surrounded by your stupid stuffed animals. In a second, he’s on top of you, breathing hard like a man possessed. God fuck, all he had to do was shove it inside you, hold you down and tell you to take it. Maybe press his hand over your mouth to keep you from screaming too loud. Not that it mattered. Nobody could save you from him tonight.
But you blink up at him so prettily, so unaware of his intentions, your eyelashes wet with tears. Your lips bitten and pouty, face shiny with sweat. Your hands grab his arms again, squeezing like you’ve grown used to doing.
“R-Rafe, that was… wow.” You say breathlessly, so blissfully innocent, not realising at all that he’s moments away from holding you down and fucking you, that he’s planning how he’ll do it in his head this very moment. “I never… I never thought it could feel that good.”
Rafe finds himself feeling that again, that weird feeling that kept bubbling up inside his chest from time to time whenever he was with you. He still doesn’t have a name for it; he can’t even properly describe it. But looking down at you now, watching you stare up at him with those shining eyes of yours. All he can do is push a piece of your hair out of your face, and smile slowly down at you.
“What do you even know about sex, baby?” He breathes, his face so close to yours.
“Oh, well, uh… Not that much. I mean obviously I know how it works. I just… I didn’t know you could call someone da– that.”
He smirks, tapping your cheek condescendingly, “You mean daddy?”
You look embarrassed, “Yeah.”
“I need you to keep calling me that, okay?” Rafe says gently, “It’s completely normal and I told you I’d take care of you from now on. You want that, don’t you?”
Again, he nudges at your lips with his thumb, making you suck it. Which you do, and the feeling goes straight to his dick. He wants to fuck you while you suck his thumb, gently rock his hips into you, your tight pussy squeezing his huge cock while you whimper around his thumb, sucking it while you cried and just took it, took whatever he gave you and then said thank you, daddy like the good little girl you were.
He starts kissing you again, unable to help it. And your response is so enthusiastic, he feels like he might explode. You’re getting more confident with all the kissing stuff, and Rafe likes that it’s all because of him.
“You ready for the next lesson, baby?” He asks between kisses, his hands everywhere all over your naked body. Squeezing your breasts, playing with your ass. Loving that you’re naked beneath him and so willingly too.
You swallow harshly, “I don’t think I’m ready–Oh!”
He takes your hand, pressing it inside his slacks. Right on his hard, throbbing dick. And fuck, it feels so small, so weak against his pulsating cock. He bites his lip hard to keep from thrusting into your hand.
“Take it out.”
“N-No!”
He exhales loudly through his nose, holding your hand tight against him when you try to snatch it away. “Baby, what did I tell you about doing what I say?”
“I-I know but… but I’m scared.”
“It’s okay to be scared,” he says, “but you need to do this, alright? Didn’t I make you feel good just now?”
“Well, yes, but–”
“So just trust me. I’ll make you feel good again, okay baby?” He kisses you lightly once, twice, three times till you smile, “You’ve been such a good girl tonight. So brave for me....”
You hiccup, looking up at him with those goddamned saucer-like eyes again, “R-Really?”
He strokes your cheek, innately aware of your hand relaxing against his cock, “Yes. Such a brave, good girl. You forgot all about the storm outside, didn’t you?”
As if on cue, you whimper and cuddle into him more. He smiles like a goddamned wolf, feeling evil yet desperate at the same time, “Call me daddy again, princess.”
You don’t even fucking hesitate, “d-daddy, I–”
“Take daddy’s cock out, baby. It’ll distract you, I promise.”
You do exactly what he says, and he helps you. He can’t help but hiss when you free his dick from the confines of his slacks, and you gasp too, dropping it immediately when you see it.
“Shit, gimme your hand,” he murmurs, and he doesn’t wait this time. Snatching your hand in his, he spits down into your palm before pressing it on his dick. “Stroke it.”
You pull back, “I don’t know how, I don’t–”
“Do it or I’ll leave right the fuck now.”
In your helpless daze, you whimper before placing your hand back on his dick. And it’s so red, about ready to explode the moment you touch him. He exhales slowly, and it feels so fucking good, and he covers your hand with his, guiding it, making you stroke him up and down.
“That’s so good, baby. You’re so good.”
“I am?”
“Shit, yeah, just keep doing that. You’re such a good girl for me, aren’t you?” He notes how you grow more confident, rubbing his dick and jacking him off like a good little girl. His hand leaves yours, instead cupping your face as he pulls you in for another kiss. He can’t help kissing you, you taste so fucking sweet and it’s insane because he’s never particularly enjoyed kissing anyone this much before. But he loves kissing you, leading you through it, guiding you. Loves how responsive you are, loves how you listen to him even when you feel all scared and hesitant. As if you know that at the end of the day, he was the one with all the power, the one in charge. The only one who knew how to take care of you.
“You ever seen a cock before this, princess?” He asks crudely between kisses.
Your eyes widen, “N-No, Rafe– I mean, uh, daddy.”
“No? Good girl. That’s so fuckin’ hot.” He bites your pouty bottom lip, and you gasp, squeezing his dick in your hand and it makes him moan straight into your fucking mouth. What a naughty girl.
“It’s, uh, it’s so big,” you say quietly, so quietly that Rafe almost doesn’t catch it. But he does, and he smiles, pulling back slightly.
“Yeah?”
Shyly, you duck your head, “Yeah, daddy.”
God, you were so fucking irresistible. He couldn’t take it anymore. He takes your hand, which was still steadily pumping his dick, and holds it tightly. Holds both your hands by your sides as he nudges your legs apart again, and watches as you take a deep breath, as if you know what’s coming.
Lowly, he whistles at how wet you are, your juices having leaked down to stain your pink sheets again. Rafe’s never had a virgin before but he knows how eager they are, how easily turned on they get. He can imagine how slippery wet and snug your snatch would be around his dick. Now, he swipes a finger down your slit, gathering your wetness while you squirm under him.
“Aww, look how excited your pussy is, princess.” He snickers, bringing his finger up to your lips, smearing them with your wetness, getting it all over your face too till it shines and you’re all messy. “Tell me, what’s got her so wet?”
‘I don’t know.”
SMACK.
Rafe finds he quite enjoys slapping your cunt, especially when it’s so wet and throbbing. You cry out, quivering and shaking underneath him. He flashes you a look, “Answer the question.”
“You,” you breathe, blinking up at him, “You, daddy.”
“Yeah? I get your pussy wet?” He’s working himself up, his dick nudging against your folds and he doesn’t know why he doesn’t just shove it in there. “Tell me why.”
You moan pleadingly, “R-Rafe, please!”
“When I ask you a question, I expect you to answer it properly,” he says, enjoying himself a bit too much. It was payback for all the times you’d teased him without even realising it this past week. Flaunting your sexy little body, blinking up at him with those fuck me eyes, as if you were just begging for it in your own little innocent way.
You swallow harshly, and despite everything he can see you thinking carefully, as if you want to give him a real proper answer to impress him. Cute.
“I, uh, I like how big you are,” you stutter slowly, “you-you’re a lot bigger than me.”
He grins wolfishly, pushing his hair out of his face before pressing a greedy kiss to your lips, which you respond to fervently. But he pulls away all too quickly, looking down at you as if he expects you to continue.
“I like how strong you are,” you’re looking anywhere but at his face, he guesses because you’re too shy. He sponges kisses down your jaw, your neck, down to your chest. Kisses all over your tits, presses them together and licks them, bites at your nipples while you moan between your words. “You make me feel safe, daddy.”
Rafe pauses, and it’s there again. That stupid fucking feeling that he doesn’t understand, nor does he care to understand it right now. Nobody’s ever felt safe with him before. Everyone’s always been afraid of him or hated him or screwed him over because they didn’t trust him. No one’s ever looked at him how you’re looking at him and it makes him feel things he’s never felt before.
But he shoves those feelings straight back down, clears his throat before pressing his finger down between your folds. You shiver and moan, hips bucking up before he pins them in place. He tries pushing his pointer finger inside you, but is met with resistance despite how soaking wet you are. Fuck.
“Tightest pussy I ever had,” he mutters, “but she’ll take daddy’s dick, won’t she?”
It’s more of a statement than a question, and he ignores your soft cries as he forces his finger up your cunt. Till it’s finally knuckle-deep, and he bets you can feel the cool silver of his ring against your warmth. And your pussy’s so fucking snug, gripping his finger like a vice, and even he has to wonder how he’d possibly fit his big dick inside you.
“So full,” you breathe, your chest rising and falling rapidly with each breath. But he shuts you up soon enough when he starts fingering you. One singular finger, because that’s all that fits. But he moves it in and out, curving upwards till you moan, thrusting your hips in rhythm like you can’t even help it.
“Gonna add another one, okay baby?”
‘W-Won’t fit, daddy.”
“Shh, yes it will. Daddy’s gonna make it fit.”
Rafe makes it fit. He has to hold you down while you cry like a baby, but soon he’s got his index and middle finger shoved inside you, finger-fucking your tight, virgin cunt while his hard dick slaps against his stomach, and he’s so fucking turned on. More than he’s ever been in his whole life.
“How’s that feel, baby?” He murmurs into your ear, nibbling at it, licking inside it and making you jump. And fuck, you’re so jumpy, and he has to keep you pinned down while he fingers you, and a sick part of him wonders if he’s drawn blood already.
“H-Hurts,” you whimper like the goddamned little cry-baby you are. “R-Rafe please slow down.”
“Come on, don’t tell me to slow down,” he continues pumping his thick fingers up your slippery wetness, feeling like you’re swallowing them up whole every time, “Not when you’re drippin’ all over your sheets like a little–”
“But it hurts!”
“That’s okay, it’s supposed to hurt,” he explains slowly, like you’re dumb, “it’s because you’ve never done this before, so that’s why I gotta stretch you out like this first, okay?”
A lone tear meanders down your cheek, “I-I don’t think it’s gonna fit, Rafe.”
“I made ‘em fit, didn’t I?”
“Nooo, you’re, uh, I mean your…” You sniffle helplessly, a wild look in your eye that looks half scared, half confused as he bets your body’s starting to betray you.
Rafe feels a smile creep up on his face, “You already thinkin’ about my cock, sweetheart? How it’s gonna feel when it’s up your virgin cunt?”
You shake your head vehemently, but you’re a little angel slut because your hips are bucking up to meet his fingers. “Rafe, no. Your f-fingers, they’re already too much, I don’t think I can take…”
“Didn’t I just tell you I’d make it fit?”
You grip his arm tightly, pleadingly “Y-You’re too big, I-I don’t think I can handle anymore…Oh fuck!”
He knows he’s hit that spot inside you because your whole back arches, and you let out the hottest moan he’s ever fucking heard in his life. Complete abandon, head thrown back, digging your nails so hard into his arm that he’s sure you’ve broken through his skin.
“That’s right, baby girl. Just fuckin’ take it,” he mutters, increasing his pace, wondering if he can fit a third finger in. “Fuck, you’re so good, baby. Taking your daddy’s fingers like a champ. God, look at your little virgin cunt, swallowing ‘em up like a greedy little slut. Didn’t think you’d turn out to be so fuckin’ slutty, baby.”
You clench around him, moaning his name and he can’t believe how much his dirty talk is having an effect on you. His thumb rubs at your clit while he continues to finger fuck you, wanting to draw another orgasm out of you because you’re so fucking gorgeous when you cum, and he wants you to make a mess all over his fingers before he finally takes you with his cock.
“Too much, too much, oh, oh, oh,” you’re half delirious, humping against his fingers, letting him fuck you with them, and he knows you must feel so full. And it feels like heaven for him, being inside you (even if it is just with his fingers). You feel so soft, so wet, so warm. Your muscles tensing and relaxing around him as he builds you up.
“Take it,” Rafe repeats, “bet it’s never felt this good huh? You ever finger yourself, baby girl? Touch yourself late at night when you think everyone else’s asleep?”
You gasp at his words, but he feels you clench around his digits.
“Mmm, not such a good little girl after all, huh? Fingering yourself when you think your mommy’s asleep,” he grins wickedly at the horrified look on your face, increasing pace, “but it’s never enough, is it? Your fingers aren’t as big as mine, so you could never make yourself cum.” He laughs, “this whole time, all you needed was a man like me to take care of you. Say it, say you need me. Say it.”
“N-Need you!” You cry out, delicious tears streaking your face, “I need you, daddy. I-I…Oh fuck, please! Please, I don’t… I just… I–“
You squirt all over his hand. And it’s insane; Rafe’s never seen anything like it before. He gazes in wonder, caught off-guard for once. You completely come undone, crying and panting his name, rocking your hips against his hand as you ride out your third orgasm of the night. And who knew it would take just a little bit of dirty talk to get you to squirt? God, you were so fucking hot, so full of surprises. So perfect for him, it was unbelievable.
