warnings ໒꒰˵- ˕ -˵꒱১ : condescending jj ( yes GAWDD ) , p in v ( mating press ) , drug usage , college au
sororitysweetheart!reader who is the president of gamma phi beta at coastal carolina university, the face of her sorority. from mixers to charity events, she's got everything planned to a t.
she's the alleviator. argument between her fellow sisters? she'll have them gossiping over frappuccinos in an hour. rowdy frat boy ruining her party? trust he's leaving and will never step foot in the sorority house again.
she's the type of girl who's friendly with every crowd. from the nerdiest of nerds to the theater crew, she'll make friends anywhere. professors loved her too, using her as an example because she was just a great student!
sororitysweetheart!reader is the one person who would never be seen drinking or doing drugs. mingling around parties with soda, candy, and a beaming smile. she's the goody-two-shoes around campus, and nobody would think so otherwise.
except for plug!jj . . .
you know, the guy who sells weed to everyone on campus. or who's always at parties, despite not attending the school. yeah, him.
so just why would sororitysweetheart!reader be meeting with such a character? or more importantly, be folded into a literal mating press by that same guy? going against her morals, high out of her mind, right in the sorority house . . .
your bedroom smelled of the pungent scent of weed and sex. the combined scents were sure to leave a warm, musky odor long after jj left.
a thick cloud of smoke curled in the air from the joint he lit a while ago, now unattended as jj pounded into your sloppy pussy.
"thought you didn't wanna see me again?" he panted, a smug grin. the rough slamming of his hips forces a shrill cry from your throat.
you instantly slap a palm over your mouth as jj laughs. he purposely left your bedroom door cracked, not caring that your roommates could hear all the downright filthy sounds coming from your room.
"i—i," you stammered, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. you can’t even muster up a response at the way jj mocks your expressions.
"s'okay, sweet girl, no need to waste your breath, already knew you missed me," he answers cockily. this guy was so full of himself, you had no idea how you tolerated this relationship.
you weakly push at his chest, groaning, "ugh, you're so—hngh—irritating." he only takes your hand to kiss the back of it.
he nuzzles his cheek into your soft palm, pouting, "well that's not what i wanna hear after giving you free weed and dick, is it?"
you huff, “it's true though!"
"bet m'not irritatin' when i do this?" a sharp gasp is stolen from you when a particularly strong thrust of his nudges your cervix.
"now that's more like it. keep makin' them noises and cum f'me like the good girl you are" . . .
well maybe sororitysweetheart!reader wasn't the good girl everyone made her out to be. but that'll just be her and plug!jj 's dirty little secret ♡
rafe turns obssesed for you when you let him drink your blood.
the first time rafe wanted to drink your blood, there’d been some hesitation. like a flicker of something human in those blue eyes. like he was fighting himself not to, but he needed blood, and he knew you’d be a good friend enough to let him.
but now?
oh, now he’s already grabbing your wrist before you even sit down. “you’re not saying no.” he says impatiently and you haven’t even answered yet. rafe’s fingers are wrapped around your wrist, thumb pressed right over your pulse like like he’s memorizing it. his grip isn’t painful, but it’s firm, and almost possessive.
“dude,” you warn, trying to pull back just a little, just enough to prove you can. but you can’t, he doesn’t even let you move an inch. his jaw tightens, eyes flicking up to yours, dark and glowing red. “don’t do that,” he mutters. “don’t, don’t pull away like that.”
“it’s my arm,” you shoot back, breath catching when his grip only tightens. “yeah,” he says immediately. “yeah, i know it is.” he agrees, “doesn’t mean i don’t need it.” your stomach flips at that, at how serious yet needy he sounds, so so desperate. “you’re fucking obssesed,” you annoyingly whisper.
something in the way he looks at you shifts. like he’s subconsciously confirming your statement, before he actually does. “i am,” he says quietly. “you did that. you made me like this.” and before you can respond, he pulls you forward so quickly you’re stumbling into him, landing halfway in his lap. his arm wraps around your waist instantly, locking you there like it’s second nature, like you belong there.
because to him you do, and you don’t even know it. “rafe.” you warn again. “stop talking,” he breathes, but it’s not harshly, it’s shaky, and frayed at the edges. “please just-” he starts with that pleading needy voice again. “just let me” he brings your wrist up again. his eyes don’t leave yours, searching your face like he’s waiting for you to stop him.
you don’t, because you never do, part of it is gratifying for you too. to know how much he needs you. the second you go still, he exhales with relief, like he’s been holding it in for too long, and his lips brush against your skin. your soft and floral scented skin. “say it,” he murmurs against your wrist. your brows knit, “say what?” you ask confused. “that i can tatse it again,” he says, his fingers flexing against your waist. “i need you to say it.”
“you already are,” you point out, breath uneven. his grip falters for half a second, just enough to show it hit something. “yeah,” he admits. “yeah, but i wanna hear it.” your pulse jumps under his mouth, and he makes this quiet, wrecked sound like he felt it more than you did.
“…you can,” you say finally. that’s all it takes before his control snaps. he pulls you impossibly closer, but he does it anyway, his other hand tightening around your arm as he presses his mouth to your skin, and the second the sharpness of his fangs pierce the skin on your wrist, he loses it completely.
he lets out a sharp inhale, like it shocks him every time, like it’s too much and not enough all at once. his fingers dig in, holding you there, grounding himself in you as his head tilts back slightly. “fuuuck” he groans out broken, barely there. it's like his whole body is convulsing.
his lashes flutter, then his eyes roll back completely, like he can’t hold onto anything, not himself but you. “rafe,” you breathe out, your voice breathy and filled with concern, but he doesn’t answer.
he can’t answer. his grip tightens instead, he leans back dragging you flush against him, like he needs your whole body there or he’s going to come apart. his breathing is uneven, shallow, lips still sucking your skin like he doesn’t know how to stop.
like he won’t. “don’t” he chokes out, barely coherent. “don’t move.” he demands. “i’m not.”
“don’t move,” he repeats, fingers flexing. “please.” please. you go still instantly. that word shouldn’t sound like that coming from him. after a few seconds, he finally pulls back, but not far. his lips are still brushing your skin, damp, lingering, like he’s not ready to lose contact yet.
his chest is rising and falling too fast. his mouth stained red with droplets of your blood leaking from the corners of his mouth. you tilt your head, trying to catch his gaze. “you okay?” he lets out a shaky laugh. “do i look okay to you?”
not at all. he looks so wrecked, and completely gone. his eyes finally meet yours, and there’s nothing steady in them anymore,just hunger, just need, just you. “you’re-” he starts, then stops, jaw tightening like he doesn’t even have the words. “you’re not real.”
“i’m literally right here.”
“i know,” he says quickly, almost frantic. “i know, i just-” his hand slides up your arm again, back to your wrist, like he can’t help it. “nobody should feel like this.”
“like what?”
“like i’d fuckin' lose my mind if you said no,” he answers immediately. “like i already did.” your breath catches. “rafe…”
“save it.” he cuts in, shaking his head, pulling you closer again until your foreheads almost touch. “don’t make it a thing. i don’t- i don’t care.”
“you don’t care that you’re addicted to me?” then he menacingly smiles, it’s unhinged. “addicted?” he repeats softly. “that’s a nice way of putting it.” his thumb presses against your pulse again, slower this time, almost thoughtful.
“i was thinking more like, i don’t function without you.” your heart stutters, your unspokedn feelings only enlarging. you subconciously squeeze your thighs from want and he feels it, fuck, he smells your arousal. forgetting you don't fully know how the bond between a human and a vampire works.
his entire expression darkens instantly, something greedy flashing across his face. “see?” he murmurs, already pulling your wrist back toward his mouth, already slipping again. “you do that and then expect me to just, what? sit here?”
“do, what? rafe, wait.”
“no,” he says sternly, breath hitching as his lips brush your skin again. “you said i could.”
“i said once-”
“doesn’t count,” he cuts in, eyes flicking up to yours, completely gone again. “doesn’t count anymore.”
“that’s not how that works.”
“it is for me.” and the way he looks at you when he says it, like nothing else matters. “tell me to stop,” he challenges suddenly, voice quieter now, almost dangerous in how calm it is. “go on, tell me.”
you open your mouth. nothing comes out. his lips twitch, just slightly, already pulling you closer. “you have no idea how thin the line is between wanting you, and fucking loosing myself in you.” and this time, when he presses his mouth to your skin again, he doesn’t even pretend he’s in control anymore.
and you're left with nothing but his venom, and the burning desire of wanting more of him.
based off this instagram video. something quick bc i've been nonexistent.
thinking about clark kent that meticulously tracks your cycle- mdni heavy breeding kink 18+
(clark kent x fem!reader)
your smart watch pings- ovulation day. but you don’t need a fancy app to tell you when your boyfriend is already tongue deep in your pussy, lapping up every ounce of the “sweetest juice” as he calls it.
clark knew the moment you woke up this morning when he tugged you toward him. his hand stroking up and down your spine before carding through your hair. “you’re warmer than normal,” he’d said. “must be fertile.”
“maybe,” you mused, relaxing into his chest.
“maybe?” he teased, shifting down and draping your legs over his shoulders.
“clark, let me shower first,” you whined.
“never,” he hummed, already pressing his nose to the soft flesh between your thighs. “so sweet this time of month, makes me crazy.”
“clark,” you moaned as he licked the first stripe.
and now here you are, thighs shaking as he pulls another orgasm from you with his mouth alone. his lips and chin glisten as the morning sun lights up your bedroom. his eyes are dark and focused on his prize, and he nudges your swollen clit with his nose. the sensitive bud being hit again and again makes you hiss.
“gimme one more,” he husks into your pussy, almost growling. clark is typically so textbook sweet and romantic, but when it’s this time of the month he’s like a man starved. “onemorebabyplease,” he moans, his words running together.
he shifts your legs higher, hitting a new angle with his tongue. your vision whites out for a second before your thighs lock around his head and you’re coming for a third time.
“mmmm…. knew you had it in ya,” he groans, moving up the bed.
“need you in me,” you whine, nearly breathless.
“i know baby, i know. i’m gonna take care of my girl.”
he kicks off his briefs and settles himself between your legs. “this how you want me?”
you answer by wrapping your legs around his waist and running your fingers through the curls at the nape of his neck.
he pushes in with a sigh. he worked you up so much with his mouth that there’s not too much of a stretch this time, and you kind of miss it because you love hearing him tell you “breathe baby” when he works his way inside.
his mouth tastes like your arousal when he kisses you. it’s heady and sweet. one strong arm wraps around your thigh, pulling it up so he can get even deeper.
“fuck baby,” you whine. you’re so full. “right there clark.”
he sighs out another groan- deeper this time, like he’s trying to hold back. his lips brush against the pulse point in your neck and you shiver.
“baby girl, feel so good,” he moans, rutting into you now with sloppy thrusts.
“don’t pull out,” you whisper, almost too quiet, but clark’s impeccable senses hear it immediately, along with the way your heart races.
“don’t say that,” he huffs out with a smile and a kiss. “don’t tease. you know how much i want to make you a mommy.”
“clark…. cum in me,” you whimper, feeling your body ascending to another peak.
“baby girl.”
“clark.”
“you sure? once i start i won’t be able to stop. you know how much there is,” he mutters, eyes searching yours.
“fuhhh- that feels good. i’m so sure- want all your babies.”
his breath catches on a moan- broken and hoarse- before he starts to press both of your legs up underneath him, pressing your body into the mattress. “gonna give you everything,” he grunts as he fucks you harder.
“fuck, lock me down, clark!” you moan, pushing him deeper inside of you as his legs start to shudder.
he gasps once and his eyes roll back before you feel him pumping into you in thick spurts. “there ya go. take it all baby girl,” he says as he keeps thrusting into you, more slowly now. he’s leaning back and watching it pulse out of you with a blush before scooping you up. your limbs feel like jelly, but you ignore them and look up at his flushed, perfect face. it’s not like your babies wouldn’t be adorable. what’s the harm in trying?
“gonna get you cleaned up baby,” he says with a kiss to your forehead. “and then go to the store for prenatals. folic acid. very important.”
“clark….” you start with mock annoyance.
“oh no baby girl, we’re doing this now. it’s my life’s mission to get you pregnant.”
“harem of one?”
“i don’t think it’s a harem if it’s just us,” he jokes. “but you’re the only one i want.”
summary: scott's always had a dirty, hateful mouth. what on earth can you do to fix it?
CWs: 18+ MDNI!!! explicit descriptions of sex, fem!reader x scott miller, assistant!reader so this is probably an HR nightmare but to be fair scott himself is an HR nightmare, some manhandling, cowgirl, unprotected p in v, creampie, bondage, SLAPPING (scott receiving!), mean!scott, is this premature ejaculation?, kinda soft ending?, maybe a little bit of fluff? idk man this is fucked up bc he's fucked up
word count: just below 2.9k!
author's note: THIS IS MY FIRST TIME WRITING FOR SCOTT !!!! hope you guys all like. thank u to @clarkscolumn for (as usual) beta reading and signing off on this one. i hope you enjoy your fucked up man, or at least my take on him <3
A thorn in your side. That’s what Scott Miller is to you.
All you can think about is how much you hate him while you’re standing right in front of him and letting him ramble on and on about some stupid Storm Par business that you don’t care about. Being his assistant means that you’re often the very unwilling target of his anger issues.
He’s just looking to make this issue with today’s chase someone else’s problem aside from his own, because that’s how Scott operates.
Nothing is ever his fault, and he gets whatever he wants.
You sigh and cross your arms over your chest while you look down at the ground between you. He scoffs. Cuts his own sentence off and lowers his voice. When he steps a little closer to you, he roughly asks, “Am I bothering you? Being an inconvenience?”
You don’t look up at him. Too tired of his bullshit. Through another dramatic sigh, you mutter, “Yeah. You are bothering me, and you are an inconvenience.”
He laughs. It’s dark. A little hateful, even. His usual.
“That’s cute. You sure you wanna talk to your boss like that?”
An eye roll is all you give him.
“Can you just get on with it? I have shit to do that doesn’t revolve around you, you know, and—and it’s hot as fuck out here! I wanna go back inside!”
Scott’s eyes trace over your hand when you gesture toward the office building you’re stationed in this week, then he hums. With an infuriatingly loud pop of his gum and a plastered smirk on his face, he closes the gap between you completely.
One of his mean hands wraps around your jaw and roughly lifts your head so you can look up at him. The gasp that leaves you is unintentional. He squeezes your cheeks, forcing your lips into a pucker as you lock eyes so roughly that you might piss yourself out of fright.
“I’m getting real fucking tired of this smart ass mouth. You’d better get it under control when you’re talking to me, sugar.”
He bends down to get a little closer to you. When his face is this close to yours, you get the chance to pick up on the mint on his breath and see all the spoiled brat rage in his eyes. That rage that’s probably been the same since he was a kid and his mother had the audacity to tell him he couldn’t do something.
“And you better look at me when I’m talking to you. I won’t be ignored by someone I’m paying the fucking bills for,” he harshly hisses. That false bravado he puts forward always makes you sick. He might have been hot for a second—if it wasn’t for his big fucking mouth.
It pulls you back down to earth and has you clearing your throat to swallow down your bile. You wrap one of your hands around his wrist and claw into it. He tries to hide it when he winces at the way your nails cut into his surprisingly soft skin. But when you laugh at him and dig deeper into it, he knows you heard him. That his jig is up. His eyes twitching and widening in embarrassment tells you all you need to know about that.
“And you’re gonna get your hands off of me, you fucking pig,” you seethe while you push him off of you, voice low and unforgiving. Much like the way he talks to you. The part of you that noticed how solid his chest was when you pressed your hands against it is your least favorite part of yourself.
“You wouldn’t survive out here without me, so I suggest you stop talking to me like that.”
“I’m gonna talk to my assistant however I want to. If anything, you should stop talking to me like that. Especially if you wanna keep this cushy job I gave you, sweetheart,” Scott spits.
“Cushy?” you gawk. “You can’t be serious. You made me run to three separate shops today because you wanted a particular type of coffee.”
“And you did it, so, clearly, you need this fucking job.”
Usually, you can’t look at him on account of how fucking sick he makes you; which is unfortunate, because you have to be around him all the time for this stupidly well-paying job.
