content warnings: for adult readers only, minors do not interact; toxic relationship; jealousy, violent abusive behavior, intimidation, possessiveness; dominance; angst
note: no descriptions of reader's appearance, no pronouns used, no explicit language. no smut.
word count: 1.1k
“Where you think you're going, hm?”
His hand snatched your wrist as you tried to walk past Rafe, walk out of the door. Away from him.
You pulled your arm back.
“I wanna leave,” your voice was shaking, your gaze directed at the floor in front of you. You didn’t have to look to feel his eyes burning into you.
“Where?” he demanded.
“Just anywhere.” You through your arms around your body, as if you were trying to hold yourself together.
“You wanna go to him.”
Your eyes flew up to meet his.
“No!” Your voice firm as you stood your ground.
“Don’t lie to me. I know you’ve been seeing him.”
“That’s not true, Rafe. This has nothing to do with him. Not with anyone, but you.” You felt your pulse in your throat, like something chasing you. Your feet itching like they were telling you to run.
“Liar.” That one word hurt like a slap.
“You’ve been lying to me. This whole time, you’ve been lying to me.” He gritted his teeth.
“No. No, Rafe, no.” You took a step back.
“You think I’m stupid? You think I don’t know?” He cocked his head sideways and frowned, glaring at you through narrowed eyes.
Slowly he was stepping forward. With his long strides, he would reach you soon, even though your feet hurried to get backwards, hurried to get away.
“No,” that word was nothing but a breathy, gasp as your back hit the wall.
“I saw you with my own eyes.” Each word was overly articulated. “And you’re still lying to me, standing here, in front of me, lying into my FACE!” He yelled that last word so loudly, you flinched. Raising your shoulders as if you could shrink away from him.
“No, please, Rafe.” Your voice shaking.
He was so close now, you could feel the raging heat radiating from his body. And he still came closer. You pressed your eyes shut, turning your face as if you could hide from a nightmare.
“Please, Rafe, no,” he said in an exaggerated high voice, mocking you.
Your palms touched wall behind you, but there was nothing to hold onto.
“You think I’m stupid, that it?”
You felt his hot breath on your face.
You were about to shake your head, pleading, shaking, when suddenly his hand gripped your chin, forcefully turning your head.
“Look at me.”
Your lips trembling, you pressed your eyelids shut.
“Look at me!” he screamed.
You shuddered and blinked your teary eyes open. Your own breathing was so loud, you heard it like thunder in your ears.
“Do I look stupid to you?”
You tried to shake your head, but his firm grip prevented any movement. A whining noise left your lips before you managed to stutter, “No, Rafe, no.”
“No, Rafe no what?” He tilted his head to the side, bringing his face close to yours. His blue eyes frantically flickering over your face, as if he was looking for something.
“You’re not stupid. I’m sorry. Please, Rafe. Just, just late me go.”
His body was caging you in. And still he moved closer. You put your hands up, put them between his and your body. But you shied away from touching him.
He looked down, eyebrows raised as if in wonder about that defensive gesture of yours. You never fought back, he knew that. He knew you well. You’d never once fought back and wouldn’t fight back now.
He inhaled deeply, his chest expanding and your fingertips touching his shoulders. And maybe it was a reflex, or maybe it was something else, but suddenly without being a conscious decision of yours, your fingers curled, curled and clawed into his shoulders.
You were sure this touch couldn’t have hurt him, but you saw his features change. Eyes widened in surprise, his mouth opened, and staying that way without a word coming out of it.
Your handballs pressed against his shoulders, not enough to push him away, not enough to make him flinch. But your fingers dug into his back, pressing harder, you felt his tense muscles, your hands shaking, not sure if still from fear or from effort now.
Only now did you realize that your back was no longer touching the wall. And it wasn’t him that was coming closer, but it was you drawing nearer, pressing your own body up against his. You felt him straighten up, faces no longer in line, he gazed down. His eyelids half closed, pupils still huge. The flickering seemed to have stopped, as if he had found what he had been looking for, searching for, yearning to see.