“Good girl,” he strokes your head like you’re his little pet, taking his wet fingers and pressing them into your mouth, and you’re so hot when you automatically suck on them. “Such a good girl, baby. That was so fuckin’ sexy.”
All you do is clutch at him and cry, so spent and overstimulated from your orgasm. Rafe licks his lips, feeling both protective yet predatory at the same time. You’re at your weakest, most vulnerable state. Outside, thunder and lightning strike over and over again as if they were paid to do so, and the room lights up and goes dark, it shakes and shudders, and the winds howl like a pack of possessed wolves. And yet you look so pretty in the dim glow of the candlelight.
It's the perfect night for you to get ruined. His perfect little baby. Pristine and innocent and at his mercy.
Rafe’s cock is so hard it hurts, throbbing as he grabs it by the base, pumps it as he hovers over you. On his knees while you lie beneath him, looking so deliciously scared. He presses his whole length against your stomach, and watches your eyes almost bulge out of your head. He knows he’s big, but compared to your tiny frame, he’s massive. And he gets off on that, gets off on how much bigger he is than you. He smears his precum against your stomach, smirking as he watches you swallow and try to be brave.
“Listen to me,” he grabs your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes, “You like my cock, baby? You like looking at it, huh?”
The way you lick your lips gives it away, and he laughs cruelly, tapping your cheek like you’re his little pet. “Say it, then. Say you like it. Beg me to put it inside you. C’mon, baby, look at your pussy, she’s crying for it. Beg me.”
He knows you’re at war with yourself, and you shake your head tearfully, opening your mouth to speak. But a clap of thunder sounds just then, so loud it makes the whole room shake. You cry out so pitifully, it makes his heart throb a little. You grab at him, and he falls down on top of you, kissing you, kissing your salty sweet lips and your tears. Kissing you all over while your desperate hands tangle into his hair.
That’s when he nudges the tip of his dick against your folds. And it already feels like fucking heaven, your wet warmth practically begging him to shove it inside you. He presses his tip on your puffy, sensitive clit and you jump, your eyes widening and then you push at his chest.
“R-Rafe, please, I don’t think–”
“Shh, c’mon, baby. Let daddy fuck you,” Rafe urges softly against your lips, “gonna make you feel so good again, mhm?”
“Nooo…”
He tries to ignore your soft cries, the way your palms press weakly against his chest.
“Shit, just relax,” he coaxes, knowing he could just hold you down and force it in, and yet…
He kisses you, tasting salt on your lips. You try to kiss him back, but he can feel you gulping for breath. He can feel your heart hammering against your chest. He can feel your limbs pushing at his body, but he’s just so much fucking bigger than you that it doesn’t even make a difference, and yet…
“Rafe, I… please…”
“Baby…”
His dick feels like it’s going to explode, and he runs it up and down your soaking slit, and you moan. And your face looks turned on beyond belief, and yet scared at the same time. Nervous, frightened, vulnerable. It’s a heady mix, and he doesn’t know what to do, and–
“Please, Rafe. I’m not ready, I-I can’t, Rafe. Please…”
“Fuck.”
Something comes over him, and Rafe feels it again. That bubbling, intense feeling inside his chest. Like a rush of an emotion he doesn’t know if he’ll ever understand. All he knows is he can’t, he fucking can’t. You’re so sweet, so kind, pure like a flower and he just can’t bring himself to pluck it. Tear it apart. Ruin it like how he ruined everything else he touched.
He rolls over, lying beside you while you quiver next to him. Both breathing hard. And outside, the wind howls and howls almost like it’s mocking him. Laughing at him for being a goddamned pussy. And there’s another clap of thunder, and he hears you crying softly.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Rafe finds himself gathering you in his arms, holding you against his chest, “Hey, look, don’t worry about it. It’s okay.”
“I-I thought I could but…” you hiccup between your tears, and your eyes look like there are a thousand stars shining wetly inside them, and he knows he’s never seen anything so beautiful. “I’m sorry, I thought I could do it, I thought–”
“It’s okay,” he repeats, cupping your face and making you look at him, his thumbs swiping away your tears, “Don’t cry, okay? Shit, it’s okay, baby. It’s okay.”
“Y-You’re not mad?”
He strokes up and down your back, soothing you while he wonders whether he is. But the only thing he feels right now is this strange, innate need to protect you. To reassure you. Hold your quivering body close till you stopped shaking. It’s insane, because he doesn’t feel like himself, because he’s never felt this before. It’s alien. Completely, utterly fucking alien.
“No,” he answers quietly, pressing a kiss to your hairline, “No, I’m not mad.”
“You pr-promise?”
“I promise.”
He feels like a different person as he tucks his dick back into his slacks. Like someone else, like someone he doesn’t recognise. But it feels so natural, holding you so close that your heartbeat feels like his. And the storm outside feels like a million miles away. Like it’s just you and him on a different planet and nothing else exists, nothing else means anything except you.
You fall asleep in his arms, spent after everything. And Rafe doesn’t even feel frustrated in that moment, because all he can focus on is how peaceful you look. Your tears dried on your cheeks, your chest rising and falling rhythmically. You trusted him with everything. And it made him feel like someone important.
The wind laughs and laughs all night.
*
The morning is calm, tranquil. Almost like the storm never even was. And Rafe wakes up well rested, with you cuddled on his chest, his arm around you and his thumb in your mouth. The room dappled in sunlight, the candles all blown out or melted away.
Slowly, he detangles from you, making sure not to wake you up. You look so peaceful, so innocent. So soft and pretty, in your little shack of a house on the Cut. He frowns as he looks around. In the morning light, your room looks even more pitiful. It’s clean, and you’ve made it pretty with notes and posters and fairy lights. But he can see the paint peeling off the walls, the fact it’s smaller than his closet back home.
Rafe can’t believe he’s woken up on this side of the island.
He has the sudden urge to leave. To run. Hastily, he types out a text to you.
Rafe: Hey. I thought I’d leave in case your mom came home and saw us. Didn’t want to wake you. Talk to you later.
He has to get home. Gather his thoughts. Recalibrate. Think about what the fuck came over him last night, when he’d had you right where he fucking wanted you. And then he’d pussied out of it. Rafe Cameron never pussied out of anything.
What the fuck did that mean?
His gaze shifts to you again, so pretty and sound asleep. Naked because you’d so willingly shed your clothes for him, spread your legs for him. And he could have had you. Hell, he could have you right now. Force himself into you while you were still asleep, and you’d wake up crying and sobbing, all confused and sleepy while he held you down and ordered you to just take it.
That’s what he should’ve done last night. So then what the fuck had stopped him?
Now, he lightly runs his fingers over your bare thigh, humming lightly at how smooth you feel. So soft, like an angel. A powerful, almost all-consuming feeling overtakes him. A wave of possessiveness coursing through him like a tidal wave of dark poison. You were his. All his. He could do what he pleased with you. Your body was his. You’d all but served it to him on a silver platter last night, in your pathetic little room with the candles.
Rafe feels like he’s having an out of body experience. He gets his phone out, ignoring any small, decent part of him that was sending warning signals to his brain. You were his. He had every right to do this.
Silently, he takes the pictures. And a sick part of him gets off on it, gets off on the fact you’re asleep and none the wiser to what’s happening. But this was the least you could do, you’d left him hanging last night. After he’d been so patient, so understanding. Fuck that. Why had he been like that? Like he was weak?
“You make me feel safe, daddy.”
Your words from last night ring in his ears, bouncing around in his brain till it gets too much, till they start to echo and get louder and louder. Till he feels the urge to punch the shit out of your bedroom wall. It was all too much. He had to get out of here.
He tucks his phone into his pocket, pushes the cotton covers up till your chin, and then leaves without looking back.
*
“There he is! The loverboy himself!”
His friends gather around him the next morning like he’s the second coming of Christ himself.
“How was she, Rafe?” one of them slaps him on the back, “That is, if you fucked her.”
“Yeah.” Kelce stands in front of him with his arms crossed over his chest, looking at Rafe expectantly. They all are. “Did you fuck her?”
Rafe scoffs, “Is that even a question.”
He’d waited all day yesterday for you to respond to his text. Like a pussy ass little bitch, he’d waited for you to say something. Growing angrier and more paranoid by the second when you didn’t. Staring at the pictures he’d taken of you like a man possessed, his thumb hovering over the delete button a handful of times before he’d thrown his phone angrily across the room. Hating how you were making him wait. Hating how his heart had leapt up to his fucking throat when you finally had replied: I’m so sorry for being such a scaredy cat yesterday. Thank you for coming over.
He'd discovered something then. He was obsessed with you. And he hated it.
“Pictures or it didn’t happen,” Kelce grins, cutting straight to the chase. Next to him, Rafe sees Topper’s eyes light with interest, as well as the others too. Fucking desperate losers, trying to catch a glimpse of something that belonged to him. Because they’d never get to see you like that, ever. No one else would. He’d make sure of that.
“It did happen.” Rafe says calmly, “Like I said it would.”
“Okay well, that’s great brother but we’re gonna need proof.” One of the clowns pipes up.
“You don’t need shit,” He shoots back.
“You didn’t take pictures?” Topper asks.
Rafe runs a hand through his hair in frustration. “I did.”
“Then show us. That was the deal.”
He wants to beat the shit out of all of them for daring to ask to see intimate pictures of you. As if you were anything like the other whores he’d fucked in the past, the type of stupid girls him and his friends used every week. You were different, and you were his, and they had no fucking business looking at what was his.
“Look. I don’t give a shit if you don’t believe me.” He mutters, completely over the dumb ass bet and over his friends too. They’d forget about it by tomorrow, ready to become his willing followers once more. They always did.
“C’mon man, you can’t bring our hopes up like that. Either you never fucked her or,” Kelce’s eyes glint when it registers, “Or you’ve gone soft for her. You’ve–”
Rafe grabs him roughly by the collar, a sudden anger coursing through him like he’s been electrocuted. “Listen, you fucking moron. Don’t ever insinuate I’ve gone soft for a goddamned Pogue.”
He spits that last word out like it’s venom, and yet he tried to ignore how hollow it feels. When he realises people are staring, he quietly lets go, smoothing Kelce’s shirt while his friends stare at him fearfully in that way he’s grown used to people looking at him.
“I fucked her,” Rafe says plainly, his tone switching from aggressive to calm in a split second, almost like he’s slipped on a mask, “I fucked her just like I’ve fucked every other Pogue bitch who’s thrown herself at me before her. And it wasn’t anything special. She acts all innocent, but it was easy to get her to spread her legs for me just like I told you it would be.”
He hears a thud, and then a little gasp behind him. So soft, it barely registers. Except it does, and he turns around.
And immediately locks eyes with you.
And then it feels like it’s just him and you. And nobody else is there. And there’s no sound, like both of you have stopped breathing. You stand there, frozen, stricken. Your books on the ground in front of you. Only a few steps behind him, well within earshot. And he sees something break in your expression, porcelain features twisting in hurt, shock, dismay, disbelief.
“Oh shit,” Topper mutters from somewhere behind him. A few of his friends snicker, but Rafe can’t hear them. No, he’s frozen, staring at you as if he can’t quite believe it. And he sees the tears welling in your eyes.
A little broken sob falls from your lips, and then you turn and run. And Rafe wants to chase after you but it’s like he’s frozen in time and space. Watching you run off while he just stands there.
Stands and watches as you run away from him, your hands reaching up blindly to wipe at your face. And that feeling returns tenfold. That feeling that Rafe can’t quite put his finger on, that feeling which he wants to push back down because it suffocates him, and he doesn’t understand it. The feeling consumes him from the inside out, till he feels like he can’t breathe.
And he just stands there and watches until you’re gone.
𝘼/𝙉: OOF. Okay, I finally posted it! Please let me know what your thoughts! Literally any reaction, predictions, favourite parts etc. All of it, ANY of it would be so appreciated! Also please forgive any spelling or grammatical errors. Here's some questions in case you want to answer them (you don't have to!! you can comment/reblog whatever you want, i just always post questions at the end of my fics)
Does Rafe genuinely care for reader?
Should reader forgive Rafe?
Favourite scene/part?
Anyways, that's it. Now I'll anxiously wait to see what you guys think. PLEASE PLEASE consider reblogging this fic if you plan on liking it and want me to continue it. Thanks so much for all your support when I posted the sneak peek. I hope this lived up to your expectations! <3
ariaaa babe how have you been? it feels like we haven't talked in foreverrrr
i knowwww i've js been so busy and lwk lost motivation to do works on here.. im still reading and interacting with everyone elses though! or trying to at least...