Right now, though, you can’t keep your eyes off of him. His face is bright red. Eyes are wide and so fucking angry that you think they might pop out of his head. That sharp jaw of his is somehow even sharper whenever it’s tightened from his often self-inflicted rage. Gets tighter every time he chews on his gum, pulsing beneath his skin. His barrel of a chest is rising and falling so much quicker than usual.
You’re getting to him.
You smile at him when your eyes return to his. Real big and fake. Full of that saccharine sweetness that you know will only serve to piss him off more.
“Oh, how precious.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
You reach up and flick the tip of his nose. He swats your hand away and, somehow, his face flushes a deeper red.
“Scottie,” you coo. “Am I pissing you off? Getting under your skin a little bit?”
He rolls his eyes and takes a step back. When you look him up and down again, you’re almost certain he squirms.
“You’re on the clock. Get back to work,” is the gruff, hateful retort you get back, but he doesn’t seem like he’s releasing you. His eyes staying glued to you tell you that much.
“Yeah? You want me to get back to work? You don’t wanna talk my ear off anymore ‘cause I got you all worked up?” you tease. Loud enough to get a few people to turn their heads before they continue working on whatever it is they’re doing. Not that it matters to you. This weird battle you’re in with Scott’s taking precedence over everything else.
Speaking of, your annoying employer grumbles something beneath his breath. Runs one massive hand over his face and continues backing up.
“Just shut up and do as I tell you. Have you always been thicker than pig shit, or is that a recent development?” he spits.
You follow after him. Every slow step he takes backward, you take one forward.
“You’re being extra bitchy today. I think you need a lesson on how to speak to people.”
“And you’re capable of doing that?” he shoots back at you. Smirks at you and pops his gum. “Thought you were only good for coffee runs, sugar.”
You hum.
“Wanna bet?”
Scott’s head falls back onto the headboard behind him with a thick, dull thump that makes you laugh at him. Laughing at him never felt so good.
“You’re so fucking annoying,” he groans at you while you tighten the restraints around his wrist. He pulls at them almost immediately; the wooden posts of the headboard they’re tied to don’t budge. Don’t give him any sort of relief. He doesn’t deserve it.
You shake your head. The click of your tongue echoes in the tiny little space between your pressed-together bodies. You’re so close to him that you can practically hear his thoughts, perched on top of him and straddling his thick thighs while you grind against his thick, hardening length. You can feel it through his jeans. So much for him being able to claim he hates you.
“That’s the exact type of talking that got you in trouble earlier, Scottie.”
He tugs at the restraints again. They don’t budge. Again.
“Stop calling me that,” he growls. “You’re not pretty enough to call me that.”
That one makes you roll your eyes. Another laugh tumbles from your lips as you slip your hands down from his shoulders to his chest. While your fingers are toying with and unfastening the buttons of his stark-white work shirt, your mouth is busy telling him, “Shut the fuck up. You think I don’t see the way you look at me?”
“I don’t care about you enough to look at you any kind of way,” he sasses back while his eyes glue themselves to your fingers.
“You must be seeing shit. Making up a story in that dumbass head of yours.”
“You’re really digging yourself into a hole,” you reply. Every time he opens his mouth, it gets more aggressive, and it’s perfect. You haven’t been able to wipe the smirk off of your face since you got him in your bed.
“You can act like you don’t want me. Scream about it ’til you’re blue in the face, for all I care.”
Your right hand slips lower between both of you. Lower than his stomach, lower than his happy trail that you’re trying not to drool over, lower than his belt that you unbuckle as swiftly as possible. When you slip your hand into the front of his pants, you find he’s already achingly hard. He jolts and tilts his head back, sighing in something mirroring relief when you start palming him through his boxer briefs.
“Because that ugly fucking mouth of yours can lie all day, but this body can’t.”
A shaky, sarcastic laugh punches out of his chest. “Yeah, sure, just…whatever.”
His unfocused, jumbled words make you smile. He wants to fuck you so bad that he looks dumb. That he sounds dumb. You lean forward and press a few featherlight kisses on his jaw and neck, and although he’s complaining about not wanting you, he leans into those kisses. His breath hitches in his throat when your teeth ghost over his pulse point. His hips roll against your hand while it’s still working his cock through his boxer briefs.
Your free hand travels up his stomach and chest, fingernails slowly scraping over his soft, warm skin. He groans and shudders when you slip it up to his hair and tangle your digits into his thick curls to give it a tug. You had no idea his hair could be so curly. He’s always wearing a hat; this might be the first time you’re seeing him without one.
You take your hand out of his pants and earn a deep, agitated growl from him.
“Fuck you,” he breathes while bucking his hips up, chasing after your hand so desperately that he loses the final whisper of credibility he had when he told you he didn’t want you.
You pull back from littering his neck in kisses. You raise an eyebrow.
“What’d you say?” you ask. Your other hand slips out of his hair. Down toward his face. He sends you an ugly glare, but the way he shivers when your thumb runs over his sharp cheekbone and the way he glues himself to your palm tells you all you need to know.
“Fuck you,” he repeats.
SMACK.
One rough slap across his right cheek. Quick and harsh enough to suck all of the air out of the room, to have him looking at you with so much anger and confusion and lust that you can’t help but laugh at him. He drops his mouth open—no doubt to berate you—but you cut him off instead.
“That wasn’t very nice.”
“What the fuck was that?! You crazy bit—”
You cover his mouth with your hand. His words die against your palm immediately. Probably a good thing if he wants to keep himself from getting hit again.
But he’s got his jaw clenched, and his right cheek is steadily turning pink, and his hips are stuttering and bucking when your fingers tease over the elastic band of his underwear.
“You’re gonna learn how to talk to me tonight. You say nice things, you’ll get rewarded. You say mean things, well,” you pause and lean up on your knees to tug his pants and boxer briefs down to his thighs.
“I think you know what’ll happen,” you whisper while patting his cheek where you just smacked him so hard that your hand stung. He grumbles some barbarous insult beneath his breath. One he thought you didn’t hear, one that gives you a chance to prove you’re not lying.
SMACK.
Scott tosses his head back and squeezes his eyes shut. He whines. Bucks his hips up again, this time hard enough to make you shift in his lap. You giggle at him and gently rub his cheek. His skin is already hot. Flushed red, now; whether it’s from his embarrassment or from the force of your slap, you have no idea.
You pull your panties to the side and take your hand away from his face just to guide him into your pussy. Both of you hiss when you sink down on top of him. When he’s buried to the hilt, you whimper and shift back and forth, side to side, up and down, trying anything you can to get used to his size. He’s so much bigger than you thought he’d be.
“Stop all that God damn squirming,” he aggressively growls when he finds his voice again.
“If you’re gonna fuck me, at least do it right. Are you too stupid to figure it out?”
SMACK.
It’s so hard this time that his head snaps to the side. He’s the one squirming and whimpering now.
“You wanna try that one again?” you breathlessly ask while you start to roll your hips back and forth. Steady and slow. He shakes his head. Clenches and unclenches his jaw. Rolls a few words around on his tongue in order to decide what to say to you.
“Just shut the fuck up and keep moving,” he pants, head lolling back against the headboard when you do as he says.
But that first half of what he said can’t be ignored, right?
SMACK.
“Shit,” he hisses, teeth clenched, face burning hot, hips roughly bucking up and forcing his tip to slam against the sensitive spot deep inside of you. You squeal and dig your nails into his shoulder. Scott yanks at his restraints once more. His biceps flex against the tightness of them, fingers curling around the pieces of fabric in a way that makes you feel jealous of them.
All of it makes you feel woozy. Your head’s swimming with ecstasy, with the thrill and the heat of it all. With all of your hatred for him bubbling to the surface, blurring all the lines between you as you ride your boss in some shitty motel room that’s steadily disappearing around you.
Your hips still. It’s all too much. You need a moment.
“I told you not to stop,” Scott growls, denying you of said moment.
“I knew you wouldn’t do this right. Can’t fucking do anything right, huh, sugar? So fucking pathetic.”
SMACK.
He groans. His body tenses and his back arches a bit. His cock twitches inside of you. Reminds you that you have the upper hand in this moment. Makes you giggle and start rocking your hips back and forth again, this time a little bit faster.
“You’re about to come already, aren’t you?” you tease. “I thought I wasn’t fucking you right?”
“You’re not,” he lies right through his teeth.
“No?” You shoot him a wicked little grin.
“Fine. I’ll just stop, then, since I’m not doing it right.”
When you stop your hips for the second time tonight, Scott lets out a rough, frustrated sigh. Looks you right in the eyes and, with all the confidence in the world, he growls, “You’re such a bitch.”
SMACK.
He yanks on the restraints again, this time hard enough to make the wooden posts groan. His chest heaves as he squeezes his eyes shut and throws his head back. He moans, a sing-songy little thing that makes your pussy flutter and your hips buck.
Then he explodes.
In the blink of an eye, he’s coming inside of you. Shooting rope after rope of his load into you while he pathetically cries out your name and buries his face in your neck, hips erratically rolling and twitching against yours.
You tangle your fingers in his hair and yank his head out of your neck. He’s too busy coming down from his high to care about your roughness. When he opens his eyes a few seconds later, you raise your eyebrow.
“Am I still the pathetic one? You came without me even moving.”
He laughs at you. Sends you a smile that’s actually genuine—albeit exhausted—for once. You pat his cheek, and he flinches from the contact, but that smile on his face only grows. His skin is searing hot. If he was a better person, that might have made you feel bad.
“You can be whatever you wanna be as long as you keep fucking me like this, sweet thing.”
You hum. When you lean forward to kiss him, he accepts it. Kisses you back like this is normal, like he’s been wanting to do it, like his lips slotting along with yours is as natural as breathing. You giggle against his lips and start rocking your hips back and forth again.
Through your panting and soft whimpers, you teasingly mumble, “Look who’s finally playing nice.”
pairing fratboy! rafe cameron x kook!sororitygirl! reader
rating explicit 18+
summary when rafe’s friends bet that he can’t charm you into sleeping with him, he can’t say no to the challenge. he has no idea that you decide to make a game out of his advances. you have a secret bet to win, too. and you’re determined to break his heart.
< prev
Rafe absentmindedly scrolls on his phone as his truck idles in front of your sorority house, the windows cracked to let the breeze in.
It’s been a couple of days since your kiss. He texted asking when he could see you, and earlier today, you told him to pick you up after ten p.m.
You step onto the front porch to see Rafe waiting in a black pickup truck. You’re sure it’s the same one you’ve seen him drive around the island. It’s loud and way too big. He probably chose it because he thinks it makes him look tough. Like the dirt bike you’ve seen him on.
Late nights are nothing new for you. You prefer to see guys after dark. It keeps things casual because then, they won’t try to impress you with expensive dates or big gestures. They get the wrong idea when they treat you like a girlfriend. They think that you owe them. And that’s the last thing you’d ever agree to.
When you slide into the passenger seat, Rafe looks you up and down, warmth creeping up the back of his neck.
“So,” you say, shutting the door and buckling in, “where do you want to take me so bad?”
He stares at you first, the words forming only after he’s had his fill. He wants to kiss you right now. He would if this wasn’t a game. He can’t look too eager.
“You said to surprise you,” he answers. He pulls away from the curb with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the console, inches away from your thigh.
・・・・・
Rafe drives off campus and toward the south end of town, the road curling upward into the hills. His truck’s headlights sweep over gravel as he turns into a pull‑off overlooking the city. Below, the lights glow in pockets of white.
He turns the truck to face the trail he drove in on and shuts it off, allowing the humming of crickets and ticking of the cooling engine to fill your ears.
A lookout point. How cliché. You’re not impressed, but you do appreciate the quiet up here. You won’t admit it out loud that it’s pretty. And that it’s definitely better than some restaurant or a random parking lot.
Without a word, Rafe drops out of the truck, the door thudding shut behind him. You exhale before climbing out after him. Of course he’d just walk off without saying anything. This man has no manners.
You meet him outside at the back of the truck, where he’s unlatching the tailgate. You step out, drifting a few paces toward the edge to study the view.
After throwing a blanket over the truck bed, Rafe follows you. When he looks at you gazing out below, he sees softness crossing your face. For a second, you almost look happy.
This whole thing might work. He came here to get the one thing he wants with you. Privacy.
“Nice, right?” he says. “We can sit in the back. I brought a blanket.”
“Just one?” you reply. “I’m shocked.”
He breathes out a low chuckle. You think about how many other girls he’s brought here. How many times he’s used this view to impress them. Rafe seems like the type who’d want to prove how much he can afford, yet he took you somewhere so lowkey.
You figure it’s because he wants to pick up where you left off the other night. But it’s not like you don’t want to be in private with him. This may all be a scheme to break his heart, but kissing him was nice. And you want to do more of it.
The manners he seemed to have forgotten come back as he cups your hand to help you up to the back of the pickup. You lean against the rear window, sinking into the comforter he spread out, pulling a corner of it over your lap.
Rafe lets out a soft grunt as he settles beside you, the side of his thigh pressed against yours as you take in the view together. Lights sparkle across the streets below, the night air smelling faintly of damp earth.
“What’d you do today?” he asks.
“I helped with prepping for that Olympics event,” you respond. “A bunch of us are volunteering.”
Rafe already knows the gist. The charter Olympics is some lame spirit thing for frats and sororities to compete in games. It’s a dry event. That was enough for him to decide he was skipping it, even with the talks he’s been hearing about his frat being at risk for probation.
“And that’s fun for you?” he asks.
You glance over at him, catching the teasing curve of his lips.
“Let me guess,” you retort. “You joined Greek life just for the parties?”
“Why else?”
You scoff, shaking your head. The more you learn about Rafe, the more you know that once this is over, you won’t miss it. He’s such a typical shallow guy.
“Why’d you join?” Rafe asks.
His eyes are softer, like he’s curious. He either actually wants to know or is doing a good job pretending to.
There’s no chance you’re admitting the real reason. Being in a sorority gives you the stability you never had growing up. Your friends are your chosen family, and joining gave you a place to belong.
But vulnerability, even faked, will pull him in faster. It’ll make him think he can earn deeper access to you. You’ll give him a very light version of the truth.
“I obviously like the parties,” you reply. “But I like the events, too. I can appreciate when things are structured. And predictable.”
Rafe just stares. Hearing the girl who’ll snap at anyone over nothing saying she wants structure doesn’t really register. It’s intriguing.
“What?” you laugh, tilting your head at him when he doesn’t look away.
“You don’t seem like you like predictable,” he admits.
“Well, I do,” you reply with a shrug, looking back out at the view again.
His jaw tenses. He wants you to care what he thinks, but you don’t. It’s like your attention is already full with everything else in your life and he’s trying to find space where there isn’t any.
“I’ll probably come to that, too,” he decides. “Some guys were saying we could be put on probation, so we gotta get more involved in things.”
“Seriously?” you say with a disbelieving laugh.
“Security showed up a few times ‘cause of noise complaints,” he says. “Apparently, you get enough warnings and the school steps in.”
You wince, but Rafe shrugs. He’s used to getting in trouble. When his world crumbled around him as a kid, he lost all control, and he’s been fighting to gain it back since. It turned him into a man who never had patience for being told what to do, who never cared for authority.
“I can tell you’re really torn up about it,” you say, sarcasm thick in your tone.
“It’s just annoying,” he admits. “Their rules don’t make sense. They just like having something to hold over us.”
Of course. The entitlement you always suspected in Rafe is alive and well. He believes that rules are optional for him, that consequences are something that should only happen to other people.
“You realize probation means none of those parties you care so much about, right?” you tease. “Seems like it’s all you care about, actually.”
Maybe it should piss him off that you think that’s all there is to him, but it’s a compliment. You’re wrong. He cares too much, feels too much, but if you think he’s this apathetic, that means he’s selling it.
“They’re just trying to scare us,” Rafe murmurs. “If we come to that Olympics thing and act like we care, we’ll be good.”
He readjusts his backwards hat, licking his lips before speaking again.
“Too bad we can’t be on the same team again, yeah?” he says, thinking back to your game of beer pong the other night.
You meet his eyes. You’re more aware of yourself now. The way you toyed with men used to be instinct, but now, with this bet on your mind, you can feel yourself doing it in real time.
It’s an art. Giving warmth in small doses. You realize that while you hate unpredictability, you love being the unpredictable one.
“It is too bad,” you play along. “I can’t believe we never talked before. We should’ve.”