His fingers were digging into your cheek, your mouth opened, as you tilted your head back to your neck. And his fingers slipped into your mouth. His own mouth opened as if imitating that motion. You held eye contact as you felt his fingers pushing over your tongue, deeper and deeper entering your mouth.
Your own fingers digged harder into his shoulders. And you didn’t know if that was response or cause for his fingers pushing even deeper down your throat, making you gag.
His mouth closed, the frown was back on his brows, displaying high concentration as he evoked choking noises out of your throat.
Tears were welling in your eyes. You didn’t blink them away, but let them run freely down your cheeks, down the glowing heated skin of your face. Your legs began shaking as he pushed harder, but you held onto him. And your lips closed around his fingers.
When he pulled out, you felt your lips and tongue sucking on them for a second. Then air hit your lungs and you coughed hard, bending over, where he was. And your face pressed against his chest, dampening his shirt. His hand at the back of your head, pulling you close, so close, you felt like suffocating. All you could breathe in was his smell of sweat and shower gel and expensive whiskey, a bitterness filled your senses, as every part of you was clinging onto him.
“I forgive you,” I forgive you, he whispered. His embrace tightened. And you felt his body shaking, heard his sobbing. And you held him closer.
And you knew he wouldn’t ever let you go. And neither would you.
content warnings: for adult readers only, minors do not interact; toxic relationship; jealousy, violent abusive behavior, intimidation, possessiveness; dominance; angst
note: no descriptions of reader's appearance, no pronouns used, no explicit language.
word count: 1.1k
“Where you think you're going, hm?”
His hand snatched your wrist as you tried to walk past Rafe, walk out of the door. Away from him.
You pulled your arm back.
“I wanna leave,” your voice was shaking, your gaze directed at the floor in front of you. You didn’t have to look to feel his eyes burning into you.
“Where?” he demanded.
“Just anywhere.” You through your arms around your body, as if you were trying to hold yourself together.
“You wanna go to him.”
Your eyes flew up to meet his.
“No!” Your voice firm as you stood your ground.
“Don’t lie to me. I know you’ve been seeing him.”
“That’s not true, Rafe. This has nothing to do with him. Not with anyone, but you.” You felt your pulse in your throat, like something chasing you. Your feet itching like they were telling you to run.
“Liar.” That one word hurt like a slap.
“You’ve been lying to me. This whole time, you’ve been lying to me.” He gritted his teeth.
“No. No, Rafe, no.” You took a step back.
“You think I’m stupid? You think I don’t know?” He cocked his head sideways and frowned, glaring at you through narrowed eyes.
Slowly he was stepping forward. With his long strides, he would reach you soon, even though your feet hurried to get backwards, hurried to get away.
“No,” that word was nothing but a breathy, gasp as your back hit the wall.
“I saw you with my own eyes.” Each word was overly articulated. “And you’re still lying to me, standing here, in front of me, lying into my FACE!” He yelled that last word so loudly, you flinched. Raising your shoulders as if you could shrink away from him.
“No, please, Rafe.” Your voice shaking.
He was so close now, you could feel the raging heat radiating from his body. And he still came closer. You pressed your eyes shut, turning your face as if you could hide from a nightmare.
“Please, Rafe, no,” he said in an exaggerated high voice, mocking you.
Your palms touched wall behind you, but there was nothing to hold onto.
“You think I’m stupid, that it?”
You felt his hot breath on your face.
You were about to shake your head, pleading, shaking, when suddenly his hand gripped your chin, forcefully turning your head.
“Look at me.”
Your lips trembling, you pressed your eyelids shut.
“Look at me!” he screamed.
You shuddered and blinked your teary eyes open. Your own breathing was so loud, you heard it like thunder in your ears.
“Do I look stupid to you?”
You tried to shake your head, but his firm grip prevented any movement. A whining noise left your lips before you managed to stutter, “No, Rafe, no.”
“No, Rafe no what?” He tilted his head to the side, bringing his face close to yours. His blue eyes frantically flickering over your face, as if he was looking for something.
“You’re not stupid. I’m sorry. Please, Rafe. Just, just late me go.”
His body was caging you in. And still he moved closer. You put your hands up, put them between his and your body. But you shied away from touching him.