CONTEXT: After losing both her parents, Yn moves in with her mother's best friend and her three sons, never expecting that the love that would change her life lived in the room next door.
TW: mentions of death, sexual themes, fluff, violence, secrecy, mentions of drugs and alcohol +more
Y/N:
The past few days had felt… strange.
Not in a bad way.
Just different.
Chris and I hadn’t talked about what we were doing since that night in his car, but somehow things had shifted more anyway. The tension between us hadn’t disappeared, if anything it had gotten worse, but it wasn’t just stolen kisses and reckless sex anymore.
It was quieter than that.
Softer.
Like last night.
I’d been lying in my bed with my laptop open, halfway through some cheesy romcom I’d already seen three times, when my door creaked open.
Chris didn’t even knock anymore.
He just leaned against the doorframe, hoodie on, curls messy, eyes scanning my screen.
“Again?” he muttered.
I shrugged. “It’s comforting.”
He sighed dramatically before walking in and dropping onto my bed beside me like it was his.
Which… lately, it kind of has been.
At first he stayed on top of the blankets, pretending he was only there for the movie. But twenty minutes later his arm had slipped around my waist, pulling me against his chest like it was the most natural thing in the world.
His fingers lazily traced circles against my side.
I tried to focus on the movie.
I really did.
But Chris had this way of touching me that made it impossible to think about anything else.
Halfway through the film he tilted my chin toward him.
“Why do all your movies end the same?” he murmured.
“They don’t,” I whispered back.
His mouth brushed mine before I could finish the sentence.
Slow.
Lazy.
The kind of kiss that didn’t feel rushed or secret or dangerous.
Just… ours.
Until footsteps passed in the hallway.
We both froze instantly.
Chris pulled away, pressing his forehead against mine while we listened.
Matt’s voice echoed somewhere downstairs.
Chris exhaled quietly.
“holy fuck,” he muttered.
I laughed softly.
Because this had become normal somehow.
Sneaking around.
Late night movies.
Kisses we had to pretend never happened the next morning at breakfast.
And somehow that made it feel even more addictive.
—
By the next morning, things were back to normal.
Or at least… they looked normal.
The house smelled like eggs and waffles when I came downstairs, sunlight pouring through the kitchen windows. Matt was already complaining about something I wasn’t paying attention to, Nick sitting across from him scrolling on his phone.
Chris was leaning against the counter.
He looked up the second I stepped into the kitchen.
Just for a second.
A small nod. The corner of his mouth lifting slightly.
It was subtle enough that no one else would notice.
But I did.
I grabbed a water from the fridge, pretending to be focused on drinking it even though I could feel his eyes flick toward me again.
Last night flashed through my mind without permission.
His arm around my waist.
The quiet popcorn kisses.
The way he’d stayed until almost six in the morning before slipping back into his room like nothing had happened.
“Yo,” Nick said suddenly, clapping his hands once. “Pool party today.”
Matt finally looked up. “Where?”
“frat house,” Nick replied. “Like half the campus is gonna be there.”
Matt shrugged. “I’m down.”
Nick looked toward Chris. “You coming or are you gonna be boring today?”
Chris pushed himself off the counter, grabbing a orange from the fruit bowl.
“I’ll go,” he said casually.
Then his eyes slid to me.
“Yn you should come.”
The way he said it was so casual anyone else would’ve thought nothing of it.
But my stomach flipped instantly.
Nick turned toward me. “Yeah actually you should. You’ve been locked in this house watching sad movies for like a week.”
“They’re not sad,” I muttered.
“They’re all sad,” Nick said confidently.
Matt smirked slightly. “You could use a party.”
I took a sip of water, pretending to think about it.
The truth was… I didn’t hate the idea.
Lately my life had been split between two things.
School.
And Chris.
And somehow both of them made my head feel like it was spinning most days.
“A pool party sounds kinda fun actually,” I admitted.
Nick grinned. “There we go.”
Matt nodded once.
Chris didn’t say anything.
But when I glanced up, he was already looking at me.
His expression unreadable.
Like he was trying to imagine something.
Then he looked away first.
⸻
About an hour later the house was louder.
Nick blasting music while he searched for sunglasses. Matt looking for his shorts. Someone yelling from upstairs.
I was halfway down the hallway when a hand suddenly grabbed my wrist.
I barely had time to react before Chris pulled me into the small laundry room and shut the door behind us.
My heart jumped.
“Chris—”
He stepped closer immediately, lowering his voice.
“You’re really coming?”
The question sounded almost… annoyed.
I blinked. “You’re the one who said I should.”
“I know.”
He ran a hand through his hair, studying me for a second like he was reconsidering something.
Then his eyes dropped slightly.
“You’re gonna wear a bikini?”
I crossed my arms defensively. “It’s a pool party.”
He exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slightly.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Chris.”
His eyes lifted back to mine.
Something darker flickered there.
“Just stay close to me today,” he said quietly.
I frowned. “Why?”
His hand moved to my waist suddenly, pulling me closer before I could respond.
“Because,” he murmured.
Then he kissed me.
Quick.
Dangerous.
The kind that made my stomach flip instantly.
Footsteps passed in the hallway outside and he pulled away immediately.
Chris opened the door like nothing had happened.
But before he stepped out he leaned closer again.
“Don’t disappear on me today,” he muttered.
Then he walked away.
Leaving me standing there alone.
Trying to ignore the fact that my heart was beating way too fast for something that was supposed to be a secret.
—
The drive to the pool party was loud.
Chris had music blasting, Matt arguing with him about directions even though the house was literally five minutes away, and Nick sat next to me with his elbow resting on the window like he was half paying attention to any of it.
I sat in the back.
Trying very hard not to notice when his eyes caught mine in the mirror.
Trying very hard not to think about the conversation in the laundry room.
Stay close to me.
I looked down at what I was wearing.
A tiny orange bikini underneath a loose white tank top and a little denim skirt. The kind that barely covered anything.
I had chosen the bikini on purpose.
Orange.
Chris’s favorite color.
The thought made my stomach twist in a way I tried not to think too hard about.
Matt finally pulled into the crowded street outside the frat house, bass from the party already thumping through the air.
“Alright,” he said, opening the door. “Let’s see how messy this shit gets.”
The music was already shaking the ground when we stepped into the backyard.
People everywhere. Red cups in every hand. Weed.
Nick disappeared almost immediately.
Matt followed someone toward the pool.
And Chris and I were suddenly just… standing there.
Not together.
But close enough that I could feel him behind me as we walked through the crowd.
His hand brushed the small of my back for half a second, like he was guiding me through people,but it was enough to send a little spark down my spine.
I pretended not to notice.
I set my bag down on one of the patio chairs and glanced around the yard. The pool was packed, people sitting along the edge with their legs in the water.
I could feel Chris nearby, talking to someone.
I grabbed the hem of my tank top.
Pulled it off.
Then slid my denim skirt down my hips.
The warm air hit my skin immediately.
The orange bikini suddenly felt very small.
Tiny strings against my hips, the top barely covering. My belly ring caught the sunlight when I moved, the little jewel flashing against my stomach.
I tucked my clothes into my bag casually.
Like I hadn’t just done that right in front of him.
But I could feel it.
That pause in the air.
When I looked up—
Chris was staring.
Completely frozen in the middle of whatever conversation he’d been having.
His eyes moved slowly down my body.
Shoulders.
Waist.
Hips.
The thin strings resting against my skin.
My stomach flipped.
I grabbed my phone quickly to distract myself.
A text came through almost instantly.
Chris: You’re joking.
I bit back a smile.
Me: What?
Across the yard he leaned against the railing now, one hand holding his phone while he watched me over the top of it.
His gaze dropped again.
Slow.
My phone buzzed.
Chris: That’s what you decided to wear today?
I rolled my eyes and typed.
Me: It’s a pool party…
Three dots appeared.
Then disappeared.
Then appeared again.
Finally—
Chris: That shit barely counts as a bikini.
Heat crept up my neck.
I typed slower this time.
Me: Don’t act like you haven’t seen me naked.
I glanced up right after sending it.
Chris’s head lifted instantly.
Our eyes met across the yard.
Something changed in his expression.
My phone buzzed again.
Chris: That was different.
Chris: No one else was looking js me
Right on cue, two guys sitting near the pool glanced over.
One of them nudged the other.
Chris noticed immediately.
His jaw tightened.
My phone buzzed again.
Chris: Don’t move.
I frowned slightly.
Before I could respond, I looked up.
He was already walking toward me.
Slow.
Focused.
The kind of walk where people instinctively move out of the way.
My heart started pounding.
When he stopped in front of me, he didn’t say anything right away.
His eyes just moved over me again.
Closer this time.
More intense.
“You did that on purpose,” he said quietly.
I tilted my head.
“Did what?”
“The color.”
I shrugged.
“Maybe.”
His hand suddenly landed on my waist.
Warm.
Firm.
Pulling me half a step closer.
The touch made my breath hitch slightly.
“Yn,” he muttered.
His thumb brushed slowly along my side.
“You’re unbelievable.”
“Oh relax,” I said softly. “You’ve literally seen everything already.”
Chris let out a quiet laugh under his breath.
But there was no amusement in it.
“Yeah,” he said.
His eyes dropped briefly to my stomach again.
“I have.”
His gaze lifted again.
“Not the whole frat house.”
My stomach flipped.
I crossed my arms defensively.
“Oh relax Chris .”
He leaned closer slightly, lowering his voice so only I could hear.
“You know how many guys are staring at you right now?”
“I don’t care.”
“Well I do.”
The words came out sharper than he probably meant them to.
I blinked at him.
“Oh really?” I said. “Since when?”
Chris exhaled slowly, running a hand through his curls.
“Since you decided to walk out here wearing basically nothing.”
I scoffed.
“Oh my god.”
His hand tightened slightly on my waist.
Then he leaned closer, voice dropping near my ear.
“You’re lucky I’m trying to behave today.”
My phone buzzed again in my hand.
Another message.
Even though he was standing right in front of me.
Chris: You have no idea what you’re doing to me right now.
I looked back up at him.
“You’re texting me while you’re literally holding me?”
He shrugged slightly.
“Safer.”
“For who?”
“For you.”
A guy walked past us right then, his eyes lingering a little too long on my body.
Chris noticed instantly.
His thumb pressed harder against my waist.
Then he leaned closer again, his breath warm near my ear.
“If one more guy looks at you like that,” he murmured—
“I’m taking you somewhere private.”
My heart skipped.
“Chris—”
“And you don’t wanna know how that ends.”
I swallowed.
“You’re being dramatic.”
He laughed softly.
But his hand still hadn’t left my waist.
“You keep telling yourself that,” he said.
His eyes dropped to my lips briefly.
Then back to my eyes.
“So,” he said slowly.
“You gonna get in the pool?”
I raised an eyebrow.
“Why?”
His jaw tightened again.
“Because if you stay standing here,” he muttered—
“I’m gonna forget we’re in public.”
My stomach flipped.
And the dangerous part?
I wasn’t sure I wanted him to remember.
CHRIS:
I leaned against the railing, arms crossed, trying to act casual.
But it wasn’t casual.
Not in the slightest.
She was in the pool. Just standing there, laughing, the sunlight catching the orange of her bikini, the little flash of her belly ring catching every flicker of light. My jaw tightened without me realizing it.
She didn’t even see me noticing. That was the worst part. She was too carefree, too… her.
And someone else was helping her get in the water, a frat guy, tall, easy smile, steady hand on her back. I could feel the heat crawling up my chest.
I wanted to march over there, yank her out of his grip, make him back off. But I didn’t. I can’t.
Nate leaned against the railing beside me, arms crossed, smirking like he knew exactly what was running through my head.
“Bro,” he said, voice low enough that no one else would hear. “You realize you’ve been staring at her for like… twenty minutes straight, right?”
I exhaled through my nose, trying to keep my jaw from clenching so hard it would crack.
“Yeah, sure,” I muttered. “Totally casual.”
Nate laughed quietly, nudging my shoulder. “Totally casual? That’s why you almost snapped at that dude by the pool who looked at her wrong, huh?”
I didn’t answer. Didn’t even need to. My eyes were glued to her. Every laugh, every splash, every tilt of her head, it all made something coil low in my chest.
She dipped under the water and came up again, droplets sliding down her shoulders and back. My hands itched to reach out and grab her, to pull her close, to kiss her.
I glanced at Nate. He smirked again.
“You’re practically vibrating, bro.”
I clenched my fists. “I’m fine,” I said, voice low.
Not fine at all.
Because she was mine. Well… technically, she wasn’t. That was the problem.
But fuck if I wasn’t going to make her feel like she was.
I swallowed hard.
“God,” I muttered under my breath.