Heat blossoms in Rafe’s chest, spreading to his limbs. It feels so good to hear you say that, and he’s not sure if it’s because of this bet he’s trying to win or if he really is looking for validation from you.
His eyes sweep over your features in the moonlight. It’s dizzying, watching you lean towards him, showing him that you want him.
You tilt your head just a little, taking your time with closing the distance, teasing him in a silent promise that he’ll get you for now, but if he messes up, he’ll lose you again.
He can’t remember the last time he was this nervous around a girl.
Rafe’s lips press on yours, as warm and soft as you remember them. Your eyes flutter shut as the tip of your nose brushes against his, and his hand cups your cheek just like it did the other night, guiding but gentle, as if he needs to ground himself.
When you part your lips, allowing his tongue to touch yours, he tastes impossibly good, better than you thought he would. He’s not forceful or rough like so many guys are. There’s no need to back away or tell him to slow down. He’s firm, but careful, almost gentle in a way you didn’t expect.
Rafe pulls you in closer. Your lips are so soft, your mouth hot as you breathe each other in. He realizes he revels in the way you taste, wanting more and more of it.
The deeper and longer your kisses grow, the more Rafe’s stomach tightens with need. He’s already so hard. His grip tightens on your cheek as he leads you to tilt your head back just slightly.
The cool air presses against your wet lips as he leaves languid kisses along your jaw, moving down the column of your throat. He presses his hot, open mouth on the most sensitive parts of your neck.
You bite your bottom lip as tingles cover every inch of your skin, your craving for him flooding your senses. His hand drags down to your thigh, and when you let out a breathy moan, his grip tightens. He skims higher, testing.
“You’re so fucking hot,” Rafe huskily murmurs against your skin as his palm lands over the curve of your ass. You respond by kissing him again, deeper this time. He squeezes your flesh over your jeans, and now, his kiss is even hotter.
Your pulse is loud in your ears as time bends in itself, the sounds of your tangled breaths and wet kisses consuming you. Eventually, slowly, his hand trails to your hip, the pad of his thumb brushing under your top.
You want him to move his hand higher. You want to crawl into his truck and let him peel your clothes off and touch you. And you would, if you were here for any other reason.
You pull back, taking in a soft breath, your foreheads brushing together.
“Can you take me home now?” you half-whisper.
Rafe straightens, his heavy lidded gaze trailing down your face.
You move first, scooting forward to get out of the bed of his truck. After you slip into the passenger seat, he sits behind the steering wheel. He shuffles awkwardly in his seat, undoubtedly trying to hide his arousal after making out with you.
His keys jingle, and his engine roars to life. But before he drives off, he looks at you.
“Everything good?” Rafe murmurs.
You nod, wanting to keep him invested without giving him much clarity at all.
“Yeah,” you say with a soft smile. “I just need to slow down.”
It’s a promise that’s more to come, a way to keep him on the hook without blowing him off. He looks ahead and you take in his profile, watch his Adam’s apple bob with a slow swallow as he puts his truck into drive.
You wanted to keep going, but you want to hurt him more.
・・・・・
The sun is already scorching, even though it’s only the first event of the chapter Olympics, music blasting from a portable speaker.
You’re standing in your chapter’s lane, waiting for the water‑balloon toss to start. Jada is a few feet away, rolling her shoulders to warm up. The rules are simple: toss the balloon, take a step back, last chapter standing wins.
Rafe ends up right beside the guy next to you. When he looks over and sees you, he grins, his dimples dipping into his cheeks. You return the smile.
Insecurity isn’t new for him. He hasn’t stopped replaying the other night in his head. The heated makeout session, the way you pulled away, the quiet car ride home.
It was almost a week ago, and you haven’t talked since, and it’s made him restless. He’d normally just text a girl in this situation, but he keeps needing to remind himself to play this carefully.
Now here you are, beautiful, smirking at him like you know you’ve been driving him insane.
The game starts. The guy between you and Rafe eventually misjudges his toss, the balloon slipping through his hands and exploding at his feet. He groans and steps back, and suddenly Rafe is closer. He leans in slightly.
“Hey,” he murmurs, voice barely threading through the noise from the speaker and people shouting and laughing all around you. “Did I totally fuck up the other night?”
He’s asking because he wants to win the bet. Mostly.
There’s another reason, one he hates admitting even to himself. He wants you to think good things about him. He wants your approval. And that feels really fucking embarrassing.
He’s not sure how to manipulate this anymore. The whole be forward but not desperate thing gets harder every time he sees you. His instincts keep pulling him in toward you, and it’s getting harder to pretend he’s above it.
He’s not the type to play coy when he wants a girl. He’s usually direct. And he wishes you’d want him just as bad as he wants you.
“No. I had fun,” you reply with a small smile, squinting in the sunlight.
You can see worry in the way his eyes dart away. And it feels like victory. Worry means he cares, and caring means he’s slipping. He’s starting to have feelings. You’re sure of it.
The next toss comes. Jada’s balloon slips right through her fingers and soaks her shoes when it pops. She screams out an angry groan so loud that it scares her neighbors. You burst into laughter.
Rafe finds himself smirking. Your laugh does something to him.
You step out of the lane, brushing past him. Your hand finds his bicep, warm and solid under your fingers, and he meets your eyes.
“Good luck,” you say.
You feel it, the charged pull between you, heavy and unignorable. Even with all the noise around you, the air between you feels louder than all of it.
Rafe’s gaze lingers when you let go.
・・・・・
You report for your volunteer shift at the snack table, ready for half an hour of collecting tickets and handing out whatever people want.
From under the tent, you catch sight of Rafe across the field, digging his heels into the dirt during a game of tug‑of‑war. He’s all muscle and it sends your mind straight back to the night in his truck.
The losing team is supposed to fall backward into a kiddie pool filled with cold water, and you find yourself hoping that Rafe’s side slips. You want to see the way his shirt would cling to him afterward, plastered to every line of him.
Your sexual chemistry is undeniable. He knows exactly how to touch you. But you’re here to give him what he deserves. And you know now that you’re at the point where you can toy with him.
Three guys wander towards the snack table together, interrupting your daydreams.
“What do you have?” a guy with sunglasses says.
You can tell by the way his eyes are trailing down your body that he’s checking you out. You don’t bother answering. You just tap the laminated sign hanging from the front of the table, showing that you’re offering popsicles, granola bars, and chips.
“If I get a popsicle,” he begins, “can I watch you eat it?”
His friends snort, elbowing each other like they’ve never heard anything funnier. You scowl and step to the side.
“Next,” you say to the girl who just approached behind them. You help her quickly, but the guys linger, still expecting service.
One of his friends steps forward and tries to hand you his ticket.
“Sorry,” he says. “It was a stupid joke. Can I just get some chips?”
You scoff and wave curtly to dismiss them.
“Wait for the next volunteer,” you tell them flatly.
“I was just having fun,” the one who made the comment to you says.
“By being a disgusting pig?” you mutter, your voice sharp.
They don't move. You cross your arms, staring daggers at them, furious that you’re stuck behind this table and that they refuse to leave.
Then, someone approaches. You look up.
After his team won tug‑of‑war, Rafe spotted you, noticed your hand lifted in an irritated gesture. Even from a distance, he recognized that pissed off look on your face.
He realizes a group of guys are hovering around your table, annoying you. He’s seen them before. They’re members of the rival frat his house is always competing with.
“You guys botherin’ her?” Rafe says, light but edged.
“Immensely,” you answer before they can speak. “They won’t leave.”
Normally, you hate when a man acts like you need rescuing. But right now you’re trapped. You can’t walk away from the table. And these guys won’t go away.
Rafe feels a flare of protectiveness burn in him when he sees just how angry you are, and how these assholes are trying to intimidate you. The rivalry between their houses makes his temper snap tighter.
“Go,” Rafe tells them, the sharpness in his voice unmistakable now.
“I want some food,” one of the guys mutters.
“You lost your chance,” you snap.
He scoffs, rolling his eyes like you’re the unreasonable one.
“You heard her,” Rafe says, daring him to push it. You don’t want to expect any good from him, but he’s standing with his broad shoulders squared, making it very clear whose side he’s on.
The guys finally leave, muttering as they stalk off. It’s just you and Rafe at the table now. You don’t want to believe he stepped in because he’s sincerely looking out for you. You can’t. But you’re still grateful because you had no escape and he just gave it to you.
“I’ll give you all the snacks you want,” you say in a show of appreciation.
Rafe huffs a small laugh, but his eyes stay on you.
“What’d they do?” he asks.
“They were gross,” you mutter. Admittedly, you’re tired of pretending the way men objectify you doesn’t get to you. “Like all guys, treating me like I’m only good for one thing. It’s so fucking degrading.”
Rafe is thrown by your honesty. You can tell. But when you’re this angry, you don’t care about putting up a front. Just like the night he spilled his drink on you, when you snapped at him with no inhibitions.
And that memory hits you now. Rafe asked if you were always so sensitive and it reminded you exactly why you don’t let yourself trust guys like him. Whatever he’s doing right now is a game. You have to keep your guard up where it always is.
“Want anything?” you ask, attempting to brush the thought away with humor, to continue to charm him. “Or I could keep ranting if you’re into it.”
“I’ll take one of those,” Rafe says with a small smile, pointing at the granola bars. Your eyes dip to his lips, reminded of how they felt on yours, before you hand him a bar. Your fingers brush his for half a second.
He steps back as he realizes someone is in line behind him. But he’s still staring at you like he’s trying to figure you out. You break eye contact first. And he steps aside to let the next person through.
・・・・・
Later that night, you read Rafe’s text while standing in front of your mirror in your bedroom. Jada is in the bathroom, blasting music as she does her hair.
You coming tonight?
You check your reflection, smoothing your hands down the sides of your deep red mini‑dress. You’re dressed up for an ‘angels and demons’ theme party, your dress soft and skimpy, paired with a plastic headband of two red horns.
His frat shouldn’t be throwing their annual Halloween party tonight. They’re almost on probation, and everyone knows it by now. But that’s not your problem. If they want to risk getting shut down, that’s on them.
Probably, you type back, even though you’re fully planning to head over there.
Rafe has never been afraid to come on too strong with a girl. He either cares or he doesn’t. But tonight, sitting on the couch in the frat house living room, surrounded by his brothers, he feels different.
He keeps checking his phone, rereading your text.
Probably.
His friends are shouting over the music. Normally, he escapes into this loud chaos. He loves not having to think about anything. But you might be coming, and your attention feels different than anything else.
Rafe leans back, letting the music wash over him, pretending he’s relaxed even though he’s anything but.
・・・・・
The second you step into the frat house, the air is thick, too many bodies packed into one place. Music thumps through the floorboards, vibrating up your legs. Your friends pull you deeper inside, weaving through clusters of people.
Rafe stands near the kitchen doorway with his friends. His hair is pushed back instead of hidden under a hat, a little tousled. He didn’t bother with a real costume. Just a red polo and jeans, the bare minimum effort to dress on theme.
You look away before he can catch you staring and go further into the house, pretending you’re not aware of where he is in the room.
Eventually, while you’re dancing with your friends, you feel a hand graze the small of your back. You turn to see Rafe towering over you, close enough that you can smell his cologne under the haze of sweat. His eyes are on you like you’re the only person in the room.
“Who cares about probation, huh?” you say, motioning to the chaos around you. This party absolutely should not be happening.
“Aw, you worried about me?” Rafe replies, leaning in just enough that you feel his breath on your cheek.
“I’m losing sleep over it,” you deadpan.
He laughs under his breath and wraps an arm around you, pulling you into his side like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He doesn’t want to second guess himself with you, even though it’s all he does.
Suddenly, he’s aware of every guy in the room who’s staring at you in that tiny dress. The twist of possessiveness burns in him.
Rafe has no claim over you. But it feels like he does. Like he should.
You gaze up at him, at the way his hair falls slightly over his forehead.
“I like your hair like that,” you flirt.
His grin widens. It’s a full, toothy smile he tries to hide by ducking his head for a second.
“Could barely shower,” he says. “My arms are killing me from today.”
“Weak,” you tease.
“Hey,” he says, laughing. “I carried my team.”
“Whatever you need to tell yourself,” you reply with a nod. He chuckles and shakes his head.
“You have a good time?”
“It’s fun to get competitive,” you say. “You?”
“Yeah,” he says, rolling his shoulders. “Just need a massage now.”
“Nice try,” you laugh.
He pauses for a moment to take in your bright smile, the sweet sound of your laugh.
“Who do you think won?” he asks.
“Us. Definitely.”
“You’re so sure,” he says with a squint.
“We can put money on it if you want to bet,” you say.
Rafe’s smile falters.
The goal was just to hook up with you. It was supposed to be a game. Now he’s standing in front of you, and you’re joking with him, and he’s having so much fun with you that he already misses you before you’re gone.
You’re not just some stuck-up princess. There’s more to you. He’s seen it. How funny you are. How sweet you can be. And today, when he saw that anger in you flare yet again, he realized it’s rooted in how much you have to protect yourself.
He knows what that’s like.
He wonders what’ll happen if he wants more than what he promised his friends. He’s definitely attracted to you. That part was never in question. But there’s something else now that makes the bet feel cheap.
It pisses him off that he’s doing what you vented to him about. He tried to convince himself that he could see you as just a girl to fuck around with. And he was an idiot to do that.
You study him, curious about what his sudden silence means. He’s looking at you like he always does, like he’s trying to read your mind.
But you don’t make it a habit to read between a guy’s lines. All you can feel is the heat of your need for him. The way he’s looking at you only makes it harder to ignore.
You’ll stick to the plan. You won’t go all the way. But you’ll do more.
“You want to show me your room?” you ask, already knowing the answer.
Rafe licks his lips, nodding gently.
“Yeah,” he says, voice low. “Come on.”
He leads you through the crowd, up the stairs, the noise fading behind you with every step. His palm covers yours, sending a hot current straight through you.
He opens the door to his bedroom. And you follow him inside.
(to be continued)
new parts come out every friday at 8 pm est. if you want to be alerted of when i post my fics, follow @xorafe-library and turn on notifications, or subscribe to my ao3 💘
summary: in which you're ready to end things with clark, but he doesn't let you. how were you supposed to know kryptonian saliva is an aphrodisiac?
CWs: 18+ MDNI! DUBCON AT THE VERY LEAST! READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION!, explicit sexual content (oral - f!receiving, some brief nipple play), fem!reader x clark kent, super manipulative & icky clark bc he needed some dark!representation and im here to provide for that gap, very VERY messy kisses, spitplay? i guess that's a term for it? idk man he spits in your mouth, HE SPITS IN YOUR MOUTH!!!!
wc: juuuust under 4k!
author's note: alright. listen. LISTEN. this is a labor of love for me. it took me a very long time and i am very proud of it. however, i will not be writing dark!clarkie in a long time, because he is exhausting. i hope you all enjoy him. let's be depraved together <3
this is dedicated to my beloved @thceseus and @tw1sters !! thank you two for being the best depraved perverts who Also want to be manipulated by clark kent. i love you more than words can express.
Clark Kent is a good man. That’s why he never kisses you.
It’s something he saves for certain occasions. Anniversaries. When you have a really hard day at work. Nights when you’re struggling to sleep.
Fights.
Especially the fights where a particularly rough grit in your voice is present, telling him when he’ll have to break his own rather shaky moral code. It always comes after a night spent yelling at each other, of going back and forth about some issue in your relationship that he’d rather avoid.
A night like the one you’re both being strangled by right now.
You’ve been screaming back and forth at each other for over 20 minutes; nothing but barbarous insults hurled at each other that neither of you will be able to forget but will refuse to discuss when your tempers have regulated. Not to mention that he heard that tell-tale grit in your voice from the very first second that you opened your mouth. Hell, it almost weighed heavier on him than the horrible things you were telling him.
Now, though, you’re both silent. Everything that needed to be said was said.
Eyes wide and unflinchingly locked together, unwavering connection stemming from the vicious battle you just went through in this bedroom. The one that was never going to produce a victor, because neither of you can take back what you told each other. You’re still red in the face. You’ve still got veins popping out of your neck. Hot, angry tears are silently pouring down your cheeks—no doubt from the high emotions, the unbearable pain.
Or maybe from the realization you’re arriving at for the millionth time this month: This relationship isn’t working. Hasn’t been working for weeks, and he knows you’ve been in that state of mind for a while.
Clark, though? Not so much. He’s given you so much of himself, so much of his time, so much of his life and love…how could he ever let you go?