He looked down, eyebrows raised as if in wonder about that defensive gesture of yours. You never fought back, he knew that. He knew you well. You’d never once fought back and wouldn’t fight back now.
He inhaled deeply, his chest expanding and your fingertips touching his shoulders. And maybe it was a reflex, or maybe it was something else, but suddenly without being a conscious decision of yours, your fingers curled, curled and clawed into his shoulders.
You were sure this touch couldn’t have hurt him, but you saw his features change. Eyes widened in surprise, his mouth opened, and staying that way without a word coming out of it.
Your handballs pressed against his shoulders, not enough to push him away, not enough to make him flinch. But your fingers dug into his back, pressing harder, you felt his tense muscles, your hands shaking, not sure if still from fear or from effort now.
Only now did you realize that your back was no longer touching the wall. And it wasn’t him that was coming closer, but it was you drawing nearer, pressing your own body up against his. You felt him straighten up, faces no longer in line, he gazed down. His eyelids half closed, pupils still huge. The flickering seemed to have stopped, as if he had found what he had been looking for, searching for, yearning to see.
His fingers were digging into your cheek, your mouth opened, as you tilted your head back to your neck. And his fingers slipped into your mouth. His own mouth opened as if imitating that motion. You held eye contact as you felt his fingers pushing over your tongue, deeper and deeper entering your mouth.
Your own fingers digged harder into his shoulders. And you didn’t know if that was response or cause for his fingers pushing even deeper down your throat, making you gag.
His mouth closed, the frown was back on his brows, displaying high concentration as he evoked choking noises out of your throat.
Tears were welling in your eyes. You didn’t blink them away, but let them run freely down your cheeks, down the glowing heated skin of your face. Your legs began shaking as he pushed harder, but you held onto him. And your lips closed around his fingers.
When he pulled out, you felt your lips and tongue sucking on them for a second. Then air hit your lungs and you coughed hard, bending over, where he was. And your face pressed against his chest, dampening his shirt. His hand at the back of your head, pulling you close, so close, you felt like suffocating. All you could breathe in was his smell of sweat and shower gel and expensive whiskey, a bitterness filled your senses, as every part of you was clinging onto him.
“I forgive you,” I forgive you, he whispered. His embrace tightened. And you felt his body shaking, heard his sobbing. And you held him closer.
And you knew he wouldn’t ever let you go. And neither would you.
In the Handsome as hell fic, is it like reader is ACTUALLY ugly or she just gets called that so people have something to make fun of her for. Or maybe it’s just up to our own interpretation…🤔
I believe you've answered this yourself: I left it open on purpuse, didn't give any descriptions of reader's actual appearance. So, yes, it's up to your own interpretation.
Maybe also think about this: what does it mean to "be ugly"? Is it a definintion by others? The judgement of their perception? Is it really about appearance? What does it say about those who call someone "ugly"? And how does it affect how this someone perceives themself?
content: childhood friends, forbidden intimacy, a danger so alluring
warnings: for adult readers only, minors do not interact
note: no descriptions of reader's appearance, no pronouns used, no too explicit language, just a short sweet imagine. enjoy
“You can't be here”, you whispered into the dark. But the mattress of your bed dipped and you felt the weight of his body settling behind you.
“What if my mom wakes up and comes in and finds you?”
His warm body moved closer to yours. You felt his warmth under the blanket.
“She hates you, you know?”
Rafe made a grunting noise in reply. He was probably agreeing with you. Your mother did hate Rafe Cameron. She always had. Even when you were little kids and playing at the beach together, building sandcastles for your Barbie doll. When the water came, Rafe would have his toy shark chase her. But your Barbie was a mermaid, so she would always escape, swimming faster than the shark. And reaching the safe shore, Rafe's shiny toy car would wait for her, pick her up and drive her wherever she wanted to go. Later, when Rafe got his driver's license, he would pick you up from school after a long day of boring lessons, from a friend's house after a study session, from a restaurant after a date gone bad, from a club you shouldn't have gone to in the first place.