And I knew one thing: the moment I let her slip even a second out of my sight… she’d be gone, and I’d hate myself for it.
Nate leaned back, smirk still in place. “She’s all yours, man. Don’t screw it up.”
I let my eyes flick toward him. “I won’t.”
But the truth? I wasn’t sure I could keep my hands to myself. Not when she was out there, looking like… like everything I ever wanted
—
I stayed near the railing, arms crossed, trying to act like I wasn’t even looking.
Not that it worked.
She was still in the pool, laughing with her friends, sun kissing her skin just right, little droplets clinging to her. Every movement was effortless. Every laugh was like a chord strummed in my chest.
Nick’s voice suddenly cut through the hum of the party. “Guys! Nate! Chris! Over here!”
I groaned quietly, already knowing what was coming. Nate just smirked beside me, arms crossed, silent but obviously amused. Matt leaned back on the lounge chair, that half-smile he always wore, the one that said he knew more than he was letting on.
I followed Nate across the yard, keeping my posture casual, but my eyes never left her.
“Oh my gosh look at our roomie,” Nick started the second we reached them. “She looks so good. I’m telling you—any guy here would fight for her. Admit it, guys.”
Matt smirked, nonchalant. “Yeah… she definitely looks good.”
Nate nodded softly, amused, silent as ever.
I tried to shrug, keep my tone neutral. “She looks good,” I said finally. Just that. Controlled. Nothing more.
Nick’s grin widened. “See! I knew it! You can’t even lie, Chris. You’ve been staring since we got here—practically drooling.”
I shot him a look, jaw tight. “Alright, bro,” I muttered, looking down. I reached into my pocket, pulled out a lighter, and lit a joint, trying to refocus, trying not to stare.
Then Nick tilted his head, grin still there, and said casually, “Well… don’t look too much, man, technically, she’s like our sister.”
My chest dropped. Literally. My heart felt heavier for a second, sinking low like someone had pressed on it.
Both Matt and Nate raised their eyebrows subtly, smirking. Nate snorted. Matt’s grin didn’t falter.
I exhaled slowly, trying to blow the smoke away from my face, but it didn’t help. I could still feel her there, laughing, oblivious to every guy watching, every eye drawn to her. The thought that, in some ways, she was almost “family” hit me harder than I expected.
Even as I tried to concentrate on the joint, on anything else, I felt hypnotized. Every laugh, every splash, every tilt of her head had me caught, and I hated that I couldn’t look away. That little reminder, she wasn’t mine to want, made the pull toward her almost unbearable.
Nick waved to some friends, already dragging himself off toward them. “Catch you later, guys!” he called, completely oblivious to the storm brewing behind my eyes.
I watched him go, exhaling through my nose. Thank God. Less noise. Less eyes. Less interference.
Matt leaned back, smirking at me. “Well… now it’s just us,” he said casually. Nate shrugged, lighting another joint, passing it toward me without a word.
I took it, inhaling slowly, letting the smoke fill my lungs. My chest still tightened every time Yn laughed or smiled, but now I had a little cover. A little freedom.
“You’re going to get yourself too fucked up,” Matt said, half teasing, half warning.
“Relax,” I muttered, trying to focus on the joint, letting the buzz start to creep in. But I couldn’t stop my eyes from snapping to her. She was stepping out of the pool now, water dripping down her skin, hair plastered to her neck. The orange bikini clung in all the wrong ways, and I wanted to forget everything about restraint.
Nate snorted quietly, catching my gaze. “You look like you’re about to explode.”
I coughed on the smoke, waving him off. “I’m fine,” I said, but my voice didn’t sound convincing even to me.
She walked up to us then, hips swaying, wet hair catching the last rays of sun, eyes sharp. She didn’t say anything at first, just stood there, waiting. My heart skipped a beat.
“Hi,” she finally said, voice casual but carrying that edge that always made me tense.
I blinked, letting the smoke curl around us. My chest tightened. My mind started racing. Every inch of me wanted to reach out, to grab her, to pull her close, but we weren’t supposed to be doing this in front of anyone, not even Matt or Nate.
And yet, the tension between us was palpable, thick, almost too much to ignore.
Y/N:
I stepped out of the pool, water dripping down my arms, hair plastered to my neck. The boys’ laughter faded behind me as I walked toward where Chris, Matt, and Nate were sitting.
Chris was… different. His eyes kept flicking toward me, sharp, unreadable. His movements were a little unsteady, the joint still between his fingers, and I could feel the tension radiating off him.
“Yn,” he said, voice low, almost quiet, but it still made me freeze. “Can we… uh… talk upstairs?”
My heart skipped. Talk? Upstairs? Alone?
I glanced at Matt and Nate. Nate just smirked knowingly, Matt leaned back with that infuriating smirk that always made me feel like he saw everything. Neither said a word, giving me the smallest shrug as if to say, you’re on your own, kid.
I hesitated. My stomach was twisting in knots, a mix of nerves and… something else. But I nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”
Chris stood, brushing past me lightly, the smell of smoke clinging to him. My pulse was racing, the way he moved near me, that low tension between us almost too much to bear.
We started up the stairs, slow, each step echoing in the house. I kept my arms crossed over my chest, pretending to be casual, but my mind was spinning.
Why now? Why upstairs?
Chris’s eyes flicked to me every few steps. I could see the buzz behind them, the edge, the way his jaw tightened. There was something he wanted to say, or something he wanted from me, and I couldn’t tell which.
By the time we reached the landing, my heart was hammering. I swallowed hard, trying to steady my nerves.
“Here,” he said, stopping in front of the door to a room. His hand lingered on the knob, thumb brushing lightly over it, and I could feel the tension in the air tighten even more.
I exhaled slowly. “Okay,” I said, almost a whisper. “Upstairs.”
The door clicked shut behind us, and just like that, the house, the party, everyone else, they all faded away.
It was just us.
Chris leaned against the wall, eyes dark, jaw tight. I tried to play it casual, but my pulse was racing.
“You— why do you act like you don’t notice the way guys throw themselves at you?” His voice was low, controlled, but there was an edge that made my chest tighten.
I blinked, caught off guard. “What do you mean?” I asked, stepping a little closer, but keeping my arms crossed.
“You know exactly what I mean,” he snapped, running a hand through his hair. “Every guy there—staring. You laughing, smiling, the way you were… and you just—” His jaw clenched. “Do you know how annoying that is?”
I felt my eyebrows knit. “Chris—relax. I wasn’t even paying attention. They’re… just guys.”
“Just guys?” His voice rose slightly. “Just guys don’t make me want to—” He cut himself off, exhaling sharply. “Forget it.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Forget it? You’re jealous?”
“Of course I’m fucking jealous!” He hissed, taking a step closer. “You’re—you’re here, laughing, looking like… like anyone would want you, and I can’t do a fucking thing about it. I shouldn’t even care, but I do!”
I opened my mouth, but he held up a hand. “No, don’t. I know what you’re thinking. You’re gonna tell me it’s not fair I’m over reacting, that it’s not—whatever. Fine. Maybe I’m an asshole. Maybe I’m a player. Maybe I’m—” He ran a hand over his face. “—I don’t know, but I can’t stand it. I can’t stand watching other guys looking at you like you’re… like you’re theirs.”
My stomach fluttered, but anger bubbled up too. “Chris, you act like it’s some crime for me to exist in the same space as other guys,” I shot back. “I can’t control them looking, and I—” I stopped, biting my lip. He was so close now, his chest nearly brushing mine, eyes dark and intense.
“I know,” he muttered, softer now, a flicker of vulnerability in his gaze. “I know it’s not your fault. I just—” He exhaled slowly. “I can’t stop feeling it.”
I stared at him, heart thudding, mind spinning. There was that dangerous pull again, that magnetic tension that always made me want to reach out, but I knew better. We shouldn’t be here. Not like this.
“Chris…” I whispered, taking a step back, just enough to remind myself of boundaries. “You’re… crazy.”
He smirked, sharp and low, leaning just slightly toward me. “Yeah? Maybe. Or maybe I just can’t stand not having you.”
And just like that, the tension between us, jealousy, desire, restraint, coiled tight, hotter than anything else in the room.
Chris was still standing too close, his chest rising slowly, eyes fixed on mine like he was trying to figure something out he didn’t want to admit.
“You’re insane,” I repeated quietly.
His mouth twitched. Not a full smile—something sharper.
“Yeah?” he murmured.
Before I could react, his hand slid to the side of my face, fingers warm against my cheek.
My breath caught.
His forehead brushed mine first. Then his nose.
“Chris…” I whispered, but it came out weaker than I meant it to.
He didn’t answer.
Instead his lips moved down, slowly, deliberately, grazing the side of my neck.
A shiver ran through me.
“Don’t—” I started, but the word dissolved when his mouth pressed firmly against my skin.
My hand grabbed his hair instinctively.
He sucked lightly at my neck and I gasped under my breath.
“Chris,” I whispered again, this time breathless.
He hummed against my skin like he liked hearing it.
Then again.
And again.
Three slow, deep kisses, each one harder than the last.
By the time he pulled back slightly, my skin was warm and sensitive and I already knew what he’d done.
“Chris,” I said, half shocked, half breathless.
His eyes flicked over my neck and chest like he was admiring his work.
“You’re welcome,” he muttered.
“Welcome for what?” I whispered, pushing his chest lightly.
Before he could answer—
BANG BANG BANG.
“Nate you in there?”
My stomach dropped.
Chris froze.
Another knock.
My eyes widened.
“…This is Nate’s room?” I whispered.
Chris glanced around once, realization hitting at the same time.
“…Shit.”
The door handle jiggled.
Chris stepped back immediately and opened the door just enough.
A girl standing outside looked between us suspiciously.
“Oh—uh—sorry,” she said quickly. “Looking for Nate.”
Chris nodded once, casual like nothing happened.
“Not in here.”
She muttered something and walked away down the hallway.
The second she turned the corner, Chris shut the door again.
For a moment neither of us spoke.
Then we both exhaled at the same time.
“Oh my god,” I laughed nervously, covering my face.
“You’re dramatic,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair.
“Chris, you just—” I pointed to my neck. “You literally—”
He glanced at it again and smirked.
“Looks good.”
I shoved his shoulder.
“You’re insane.”
“Relax,” he said, opening the door again. “C’mon.”
“Where?”
“Downstairs.”
I hesitated.
“With who?”
He looked back at me.
“Matt and Nate.”
My stomach flipped again.
He held my gaze for a second, softer this time.
“Just… come hang with us.”
Something about the way he said it made my chest tighten.
Like he didn’t want me across the yard anymore.
Like he wanted me where he could see me.
Chris held the door open and stepped into the hallway first. I followed, the music from downstairs already vibrating through the walls again, the smell of alcohol and chlorine drifting up the staircase.
My heart was still beating way too fast.
Partly from the argument.
Partly from the three dark marks I could still feel burning into my skin.
Chris walked a few steps behind me, hands in his pockets like nothing had just happened.
Like he didn’t just pin me against a wall and mark me up in his best friend’s bedroom.
We reached the top of the stairs when he slowed just slightly.
I was right next to him.
And before I could react—
smack.
His hand landed on my bare butt, the tiny bikini bottom offering absolutely no protection.
I gasped, spinning toward him. “Chris!”
But he was already grinning.
That cocky, dangerous grin.
“Move faster,” he said casually.
Then he jogged down the stairs before I could even process what happened.
“Chris!” I hissed, half laughing, half shocked.
He didn’t even turn around.
By the time I reached the bottom of the stairs, he was already pushing through the back door toward the pool again like nothing had happened.
Like he hadn’t just—
My face burned.
I stepped outside and immediately spotted them.
Matt and Nate were standing near one of the patio tables, red cups in their hands, talking over the music.
Chris walked right up to them like he’d been there the whole time.
Like he wasn’t just upstairs with me five seconds ago.
Nate noticed me first.
“There they are,” he said casually.
Matt glanced over too, a small knowing smirk tugging at his mouth for half a second before it disappeared.
Chris grabbed a drink off the table, leaning back against it like he owned the place.
But when his eyes flicked toward me—
just for a second—
there was that same look again.
Possessive.
Like even in a crowded backyard full of people…
he was still paying attention.
Still watching.
And somehow that made the heat in my chest come rushing back all over again.
I stepped closer to the table, crossing my arms slightly, trying to act normal.
Nate tilted his head.
Then his eyes moved to my neck.
His brows lifted immediately.
“Oh,” he said slowly.
My stomach dropped.
“What?” I asked, instantly defensive.
Nate pointed lazily toward his own neck. “You uh… got something going on there.”
My hand flew up instinctively.
Matt nearly choked on his drink.
“Jesus,” he muttered, laughing under his breath.
Chris coughed slightly, turning his head away as he took a long drag from the joint.