So when you finally break that eye contact, when you look down at the floor separating the two of you, he knows what he has to do. Does he want to do it? No, because Clark is a good man.
But he’ll do anything to keep you with him.
It starts when you let out one of those wistful little sighs—the exact type of sigh that precedes the line he knows you’ll forget you even said to him in a few minutes:
“I think we need to take a break.”
Your voice is much softer now. Broken, in a way. Broken from how hard you were yelling. Broken from how upset you are. Broken from your own suggestion, because Clark knows that, deep down in your heart, you never mean that. You’ve never gone through with it, so how could you possibly mean it? You don’t want that.
He knows what you want.
Clark clears his throat. Takes a few slow, long strides across your bedroom until he reaches you. You’re so tired from the fight that you don’t even move away from him. Not like you’d want to, anyway. Clark knew you wouldn’t. He knows this fight—and the way you react to it—better than anything else.
You might have said you can’t stand him, that you want to take a break, that you’re tired of it all…but your body doesn’t agree. Your body leans into him. Your body presses your hands against his chest and lets your forehead fall on his shoulder. Your body rests on his so that you don’t have to carry the weight of your shared dysfunction on your own anymore.
“C’mon, baby. Don’t say that.” he whispers. “You don’t mean that.”
“Clark, don’t—”
That tiny beginner’s protest doesn’t really ring true while you’re sliding your arms around his shoulders and pulling yourself into his chest, so he cuts you off.
“No. No, we don’t need a break. We can work through this. We always work through it, don’t we?” he purrs at you. Tilts your head up with one hand while his other arm stays wrapped around your waist. Glues you to him and doesn’t give you any space to unstick yourself from him. His fingers curl around your jaw and a quick scan of your face in the pale blue moonlight streaming into your room gives him what he was hoping to see.
You have a certain habit that he uses to his advantage when you fight with him. You gnaw at your bottom lip when you’re trying to keep certain insults in. Sometimes, it’s so harsh of a bite that you cut the skin. Make yourself bleed.
Give him an opening to change your mind.
“Goodness, honey. You gotta stop doing this,” he sweetly coos. Runs his thumb over your bottom lip to make it seem like he’s only concerned about the cut. To be fair, he is concerned about how it’s probably hurting you—but that’s not taking precedence right now.
“Gonna hurt yourself. I know this doesn’t feel good.”
He pushes out a sigh through his nose. He has to look frustrated and sympathetic if he wants to act like he doesn’t know what he’s doing.
“You gonna let me clean you up?”
You whine and lean into his touch; a confirmation without the words to accompany it. He knows you can’t resist him. He puts on his sweetest smile and mumbles, “Good. Gotta take care of my girl,” while he gives you a soft squeeze.
Getting you this close is just step one.
Step two, though, is where the last remaining dregs of his own guilt start to creep in. He hesitates for a moment when he pulls his thumb off of your lip and brings it up to his own mouth. He could pull away from you and get a wet rag to clean it instead. He could be the good man Ma raised him to be.
Then you lean into him a little more. Get so close to him that he can smell the shampoo in your hair, the perfume on your skin, the adrenaline pumping through your blood. Your bottom lip is still subtly trembling. A shockwave from your crying that just refuses to leave you, much like how you can’t leave his arms right now.
How could you blame him for what he’s about to do? Your body is begging him to do it. Begging him for some release from this pain. Craving relief that only he can provide you.
Isn’t the whole point of his being here on Earth protecting and caring for its inhabitants, anyway?
So he ditches the guilt. Swallows it down and acts like he’s just trying to clean you up when he licks his thumb to wet it and swipes it over the gently oozing blood on your lip. Drags it back and forth over the still-open cut once, twice, three times. Soft and sweet, like Ma would do when he had a stain on his cheek from playing outside when he was a kid. As though there’s no ulterior motive here.
And to you, there probably isn’t. To you, he probably seems like he’s just caring for you. Trying to make you feel better.
Clark knows that’s not the case.
He keeps his thumb pressed against your lip. Keeps it over that cut. Keeps pressing his saliva into the little wound. Rubbing it back and forth. Licking his thumb again. Repeating the whole process when some more blood wells from your self-inflicted bite. Feeding more and more of himself to you.
Part of him wishes Kara never told him about this little trick.
“All I know is that it’s like…a fuckin’ love potion, or something. If you kiss a human, they’ll go crazy for you. I think it’s in our spit. I know it sounds crazy, Kal, but trust me. That shit works.”
He thought she was lying. Didn’t believe her at first, because how outrageous would that be? Sure, his parents wanted him to repopulate Earth, but isn’t aphrodisiac-laced spit a little far fetched?
Two years later, he knows she wasn’t lying. Especially right now, as he’s watching you fall into the effects of it. He’s watching your pupils dilate with every gentle brush of his thumb over your lip, watching your breathing quicken in your still-heaving chest.
This trick’s worked on you every time. And every time he does it, he feels bad about it, but he’s sure not stopping any time soon. Not when he gets to see you like this.
Your eyes keep locking onto his mouth. You keep squirming in his grasp, body warm, skin dampening, and much more pliable than you were only a few seconds earlier. When your fingers dig into his shirt, he finds that they’re trembling. Whether it’s from the rage of your fight or the lack of his attention toward the mess you’re already making between your thighs, he doesn’t know. Maybe it’s both.
“Clark,” you whine. Pitchy, breathy, irresistible. He ticks his jaw, annoyed with himself for being so turned on by this. By being able to control you this easily. He’s supposed to be a good man. He’s not supposed to get hard when you’re upset with him.
“I’m here. I’ve got you, baby.”
Your lidded eyes trace every single word that leaves his mouth. You moan at the pet name. His fingers, still curled around your jaw while his others grasp at your waist, pick up on the heat radiating from you.
“Don’t like it when we fight.”
“I don’t like it either, honey.”
Your knees buckle at the saccharine nickname he knows is your favorite—a slight jolt that makes him tighten his hold on you—and you start panting, start gripping him a little harder.
Are your hips rolling against his? He pays no mind to it. Forces himself to take his thumb away from your lip, because you’re good and moldable for him already. Three rounds of feeding himself to you through an open wound’ll do it. He doesn’t need to take this any further.
That doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to, though.
“I love you,” you whisper to him. The inky blackness of your pupils eats up your irises. You’re soaking through your panties, making such a big mess that he can smell it. He should be excited—and part of him is—but his heart aches instead. When was the last time he had you this wet, this compliant, this soft and needy for him, without using his saliva to get you there? Must have been before everything started going downhill a few months ago.
Oh well. At least you’re there now, right?
So he smiles at you. Sweet and crooked, the smile you’ve told him you love a thousand times before. Makes you whimper and has you bucking your hips up against his. You’re so hot that your skin is burning. Warm to the touch and a little bit damp. Just how he likes you. His trick worked like a charm.
“There’s my sweet girl. Was starting to think I’d never see you again, baby. I love you so much.”
When his lower-octave purr hits your ears, you almost collapse. He felt it all. The way your knees gave out, the way you grabbed onto him a little harder, the way your heart started slamming so roughly behind your ribcage that it almost burst out of your chest.
“Can I have a kiss?” you mercilessly, pathetically beg. Voice so soft and needy and whiney that he couldn’t possibly dream of resisting you. “I know—I know you don’t like to do it, but…I need one. Please?”
“Is a kiss gonna make you feel better?”
You hum and nod so hard that your head looks like it’s about to fall off. He finds himself laughing. Not mean, not teasing, just…laughing. Because he’s in awe. How has this trick worked for this long? How haven’t you built up an immunity by now?
Thank God you haven’t built up an immunity by now.
“My needy girl always gets what she wants.”
He licks his lips—getting them wet so he can keep you pliant—and leans down to press them against yours. His tongue gently glides against your bottom lip, making sure to take a little extra time on that cut there and causing you to suck in a brief wince. He pushes his way into your mouth without even a hint of resistance from you. Does its work. Keeps you easy.
20 minutes ago, you’d have had his head on a pike if he kissed you when you were that mad. If he had so much as suggested a kiss 20 minutes ago, you would have walked out of that door and never came back.
You break away not even 10 seconds later. Clearly woozy from the kiss, like he knew you’d be. Everything is so heightened for you that he’s surprised you even lasted that long. You press your forehead against his jaw.
“Better?” Clark asks. Your answer is some sort of jumbled little confirmation.
Your sticky, warm skin clings to his when you catch your breath, pull back, and try to reconnect the kiss. He lets you. You’re the one parting his lips to press your tongue against his, you’re the one licking into his mouth so you can get as close to him as possible, you’re the one tangling your hands in his hair and yanking on it so you can part for air after a pathetic 10 more seconds. And yet, after you gulp in a few deep breaths, you kiss him again. Surprise engulfs him when, this time, you suck on his tongue.
Couldn’t hold the moan that burst from his chest back if he tried.
It’s the first time in a couple weeks that you’ve paid any sort of positive attention to him at all, and he loves it. He loves you. If his girl wants a kiss—or two, or three—she’ll get one. Matter of fact, he’d let you do anything if it meant he got to keep you forever. He just might be able to do that if you keep sticking your tongue down his throat and sucking on his like you just did.
He pulls away when he senses that you’re losing yourself in him. That realization comes through your landing a particularly rough bite on his bottom lip before you start kissing his chin, his jaw, and his neck, leaving a trail of tiny wet patches in your wake.
Clark cradles your face in his hands to stop you from diving in for another kiss. Gives you a chance to breathe and gives him a moment to drink you in when you’re not mad at him. Your precious, soft, absolutely lovedrunk face. His poor baby. So far gone—eyes half-lidded, lips kiss-swollen and glistening from your messy litany of kisses, skin hot to the touch and chest heaving as you claw at his shirt and stumble over your own two feet while you drag him backwards toward your bed.
You’re more than pliable enough, now.
Clark swipes his thumb over your bottom lip, thumb dampening from the filthy kisses you’ve shared with him, a mix of your saliva and his. You chase after the contact and tilt your head into his palm when he slips his thumb down toward your jaw.
He puts on his best soft, deep voice and asks, “Gonna let me take care of you, now, baby? Let me apologize?” before you can yank him down onto your bed.
He gets a soft hum from you. A nod. Of course he does. You’d never say no to him when you’ve got this much of his “love potion”—as Kara would call it— coursing its way through your veins. So he takes your confirmation that he knew he’d get, lifts you up, and lets you indulge in your forced desires.
Clark’s form of an apology isn’t an actual apology. He doesn’t say sorry to you anymore. When has it ever soothed your anger, anyway?
Instead, he apologizes by burying his face between your legs. He never has to give you much after you’ve kissed. A gentle circling of his tongue around your clit for a handful of seconds is enough to get you to come undone for the first time. The next is a little harder to work for, but if being between your legs and humping the mattress to get his own relief could be a full time job, he’d apply for it immediately.
“Clark!” you groan while arching off the bed. While you’re being thrown off the proverbial cliff, falling into your third climax in an obscenely short time frame.
Your body is a gorgeous symphony to him when you’re like this. Everything you do is music to his ears when you’re in this bed. The roughness of your breathing, the sheets rubbing against your heated, sticky skin, the lewd squelch of your wetness as he drives two fingers in and out of you, the moans you sing out when he curls those fingers up to hit the soft, spongy spot that he loves to abuse until you’re boneless beneath him.
“Coming! Fuck, I’m coming! Don’t—ah! Don’t stop!” you babble. There’s a string of curse words attached to the end of that jumbled declaration. Clark just hums and continues eating. Slips his fingers out of you to replace them with his tongue. The rough push of his nose against your clit forces a full-body jolt out of you.
You keep screaming for him to continue, to go deeper, to not stop, and he gives it all to you until you’re falling apart. It’s not like it was his intention to stop. Wouldn’t dream of stopping now. Wouldn’t deprive himself of the pleasure of being glued to your pretty pussy like this.
He’s not sure when he became so selfish. Maybe it was the first time he kissed you to manipulate you. Well, it’s not manipulation. Not if you were the one who asked for a kiss. That’s what he tells himself, at least.
“Shit!” you hiss while you collapse back down on the bed with a heavy thump. Your body’s starting to give out. Mind’s been gone for a while, now; there’s no way you remember what that fight earlier was about. Perfect. Just where he wants you. Should be enough to buy him at least a couple days of peace. A couple days of not having to worry about you wanting to break up with him and him losing all his motivation to live.
Clark smiles. Pulls back just enough to speak to you. When he pushes his thumbs against each of your folds and spreads you open, your whimpered response is telling him you’ve got tears in your eyes. You cant your hips up, bucking and squirming for him to give you more.
How are you still begging for more when you’ve had so much already? Maybe he’s not the only selfish one here.
“Look at the mess you made. Love it when she’s cryin’ for me like this, baby. Can’t believe I get to call this perfect little pussy all mine. How’d I get so lucky?”
He pushes his filthy words into your thighs between kisses as though he’s praying to you. He is, in a way. Praying that you won’t leave him. Praying that he’ll get to keep you if he’s good enough at worshipping the altar of your body.
Those kisses slowly trail up your hips, your waist, your stomach. Each time he makes contact with you, he feels the goosebumps on your skin. Feels the way you shiver, the way you’re still weak for him even though he hasn’t kissed you in what feels like an eternity.
He wants to kiss you. Wants to push you a little further. Wants you to go completely dumb so that you don’t have to think about how mad you are at him. So that, if he’s lucky, you’ll forget about everything altogether and just love him the way he loves you. Without hesitation. Without regret.
For now, he refrains. Kisses up to your chest and sucks one peaked, sensitive nipple into his mouth while his thumb teases the other. A gentle back and forth swipe, one that he drew on your bottom lip just a little while earlier.
He stops his kisses when he reaches your jaw. Tilts his head away from you when you try to kiss him. Nearly dies from the tiny, sad noise you push out when he doesn’t give you what you want. Clears his throat and gently spreads your legs with one knee. Somewhere along the way, he slipped his hand down to your overstimulated clit, and he earns a cute little moan from you when he starts tracing soft circles on it.
“Gonna let me use her one more time, honey?”
“Last time,” you confirm while spreading your legs wider for him. You nod. “One last time.”
Clark stills. Lifts his head so he can actually meet your eyes for the first time since this has all started. It’s a miracle that they’re still open. What’s not a miracle, though, is how your irises have started to return.
His blood chills. Threatens to freeze in his veins and render him useless. How long has it been since that aphrodisiac wore off?
“Last time? You don’t mean that,” he mutters. The way his voice went up an octave is embarrassing. How could five words make him panic so quickly?
“I told you I wanted to take a break,” you counter. Your arms wrap around his shoulders and your fingers play with the curls at the nape of his neck. Clark’s face starts to burn. Whether it’s from embarrassment, panic, or anger, he doesn’t exactly know.
“You didn’t mean it when you said that, either.”
He sighs. He knows what he has to do. He didn’t think it’d ever get this far, but if it means keeping you, it’s getting done.
He steels himself and sends you a fake smile. You probably clocked it. He’s never been good at faking them with you. He brushes some of your hair off of your forehead and lowers his face towards yours. His voice is a whisper when he finds it again.
“We’ll talk about it later.”
You huff at him. Press your lips into a thin line but turn toward his palm when it slides down your cheek. Soon enough, his thumb is gliding over your lip again. He always seems to find it. This time, though, he’s got a reason.
He swipes it back and forth. Gentle. Unassuming. Considers it a win when you tilt your chin up for him to continue the tiny, comforting movement. He regains some confidence in his voice now that he’s accepted his fate and knows what he has to do here.
“Be a good girl and open up for me, baby,” he commands while he drags his thumb down your chin. For someone who wants a break so badly, you comply immediately. The smile he sends you is genuine, this time.
“That’s it. Just like that, sweetheart.”
As soon as you’ve got your mouth open, chin tilted up, he does it. He stares into your eyes as he lets a single, heavy dribble of his saliva fall onto your tongue. Just enough of it to bump up the concentration of the aphrodisiac without knocking you out completely.
“Swallow,” he coos when he closes your mouth for you. Smiles when you do as he says without skipping a beat.
“Atta girl.”
When he finally tears his focus away from your mouth to look at your entire face, he sees everything he wants:
summary: struggling with stress at your typical 9 to 5? try out this neat stress-relief routine that superman himself swears by.
word count: just over 1.2k!