Rafe would always be there for you, whenever you needed him. Others didn't understand this, because they didn't know him like you did. Because they didn’t see him. All of him. You weren't naïve, you knew why your mother and others weren’t happy about you still being friends with Rafe Cameron. While no one would say it to his face, most people on the island were afraid of Rafe Cameron. You knew his dark side, you had seen it. But you weren't afraid of the shark, because you knew a shark can only survive in water. And if you reach the land, there was no shark, but a shiny car that waited for you, always ready to pick you up.
It was quiet in your room. You could hear the faint sound of waves in the distance through the open door that led to the balcony. Rafe hadn't snug into your room like this for years, you thought, and wondered why he had come tonight. Earlier that day, he had told you that he was making a huge deal today. And you had actually waited for his call, so you could go and celebrate. But he didn't call, and you went to bed.
You were almost asleep when you heard the footsteps entering your room. You should be afraid, but the moment the wind blew a whiff of the familiar scent to you, you knew it was Rafe. Your body automatically relaxed.
And as he slowly slid his arm around your middle, hugging you from behind, you felt your body almost instantly melting against his.
You knew you shouldn't do this, cuddle like you were still innocent kids. You were adults now. And Rafe Cameron was anything but innocent. You knew that. You had seen that. But never felt it.
You felt the muscles in his arm tense as his hand slowly wandered over your stomach. You were only wearing a short top and shorts in bed. The silky fabric moved up as his hand slipped under your top. His fingers felt warm on your skin, their touch almost rough, like his palms were marked by hard work. You wondered what his hands had been holding onto, what had cut into his palms, what he didn't want to let go of.
Your mouth opened and a small sigh escaped them, it sounded louder in the dark. His fingers reached your breast, caressing along the curve and gripping harder than you'd expected.
“Rafe,” you wanted to warn him to stop, but his name sounded like a moan. And instead of moving away, your traitorous body pushed back and into his. The curve of your behind, nestling up to his front. Your eyes closed when his lips grazed the side of your neck, barely touching your skin, his mouth moved to your ear.
“What?” You heard his voice, a dark provoking whisper that made you shiver.
You wanted to say that he wasn't supposed to be here; you wanted to warn about your mother coming in – but you were unable to mutter any coherent sentence when you felt his hand slip under the waistband of your shorts, his fingers traveling over your sensitive skin, discovering the heat between your legs. And your legs parted without any resistance and you opened up for his fingers. Your butt pushing back and your hips moved like they had their own will. And you gasped as you felt his hard length pressing against your curved butt.
Your back arched and the heat that coursed through your body felt like a wave from the ocean trying to sweep you away. And you moaned as his teeth sank into your skin at your neck. The shark had got you. And you didn’t want to escape to the safe shore, you wanted to get ravished by his feral hunger.
content: childhood friends, forbidden intimacy, a danger so alluring
warnings: for adult readers only, minors do not interact
note: no descriptions of reader's appearance, no pronouns used, no too explicit language, just a short sweet imagine. enjoy
“You can't be here”, you whispered into the dark. But the mattress of your bed dipped and you felt the weight of his body settling behind you.
“What if my mom wakes up and comes in and finds you?”
His warm body moved closer to yours. You felt his warmth under the blanket.
“She hates you, you know?”
Rafe made a grunting noise in reply. He was probably agreeing with you. Your mother did hate Rafe Cameron. She always had. Even when you were little kids and playing at the beach together, building sandcastles for your Barbie doll. When the water came, Rafe would have his toy shark chase her. But your Barbie was a mermaid, so she would always escape, swimming faster than the shark. And reaching the safe shore, Rafe's shiny toy car would wait for her, pick her up and drive her wherever she wanted to go. Later, when Rafe got his driver's license, he would pick you up from school after a long day of boring lessons, from a friend's house after a study session, from a restaurant after a date gone bad, from a club you shouldn't have gone to in the first place.
Rafe would always be there for you, whenever you needed him. Others didn't understand this, because they didn't know him like you did. Because they didn’t see him. All of him. You weren't naïve, you knew why your mother and others weren’t happy about you still being friends with Rafe Cameron. While no one would say it to his face, most people on the island were afraid of Rafe Cameron. You knew his dark side, you had seen it. But you weren't afraid of the shark, because you knew a shark can only survive in water. And if you reach the land, there was no shark, but a shiny car that waited for you, always ready to pick you up.