“Something?” I repeated nervously.
Nate stepped closer, squinting like he was inspecting a crime scene.
“Not something,” he said. “More like… three somethings.”
Matt let out a quiet laugh.
“Looks painful,” he added, clearly entertained.
My face burned.
I shot Chris a glare.
He still hadn’t looked at me.
He just exhaled smoke slowly, eyes on the pool like this conversation had absolutely nothing to do with him.
Nate leaned back slightly, glancing between the two of us.
“You guys were upstairs for like… what, ten minutes?” he said casually.
Matt raised an eyebrow, smirk still there.
Chris’s shoulders tensed almost imperceptibly.
Of course Matt knew.
He always did.
Nate shrugged. “Not judging,” he added quickly.
Chris took another slow drag from the joint, jaw flexing slightly.
Matt tilted his head toward me. “You might wanna ice that later,” he said calmly. “Just saying.”
I wanted the ground to swallow me whole.
Nate snorted.
“Damn,” he said. “Someone was hungry.”
Chris grabbed his drink and took a long swallow, still refusing to look directly at me.
But the tension around him was obvious now.
Nate noticed immediately.
“Bro,” he said, pointing slightly. “You’re going to be on another planet in ten minutes.”
Chris shrugged, exhaling slowly.
“Better than listening to you talk.”
Nate laughed.
Matt leaned back against the table, watching Chris carefully.
“You’re getting pretty fucked up for a pool party,” he said.
Chris didn’t answer.
He just passed the joint toward Nate.
His eyes flicked toward me again.
Just for a second.
But this time they were darker.
Sharper.
Like something in him was getting closer and closer to snapping.
And suddenly I understood.
The drinking.
The smoking.
The tension.
He wasn’t trying to hide what happened upstairs.
He was trying to keep himself from caring about it too much.
From caring about me too much.
And somehow, that made my stomach twist even harder.
—
“Yn.”
His voice was quieter this time.
I looked over.
Chris was already looking at me, but not like before. Not sharp. Not irritated.
Softer.
A little unfocused
The alcohol had settled in.
“What?” I asked, trying to sound normal.
He tilted his head slightly, eyes dragging over me for a second too long. “You cold?”
I blinked. “No.”
“You’re literally still wet,” he said, nodding toward my arms, my legs. “And it’s getting cold out.”
“I’m fine,” I repeated, a small smile slipping through.
He didn’t look convinced.
Without saying anything, he started pulling off his hoodie.
My heart skipped.
“Chris—”
“Take it,” he said, holding it out toward me.
I stared at it.
“You’re gonna be cold,” I said.
He shrugged like it didn’t matter. “I’ll live.”
I shook my head lightly. “I’m okay.”
He watched me for a second, eyes lingering.
Then muttered, “Suit yourself,” and pulled the hoodie back on, but his gaze stayed.
“You having fun?” he asked, voice more casual now.
“Yeah,” I said. “You?”
He let out a small breath, glancing down at his drink before taking a sip.
“It’s alright,” he said.
Not convincing
I raised a brow. “Just alright?”
He looked back at me, lips pressing into the slightest smirk. “Could be better.”
My stomach flipped again.
I shook my head a little, looking away so he wouldn’t see it affect me.
“Then go find something better to do,” I said lightly.
“Yeah?” he said.
I felt it before I saw it—him leaning just slightly closer.
“Like what?” he asked quietly.
This time, he didn’t just lean.
His hand slid deliberately, just a fraction, onto my thigh.
My breath hitched.
I froze, feeling the warmth of his palm through my wet bikini bottom.
I looked up at him.
His eyes were locked on mine, calm. Controlled. Yet there was something dangerous simmering beneath it.
“Don’t ask me,” I whispered.
His fingers pressed just slightly, testing, teasing.
Not rough. Not too much. Just enough.
And in that second, the world around us—the music, the people, the laughter—faded.
It was just him.
Me.
And that brush of heat that wasn’t supposed to be allowed.
Neither of us moved.
Neither of us spoke.
But the tension between us was so loud, I felt it in my chest.
—
His hand was still on my thigh.
Just there. Testing. Teasing.
I tried to act normal.
Tried to focus on Nate talking about something dumb nearby.
But my knee brushing his—well, I couldn’t ignore that.
“You were trying to avoid me being in that pool, huh?”
I smirked, playing it off. “Avoid you? Me? Not really.”
He gave a short, teasing laugh. “Mm, not buying it. You were in there for a pretty long time.”
I tilted my head, feigning innocence. “Maybe I just wanted to get wet?”
“Yeah?” His fingers hooked lightly against the inside of my bikini string, teasing. “You know you could’ve just asked me… could’ve gotten you wet real quick.” He smirked. “Or maybe you didn’t want me that close?”
I felt a flutter in my chest, heat rising. “Maybe a little of both,” I said quietly.
He leaned just slightly closer, eyes smoldering. “That’s what I thought.”
I let my hand brush against his thigh now, tentative. Not gripping. Just… there.
He pressed just a little more firmly, thumb dragging lazily over my leg. “Yeah… there it is,” he murmured.
The words made my stomach twist, but before I could respond, a familiar voice cut through the tension.
“Yn? Come here!!”
Nick.
My eyes snapped to him.
Chris’s hand slid away instantly, back to his lap, casual, but his eyes flicked toward Nick with a sharpness that didn’t quite hide the heat.
I stood up quickly. “Yeah! Coming!”
Nick started walking over with a couple friends, his eyes lingering just a second too long—like he caught the tail end of something, like we moved just a little too fast to look normal.
Chris let out a low hum under his breath, almost satisfied.
“Careful,” he muttered quietly.
“Don’t let him see too much.”
My stomach twisted even harder.
—
The night was winding down. Music from the pool still drifting faintly in our ears as we piled into Matt’s car.
Nick and Matt slid into the front—Nick half-laughing, half-giggling at something Chris had said.
Chris collapsed into the backseat beside me, hoodie half-off, his hair a little messy, a buzz in his eyes. I could smell the lingering smoke, the faint tang of alcohol, and… him.
I let out a quiet laugh, sliding a little closer on the seat.
“You survive the pool?” he murmured, voice low, barely above a whisper, his shoulder brushing mine.
“Barely,” I whispered back, playful, nudging him with my elbow.
His lips twitched into a smirk. “Mm. You looked… good out there, to good” he breathed, so close I could feel it.
I froze for a heartbeat, pretending not to notice the warmth spreading through me. “Thanks…” I whispered, keeping it light.
He chuckled softly, letting his hand rest near mine, brushing lightly against my thigh under the seat.
I tilted my head, smirking. “Trying to get me in trouble, huh?”
“Maybe,” he whispered, leaning just enough that I could feel the heat of him. “Maybe I like bending the rules.”
I felt my stomach twist in that deliciously impossible way.
Matt laughed in the front, oblivious. Nick was half-singing along to some song, leaning back with his window open.
And in that small, confined space, the quiet between us was louder than anything outside.
Chris leaned just slightly closer. I leaned into him just enough.
No words. Just the warmth. The stolen touches. The heat that shouldn’t exist but did.
Then, he whispered, a teasing grin tugging at his lips, “You’re fun to tease, Yn.”
I smirked, leaning closer. “Yeah?” I whispered, “you love it, don’t you?”
His eyes softened for a second, almost warm. “Yeah,” he murmured, “I do.”
Even in the secret whispers, even in the stolen touches, there was that spark of something light—funny, playful, impossible.
Romcom energy in the middle of a chaotic, forbidden mess.
And somehow, I loved it.
AUTHORS NOTE: After so many crash outs and obstacles I hope this was worth the wait😓😓 PLS LMK IF U ARENT BEING TAGGED!!!
currently watching: rewatching true blood and ncis
current obsession: alexander skarsgård & AKOTSK
last google search: what did they call a temper tantrum in asoiaf
currently working on: the second chapter of my daeron au
🏷️ no pressure tags! @rottenbites @userhotd @lilahthedoll @bellesreverie @pensfairy @dewypout @deertaur @dolcefloral @doeeyedcrucifix @deerpains + anyone who would like to join
Matt Sturniolo arrived at six thirty in the morning.
Not because he was told to.
Because that was the hour the house changed shifts.
Night guards rotated out quietly, like a tide pulling back. Day personnel slid into place without ceremony. The estate never slept. It only recalibrated. Matt preferred to be present for the handoff. It told him everything he needed to know. Who was tired. Who was sloppy. Who was alert enough to notice things before they became problems.
You were still asleep when he took his position outside your door.
He didn’t knock. Didn’t announce himself. He stood with his back against the wall, arms crossed, gaze angled downward toward the hallway intersection. From there he could see the stairwell, the balcony railing, and the corner mirror that reflected the opposite corridor. Three lines of sight. One subject of concern.
You.
At seven forty-five, movement sounded inside the room. Bed springs. Footsteps. The soft scrape of a chair.
At eight, the door opened.
You stepped out wearing an oversized sweater and pajama shorts, hair messy, expression unreadable. You paused when you saw him, like you hadn’t expected him to be there already.
“You don’t knock,” you said.
“I don’t need to.”
“That’s unsettling.”
He didn’t respond.
You stared at him for another second, then sighed and walked past, padding down the hall toward the kitchen. Matt followed at a measured distance. Not close enough to crowd. Not far enough to lose sight.
Breakfast was served without conversation.
You poured yourself tea. Matt leaned against the counter near the door, eyes moving methodically across the room. Exits. Windows. Corners. You noticed he never turned his back to anything important.
“You’re very intense,” you said.
“Mm.”
You waited.
Nothing else came.
“Is that all I get,” you asked. “A sound.”
“Yes.”
You scoffed and returned to your tea.
At nine, the psychiatrist arrived.
Matt stayed in the room. That was new.
You shot him a look. “You don’t have to hover.”
“I do.”
“It’s a conversation.”
“It’s an evaluation.”
The doctor cleared his throat, uncomfortable but compliant. “If you’d prefer privacy—”
“She doesn’t,” Matt said.
You glared. “I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t say you did.”
You bit your tongue. The doctor began his questions. Sleep patterns. Appetite. Emotional regulation. You answered with practiced neutrality. Matt stood near the window, posture rigid, attention divided between the conversation and the grounds outside.
You could feel his presence like static.
When the doctor left, you pushed back from the table hard enough to make the chair legs scrape. “That was unnecessary.”
“Your father requested full oversight.”
“I’m not a threat.”
“I’m not here to debate that.”
You stared at him. “Do you think I’m going to hurt myself.”
He met your gaze evenly. “I think my opinion doesn’t matter.”
“That’s a cop-out.”
“That’s my job.”
The day stretched.
You tried to read. He followed you to the library. You moved to the balcony. He stood by the door. You went to the garden. He kept a ten-foot radius, constant but unobtrusive.
He never touched you.
Never commented unless necessary.
Never volunteered information.
At noon, you stopped short and turned on him again.
“Do you ever take breaks.”
“Yes.”
“When.”
“When I’m relieved.”
“Which is when.”
“When someone else is watching you.”
You folded your arms. “So never.”
“Correct.”
Lunch passed in silence.
You tested boundaries.
You lingered in hallways longer than needed. He waited.
You doubled back unexpectedly. He adjusted without comment.
You sat on the floor instead of a chair. He remained standing.
At one point, you walked toward a restricted wing of the house. He stepped into your path without touching you.
“Not there.”
“Why.”
“Off-limits.”
“Says who.”
“Your father.”
You rolled your eyes and turned around. He moved aside immediately, like a door opening and closing.
By midafternoon, irritation gnawed at you. Not because he was cruel. Because he was efficient. There was nothing to push against. No emotional reaction to provoke. No visible discomfort to exploit.
You pulled a cigarette from your pocket on the balcony, more out of defiance than habit. The lighter clicked.
“Smoking isn’t permitted on the upper floors,” Matt said.
You didn’t look at him. “I’ve always smoked here.”
“Not anymore.”
“Since when.”
“Since now.”
You stared at the flame, then snapped the lighter shut. “You’re serious.”
“Yes.”
“Do you enjoy this.”
“No.”
“Then why—”
“Rules don’t require enjoyment.”
You exhaled sharply and shoved the cigarette back into your pocket.
Dinner was announced at seven.
You barely touched your food. Matt didn’t comment. Didn’t urge. Didn’t report, as far as you could tell.
At nine, you headed back to your room.
He stopped outside the door.
“You don’t stand inside,” you said.
“No.”
“Good.”
He nodded once.
You closed the door. It didn’t lock.
You noticed.
The next morning was identical.
And the next.
And the next.
Days stacked on top of each other like identical files. You learned his patterns the way he learned yours. How he shifted his weight when he’d been standing too long. How his gaze flicked to clocks automatically. How he never sat unless instructed.