CWs: 18+ MDNI!!!! explicit descriptions of sex, mating press, rough sex, angry sex, lots of dirty talk, pussy pronouns, unprotected p in v, use of pet names, mentions of exhibitionism ?, fem!reader x clark kent, established relationship, no use of y/n, reader obv knows that clark is superman, the suit stays on !!!!!! i think that's it.
author's note: this one is so dirty but the next one im working on will be dirtier 😉 i hope you all enjoy !!
series masterlist
Clark’s suit has such an interesting texture. It’s like…plastic? Synthetic? Pique-like weaving with a nylon feel? You’re not sure. It’s Kryptonian—made from the remaining scraps of fabric that kept him safe in the spaceship he crash landed in so long ago—and even though you don’t understand it, you love the feel of it.
You love the smoothness of it. You love its vibrant colors. You love the way it hugs his body and gives you an exact idea of what you’re working with beneath all that confusingly beautiful fabric.
You especially love the way it’s digging into your calves while Clark’s got you folded in half, legs braced on his shoulders while you’re beneath him in a brutal mating press. That fabric always leaves an indent in your skin and reminds you who was there, what he was doing, how good it all feels.
“Can you believe that?” Clark grumbles, his rough thrusts quickening as he pounds into you again and again, making you squirm each time his hips crash into yours. That's right. You were supposed to be attentive to his complaints throughout all of this.
“Bruce made me look like an idiot in front of the rest of the team,” he growls against your ear.
“Made everyone question my decisions, and—and how could they question me? I’m the leader of the Justice League, for Christ’s sake. I know what’s good for everyone.”
His head lolls forward for a moment. Falls into your neck while his heavy breaths fall against your heated skin. His thrusts pick up speed and pressure until your entire bed is shaking beneath his force. Clearly, he’s not worried about breaking you tonight.
“Whatever I say goes. That’s that. How hard is that to understand?”
His hands tighten on your hips, fingers curling around and digging into the soft flesh there. Squeezing them so roughly it almost hurts. Probably bruising the skin. That grip tightens every time he even thinks about that humiliating Justice League meeting he just crash-landed back from.
He was irate when he came home to you tonight. Jaw tense, eyes wild, chest heaving, face a bright red that was steadily bleeding down to his neck. That kind of roughness isn’t natural to Clark. He has to have a truly horrible day—or, more likely, a horrible set of days—to even consider fucking you like this. To storm into your room, tear through your panties, and fuck you with his suit still on. To fuck you like you’re an object to be used rather than his lovely, perfect girlfriend who deserves time and slowness and respect.
Just the thought of that has your cunt clenching around his cock and tears welling in your eyes.
Your head falls back onto your pillows while you squeal out a babbled mess of noises that were supposed to be words. Those tears start to flow down your hot, flushed cheeks. Your attempted whine doesn’t even come out; your throat is too raw from how much you’ve been screaming, from how good he’s been making you feel.
“Gosh, baby. You feel so good,” he murmurs, squeezing his eyes shut and groaning when you clench around him again.
“Lettin’ me use you like this,” he grunts between harsh thrusts, hands sliding up to your thighs so he can press them down harder. So he can get deeper. The tip of his cock nudges against your cervix with each rough thrust, the first of which makes you jolt and punch out a strangled moan. Makes you reach out and grab for him, but you can’t. He’s too far gone, and at a certain point, so are you.
He picks up his head and stares daggers at you. Misdirected anger. You're not upset about it, and neither is your pussy judging by the way it clamps around his cock.
“You understand, don’t you? You know that whatever I say goes. Such a good girl for me. Not askin’ any stupid questions. Just takin’ all of me like you’re supposed to. Like you’re made just for me.”
This isn’t your Clark. This is someone else—someone you could see yourself really getting used to.
Your arms and fingers stretch down toward your own hips, a pathetic attempt at trying to get your hands on him. They find a soft, silky fabric to curl around, to clutch and hold on to for dear life. When you finally lift your head back up to look at what you’ve got, you almost black out.
It’s his cape.
Bright red and flowy, softly billowing with each of his harsh, borderline hateful thrusts into you. He didn’t even bother taking it off. He didn’t bother taking any of his suit off; all he did was free himself from those iconic trunks and get to work, and he’s controlling just how much of him you get to touch.
Him, on the other hand? He gets to touch whatever he wants. You only get his cape, and he gets your entire body. All of you, none of you, as much of you as he wants, whenever he wants. He’s in control.
God, is it good for him to be in control.
There wasn’t even a hint of foreplay tonight, and yet you’re soaked. All you can hear in this room is a combination of his brutal thrusts, your creaking bed frame, your moaning mixed with his grunts, and the lewd squelch that comes with every shift of his skilled hips. You’ve finished twice from the way his cock keeps bullying that soft, sensitive spot deep inside of you; the one he keeps hitting without hesitation even though he knows it'll overwhelm you. The one that makes you squirm so much that he has to pin you down on the bed to keep you from skittering away.
You’re already on the verge of coming—again—and it’s from his brutality alone. You felt it deep down in your belly, a burn that you’re so familiar with after being with Clark for so many years, and all you need is a final push.
And Clark gives it to you when he picks up his speed and force once more, leans over you with both hands pressed into the mattress aside your head, and growls, “Maybe I’ll take you to our next meeting. Do this in front of everyone and show ‘em whose in charge.”
You whine and nod your head; couldn’t control the way your pussy spasmed and constricted around him at the mention of this Clark fucking you in front of the entire Justice League. Your Clark wouldn’t even think of it.
“Goodness, she’s squeezin’ me like a vice. You like the sound of that, honey? Me using you in front of everyone?”
“Yes! God, yes!” you shout while you come all over him, body convulsing and falling apart like only he can get it to do. First time you’ve been able to find your words all night.
Clark just laughs at you. Keeps hammering into you over and over with a playful glint in his eye. Watches your tears fall down your cheeks without wiping them away because he’s too busy with his rough, now-sloppy thrusts.
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
pairing ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ criminal!jj x sheriffsdaughter!reader
synopsis ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ you were supposed to be safe, quiet, clean. sheriff’s daughter, sweet southern manners, reputation stitched into the hem of every dress. but jj maybank was all cigarette smoke and hands cuffed behind his back, and you’ve been wanting him since seventeen. he didn't look at you back then, not like he does now. and you pretend nothing’s happening, you still say your grace and keep the front door locked. but the window stays open. and his bruises look better when they're yours.
warnings ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ smut (minors stay away get out), choking, very brief mention of slapping, jj lowk being mean during smut, kinddd of almost getting caught, mentions of christianity and reader being minorly religious, afab!reader, swearing
notes ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ word count - 6kish words! inspired by 'crush' & 'strangers' by ethel cain. (edit: my admiration and credit belongs to @princessbrunette! they wrote a fic inspired by crush first, it is amazing and wonderful pls go read it! thanks anon)
you hadn't planned to stay long. just long enough to drop off the sandwich, the salad, the sweet tea in a mason jar to your dad, because he'd forgotten his lunch at home again.
it's hot out today and you shiver when you step inside the kildare county sheriff's office from the ac blowing. its quiet- no one is behind the front desk, there's no drunken yells coming from the holding cells. there's a radio humming 60's country music on low, but that's it.
it smells like floor wax and old coffee. you cross the lobby slow, careful not to make too much noise, keys still hooked around your finger.
you're headed to your dad's office, mentally preparing for the lecture you'll probably recieve for wearing a skirt this short, when the slam of a metal door against wall makes you jolt.
the first thing you see is your dad- kildare's sheriff, locally loved and adolescently dispised. he's got that look on his face that can only mean someone's managed to piss him off in the hour and twenty minutes he's been working, or he already knows about the length of your skirt.
it's the first one. your dad’s dragging someone in by the elbow. shirt stained, hair a mess, hands cuffed behind his back, and grinning.
your stomach drops. jj maybank.
you recognize him immediately. how could you not? his file lives in your dad’s top drawer. his name was muttered like a curse word at the dinner table. this is his second time this week getting brought in. something about a fight, something about resisting.
he's the kid who’s been in and out of this station so many times, he probably knows the code to the back door. he's the boy your mother didn’t even bother warning you about. she assumed you had enough sense to know better.
but maybe she should have taken the thirty seconds it does to ward you off him. because the crush you have on jj maybank? it's not the cute kind, it's not the kind you say out loud. it's sickening and a little humilating.
you feel kind of bad for it. you're the sweetest girl in town, getting straight a's in college, you can’t even say the word sex without getting red in the face. but still, you want him to press your face to the mattress and say 'so polite for everyone else, huh? let’s see how polite you are for me'.
sickening.
you didn’t know him, not really, but you knew of him. everyone did. that’s just how it works on a place like this, the island’s too small to hide anyone, especially not someone like jj.
he was a year older than you. he graduated, barely, from the public school on the island, got into fights, spent half his week in this here police station. while you had been kildare acadamy trained, clean reputation, polite. raised on yes sir, no ma’am, and don’t ever go near that maybank boy.
you've only spoken once, technically, if you want to count the time he held the door for you. lip split, blonde craze curling out from under his hat, he didn’t even look up at first.
you stepped past him, said 'thank you', real quiet, polite, like you were supposed to. he glanced up just long enough to say 'no problem, sweetheart' and then he was gone.
and that was it. so oviously, you've convinced yourself that you're a creep.
jj is still getting dragged across the lobby by your father.
“you’re really startin’ to make this a habit, sheriff,” he says. “you miss me or somethin’?”
your dad grits his teeth, but doesn’t answer. he looks over at you, huffing out a smile. "hey, kid."
jj looks up, and then he sees you. he actually stops walking for half a second, forces your dad yank him forward again. but his eyes stay locked on you, his head tilts like he’s trying to remember if you’ve ever spoken.
his eyes drag over you, slow and curious, like you don’t match the picture in his head.
then, he smiles. "afternoon, sweetheart."
you wondered if he had somehow, magically remembered what he had called you the first and only time you interacted with him, or if he just called every girl that.
he turns to your dad. “you ever get nervous lettin’ her walk around like that?”
your father tightens his grip on the cuffs. “watch your mouth, maybank.”
jj grins wider, eyes never leaving you. “just sayin’. you're braver than i thought."
“that’s my daughter."
jj’s eyebrows lift. “lucky man." his lips fall into a line, nodding his head. "she looks just like her mama."
you hide a jaw drop. his head tilts, then shakes it with approval.
they make it to the other end of the lobby, before your dad stops and yanks jj with him. he turns, giving you that look you're sure jj put on his face earlier.
"that thing's real short, kid."
"yeah, completely makes up for gettin' arrested, though. actually, i think i'll even thank you for this one, michael."
your father shoves him foward so hard jj stumbles, shoulder hitting the frame. he probably would've fallen if not for the hostile grip your dad had on the cuffs. but jj’s still smiling.
they pass through the doorway, the door slams behind them. and you’re left standing in a silence that buzzes.
you see him again five days later.
you're in the gas station, picking through the cold drinks while you wait for the gas pump to fill your car.
"look who it is."
you turn, and there he is, standing with just enough distance that it makes you kind of fidgety. his arms are crossed and he's already smirking like he won't end up in holding tonight.
you force your face into something neutral, pleasant, indifferent. like your heart isn’t already racing just from the sound of his voice.
“jj." you say carefully.
“you remember my name. i’m touched.”
you roll your eyes and walk toward the counter. he follows, slow.
“cute dress,” he says, like it’s nothing. like he didn’t just burn that image into his brain, “real sweet."
"thank you. you done?"
“not tryin' to cause a scene, sweetheart. just surprised, is all. figured you were only allowed out with a badge escort.”
“funny,” you say flatly, plucking a pack of gum from the display and tossing it next to your drink. “you been working on your material?”
he doesn’t answer right away, just watches you with that same unreadable look. the one that makes your stomach coil even when you tell yourself it shouldn’t.
“how fast do'ya think your dad would put a bullet in me if i kissed you?”
you go still. not in that flustered, overdramatic kind of way, but in that real kind of still. like your brain forgot how to move your mouth.
he doesn’t even look at you when he says it. just taps the cap of the soda bottle against the counter, head tilted slightly like he’s already picturing it.
the cashier hands you your change, not without a look of concern, and you walk out into the sun, hoping it'll hide your reaction to him.
jj doesn’t let more than two seconds pass before he pushes through the door behind you.
"okay, that was a joke. not really, but kind of."
you glance back at him, quick. he's a few steps behind, already squinting from the north carolina sun.
"it was a bad one."
"you got somewhere to be?"
you don't look back at him. your hand’s tight around your keys, your other fidgeting with the edge of your drink. “…no.”
“then come for a drive.”
your head snaps up, brows raised. “with you?”
he nods like it's simple, like it was obvious.
"why would i do that?" you ask, eyes flicking between the gas pump and him.
“beats standin’ here tryin’ to pretend we’re not both thinkin’ about it.”
you swear your whole body locks up, again. he didn't know...did he? no, he couldn't possibly know about the way you think of him at night. but the way he talks like he does makes a silent shiver run down your spine.
you take a deep breath a shake your head. "you aren't funny."
the gas pump clicks as jj laughs, you pull it out and replace it with the gas cap.
“wasn’t tryin’ to be. you comin’?”
you stand there, looking at him. he's smiling, like always, his shirt is stained with something black and is cut at the sleeves.
you hear your dad's voice in your head after the event at the station five days ago, comments made after arresting jj and then coming home and pointing a fork at you during dinner. “next time he looks at you like that, you walk away.”
you should walk away. you should politely decline and then run for the hills like he's chasing you.
“…you gonna bring me back?”
he grins, slow and tooth-biting. "promise."
the passenger side door creaks when he pulls it open for you. the seat’s hot, the truck smells like sun warmed leather and gas station gum and something darker, sweat and smoke and boy.
he drives with one hand on the wheel, arm lazy out the window. the breeze messes up your hair, but you don't try and fix it.
the road’s all winding road down by the lighthouse, no one on the road, no reason to feel this tense except for the boy driving like he’s got all the time in the world and none of it’s clean.
you’re hyperaware of the way his arm brushes the console between you, the way his knee shifts when he laughs. the way you keep crossing and uncrossing your legs, trying to shake the warmth climbing up your body.
he’s talking about something dumb, some fight on the beach, some busted cooler and a stolen fishing pole, and then he stops mid-sentence.
“hold up,” he says, low and casual, like it’s nothing. “you got somethin’ right there.”
before you can ask, his hand’s already in your space. his fingers brush over your shoulder, then up, slow and careful, until they find a little piece of something caught in your hair. maybe a leaf, maybe thread, maybe nothing at all.
he pulls it free but doesn't drop his hand. just twirls the same lock of your hair around his finger. once, twice.
you're staring at him with your lips parted, his eyes out onto the road as if he doesn't have you wrapped around his finger, figuratively and literally.
your breath hiccups. he doesn’t look at you, doesn’t smile, just keeps twirling, like it’s the most normal thing in the world.
and then he tugs. gentle, light, barely a pull.
he lets go like it’s nothing, but it doesn't stop you from gasping, only loud enough for jj to grin.
he flicks the piece of fuzz out the window, and leans back into his seat. “should see your face right now.”
you roll your eyes, uncross and recross your legs. you can't help the pink that appears on your cheeks as you stare out the winow.
jj looks you over again. looks at your hair, your jaw, your hands placed politely in your lap, your thighs.
he breathes out a shaky breath, almost like he's in awe he's got a girl like you here with him.
“your dad’s gonna kill me." he says after a beat. he says it with a little humor behind it, but even jj knows it's no joke.
"guess you better make it worth it, then."
the ballroom smells like citrus polish and catered chicken. everyone’s dressed in their best, firefighters in borrowed jackets, town councilmen in suits that haven’t fit right in a decade. your dad sits tall at your side, name printed on a place card in the center of the table. your mom keeps adjusting the silverware.
you’re in a long, light blue dress with a low neckline and bare shoulders, earrings your aunt lent you, and heels that look really good, but don't feel good.
and of course, jj has magically managed to weasel his way into this event as a waiter.
he's dressed in black slacks and a crisp white shirt, sleeves cuffed to the elbows. hair combed but already falling out of place. there's a bruise shadows the left side of his jaw. he looks so out of place he might as well be glowing.
he's next to you before you know it. a hand appears at your side, steadying your glass. a second later, the sound of ice water pouring, slow and quiet.
you glance down. his sleeve brushes your arm. “miss.” he says.
he leans in just a little closer, not enough for anyone to take a second glance, but enough. “you look real sweet tonight.”
you tuck away a smile, a subtle hand reaching out to give a harsh tug at his belt, like that'll silence him.
he just lets out a breathy laugh, wandering over to the next table without giving anyone at yours a second thought.
the speeches start twenty minutes later, and you find a decent excuse to sneak outside before you're stuck in there listening to your dad's deputy talk about community.
you lean back against the stone railing, chin tilted up toward the stars you can barely see past the glow of streetlamps and floodlights. your heart’s still beating a little fast. too fast for someone who just needed air.