It was quiet in your room. You could hear the faint sound of waves in the distance through the open door that led to the balcony. Rafe hadn't snug into your room like this for years, you thought, and wondered why he had come tonight. Earlier that day, he had told you that he was making a huge deal today. And you had actually waited for his call, so you could go and celebrate. But he didn't call, and you went to bed.
You were almost asleep when you heard the footsteps entering your room. You should be afraid, but the moment the wind blew a whiff of the familiar scent to you, you knew it was Rafe. Your body automatically relaxed.
And as he slowly slid his arm around your middle, hugging you from behind, you felt your body almost instantly melting against his.
You knew you shouldn't do this, cuddle like you were still innocent kids. You were adults now. And Rafe Cameron was anything but innocent. You knew that. You had seen that. But never felt it.
You felt the muscles in his arm tense as his hand slowly wandered over your stomach. You were only wearing a short top and shorts in bed. The silky fabric moved up as his hand slipped under your top. His fingers felt warm on your skin, their touch almost rough, like his palms were marked by hard work. You wondered what his hands had been holding onto, what had cut into his palms, what he didn't want to let go of.
Your mouth opened and a small sigh escaped them, it sounded louder in the dark. His fingers reached your breast, caressing along the curve and gripping harder than you'd expected.
“Rafe,” you wanted to warn him to stop, but his name sounded like a moan. And instead of moving away, your traitorous body pushed back and into his. The curve of your behind, nestling up to his front. Your eyes closed when his lips grazed the side of your neck, barely touching your skin, his mouth moved to your ear.
“What?” You heard his voice, a dark provoking whisper that made you shiver.
You wanted to say that he wasn't supposed to be here; you wanted to warn about your mother coming in – but you were unable to mutter any coherent sentence when you felt his hand slip under the waistband of your shorts, his fingers traveling over your sensitive skin, discovering the heat between your legs. And your legs parted without any resistance and you opened up for his fingers. Your butt pushing back and your hips moved like they had their own will. And you gasped as you felt his hard length pressing against your curved butt.
Your back arched and the heat that coursed through your body felt like a wave from the ocean trying to sweep you away. And you moaned as his teeth sank into your skin at your neck. The shark had got you. And you didn’t want to escape to the safe shore, you wanted to get ravished by his feral hunger.
Maybe you’re right. I don't really recognize the tumblr names anymore when I search the tags. And when I'm looking for some of the writers I used to follow, I can’t seem to find their tumblrs anymore, and others haven’t updated in years. I really wonder why that is.
(Thank you for naming me as one of the good writers 💕 I haven't really left, but disappeared for personal reasons. And I feel returning is kinda difficult as so much seems to have changed in this fandom. I wonder – and worry – do people still want to read my kind of fics? Should I even bother to write and post? Is anything I write even worth sharing? – What I'm trying to do is keep writing because I enjoy it.)
So, I want to write a new fun, very spicy fic, like Hole Practice and The Tight End. And I wonder if you guys would be interested in reading about Rafe teaching Reader "Hockey Lessons".
Which pairing are you interested in reading about in "Playing with Sticks (Hockey Lessons)"?
Dark fic for adult readers. Minors do not interact.
Plot: Reader has been witness to a violent scene between Rafe and his father. As a result Rafe verbally and physically abuses reader.
This fic contains elements of non-consensual sexual actions, verbal, physical and emotional abuse. This does not mean the writer condones these actions. This is fiction. You are responsible for your own media consumption. Please don’t judge others for what they like.
Additional note: Reader is described as “ugly” and called “bitch”, no descriptions or pronouns are used.
Additional warning: If you are triggered by the above-mentioned content, do not proceed. If you want a happy ending, do not proceed. If you cannot differentiate between fiction and reality, do not proceed. Anyone else, if you read this, you have been warned. Please let me know your thoughts. Reblogs, comments, asks and likes are appreciated.
“Do you honestly think that anyone would believe you? That I would touch someone as disgusting and filthy as you?”