He learned when you skipped meals. When you lingered too long in the shower. When your hands shook slightly around your teacup.
Neither of you commented.
By the end of the week, the house felt smaller.
Not because of walls.
Because of eyes.
Matt remained what he had been from the start.
A boundary.
A rule in human form.
And you remained what you had always been.
A girl living under conditions she hadn’t agreed to.
The house had too many rooms and not enough noise.
That was the problem.
You could walk from one end to the other without hearing a single floorboard complain, without a voice calling your name, without the sound of life bumping into itself. The walls were thick, soundproofed in a way that felt less like luxury and more like precaution. Even the windows felt sealed tight against the world, heavy glass panes that didn’t rattle when the wind passed, didn’t hum when cars drove by the gates.
You were sitting in the sunroom with a book you hadn’t actually read in the last twenty minutes, tea going cold on the table beside you.
Jane Eyre. You liked the idea of it more than the plot right now. A woman trapped by circumstance, by expectation, by men who thought they knew better. You smirked faintly at the irony and turned a page without absorbing a word.
Outside, beyond the hedges trimmed with surgical precision, guards paced. You didn’t have to look to know where they were. You’d memorized the rhythm of their footsteps weeks ago. There was always one near the east wing, one by the rear garden, two at the gate. Sometimes more, depending on your father’s mood.
Today, judging by the silence and the tension you felt crawling up your spine, it was a bad one.
Your cigarette burned low between your fingers, smoke curling lazily toward the ceiling. You exhaled through your nose, slow and controlled. He hated that you smoked. Said it made you look weak. Said it made you look careless.
He hated a lot of things about you lately.
The sound of footsteps approaching didn’t surprise you. Heavy, deliberate. Shoes you’d known since childhood. You didn’t look up when he entered the room.
“Put that out,” your father said.
Not asked. Ordered.
You took one last drag, tapped the cigarette into the ashtray, and slid the book closed with a soft thud. Only then did you meet his gaze.
He stood near the doorway, suit immaculate, expression carved from stone. Silver threaded through his dark hair at the temples, a mark of time he pretended didn’t touch him. The most feared man in circles you’d never be allowed to speak about. The kind of man whose name carried weight even when whispered.
The kind of man who looked at his own daughter like she was a problem to be solved.
“You’ve been avoiding Dr. Havel,” he said.
You leaned back in your chair. “I saw him yesterday.”
“He says you barely spoke.”
“I’m not required to entertain him.”
“You’re required to get better.”
You laughed quietly. Not because it was funny. Because if you didn’t laugh, you might scream. “Get better from what?”
His jaw tightened. “Don’t do this.”
“Don’t do what?” you shot back, finally standing. “Ask you to explain why you talk about me like I’m broken?”
“You are unwell,” he said flatly.
There it was. The sentence he loved. The one he wielded like a verdict.
“I’m depressed,” you said, voice steady. “I have anxiety. That’s not the same thing as being dangerous.”
“You have episodes.”
“I have panic attacks.”
“You isolate.”
“I like being alone.”
“You scare people,” he snapped.
That one landed.
You swallowed. “I scare you.”
He didn’t deny it.
Silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating. Somewhere in the house, a clock ticked. You wondered if he could hear how loud your heart was beating, how carefully you were holding yourself together.
“I won’t have my daughter become a liability,” he said finally. “Not to this family. Not to this name.”
You crossed your arms. “So what, you’re locking me up?”
“No.”
The answer came too quickly.
“I’m ensuring you’re supervised.”
Your stomach dropped. “Supervised how.”
“Daily evaluations. Mandatory,” he said. “A psychiatrist will check in every day. Your medication will be monitored. Adjusted if necessary.”
“That’s already happening,” you said. “You already do that.”
“And,” he continued, cutting you off, “you will no longer be without protection.”
Your breath caught. “Protection from what?”
From yourself, he didn’t say. He didn’t have to.
“You’ll have a personal guard,” he said. “At all times when you’re outside your room.”
“That’s insane.”
“It’s final.”
You shook your head, backing away like distance might soften the words. “You don’t trust me at all.”
“I trust nothing when it comes to you right now.”
That hurt more than you expected.
“I’m not some… some liability statistic,” you said, voice cracking despite yourself. “I’m your daughter.”
“And I am responsible for keeping you alive,” he said. “Even if you hate me for it.”
A knock sounded at the door behind him.
Sharp. Controlled.
Your father didn’t turn. “Send him in.”
Him.
The word echoed.
The door opened, and the air in the room shifted.
He stepped inside like he belonged there, posture straight, shoulders squared. Black clothes, no unnecessary movement. His expression was neutral, bordering on cold, eyes sharp and observant as they flicked briefly to you before returning to your father.
Matt Sturniolo didn’t look like what you expected.
You weren’t sure what you had expected. Someone older, maybe. Someone bulky and obvious. Instead, he looked… contained. Like everything about him was deliberate. Even his stillness.
“This is Matt,” your father said. “He’ll be staying close to you from now on.”
Matt nodded once. “Ma’am.”
You stared at him. “You don’t have to call me that.”
“Yes, I do.”
Blunt. No warmth. No edge either. Just fact.
Your father studied you both. “He’s been briefed. He knows the rules. You will follow them.”
“What rules,” you asked, not looking away from Matt.
“No leaving the property without clearance,” Matt said. “No unaccounted-for time. If you’re feeling unwell, you report it. If you leave a room, I know where you’re going.”
You scoffed. “You’re kidding.”
“I don’t kid.”
That made your lips twitch despite yourself.
Your father turned to leave. “Get settled. Dinner is at seven.”
The door closed behind him, final and heavy.
You were alone with your shadow.
“So,” you said after a moment, folding your arms. “You gonna stand there all day or do you want a tour of my prison.”
Matt didn’t react. “I’ll stand where I can see you.”
“Creepy.”
“Effective.”
You rolled your eyes and grabbed your tea, taking a sip and grimacing at the cold. “I’m not going to hurt myself.”
He studied you. Not your body. Your face. Your hands. Your posture. Like he was reading something written beneath your skin.
“I’m not here to decide that,” he said. “I’m here to make sure you don’t.”
You exhaled slowly. “Great. Love that for me.”
He didn’t smile.
You moved past him, heading toward the hallway. He followed at a respectful distance. Not hovering. Not touching. Just there. A presence you couldn’t shake.
“This is temporary,” you muttered.
“Everything is.”
You stopped and turned. “You don’t think I’m crazy, do you?”
He paused. Just a fraction.
“I think you’re a person,” he said. “That’s enough for me.”
Summary: Y/n is stuck surviving in an abusive marriage. After moving to a new town, she’s now more isolated than ever. Or maybe not…Matt’s never been one to socialize with strangers, but something made him go up to her. Call it instinct.
CW: 18+ mature. Mentions of sex, soreness, and physical intimacy. Hints at financial abuse, physical injuries, and lying. Fear and anger are heavily prevalent. Lmk if I missed anything.
── Series Masterlist
Chapter 6
A dull ache throbs between my sore legs. Bed sheets tangled around my limbs reminds me of last night’s events. Adam and I reconnected physically. The date before hand was movie worthy. A nice, fancy restaurant, a bill so expensive it made me feel out of place, and a dress he’d picked that hugged my figure in all the right places.
Something about the previous evening in particular made something in my brain fully shift, like I was finally crawling out of survival mode in terms of our relationship. The earnest heart-to-heart the other day led to the rekindling of our bodies intertwined. I was grateful for that vunerable conversation, but it didn’t feel as intense as the skin-to-skin contact.
He touched me like he used to touch me. His hands whispered against my skin, his fingers holding me as if I was the softest thing he’d ever touched. I loved it. I love him. My husband, the man I fell in love with–the man who would do anything to keep me close.
“Hmmm…” Adam hums, curving so his body fits around mine, spooning my back against his chest. His lips linger on the side of my head. “Morning.”
I hum in response. My lips aren’t ready to move yet, especially not when they feel so bruised from his kisses last night.
I latch my hand over his. Our fingers intertwine, our wedding rings clanking against one another. This is marriage. This is what it’s supposed to be like. Not all the fighting and silent screams, but real conversations with real progress.
“I gotta get up, ugh,” he sighs. “I don’t wanna go to work today. We have some workplace standards meeting that I know is gonna be some dumb bullshit.”
He scrambles around the room. I place the sheets he had lifted back down, trying to retain warmth as I snuggle further into the duvet. He opens the closet to pull out a suit. He drags it out by the hanger, his eyebrows scrunched as he smooths over the fabric of the shirt.
“Babe, I love you…but you always miss a spot ironing,” he laughs.
I exhale, rubbing over my tired eyes, trying to focus on the spot he’s analyzing without moving from the bed. The slight wrinkle in the fabric is barely noticeable. It sits directly under the chest pocket, close the the middle seam lined with buttons.
Everytime I tried to iron that area, I burned my fingers trying to hold the fabric just right. And he knows that. He’d seen me jump and hold my fingers whenever he asked me to iron it again while he was waiting to put it on.
Sometimes I wanted to tell him he could do it. But then I remembered, he’s the one who works all day. I’m not even a stay at home mom right now, I’m a stay at home wife. The least I could do was make his life easier, to offer something in our partnership.
Part of me missed having a job. I missed interacting with different people, feeling a sense of accomplishment when I brought home a check that actually made a difference. It made it so I didn’t feel so guilty about putting all the pressure on him to provide for us.
“Can you turn on the iron and do this spot for me real quick?” he asks, a simple smile plastered on his face as he comes over to cradle my cheek.
I nod slowly, sighing as I get out of bed, dragging the sheets with my naked body. I moved over to the closet. I pull out a pair of underwear and a hoodie, slipping both on quickly. But as I start to stand back up after bending over, I hear a sound that makes me blush.
“Awwww, I was enjoying that view…maybe another round later?” Adam winks.
Shaking my head with a heavy smile, I grab the hanger with only the dress shirt. Adam walks around in only the pants, the belt looped through the waist, but not yet clasped.
He’s waiting on me. I hate when he does that. It makes the difficult task seem even more daunting when someones just hovering.
“Later we have the dinner at our house, remember?” I remind, watching his face click with realization.
“Still,” he breathes, “After that, I would love to see my wife showing me some appreciation, you know? It would be a good way to unwind after such a stressful day…just saying…”
Ew. I don’t like how he worded that.
“We’ll see.”
Pulling down the ironing board, I set the iron on top of it, pressing the device on. I slide the shirt onto the board. My thoughts run back to the old bakery I used to work at. Maybe I could look for jobs today?
I mean, I don’t see why Adam would be upset if I can still pull everything together for the little get-together at our house tonight. It’s mostly his old friends that have all somehow ended up here. A lot of them worked at his same company, others being police officers, some being involved in different businesses.
They were all older than me. By a lot. Which wasn’t surprising since Adam already has a good couple years on me with age. But it made it a lot harder to feel…apart of the group.
Wine was their go-to. I hated wine, or any alcohol, really. It didn’t taste good.
“I was thinking,” I flatten the shirt excessively, trying to calm my nerves as I find the write wording, “Maybe I could look for a job? I kinda miss having something to do…”
He lets out a heavy sigh. I regret asking, I regret even thinking about it. Why did I think he would say yes in the first place anyhow?
“I’ll think about it.”
I nod. I slowly glide the iron over the shirt, but without fail, I try to hold a freshly pressed place, yelping as I hold my finger against my chest almost instantly.
“Is it done?” he asks, not even checking if I’m okay. I nod. There’s still a slight crease that resulted from my jolt, but it’s barely noticeable. If anything, the only noticeable thing is the smell of burnt flesh. “Thanks.”
He slides the shirt on. I suck on the tip of my finger, trying to lick over the sensative spot.
“I don’t even get why you want a job anyhow. The best you could get would be some shitty part time job, and that’s barely enough to pay for anything. It just seems pointless.”
My eyes water, partially from his heavy statement, but also because I can feel a blister forming under the pad of my pointer finger. “I just want to help out somehow…”
He buttons up his shirt, flattening the collar down. Leaning forward, he pushes some of my hair behind my ear, his eyes dancing in mine with intention.
“Hm…okay. How about this—we use the money you make to go on dates, focus on our relationship. I want to feel like you’re as in this as me. I don’t want some job to be a reason you grow more distant, alright?”
I feel a frown tug on my lips before I could stop it. “Why can’t we just make a budget for dates instead of just designating all the money I make towards them?”
“Really? You’re throwing a fit for me asking for a bit of effort from your end? I’ve paid for everything for years, and you can’t do this? If you even got a job, that is.”
My eyelids feel heavy. I sink into the ground, my knees locking as I try to think properly.