"knew i'd find you hidin' out here."
you turn, but you're not surprised. you were hoping he would follow you. hoping he would have some slimy, annoying thing to mutter under his breath.
jj’s already halfway to you, hands in his pockets, sleeves rolled, shirt slightly untucked like he’s been messing with it all night.
“how long’d you wait before following me?” you ask, leaning back against the railing.
“waited long enough to make it seem like i didn’t.”
you sigh. jj steps up beside you, quiet for a moment. he smells like smoke and heat and cologne he probably stole. the bruise on his cheek looks worse under the glow of the patio lights.
you smile a little despite yourself. “you’re not even supposed to be here.”
“yeah, well,” he says, inching even closer, “lucky for you, i’m real good at bein’ in places i shouldn’t.”
you laugh, eyes flicking over him, bruised knuckles, undone top button, the way his hand brushes the edge of the railing next to yours like he knows he’s already too close.
“you never shut up, do you?”
he gasps, loudly. “woah. little miss raised-to-be-polite tellin’ me to shut my mouth?”
you glare. “jj-”
“no, no,” he says, all mock-offended. “what would your mama think?”
you shove his shoulder, failing to hide your grin. “don’t bring my mother into this, jerk.”
he grins, not wide, but slow, lazy.
“mhm.” he tilts his head. “you always this mouthy when you wanna kiss someone?”
your breath stutters. you blink at him and say his name all stern like.
“what?” he says, voice low now, soft at the edges. he holds his hands up like it's absolutely not his fault you're in this situation. “you told me to shut up. i’m just sayin’...there’s better ways.”
you don’t answer, you just step forward and kiss him.
you don’t warn him. don’t ask for the first time in your life. just grab his shirt in your fist and pull him down to meet you.
and for half a second, jj freezes like he wasn’t expecting you to actually do it. but he's moving again after a millisecond.
his hands find your hips, not soft, not questioning, and he pulls. drags you in until your chest hits his, until there’s no air left between you. his fingers flex against the fabric of your dress, not like he’s holding you, like he’s molding you into the shape he wants.
his mouth is hot, moving over yours like he’s got something to prove, as if he needs to show you exactly what you’ve been missing.
it's like a dream. this is probably what taking drugs feels like. you can't feel your limbs all the way, and you feel like you're floating.
then, you think you hear something. a laugh, a door, a creak maybe. maybe you're just so paranoid from kissing the kid who has his own personal cell at the station.
you try to pull back, just an inch. jj doesn’t let you. he's already finding his way back to you, muttering something like 'don't' as his lips crash into yours again.
it's rougher this time, messier, like he’s trying to drown whatever part of you was second-guessing. like he needs you distracted, breathless, his just a little longer.
and when he finally steps away from you, quickly checking over his shoulder to make sure someone wasn't running to go tell on you two. jj turns back to you, lips parted. then that grin returns, bigger than before.
he's breathless, pupils blown, lips pink from kissing you too long and too hard.
you look up at him, he’s beautiful in this light. ruined and smug and golden. an absolute wet dream that you'll be replaying in your head tonight.
“don’t follow me in,” you say, soft, still smiling.
“’course not.” he grins. there's a beat of silence as you walk past him, letting your fingers graze across his stomach just because you could. over his shoulder he says, “see you in five.”
you took a little more time getting ready this morning, just a little. a little more mascara, a little smoother with the hair, a dress you wouldn’t normally reach for on a saturday. nothing dramatic, nothing obvious, just soft enough, just pretty enough.
jj maybank is outside.
he’s shirtless, slick with sweat, halfway disappeared under the hood of your dad’s truck. he showed up twenty minutes ago with a smile like he wasn’t late. your dad, clearly annoyed but cornered, muttered something about a deal- fix the alternator and maybe next time he gets caught trespassing, the cuffs stay in the glovebox.
your eyes damn near bugged out of your head when your father explained it over cereal this morning. you haven't seen jj since you kissed almost a week ago, it's been killing you. so yes, you sprinted up the stairs and then destroyed your closet getting ready.
you're trying to make yourself look as busy as possible in the kitchen when he walks in. he's wiping grease off his hands with a rag and wearing that smug, sun warmed smile.
“your dad’s still cussing at the alternator,” jj says, casually grabbing your glass of water off the counter and taking a sip. “figured i’d come see my favorite girl.”
"sure, help yourself." you try and sound annoyed as you point to your stolen glass, it does not come out the way you want.
he tips his head up with a smile as to say 'thank you', then steps closer to you.
you can’t breathe. jj's still very shirtless. he smells like sun and motor oil and whatever trouble’s been festering between you since friday night.
“you haven’t called.” you say, voice smaller than you meant it to be.
“you haven’t either.”
that stops you. you open your mouth, then close it again.
jj watches you, gaze dragging over your face like he’s memorizing it, like he missed it more than he wants to admit.
“miss me?”
you tuck your lips and shake your head no, even though you're smiling, even though you're leaning against the counter like you're willing to do all the work for him.
he leans in a little, and you think maybe he's finally gonna kiss you again, before he glances toward the hallway and goes, “wait. which room’s yours?”
you freeze. “jj-”
he doesn’t even wait for permission. just tosses the rag on the counter and starts walking.
“jj, no-”
he opens the bathroom door, mutters 'not that one', and then continues. you close the bathroom door while you're trailing behind him.
you’re still whispering like it’ll help, like your mom won’t hear if you keep your voice at a hiss while chasing a shirtless felon down the hall. he ignores you completely.
he opens the last door on the left and stops in the doorway. he lets out a low chuckle and you freeze behind him. but he’s already stepping inside before you can stop him.
your bedroom is small, soft. quiet pinks and warm creams. throw blankets and stacked books and a half-open window letting in the breeze. a few dried flowers in a jar on your nightstand, a line of perfume bottles on the dresser, little sea-glass trinkets from the beach, half your closet is still sitting on your bed.
jj takes all of one second to look around before letting out a low whistle.
“you know,” he murmurs, stepping away slowly, “i thought about this. you, what your room would look like.”
“yeah?”
“mhm. oh, totally knew you'd have a diary.” he grabs it from your nightstand, flipping through it without asking, humming.
you tear it from his hands, hoping he didn't see one of the thousands of times you've written his name in there, and toss it on the bed. “you’re such a jerk.”
he grins. his eyes land on your mirror, the cluttered edge of it, where a few photos are tucked into the frame, polaroids, memories. one in particular, slightly off-center, corners curling just the tiniest bit. jj steps closer.
“don’t even think about it.” your voice is laced with attitude, and you're already moving forward.
he ignores you again, plucking the photo from the mirror like it was his to take.
“jj.”
he doesn’t even look at you, just turns the polaroid over in his fingers to show you the photo, head tilted, a faint smirk tugging at his mouth.
it's the one of you at the beach, wearing some bikini the preacher at your church would force you into confessional for. you're laughing, your hair is all over the place, blowing in the wind.
“yeah,” he says. “this is coming with me.”
your jaw drops. “no, it's not.”
he shrugs. "sure about that?"
you snatch for it, but he's learned his lesson from the diary, and he lifts it higher. the smirk widening, like he lives to make you reach for things you shouldn’t want.
“what are you even gonna do with it?” you snap, crossing your arms, trying to cover the way your cheeks are burning.
he just stares at it, nodding like he's figuring it out in his head. then, he grins.
“gonna keep it under my pillow,” he says, voice low and warm, “until i fuck you in this exact bikini.”
you go completely still. heat explodes across your face, down your neck, in your fingertips. your jaw goes slack, your brain empties, your attitude? gone, totally gone.
"then i'll frame it." he nods one last time, shoving the picture into his pocket.
jj leans back just slightly, satisfied. his hand brushes your waist as he passes, slow and deliberate.
he presses a kiss to your cheek like it’s a favor, light, cocky, devastating. “thanks for the photo, sweetheart.”
and then he’s gone. screen door creaking, footsteps thudding down the porch steps, headed back toward the driveway like he didn’t just blow your entire soul out of your body.
and you stay there, flushed and speechless in the middle of your bedroom, already knowing exactly what he’s gonna do the next time he gets you alone.
it comes much sooner than you expect it. the same night, actually.
you haven’t moved in an hour. just lying there, tucked beneath soft sheets and fairy light shadows, staring at the ceiling and thinking about him.
about the polaroid in his back pocket. about what he said he’d do with it. about the way your breath stopped, and hasn’t really come back since.
it’s late, too late. the house is dead quiet, your parents asleep down the hall, the fan humming low in the corner, the sheets cool against your bare legs.
you sit up fast when your window creaks.
and there he is. blond hair a mess, wearing some dirty, old shirt, carefully tossing himself through your window and landing on the floor with a soft thump.
“jj, are you insane?” you whisper, scrambling to your feet. “you shouldn't be here."
he shrugs, "shouldn't do a lotta things."
he's already crossing the room toward you, eyes dark as they drop down the length of your legs and don’t come back up.
you're in white. thin cotton, lace trim, a little bow at the chest and straps falling off your shoulder like they’re tired of pretending you're not hoping for it.
jj blinks once. then again, and then drags a hand down his face like maybe that’ll stop the blood from rushing straight to his dick.
“jesus fucking christ.” he breathes.
you shush him, but can't help the blush that's creeping on your face.
“honestly jj,” you whisper harshly, “what are you doing?”
“missed you." he says simply, like that’s reason enough to sneak into your bedroom at nearly one in the morning.
“you’re gonna get murdered. my dad is right down the hall.”
he just shrugs.
"no, i'm serious. he's got a loaded gun in the closet i'm sure he's been dying to use on you." you say, breathless, pulling him away from the window anyway, like if he’s going down, you don't mind going with him.
“well then, you better keep quiet.”
you don’t even realize you’ve backed into the room until your legs hit the edge of the bed.
the window is still cracked, your fingers are still fisted in his shirt.
and then he’s kissing you, like he’s making up for every second he didn’t. like he’s not stopping unless someone physically drags him off of you.
he’s already pushing the straps of your nightgown off your shoulders like they’re in his way. you shudder when his tongue traces along the edge of lace.
you gasp into the air when his lips trail down your neck, slow and open mouthed and intentional. you whisper his name, almost a warning, already shaky.
he hums against your collarbone like you didn’t say anything at all.
“you said be quiet.” you breathe, barely able to form the words. like it's his fault you just made that sound, because it is.
“i did,” he murmurs, kissing lower, teeth brushing just enough to make you gasp. “you’re the one moanin’ about it.”
your hand fists in his hair and he smiles into your skin. his hands are on your thighs now, pushing the fabric up inch by inch. his palms are hot, steady, grounding and wrecking all at once.
you try to stay still, you try to be quiet. but then he pulls your night dress down to your ribs and pulls your nipple into his mouth, sucking. just a little, just enough to make you forget who's down the hall.
his grin is immediate.
"damn,” he hums, not even looking up. “you were doin’ so good too.”
“jj, please-”
“please what?” his mouth is right above your nipple now, lips brushing it every time he talks.
you look down at him, and let out some sort of twisted version of a sigh and a moan. and it only makes him bolder.
he kisses his way down your stomach, slow and open-mouthed, and when he reaches your hips, he pushes the nightgown up completely.
he pauses, sits back on his knees, and just stares.
you’re panting, red-faced, hands twitching by your sides, and he looks like he’s been punched in the throat.
“holy shit.” he says it like it slipped out, like he didn’t mean to say it out loud.
you would try to cover yourself if it wasn't jj maybank sitting it front of you, already coming back to reach for you again.
he's lower now. jj drags his hands up the outside of your thighs, slow, thumbs pressing into soft skin, and leans back down, mouth kissing the inside of your knee first, and then higher.
his fingers peel your underwear to the side, his breath making you jump.
you’re shaking already, and then his mouth is on you. warm and perfect and so slow you nearly cry from it.
his hands keep your hips pinned. his tongue moves in maddening circles, and when you choke out a quiet “jj-” he groans into you, like he needs to hear it.
your back arches, he pulls you down by the hips, harder, his grip is bruising, his mouth is relentless.
he mutters something, then slides a finger in, and your jaw drops.
his mouth is back on you, eyes flicking down to where you're connected then back up to your face, over and over again.
he slips the second finger in slow, and when you gasp, hips jerking, thighs trembling around his wrist, jj just smirks and mutters, “jesus, tight little pussy. she’s not used to this, huh?”
his fingers are so deep it makes your vision blur.
you’ve touched yourself thinking about this before. jj between your legs. jj with his hands on your thighs. jj saying your name like he is now.
you’ve thought about it a hundred different ways, slow, soft, angry, teasing, but none of it, none of it, have even touched what this is.
you moan, high, wrecked, and slap your hand over your mouth like it might help.
you can’t look at him, not really. not when your thighs are shaking, not when you’re so wet you can hear it, not when your brain is fogged over with warmth and want.
this is so much worse than you imagined. so much better. jj talking shit between your legs, curling his fingers up into you while your back arches off the bed? this is everything, and he knows it.
you’re so close it feels like your whole body is about to snap. jj’s mouth is locked between your thighs, warm, open, sure, tongue dragging slow and deep, and his free hand is keeping you right there while he finishes what he started.
“fuckin’ unreal.” he mutters, only pulling back enough to get half of it out before he's back on you.
you’ve never been touched like this. never had someone lick into you like it’s for them, not you.
your legs start to shake and he feels it, tightens his hold on your thighs like he know you're gonna try to run.
“that’s it,” he mutters, low and steady. “just like that.”
you clench around his fingers, your eyes roll back, your mouth parts on a silent moan. and jj just stays there, mouth firm, tongue working in slow circles, sucking just right, until your whole body stiffins.
he lets you cum like that, quiet and wrecked and barely breathing, and doesn’t move until you’ve given him everything.
your legs are still twitching, your eyes won’t focus. you’re wrecked, flushed and messy and so far gone you couldn’t speak even if you tried.
jj just watches you. his hands are still on your thighs. his chest is rising and falling like he’s the one who came.
“gonna be thinking about that for the rest of my fuckin’ life.” he leans into you, kissing you once. “you want more?”
you don't think you've ever nodded that fast in your entire life. you can't feel your fingers, but they're already grabbing to get rid of his clothes.
“easy,” he mumbles, voice low, amused. “i’ll give it to you. don’t gotta tear my fuckin’ clothes off.”
you don’t say anything. just look at him, flushed, breathing hard, mouth parted, and tug him down into another kiss.
he groans into it, grabbing your leg and hooking it over his hip. his hand finds your thigh, squeezes it once, and then he leans back on his knees, reaching blindly for his wallet.
you’re still catching your breath when he tears the foil open with his teeth, eyes never leaving you.
“should’ve done this a long time ago.”
he says it like it’s nothing, like it’s just a thought that slipped out as he rolled the condom on. but it lands like a punch to the chest. your breath catches, your whole body stills.
he strokes himself once, slow, and leans forward again, gaze flicking to your face.
“are you sure?” he asks.
your hand finds his wrist, you nod. “jj please-”
“yeah, baby,” he says with the biggest, shit eating grin you've ever seen, lining himself up. “i got you.”
he pushes in, steady but deep, splitting you open in one long, perfect stretch that has your fingers clawing at his shoulders and your legs tightening around his waist.
he’s fucking you deep, slow, deliberate, one hand gripping your waist, the other curled into your soft, pink sheets.
the headboard’s silent, the sheets barely rustle, he’s keeping it controlled, keeping it just quiet enough to survive this.
but you? you're gone. your mind is hazy, half lost, like you're dreaming. like you're still floating somewhere between his mouth and his dick and the way he sounds when he moans into your skin.
your hands scramble for something, his arms, his shoulders, the sheets. and then you find his wrist, and you don’t even think.
you wrap your fingers around his forearm and pull, dragging his hand from beside your head and guiding it to your throat like it’s just where he belongs.
his hips still. his chest rises hard against yours. for a second, the only sound in the room is your breathing, high and shaky, like you don’t even know what you just did.
he stares at you. then down at his hand, his fingers twitch against your neck. you blink up at him, still panting, still trembling, still clenching around him like you want him to ruin you. and jj just grins.