You weren’t sure why it started, but you still remembered the exact moment when. You were at school, a freshman. It was early spring and the days were getting longer. It was afternoon and you were on your way to the arts club. You saw him standing at the bottom of the stone steps leading up to the front entrance of the Kook Academy. Rafe Cameron was looking at the ground, wiping his nose. You hadn’t spoken a word to him since forever, he probably didn’t even remember that you were friends in pre-school. As you walked closer, he lifted his gaze and his eyes met yours. He straightened up. You felt a warmth creeping into your cheeks, but you held his gaze, even when you were only a few feet away. Your lips parted, you drew in a shallow breath, preparing yourself to mutter some kind of greeting, not knowing what yet, but you hoped the right words would come out when you were close enough for him to hear them. Only that you didn’t get a chance to speak.
When you were about to say something as you were walking past him on your way towards the steps, his piercing blue eyes caught yours, a deep frown appeared between his brows and his lips moved as he spat the words into your face.
“What the fuck you looking at? You ugly bitch?!”
You flinched and your foot caught on the step and you almost fell, but managed to catch yourself. Your heart was racing so fast, you didn’t quite hear the other words he was yelling at you when you stumbled up the stairs and into the building, almost crushing into Ward Cameron. But Rafe’s father didn’t seem to mind your impoliteness, he seemed preoccupied with something else. His face stern and his expression turning terrifying when he walked out the door and down the steps to his son, who he gripped by the arm and roughly dragged along with him. You didn’t mean to stare, your eyes had already caught tears in them, and you just rushed inside and to your classroom.
And then people at school started talking behind your back about you. And then they said those things to your face, wrote it on desks, bathroom stalls, and your social media accounts. And it didn’t stop, not even after graduation. They continued to make fun of you online, mocked you when they saw you on the beach. And you stayed away from Instagram and the beach. But even after years, when those words were no longer shouted along school corridors at you, you still heard them, every time you looked into a mirror, or even saw your own reflection in a shop window. It had become a truth so fundamentally engraved into your own being, you would not doubt it ever. You were ugly. Not just plain or unattractive, but hideously, monstrously ugly. And who would ever want to love an ugly thing like you?
You knew it wasn’t love. It couldn’t be. Someone as goodlooking and popular as Rafe Cameron would never love someone as ugly and disgusting as you.
But when his hands rubbed over your bare thighs, when warmth spread over your skin, when his long fingers pushed inside – you felt something, even though you knew he didn’t.
You didn’t tell anyone after it first happened. You didn’t even understand what had happened, so there was nothing you could tell. But he reminded you that you mustn’t ever tell anyone. You might have thought that it was a mistake, that he mistook you for someone else, that first time. It was dark, it was night, you were drunk and so was he. It was at someone’s house, a party. You weren’t sure why you even bothered to come. – But it was Halloween and everyone was wearing customs and masks, you could hide that hideous face of yours.
But Rafe recognized you. He said your name when he pushed you up against the wall, when he gripped your neck below your masked face, and pressed hard. The back of your head hit the wall. But the tears only came when he came, thrusting into you with such vigorous force that you thought you would tear apart.
He was wearing a mask too. But you knew it was him. The way he spoke just one word, as he cleaned himself up, leaving you crouching and shivering on the floor, you knew it was him.
“Disgusting”, Rafe said.
After that you should have avoided places where he could be. But you didn’t. So he accused you of following him. And when you were there, with him alone, he said you wanted this. You were so depraved and pathetic that you wanted him to use you like that. To spit in your face, to hit you, to push you around, to press your ugly face into the dirt while he was pounding into you from behind. The bruises he gave you made you uglier. And he liked to look at them. He only liked to look at your face when it was marked by the back of his hand. When your eyes were swollen and your lip was split. Rafe would cradle your face in both his large hands and look at you with eyes, so focused and so dead, you couldn’t stop shaking; even when he told you to hold still and stop making noises – revolting wincing noises.
“You disgust me. Filthy. Worthless. Ugly,” he panted as he was thrusting into you, while you were lying flat on your stomach. “No one will ever believe you. No one will ever want you.”