He’s not wrong. I think that’s what makes me upset.
He has paid for everything. I want something, he gives a compromise that will help our relationship, I immediately make it difficult.
God, was I really this incapable of being a good partner? I’m lucky he settled for me. I’m lucky I’m not alone, sulking in self-pity, and ugly because of him. He watches out for me—for us, and all I ever do is get in the way.
“You’re right…I think that’s a good idea.”
“Good. Just make sure dinner is prepped and ready tonight. If job searching gets in the way, it’s not something we should risk for the sake of our marriage.”
—
“Wait, fuck–”
A wave of realization crashes over me. My feet ache from hours of standing, but I can’t sit down now. After running around the city all day, asking for job applications, I was still left with the daunting task of preparing dinner for tonight.
But I forgot one thing. Wine.
I had everything else almost done. There was no time to run to the store now, not with everything either sitting on the stove or heating in the oven. If anything, a fire would tarnish the entire dinner instead of just one item being missing.
Rushedly, I type in my phone. I know Adam is on his way back from work any minute now, he can just pick a bottle up. He’d know which type would be preferred anyhow.
I send the text. Scurrying back to the various pots and pans, I wince as the slightly charred food. It’s not terribly burnt, but there would definaterly be a hint of bitterness with a couple bites. Those could be specifically placed in my dish. It wasn’t the end of the world.
About fifteen minutes passes by. I hear the front door open and shut just as I’m about to wipe the flour off of my shirt.
Adam’s voice echoes, but his tone is less than pleasant. “Why does it smell burnt?”
I rush towards the door, my face falling as I see his hands barren besides his briefcase.
“Did you get my text?” I ask, hopeful that somehow a brown bag will just suddenly appear out of thin air.
It doesn’t.
I watch as he furrows his brows, pulling his phone out from his pocket before staring down at the device with squinted eyes.
“Are you…are you kidding me?” he seethes. My stomach drops. Rage consuming his features makes my chest feel tighter, the slight twitch in his brows making everything feel fuzzy.
“I’m sorry, I just—”
“No. Just no. Finish making the damn food. I’ll be back, since I have to make up for your incopenence, like always.”
—
My heart was bursting with sad pain. Every beat felt like too much effort, each blink of my eyes feeling like an entire marathon.
Don’t cry. Just don’t cry.
I repeat the mantra in my head, trying to fake a smile as the guests chatter with generous smiles. At least everyone seems happy. Even Adam let go of his anger to truly enjoy the night. He didn’t berate me in front of his friends. I appreciated it, but it also made me fearful.
Being alone with him later is a thought that makes my pulse stutter. He’s beyond furious. I know for a fact that the consequences for my own idiotic forgetfulness is yet to come. I had one job, one thing to do. But instead of taking his allowance of looking into jobs with respect, I did it with selfless priorities.
I proved him right. I always prove him right. Because at the end of the day, I couldn’t blame him for reacting to my short comings. It wasn’t fair for me to expect perfection from him when I made more mistakes than anything else.
“-she’s real clumsy. Just burnt her hand on the stove the other day and her finger on the ironing board this morning. Thankfully, I was there to take care of her. True wild card, I tell ya.”
Adam’s words make my mouth linger with distaste. Clumsy? It wasn’t my fault. It wasn’t technically his fault either, given it was an accident, but why was he making it seem like something it wasn’t?
Why did his explanation make him an absolute hero?
I bite my tongue as the conversation continues. A wine glass in front of me remains untouched, the taunting magenta liquid making my waterline feel heavy with tears. Of course the one thing I forgot was the one thing I didn’t like. Maybe part of my subconscious was purposerfully being selfish when I abandoned the store without the bottle of wine.
My hand reaches towards his sleeve. I need to use the bathroom, but leaving without telling him what I’m doing seems like an addition to the catastrophe of tonight.
“Ada–” I tug on his sleeve, only to be shrugged off.
He doesn’t even look towards me. Adam simply shakes his head, letting out a rough sigh.
I try again.
This time, he looks towards me. Only, the glare in his eyes is cruel. The intentsity of his gaze makes me gulp, my eyes widening with hesitation.
I open my mouth to speak, but he cuts me off with a angry whisper. “Don’t.” His voice is low, dangerous. Everything about the way he’s staring down at me with complete rage makes my body float on anxiety.
My lips stay glued shut. I try to focus on anything else besides how much water I’ve drank, lifting the weight of the world as I try to fake another smile as everyone around me laughs.
Tonight is not going to end well.
.
.
.
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Paige’s Notes: It would be a shame if Matt...nevermind...I refuse to spoil anything...
Comments are always very appreciated (I love reading them sm). So are reblogs & likes !! Thank you for reading !!
. . . 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: oral!mreceiving, cursing, matt being hot, car sex👅
guys road head ain’t ever a good idea so stay safe yall
he looked so good. a little too good.
matt had just filmed a car video with tara and had come to pick you up to bring you out. no beard. backwards cap. ruffled hair.
you felt feral. it made you sick how good he looked.
you couldn’t help but cross your legs while he was driving to soothe a slight bit of the pain between your legs, your fingers between your lips as you gazed over at him.
“you okay?” he asks, hand moving to switch gears.
fuck. that made it worse
his one hand between the bottom of the wheel with just two fingers and the gear change. the revs sounding a bit like your mind going scrambled.
“yeah” you reply with a slow nod. your hand moves slowly over to matt’s side of the car, nails gently striking up and down his thigh.
he slightly twitches at the feeling, “bab-” “shhhh” you hush him, moving to kneel on your seat without getting tangled in the seatbelt.
you fingers move to his belt, unclipping it from his jeans and opening his button. his hips lift to help you shimmy them down slightly.
your hand takes his length into your grip, slowly squeezing the bottom and pulling up to the tip. you plant kisses up and down it as matt struggles to stay still.
“y/n i—” he starts. “just shut up and drive” you say sternly. he lets out a slight whimper but continues.
you finally wrap your lips around his tip making him moan, giving it a kitten lick and a swirl before sucking the whole thing into your mouth.
you bob your head up and down at a steady pace as matt lets out moans and whimpers, trying his best to keep up good driving.
his body twitches even more, you know he’s close. “yeah fuck this” he yanks your head up and speeds to a quiet, reserved area.
you’re now in the back with your leg over matt’s shoulder as he pounds int you at a ruthless pace.
“fucking distracting me from driving huh? think that’s funny” he says between breathes, watching your face contort in pleasure.
“matt ‘m so— s- sorry” you babble out, hands gripping onto him as best as you can, but he had other plans. he grips your wrists between his hand and holds them above your head.
your eyes roll to the back of your head as his other hand lifts your hips at an angle slightly. “no you’re not, so impatient aren’t you? can’t even wait till we get to home for my dick” he chuckles.
all you can do is moan, back arching at his words. “matt ‘m— c-close” you let out, looking up at him with pleading eyes.
his other hand comes to pull your other leg over his shoulder, making you shriek. “thereee we go” he smirks at you.
your body shakes beneath him as he pounds into you harder, making sure you take every single inch of him.
eventually, you come undone, body spasming under his control as he lets out a few grunts alongside more thrusts until he follows suit.
warnings: sexual content, kinky, pet names, eye contact, dominant, teasing, aggression, nipple piercing+nipple sucking
summary: your boyfriend chris always talked about how you would look sexy with both of your nipple pierced so you surprised him by getting both of them pierced.
The walk from the car to the front door felt like a marathon. every step you took, the fabric of your lace bra brushed against the fresh medal, sending sharp, electric jolts straight to your chest. you was raw, you was throbbing, and you absolutely reeling from the adrenaline. you fumbled with your keys, finally pushing the door open. the house was quiet, but the air felt charged. you practically shed your belongings—your keys clattered onto the marble kitchen island, followed by the heavy thud of your purse and your phone. you didn’t bother picking them up. you had one goal.
wincing slightly as you took the stairs, you reached the master bedroom and pushed the door open. the scent of cedar and citrus body wash hit you instantly. chris was sitting on the edge of the bed, his back to you, still damp from the shower. a white towel slung low around his hips, gripping his waist just enough to show off his v-line of his torso. his skin was still glistening under the bedroom lights, completely unaware of the sensitive, silver secret you was hiding under your shirt.
you let out a soft, breathy giggle as you approached the bed, the sound catching his attention. chris started to turn his head, a smirk already tugging at the corner of his mouth, but you didn’t give him a chance to speak. you moved into his space, straddling his lap and settling onto his thighs. the movement made your breath hitch—the friction of your bra against your chest felt like a thousand tiny sparks—but the look in chris’s eye made the sting worth it. his hands instinctively came up to rest on your waist, his palms warm against your skin. “well, hello to you too,” he rumbled, his voice low and vibrating against you. “you’re home early. why the giggles?”
you leaned in, your nose brushing against his, the heat radiating off his freshly showered skin making your head spin. you could feel every pulse in your body centered right where the silver barbells were hiding. you was playing a risky game, knowing that if he pulled you just an inch closer, you’d probably gasp from the sensitivity. “I have a surprise for you,” you whispered, your hands sliding up his chest, stopping just short of your own collarbone. “but you have to be very, very gentle with me tonight.”
chris’s eyebrows shot up, his grip on your waist tightening just a fraction. “gentle? that doesn’t sound like you.” his eyes darkened with curiosity as his gaze dropped to your lips, then lower, noticing the way you was holding yourself so carefully. “what you do?” the air in the room seemed to still as the words left your lips. chris’s hands, which had been loosely circling your waist, froze. he went completely silent, his eyes widening as his gaze dropped to the front of your shirt, his brain trying to catch up what you’d just confessed.
“you what?” he rasped, his voice dropping an octave, thick with a mix of shock and instant heat. you bit your lip harder, a nervous flutter dancing in your stomach. “i got them done. just now.” you gave a tiny, careful shrug that made you wince. “they’re… they’re really sensitive, baby. and they’re beautiful.”
the look on his face shifted from pure surprise to a hunger that made your heart race. he didn’t move immediately; it was like he was afraid that if he breathed too hard, he might hurt you. his hands slide slowly, agonizing, from your waist up to your ribs, stopping just inches shy of the fresh medal. “you did that for me?” he whispered, his eyes finally meeting yours, burning with appreciation. “can I see? let me see them, baby.”
You nodded, your fingers trembling slightly as you reached for the hem of your shirt. you moved with extreme caution, inching the fabric upward. as the shirt lifted, the cool air hit your skin, making your goosebumps rise and your chest tighten. finally, the light caught the glint of the fresh, polished silver barbells.
chris let out a low, shaky breath, his pupils blowing wide. “god, they’re perfect,” he breathed, leaning in closer until the heat from his skin was radiating against yours, but he still didn’t dare make contact. “you look sexy.” he leans down and kisses one of your pierced nipples gently, then the other one. his hands squeeze your breast softly causing you to whimper. “does it hurt?” he asked between kisses, “…because I wanna suck on them so bad right now.” his fingers played with the bars lightly. “…can I?” you bit your lip as you nodded
he smiled mischievously and wraps his lips around one of your sensitive pierced nipples, sucking gently but firmly. his other hand playfully tweaks the bar on the other nipple. he noticed how your eyes flutter closed and you let out a soft moan. he pulls back and bites your piercing playfully, knowing it’ll send a jolt of pleasure through you. you arch your back slightly and whimpered. he smirks and continues his playful torture, biting, sucking and teasing your pierced peaks. “too sensitive for ya?” your head fell back, your neck arched in a graceful line as you nodded eagerly.
he chuckled darkly, “good. means I’m doing something right.” he captured both nipples between his fingers and pinches gently, watching your face for reactions. his voice drops lower, “…you like that?” he pinches again, harder this time, “…baby?” “yes baby i-i fucking l-love it,” you whispered, as he continued to suck and lick on both of your sensitive nipples.
he grins, his eyes dark with desire as he continues to play with your pierced nipples. he suddenly lifts you up and laid you down on the bed, positioning himself between your legs. “spread your thighs,” he commands, his voice firm but gentle. “I wanna see if these piercings…” he trails off as he spreads your legs open, looking down at your glistening pussy with a hungry expression. he reaches out and gently pulls on the hoop piercing at the top of your slit, making you gasp. “fuck,” he mutters, “I forgot you had gotten your pretty little pussy pierced a few months ago.”
he leans down, his eyes locked onto yours as he captured the hoop between his teeth. he lightly pulled and tugged on the piercing, making your pussy flutter with pleasure. his hand comes up to rub your clit in slow circles, “does that feel good, baby?” “yes… yes baby…” you whimpered, the sound caught between a moan and a plea. he hums against your piercing, sending vibrations through your core.
his fingers slip inside you easily, thanks to how wet you are. “so fucking wet,” he mutters approvingly, pumping his fingers in and out slowly as he continues to play with your piercing with his teeth. “you like having your pretty pussy played with like this?” “yes” you moaned softly, causing chris to pump his fingers faster inside you.
he wraps his arm around your thigh and pulls your leg over his shoulder, opening you up even wider to him “and what about when i do this?” he asked, curling his fingers inside you to press against your g-spot while his thumb finds your clit and circles it faster
he smirks, knowing exactly what these moans mean. he keeps up the pressure on your sensitive spots, his other hand coming up to pinch and roll your nipple piercing between his fingers. “you’re gonna cum for me, aren’t you baby?” you moaned softly, “mhm.. don’t stop baby please don’t.” he increases the pace of his fingers inside you, curling them harder against your g-spot while rubbing faster circles on your clit. his teeth pulled gently on the hoop piercing again, “…cum for me,” he commands softly but firmly, “…let me see that pussy squirt.”
as soon as those words left chris’s mouth u start squirting everywhere. his eyes widen with excitement as he watched your pussy squirt all over his hand and the bed. he continues to finger you through your orgasm, his own dick throbbing in his pants. “fuck…you’re so damn pretty when you squirt,” he groans, he slowly pulls his fingers out your pussy and brings them to his mouth, sucking off your juices.