“knew it.” he mutters, hand tightening slowly, just enough to feel your breath catch under his palm. “you’re not as sweet as you act, huh?”
he starts to move again, deeper now, heavier, his free hand digging into your hip to keep you still, to make you feel every inch.
“could’ve just asked.” he places a kiss to your jaw, your heart flutters.
his hips snap forward again and your body jolts, breath catching sharp in your throat, and it hits you. not the thrust, not the sweat-slick sound of skin on skin, the thought, the truth of it.
years of being good. years of doing exactly what was expected- chin up, shirt tucked, hands folded in your lap. never talked back, never crossed the line. of doing everything right because it was easier to be perfect than to be noticed.
and now you’re on your back, spread, mouth open, letting jj maybank fuck you like he's waited his whole life to.
years of being the girl people trusted, respected, relied on. and all it took was jj maybank looking at you the wrong way.
he groans something low and filthy against your shoulder and your whole body clenches like it wants to be worse for him, like it wants to see how far down you’ll go.
you feel sick, almost. because you should feel ashamed, you should feel guilty for this.
for how easy it was. for how badly you want it. for how much you don’t want to stop. but you don’t feel guilty, not even a little. and somehow, that feels worse.
jj slides out, slow, and wraps his fingers around your underwear, pulling down. before you can even question it, he’s got a hand on your hip, flipping you onto your stomach like it’s effortless.
you gasp into the pillow, dizzy from the movement, from the emptiness, from the cold that rushes over your skin, until he’s there again, behind you, covering you, pulling you up.
his arm wraps tight around your middle, dragging your back flush to his chest, his cock sliding back in deep and slow.
he’s so deep it knocks the air out of you. you can feel every inch, every grind of his hips. his hand comes up, slow and sure, fingers curling under your jaw, thumb pressing beneath your chin, and then he wraps his hand around your throat again.
“y' know,” he pants, voice thick with it, lips brushing the back of your neck, “i always knew you had a thing for me.”
you choke and whip your head as far as he's allowing to look at him. “what?”
he laughs. moans, really, thrusts again just to make you stutter.
“your little crush on me,” he says, smug and panting. “you thought you were subtle?”
it doesn’t register at first. but then it hits- like cold water, like fire in your veins. he knew. he knew.
“no, shut up-”
you want to bury your face in the pillow, you try to move down away from him, but he's got you locked.
“nah,” he huffs, grinning against your skin. “shit was adorable. made me wanna be good to you. made me wanna be so fuckin’ mean to you.”
his words, the angle, the way you're finally fucking jj maybank after two full years of pretending you didn't want to makes you moan a noise so loud it shocks you, too.
he pulls out halfway and thrusts back in. his hand slips from your throat to your mouth in one fast, practiced motion, palm pressed firm over your lips, fingers stretching up your cheek, holding you there.
“quiet,” he murmurs, lips brushing your ear. “i mean it.”
you try to get a ''m sorry' out from against his palm, wide-eyed and already trembling.
“you want me to stop?”
you shake your head fast, desperate, pleading into his hand.
"then shut up."
his hips moving slow but heavy, each thrust dragging a sound out of you he doesn’t want anyone else to hear.
his voice is low, wrecked against your ear. “you like that?” another thrust. “quiet now, huh? just needed it deep, baby, that it?”
he’s so deep it doesn’t feel real anymore, jj’s hips are steady, slow, like he’s trying to ruin you inch by inch.
then, the phone rings, loud.
you hear it. so does jj. so does your dad.
jj freezes. one hand still over your mouth, one still braced around your stomach. you turn your head to look at him, his expression caught somewhere between amused and very much not supposed to be here.
there's shuffling outside your bedroom, and your dad picks up on the third ring. his voice is muffled but right there, and it sends a cold wave straight down your spine.
jj doesn’t move, not right away. his eyes are on yours, dark and gleaming, like he’s waiting for something, permission, panic, surrender. your lips tremble under his hand.
and then, he moves. just once. a single slow, deep thrust that pushes every inch of him deeper into you, and rips a sound from your chest so sharp you think your whole body might short-circuit against his hand.
jj’s mouth curves against your shoulder, all teeth. “mhm. yeah, there it is.”
you sob into his palm, he just shushes you like you're doing something wrong.
his hand disappears from your face. just long enough for his palm to return with a sharp, perfect slap to your cheek, quick and hot and shocking, not cruel, but enough to make your breath catch and your eyes go wide.
he laughs, breathless, smug. “you play the good girl act so well. almost had me fooled.”
you squeeze your eyes shut. you're fifty percent humilated, fifty percent hoping he'll do it again.
he’s close. you can feel it in the way his rhythm starts to falter, the way his grip tightens, the way his chest presses tight to your back.
your body locks up, your vision goes white, and you cum hard, your whole body seizing around him, sobbing and shaking against him.
jj groans, low and sharp. “fuck, baby, jesus- fuck-”
he thrusts once. twice. and then he’s spilling into you with a soft, broken curse, his head dropped to your shoulder, his arms holding you close like he can’t tell where he ends and you begin.
the phone clicks. the house falls into a silence again.
you’re trembling. both of you are slick with sweat, breath sticky in the still air. he pulls out carefully, slow and aching, like it hurts to leave you. and then, without a word, he shifts,tugging you gently with him. you follow- limp, pliant, quiet.
you roll into his chest. he pulls you into him like muscle memory.
you blink up at him, dazed and flushed, and he presses a kiss to your temple. one, then another, slower.
he’s quiet for a beat. then he mutters, voice rough and dry, “if your dad kills me, just…tell him i said it was worth it.”
your mouth tips up into a slow, sleepy smile. jj shrugs, barely, his thumb brushing over your hip. “seriously. i won’t even put up a fight.”
you laugh, low and warm, and bury your face in his chest. if this is the last good thing he gets, he’ll take it.
i have to write about him when he's mean and horrible on red kryptonite he'd probably come home smelling like perfume and he'd be so late and you'd have no idea where he came from or why his eyes are glinting funny... did his teeth always look that sharp?
and you're upset because you feel like he's hiding something from you but he literally just laughs when you say you think he might've been out cheating. asks you why you think that and that he's been with you long enough to know nobody could get it up like you do.
anyway you're dumbfounded with this new vulgarity that he's spewing and you're about to ask him what the hell's going on and if he's drunk when he shuts you up by kissing you and making his way down your body and fucking sinking his teeth into the soft parts of your neck and shoulders and jaw to leave red welting hickeys that he soothes with his tongue because he knows you get fussy when he leaves marks on you... continues to make his way down down down to your pj bottoms.
the pj bottoms he has a matching pair with. you'd think that'd snap him out of whatever trance he's in and it would remind him you're his baby and you'd been missing him and hoping for a fun night in with matching pjs and a movie and maybe eve a bath together but he honestly just thinks its cute, how obvious it is that you still have such a huge crush on him even though he's your boyfriend, and he just coos at you and lays you down so he can spread you apart and eat you out like a man starved. he's greedy and messy as he does it too, slobbering on you, biting your thighs with his sharp teeth, licking broad stripes along your slit, then shoving his tongue in you, then blowing on your clit and licking that too... he's just unsatiable.
and the whole time you're whining and tugging on his soft hair and you won't shut up and again, he just thinks it's so cute and he's not taking you seriously, he just wants you to cum on his tongue so afterwards he can stuff every load he's got in him inside your pretty cunt till he's shooting blanks and you're nearly unconcious.
𝙒𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: dark, dubcon, misogynistic rhetoric, classist rhetoric (in the context of kooks, pogues etc), daddy kink, innocence kink, loss of virginity, smut (oral + p in v), condescension, babying, dirty talk, swearing, very unbalanced power dynamic, college au, reader is a freshman and rafe is a senior, more warnings to come. 18+ only, mdni.
𝙎𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮: Rafe bets his friends he can fuck you in one week.
𝘼/𝙉: This is just a sneak peak of a new Rafe fic I’m working on— I just want to see if anyone would be interested if I was to post it! Do let me know if it’s any good and tag any Rafe blogs you think might enjoy this! (as I suspect I don’t have many Rafe fans following me haha)
“Her.”
Rafe looks over to 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 gape at him in disbelief like a bunch of gormless losers. He often 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 peak 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 sorry 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 homeschooled,” 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?”
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 he can tell 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 college 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 yet. 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.
AGAIN, this is just a sneak peak! let me know what you think!! i’m not quite sure if i want to post a rafe fic since my followers/blog are not really rafe centric but i thought i’d give it a try if there’s enough interest!!!
⊹ ࣪ ˖ AUTHOR'S NOTE ★ this is a fic i posted before but i reworked it and i’m reposting it now!!
જ⁀➴ ♥︎ RAFE CAMERON ⊹ ࣪ ˖
take out a dictionary. search for the word ‘loser’. the face that stares back at you? rafe cameron.
he represented everything you hated. goodwill clothes, friend group who's rather lather on axe body spray instead of taking a shower, staying in all his weekends studying or probably binge watching star wars, replaying the scene of princess leia in her golden bikini over and over again and jerking off into an old sock because no one invited him or his friends anywhere.
you were different. most of your college life consisted of going out and partying, breaking hearts of boys you couldn't give two shits about, spending money that didn't belong to you… it seemed like you didn't care about anything, something that the insecure boy couldn't relate.
"hi." rafe said softly and you turned to look at him with an irritated look on your face, your gaze trailing up and down his form with judgement, the boy's face red and nervous, hand shaking as he held out something; three pieces of paper held together with a paper clip, "he-here's your essay." he muttered.
you took the paper, skimming over it before stuffing it into your bag, "it's about time." you scoffed, crossing your arms while he just stayed there, standing still, "what are you waiting for? a treat? get the fuck out of my face, loser."
"o-okay." rafe stuttered, still a small smile on his face as he made his way towards his friends, nearly tripping on his own shoelaces. but when no one was looking, you slipped a note into the locker you knew belonged to him.
your skirt was bunched up around your hips, straddling the boy who laid on the floor of the bleach-smelling janitor's closet, filled with your mingled heavy breaths and the perverted squelch of his cock inside your wet cunt.
rafe watched you under lidded eyes, your head thrown back as you used him to get yourself off, his hands on your plushy thighs, hips ramming up into you as one of your own hands hand cupped your tit, the other one between your own legs, helping yourself; you never let him touch you like that.
god, he felt like such a fucking loser. rafe would've done anything for you, and he pretty much did. he did all your homework, got you whatever illegal substances you wanted (most often coke or molly), but fuck, you could probably get him to hurt someone without the boy even regretting it.
rafe couldn't help it; whenever you walked into the room, every pair of eyes locked onto you, and you didn't even care; you didn't care how obsessed people were with you. you knew you were everything and you didn't give a shit. all you cared about was your own pleasure, all you cared about was being seen as smart and getting off, whether it was by sex, by being a bitch, by stomping over the hearts of all the boys obsessed with you.
your hand went to his neck and squeezed slightly, a small whine leaving rafe's lips. you groaned in frustration over how loud he was being, stuffing the damp pair of red panties you'd been wearing into his mouth as you continued to ride him, mumbling, "shut the fuck up..." you mumbled, and rafe could still taste the tang of your arousal on the lacy fabric, his eyes closing in bliss as the tip of his cock kissed your cervix when his hips bucked up, making you let out quiet moans.
rafe tried mumbling through the fabric in his mouth to tell you that he was getting close, only for your grip on his throat tightening, your own face scrunching up in pleasure.
"f-fuck..." you moaned, the finger on your clit picking up the pace of its circling, and you felt the coil in your stomach tightening, speeding the movement of your hips as you moved up and down on his cock, the lewd squelching and rapid breathing filling the small space.
rafe let out a muffled moan when he felt your pussy squeeeeeeze around him and clench with the force of your orgasm, his hips bucking up involuntarily as warm spurts of his cum started coating your gummy walls, his grip on your thighs tightening, your head thrown back in bliss.
but when the both of you started getting down from your orgasms, you groaned and took your hand off his neck, getting off his softened cock as you looked down, seeing his cum trailing down your thighs and scoffing in irritation, your breathing still heavy as you spoke, "you fucking came in me."
you stood up on wobbly legs, grabbing a wet wipe from your bag as you started wiping the white substance off your legs. rafe sat up tentatively, and took your panties out of his mouth slowly tugging his boxer shorts back up, clearing his throat, "i'm sorry..."
"you should be." you sighed, throwing the wet wipe into a trash can and straightening your skirt, "better remember to never tell anyone about this." you scoffed, taking out a pocket mirror and holding it up to inspect your face, fixing some of your makeup as rafe stood up and pulled his jeans back up, sliding the lacy fabric in his back pocket.
"i won't... do it again." rafe mumbled, starting to button his shirt back up as you were touching up your makeup, using your phone as a mirror, "y-you know, you'd probably look much nicer without makeup..."
what rafe thought would be a compliment seemed to offend you, though, making you scoff and roll your eyes, "i don't care what you or any other guy thinks about me. now wait five minutes before you come out to make sure no one sees."
and so you opened the door about to make your way out, leaving the boy panting in the dark janitor's closet, haphazardly dressed and chest still slightly heaving as he ran a hand through his mussed up hair, you mumbled,
late night visit from rafe leaves bug’s mind running
rafe is grumpy, some fluff. 0.9k words. ⌞frat boy!rafe x bug!reader⌝
the nintendo switch is inches from your face, mouth parted open in deep concentration. you lost track of how long you’ve been swimming around in the ocean for, but it was long enough for your thumb to ache from repeated tapping.
you were trying to catch a spider crab, have been for a year at this point. it was the only sea creature left to fully complete the museum, and for some reason, you picked today to lock in and finally catch the stupid thing.
but your luck has been worse than ever before. every time you think you spot a large shadow moving a million miles a second, it ends up being another lobster or snow crab—however many minutes spent chasing it amounting to nothing.
you mumble profanities under your breath, head slumping against your pillow in frustration after your player surfaces with yet another lobster. you have to take a second to let your eyes rest after that, switch flinging to the side.
you’re completely exhausted at this point, body fighting to stay awake while your mind fights thoughts of chucking your switch out the window. it’s there in your silent debate that you hear it—faint shuffling sounding from the living room.
curiously, you sit up in bed, duvet pooling around your waist. the sound grows closer, and your eyebrows furrow together as you feel around for your phone. you hadn’t expected pumpkin to come home tonight, knowing that she was hanging out with some guy across campus.
you’re still searching for your phone when the door handle jiggles, light peering in from the narrow hallway, “p—pumpkin?” you ask, heart instantly dropping to your stomach.
it takes a second to recognize the frame stepping inside your room but when you finally do, your shoulders drop, and you release a breath you didn’t even know you were holding, “you scared me, idiot,” you huff.
rafe stands in the doorway with a strange look on his face—one that screams the feelings of frustration and annoyance. it makes you falter, grimacing once your overhead light flicks on, “‘s too bright for that,” you groan, hand shielding your eyes from the sudden change.
he’s still looking at you without saying anything though, and your eyes blink away their sensitivity to further push, “what? why are you staring at me like that?”
he scoffs like you should already know the answer to that, arms crossing over his front, “just dunno why you have a phone if you never answer it.”
“oh,” you shrug, feeling around for the device once more. your thumb finally hits the cool metal edge after a beat, speaking again as your thumbs input the password, “i was studying earlier and must’ve forgotten to take it off do not disturb.”
“it’s always on do not disturb,” rafe notes, tone still dripping with irritation.
you roll your eyes in response, reading over the many missed messages and calls from the boy still standing in your doorway, “well that’s dramatic to say,” a humorless laugh from rafe cuts through your sentence, but you continue as if you didn’t hear it, “i have it on do not disturb for maybe an hour a day.”
“it’s been like five hours, bug.”
“my sincerest apologies,” it’s sarcastic, “you have my full attention now, what do you need?”
he pushes off the door frame, eyes narrowing with every forward step. he stops in front of you, hand reaching out expectantly. you stare down at his palm, eyebrows furrowing, “what?” you question, “use your words.”