“delicious,” he murmurs, setting your leg back down gently. he stood up and starts to undo the towel that was wrapped around his waist “now I’m gonna fuck this pretty pierced pussy and make you squirt all over my cock.” he pulls out his thick, hard dick and steps between your legs again. he pushes your legs up to your chest, opening you up completely for him. “I’m gonna fuck this hoop piercing right through your pussy.” he growls, notching his dick at your entrance.
you let out a soft, melodic sigh, your eyes squeezed shut as you drifted into a haze of pleasure. he slams into you without a warning, the head of his dick hitting your g-spot immediately thanks to the angle. you gasp and moan loudly as he starts pounding into you aggressively, “fuck yes….take my cock baby,” he gripped your hips hard, “… feel that?” “mhm” you hummed, causing him to lean over you and starts fucking you even harder, his hips smacking against your ass with each thrust.
he reaches up and pulls on your nipple piercing roughly, “squirt on my dick,” he demands, his other hand coming down to slap your clit repeatedly, “cum for me again, baby.” you left out a loud moan, squirting all over him again. he groans loudly as your pierced pussy squeezed his cock and squirts all over him. he doesn’t slow down his brutal pace though, fucking you through your orgasm and making you squirt again. “dirty girl,” he pants, “…loving this pierced pussy..”
he sits up on the bed and pulls you onto his lap, making you bounce on his dick as he sucks and bites your pierced nipples. “ride my cock baby,” he growls, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he encourages you to bounce harder.” you threw your head back as you bounced on his dick harder.
his eyes rolled back as you start bouncing on his dick faster, his dick hitting your sweet spot with every bounce. he captures both pierced nipples in his mouth at once, sucking hard as his hands squeezing your ass cheeks roughly. “yeah take daddy dick..” he breaks off to suck harder on one nipple piercing.
fwb!chris, smut, sexual content, dry humping/grinding, no actual sex, smoking, usage of weed, kissing/making out, shotgunning, pet names, cumming in pants, swearing, kinda sub-ish chris? (not proofread)
smoke drifts lazily between you and chris, encasing you in a metaphorical and literal hazy cloud. your thighs rest either side of his hips, bracketing them.
you take hit of the blunt you’ve been passing back and forth for the past ten minutes before connecting your lips to chris’s in a high, sensual kiss, exhaling the smoke into his mouth.
“mmfph—fuck.” he groans against your mouth when you nip at his bottom lip, playfully tugging it.
you break the kiss to trail wet, sloppy kisses down his jaw and onto his neck, sucking on the skin, making sure to leave a mark.
“shiit angel, fuckin’ possessive today huh?” his voice comes out in a low rasp, indicating how turned on he is. although you don’t need any other signals when you can clearly feel his growing bulge against pressing up against you through your jeans.
your lips leave his neck and return to his own—as he takes another drag of the blunt, and this time exhales into into your mouth with a soft, pleasured sound.
your hands slide from the back of his neck to thread through his hair, tugging lightly to provoke a reaction from him. you’re pleased when he lets out a stifled sharp intake of breath, clearly enjoying your manicured nails scratching his scalp and tangling in his dark curls.
the kiss becomes more heated, and soon you two are lost in the moment. the blunt lays forgotten on his bedside table, having already done its job. his dick twitches beneath you, causing your hips to roll forward on instinct.
the friction of his jeans through your thin cotton shorts is perfect, dragging just right. so you do it again, this time with more purpose. he groans into your mouth, hands trailing down your sides to grip your hips, grinding you down on him. you form a slow, sensual rhythm, stimulating you both as your lips locking continue to be the only noise in his dim, weed-smelling room.
chris swears under his breath as his dick jumps from beneath the denim. “shi—shit,” he says breathily. his hips buck to meet yours, creating a more intense feeling that makes you gasp when the seam of his jeans catches on your clothed clit.
“fuck, keep doin’ that.” he pants into your mouth, grinding his hips up so you two are moving in tandem now, synchronised in your pleasure.
you begin to feel your release coiling low in your belly almost embarrassingly fast. maybe it’s the weed in your system, but everything feels heightened, hypersensitive.
you can tell chris is close too, by the way his low groans have shifted into soft, muffled whimpers and shaky breaths.
your movements become slightly more desperate as you grind and rut your hips against his clothed dick, chasing the delicious friction.
you’re sure your panties must be soaked through from how worked up you are—something that chris’ll definitely tease you about later.
the pleasure mounts and you cum with a soft cry, burying your face in his shoulder as chris cums too, his hips lifting and pressing into yours to rub his cock against you through his orgasm.
the air stills, and the only noises left in chris’s bedroom are your shared shallow pants.
“shit.” you look down at the mess between you, seeing that you’ve soaked his jeans. “sorry.” you say, slightly amused.
“all that from just grindin’ on my dick?” chris teases, nipping at your jaw playfully. “oh fuck off.” you prod him, rolling your eyes.
“you’re acting like you didn’t just cum in your pants.”
💌 freya yaps . . . #needthat #wantthat #cravethat
comment under this or this post to be added to my taglist.
this is so sweet omg 🥹 thank you for tagging me lovely!
origin of your username
if you take a look at my blog, you might see that my username was formerly hauntedhouseofhargrove because billy's death in st in fact haunted me 😭 and i had a whole thing where i wanted to make it seem as though my page resembled a haunted house with several exhibits and whatnot. to neutralize it to other fandoms, i just made it 'hauntedhouseofhorrors' – not in any way related to the film 'the haunted house of horror.' i guess it kind of just stuck with me even though i got rid of the whole haunted house thingy but here we are now :b
i will always order...
either chipotle or sushi...it's my complete weakness
most overused emoji
😛
current favorite movie, show, book
my all-time favorite movie is 'me before you' since i don't think i have any current picks. show-wise would have to be stranger things atm! i've seen all of the critique around the finale but the nostalgia of it definitely outweighs all of the flaws that i've found. i'm not a huge book gal but i'm trying to get into reading! some of my favorites that i can recall are books from middle school lmao, but i am currently on the first book of the twilight saga. if you guys have any recommendations, feel free to share them with me!
song on repeat
pushing it down and praying by lizzy mcalpine...don't judge me 😭
last thing you hyperfixated on
the triplets and twilight
an oddly specfic thing that brings you joy
very strange but i just now got on board w this as i got a new ipad for christmas and got myself a new phone – but all of my devices are blue and they have cases within the similar color families lmao (purple + burgundy)
phone wallpaper
a collage of my cats!
a smell that makes you happy
i looove the smell of incense. i've been lighting them lately to help me sleep, but palo santo, cedarwood – i love scents that are woodsy or musky
morning, night, or other time of day type of person
i personally thrive at night and i whole-heartedly wish i was a morning person. if my schedule allowed it, i would surely be spending a lot more time staying up late into the night lmao
npts: @chrisssiren @pepsipoet @immaqulate @sturnililio @sturncoast @lilysturnz @devotedlyteenagemusic @starrsturns @gracedbysturns @luvsyouaria + anyone that'd like to participate in this!
aww this is soo cutee thankk u for tagging me @hauntedhouseofhorrors
origin of your username
okk sooo my username now doesn’t particularly have heaps of meaning besides the fact that i like both stars and the sturniolo triplets. but, my username used to be elysesturns which was because my middle name is elyse, and i tend to use it when doing usernames in games, platforms, etc.
i will always order
i always love sushi (specifically tuna and avocado rolls), but if i want something more like breakfasty or sweet i’m an absolute sucker for an apple danish from my local bakery
most overused emoji
it’s definitely gotta be this- 😭
current fav movie, show, book
okay well, like every other bitch, i love stranger things (although the finale did have a lot of flaws). the current tv show i’m watching is grey’s anatomy and i’m rlly enjoying it. but another one of my all time favourites has to be dexter. the current book i’m reading is the first one in the maze runner series. i’m pretty sure i’ve already watched all the movies (maybe except death cure). i don’t necessarily have a current fav movie since i don’t watch movies all that often, but i rewatched fight club recently and it reminded me of how much i love it, so that’s in my top ten for sure. and i love 10 things i hate about you.
song on repeat
(theres multiple 😅)
hurt my feeling by tate mcrae (this has been on repeat for MONTHS)
freak by lana del ray
everytime by ariana grande
my top song on shelf is currently honey baby by henry morris
my shelf link btw 🤗
last thing you hyperfixated on
the sturniolo triplets (obv ongoing), and probably nessa barrett bc i loveeee her music and went to her concert in december with a friend
an oddly specific thing that brings you joy
random but i LOVE cracking my knuckles, back, neck, toes etc it’s lowkey a big stim of mine
phone wallpaper
a smell that makes you happy
i absolutely have adored the scent of sandalwood ever since i was really little, and i’ve been really enjoying using sandalwood scented bodywash lately
morning, night or any other type of day type of person
i’m 100% a night person, bc i need like at least three hours to just sit in my bed before i go to sleep. my sleep schedule is fucked 😭
no pressure tags . . . @chrepsi, @sturnskiss, @cloudmagines, @xmattschainx, @flimsturns, @h3arts4nat, @chrisstvrns, @angelsturnx, @sturnsfavgirl, @snoopychris, @n3vers4tisfied, @charmersturns, @mattsdiva, @aaliyah-sturns, @passionfruitchris, @whor3ing + anyone else who wants to join
in 2020 i was a hugeeee fan of corpse husband and my favorite song of his was never satisfied
ִ ࣪𖤐.ᐟ i will always order
i don’t tend to eat a lot of fast food because i loveeee cooking but if i’m drunk i WILL fuck up a taco combo from taco bell
ִ ࣪𖤐.ᐟ most overused emoji
😼
ִ ࣪𖤐.ᐟ current favorite movie, show, book
i’m not a big show watcher but supernatural has always been my fav. favorite movie has to be ‘people we meet on vacation.’ i watched it today and i’m obsessed. favorite book is the entire shatter me series. HIGHLY recommend.
ִ ࣪𖤐.ᐟ song on repeat
pushing it down and praying by lizzy mcalpine. no further comment.
ִ ࣪𖤐.ᐟ last thing you hyperfixated on
minecraft honestly. i’ve played like 20 hours just this week…
ִ ࣪𖤐.ᐟ oddly specific thing that brings you joy
curling up in bed and reading a book in my room while it’s raining. bonus points if there’s a candle and soft music.
ִ ࣪𖤐.ᐟ phone wallpaper
a picture i took of banff on my trip to canada.
ִ ࣪𖤐.ᐟ a smell that makes you happy
the smell outside right after it rains
ִ ࣪𖤐.ᐟ morning, night, or other time of day person
i am a night owl for SURE! i love how quiet it is. i always get the most done at night.
i dont watched tv that much anymore but i love never have i ever, maze runner, hunger games, harry potter, and any early 2000s comedy movie like superbad, 21&22 jump street.
ִ ࣪𖤐.ᐟ song on repeat
the chain - fleetwood mac
century - esdeekid
hell is a dancefloor - vincent mason
ִ ࣪𖤐.ᐟ last thing you hyperfixated on
sea animals. Quiz me on ocean facts.
ִ ࣪𖤐.ᐟ oddly specific thing that brings you joy
baby sensory videos...
ִ ࣪𖤐.ᐟ phone wallpaper
my and my man when he gave me my promise ring !
ִ ࣪𖤐.ᐟ a smell that makes you happy
my mans cologne duhhh
ִ ࣪𖤐.ᐟ morning, night, or other time of day person