“you’re really pushing it,” comes his response, fingers snatching your phone out of your hold.
you lean back against the headboard with a snicker, “i wouldn’t snoop through my phone if i were you. might find something you don’t wanna see,” it’s only a tease, phone dryer than ever before.
“you’re just not funny,” he deadpans, eyes never leaving your phone while he types and swipes away.
you mumble to yourself that you thought it was pretty funny, eyes flickering over to rafe who looked to be in deep thought.
he doesn’t respond to your whisper, the faintest twitch of his lip flashing before your phone is being thrown onto the duvet. you glance at it with an unbothered expression as the bed shifts with his weight, messy hair sprawling across your pillowcase.
“so?” you prompt again, eyes tracing the bend of his nose curiously.
“what do you mean so?” he doesn’t meet your stare, focus locked on the wall.
if you didn’t know any better, you’d push his buttons even further—get him to snap. but you hold yourself back, sensing a strange shift in the air, “find anything juicy?” you whisper, voice playful yet soft—careful in a way. something not foreign, but rare when speaking to rafe.
that finally breaks through his bad mood, a breath of a laugh sounding in the quiet room, face turning to meet yours, “nah. just adjusted your do not disturb.”
you have to force yourself not to count his freckles from this close, “if you messed something up—”
“chill, bug. just—” a sigh, fingers running through light hair, “just made it so my shit goes through still.”
your heart flutters against your better judgment, rafe once again staring straight ahead. he doesn’t dare meet your eyes after the words leave his mouth, almost like he’s scared of your reaction. you try to lighten the mood, words teasing, “you gonna make it so my messages go through your do not disturb too? it’s only fair.”
he doesn’t miss a beat, “they already do.”
the smile drops off your face, and you don’t speak until the morning after that.
ignoring frat boy!rafe leads to some pent up frustration
mentions of gagging + drug use, unprotected p in v, finishing inside, mean rafe. 1.2k words. ⌞frat boy!rafe x bug!reader⌝
you’re lying on your stomach with your face cradled in your palms, elbows digging into the mattress. there’s a dull ache in your jaw and your limbs are beginning to numb, but you’re too engrossed in your tv series to move—eyes glued to the overheating laptop on your comforter.
the frat party for tonight had completely slipped your mind after starting the series that morning. it ended up grasping your attention with an iron fist, and you only briefly left your bed to use the bathroom or grab a quick snack.
you’re so focused on the plot that you don’t even hear the sharp knock on your door or pumpkin entering until she speaks, your spine straightening at her voice, "what the hell are you still doing in bed?'
she looked to be in a rush. hair half done, concealer unblended, plaid pajama pants hung low on her hips. it’s endearing—but you’re still a little frightened from her sudden appearance and also a tad frustrated that your screen time’s being interrupted. your tone shows that.
"well,” a huff, "I was trying to—" she cuts you off with a pointed look, catching your attitude immediately, "are you moping around because of rafe? because truthfully i’m bored with this back and forth bullshit. it’s exhausting watching you two—“
your ears burn red, "first of all, i’m not moping,” pumpkin looks unconvinced, “and even if i was, it wouldn’t be because of rafe,” you clarify, body moving to sit criss crossed on your bed, “i’m just really into this—“
"okay, great,” she pulls the shirt that she was looking for out of your closet, smile playful, "then hurry up, don't wanna keep my boy toy waiting all night,” she pauses halfway across the room, eyes stuck on the mess that was your hair, "and fix that," a quick gesture with her fingers, "dunno if rafe would approve.”
you have half the mind to throw something at her disappearing figure in protest but the mention of rafe prevents you from doing so. instead, your fingers move around your unmade bed, pointer finger knocking against your phone that had wound up on the opposite end.
there’s multiple unread messages and missed calls from him, the latest from a mere minute ago. it made your blood run cold, lip pulling between your teeth. you don’t even bother responding after your initial message, shooting up from your bed to get ready in record time—pit sitting heavy in your stomach.
forty-five minutes later on the dot and you’re hovering above rafe, thighs locked on either side of him. your pace is anything but experienced, thighs burning from over exertion.
“rafe, it burns,” you muster the courage to speak, nails digging into his shoulders, head hanging low.
he tsks at your sloppy movements, “c’mon bug, you can take it,” he dismisses, kissing his teeth as another one of your whines echoes in the dim room. he sounded almost bored—like your performance was weak, eliciting little to no emotion from him.
you would’ve been more embarrassed if he just stayed relaxed against the headboard, watching you struggle with a faux frown on his lips. but he didn’t. despite his demeanor, his hips started to slowly thrust up in time to meet your bounces. like he wanted to punish you into doing all the work but he physically couldn’t stop himself from helping.
“i—i can’t,” you tried again, “it’s too much, please,”
your pupils are blown wide, meeting rafe’s dark, lustful eyes. the grind of your hips continue to slow until they stop altogether, thighs finally giving out. he breaks eye contact by rolling his eyes at the lack of friction, “you’re fucking pathetic, y’know that? move.”
you sigh in relief, getting ready to swing one thigh over rafe’s lap when your breath catches in your throat—rafe pushing you back with enough force for the air to knock out of you, your brain having no time to process the movement before your legs are being pushed into your chest and kept there by two large palms.
euphoria crashes over you like a tidal wave once his cock runs through your slick folds, his words making you shiver, “can have any girl i want here,” he grunts into your ear, a choked sob leaving your mouth at the stretch of him entering, “would all jump at the opportunity to be where you’re at.”
your fingers claw for leverage at his bare back, voice babbled, “rafe.”
“shut the fuck up,” your scratches have no affect on him. his pace never faltering, voice barely breathy, “have to beg you to show your face tonight and f’what?" a particularly hard thrust forces you further into the mattress, “just to sit there and look pretty? give up after couple’a minutes? fuckin’ useless.”
he’s referencing not only your performance but also your appearance when you arrived. you tried to stay lowkey, gain the courage to face him with at least a few drinks in your system. but he spotted you right away, a blank expression on his face as he pushed past topper mid conversation, making his way to you with a locked jaw. he didn't even say a word when he reached you, only grabbed your wrist and pulled you to his room.
you’re brought back to the present when he hits that sweet spot inside of you, eyes rolling back, "rafe, please, s'not like that,” you try to reason but you weren't sure if anything coherent was sounding. you attempt to speak again after being met with radio silence when two fingers push into your open mouth and press on the back of your tongue.
a gag forces your back to arch against your thigh, and rafe holds your leg tighter at the struggle, "told you to shut that pretty mouth," nostrils flaring with an exhale, "never know when to quit huh?” his fingers dig deeper, tears welling in the corners of your eyes at the pressure
your body felt like it was on fire. between the numbing sensation in your legs, fingers in your mouth, and the slap of rafe’s abdomen into your clit with every deep thrust, you were teetering on the edge of collapse.
rafe could sense your nearing orgasm, removing his hand from your mouth to instead focus on your clit, his other hand finally releasing your thigh to grip your jaw, breath fanning over your parted lips, "shouldn't even be giving her this attention, she don't deserve it."
the band in your belly breaks with his words, jaw falling slack in his hold as his own orgasm catches him off guard, the feeling of your tight, pulsating heat tipping him over the edge.
"rafe,” you cry, body shaking from overstimulation as he works you through his high, cum spilling onto the already stained sheets below you.
he grunts in response, elbows caging you in as he stops to catch his breath. you smell the faint scent of marijuana lingering on his lips after his forehead knocks against yours, breaths mingling together, "next time won't be so nice to you,' he promises after a moment, lips grazing your cheek on the way down to your ear.
his breath causes the hair on the back of your neck to stand, "gonna make you beg f'me just to leave you high and dry.”
you visibly shiver at his words, staring up through wet lashes, trying to ignore the pounding in your ears.
summary: the cheerleading squad needs to raise funds, and a certain quarterback is feeling generous.
content warnings: original afab!reader, football captain!rafe & head cheerleader!reader, use of petnames (sweetheart), 18+ MDNI - suggestive af
length: 1.5k words
The football season had barely started, but the cheerleaders never did as well with donations as the actual team, with all their boosters and wealthy alumni. You'd been roped into helping out with the kissing booth by your best friend during welcome week festivities, something you hadn't been planning on attending yourself if she wasn't making you do this.
It wasn't as busy as you expected it to be, probably because most of the crowd consisted of nervous freshmen who were still trying to find their way around campus. You were working the first shift, which was mostly just sitting around and gossiping with the other volunteers, with only a few students walking up and deciding to pay the premium.
"Oh shit! Is that who I think it is?"
The familiar voice traveled across the field as a cluster of football players approached, Rafe leading the pack with his eyes already locked on you. He shot you his signature grin when he saw you standing there, under the kissing booth sign, stalking towards you like a predator locked in on its prey.
"Must be my lucky day," he declared.
"Wow, Rafe. You're so desperate. You're making yourself a charity case now?" you quipped, taking a step back and crossing your arms over your chest to put some distance between you.
He placed his hands on the table that was separating you, stretching out his arms as his large frame towered over yours. His bangs fell onto his face, which only emphasized how devastatingly handsome he was despite being truly the bane of your existence. Even with his varsity jacket on, you could see his biceps bulging through the leather sleeves, as if they were trying to burst through the seams.
"Is it just you, or the entire goon squad?" you seeked out, gesturing over to the group of guys he had in tow.
"You really gotta ask me that?" he feigned dramatically, clutching his chest like you wounded him. "I don't like sharing when it comes to you."
"I'm just trying to make money here," you shrugged.
"Yeah? For what? More books or something?"
"Actually, it's so the cheerleaders can come on the road for a few games," your bestie piped up. "Not that you'd be interested in that..."
"That's definitely a cause I can get behind," he replied.
"Hurry up and make up your mind," you provoked. "I don't make anything from chatting. I'm sure there are plenty of paying customers who'd be more than happy to take your place."
"Depends," he retorted, making you suspicious.
"What do you mean 'depends?'" you mimicked, making him chuckle.
"Well, $5 gets me a kiss. What if I wanna take you back to my place?" he surveyed.
"Fuck off, Rafe," you laughed in disbelief, shaking your head at the bold proposition. Not that it was new behaviour from him.
"I'm being serious," he maintained.
He reached into the pocket of his jeans, pulling out his wallet and folding it open to show off a stack of cash sitting there. Skimming his thumbs over the edges of the crisp bills, as if openly taunting you with it. You could hear all the other cheerleaders whispering to each other, scowling at you as they questioned why he hadn't taken notice of any of them.
"What about $100?" He proposed, unable to hide the disgust on your expression.
"No fucking way," you immediately refused.
"So, less than what you get for five? You should rethink your business model-"
"Whatever you pay, all you get is a kiss," you didn't budge, not missing the flicker of disappointment that flashed across Rafe's face.
"I just want to make a generous donation,"
"Nothing about you is generous, Rafe."
"I'm sure if you asked any girl I've been with, they'd disagree."
"Cute."
"Don't sound so jealous, sweetheart," he warned you. "I might believe you're secretly interested."
"Well, I'm not," you asserted. "And I'm not interested in your bribe either."
"I'll kiss you, Rafe," one of the other volunteers interjected from behind you, batting her lashes at him.
"As great as that sounds, there's only one woman I'm trying to impress tonight."
The girls around you awwed as he gave you a smug look, as if their encouragement was what would sway your decision. You were used to his constant flirting, usually just being subjected to it between practices or when he'd track you down at a party, but you knew you wouldn't be getting out of this as painlessly as you usually could.
"You can't brag about this, you know," you contended. "I'm still not kissing you because I want to."
"Of course not. That would be too easy," he remarked, his smirk growing. "But it definitely won't hurt my chances of convincing you to do it again."
"Let's just get this over with," you rolled your eyes.
He leaned in at a frustratingly slow pace, stopping just before your lips touched so you'd have to be the one to actually make the first move, knowing you couldn't turn him away. You weren't totally sure what your game plan was, and you couldn't deny how hard it was to keep your composure when he was close enough for his breath to mix with yours.
You went to give him the same rehearsed kiss you'd given to the other men who had visited the kiosk, boring and prompt. A short peck. Then Rafe cradled one of your cheeks and deepened it, and you couldn't hold yourself back anymore. Your hands flew to his chest, not to shove him off but to find your balance.
He slipped his tongue into your mouth, catching you off guard and making you gasp softly in reaction. You could feel him smiling triumphantly as he kissed you, quick to bite down on his bottom lip in retaliation, only for a husky moan to escape him instead. Not that he seemed as flustered about it as you were.
You were brought back to reality when his teammates started hooting and hollering, reminding you of the fact that you currently had an audience. When you went to end it, though, he pulled you back in for one more chaste kiss. Your breath hitched in betrayal as he drew away from you, lingering there for a few more seconds.
"Come on now," he muttered against your mouth, speaking so low that only you could hear him. "You can't tell me you don't want to do that again."
"That's not how this works, Rafe," you lightly scolded, trying your best to keep your tone steady despite the wildfire burning beneath your skin.
"How about this," he initiated, drawing your gaze back to his lips as he licked them. "If you hit your goal tonight, I get to take you out when you come with for the next away game."
From the lack of traffic flowing past the booth, you were pretty confident that you could take that bet and easily avoid the consequences. Even with all the cash he had, it would take a few thousand to cover it all. But this was Rafe, and you couldn't help but suspect that it was a trap.
"And if we don't, you lay off this year," you negotiated, the corner of his mouth quirking up as he nodded in agreement. "Fine."
"Wanna seal it with a kiss?" He attempted.
"Bye, Rafe," you shut him down sweetly, plucking a random bill out of his wallet. Ooh, it was a $20!
The football players continued hyping up their captain as he jogged back over to them, Rafe peeking over his shoulder and winking at you as they disappeared back into the carnival. And of course, you couldn't just push it out of your mind once he left because your friends wouldn't drop the subject, none of them understanding why you were always so cold toward one of the school's top athletes.
It wasn't even an hour later when your bestie's cell started going off. You'd switched with one of the other volunteers not long after your encounter with Rafe, and it hadn't gotten any busier since then, letting you eavesdrop on one side of the unusual phone conversation that was happening nearby.
"Holy shit!" She blurted out suddenly. "Sorry, sorry. But, you're being serious? Wow, alright. Thanks, I'll let them know."
Her attention shifted to you as soon as she hung up the call, instantly giving you a bad feeling, which was only amplified when she dismissed you all for the night. She explained that she'd spoken to our coach, who'd informed her a football donor had 'unexpectedly' decided to contribute more to cheerleading, which in turn meant there was no need to keep fundraising.
As much as you wanted to pretend it was a coincidence, you had a sneaking suspicion that it had to do with the arrogant quarterback who was confident enough to challenge you. And of course, because he couldn't stop himself from gloating, his name popped up on your phone screen in your Instagram messages, confirming exactly what you'd assumed.
rafecameron99: Make sure to pack something nice for our date next road trip 😉
note: a little blurb i've had sitting around that i decided to clean up for valentines day! hope you guys enjoy!! if you want a part 2/continuation/have any more requests for football captain!rafe & head cheerleader!reader, send them over!!!! 💞💞💞
neeeddd babydoll to fake an orgasm with bluecollar!rafe :(( she’s just so tired and when she tells rafe he’s like “wtf are you tired for all you do is sit around the house all day”
ily and your works 💋💋🩷
this concept… i genuinely want to kiss your brain. thank you so much for sending this in and all the love, angel baby !!!
the loud sniffle coming from you when those words leave rafe’s mouth is involuntary. yes, it was stupid to try and fake him out when he knows your body like the back of his rough hands— you’ll admit it, but you didn’t think he’d be so angry.
you were hoping he’d be too out of it from working in the heat all day to notice… you were hoping if you distracted him with enough kisses he’d just fuck you full and leave it at that.
wrong.
rafe scoffs when he sees your pout and the tears that brim your lash line— “now you’re not even talking back? ran out of dumb shit to say, babydoll?”
“you’re so fuckin’ mean,” you whimper, hiccuping out a sob.
and rafe, being the attentive husband he naturally is no matter how hard he may be on you, immediately softens up.
he’s cooing at you ‘n shushing you while leaning in real close, with his strong arms slipping beneath your back that’s been sticking to the sheets. he holds you and suddenly all that stress you felt today fizzles away into nothing as bliss takes it’s spot in your chest.
funny enough, it’s not until then that your cunt flutters around him, prompting him to rut his hips and pull a pretty and genuine mewl out of you when his fat cock hits all the right places hidden away inside you.
“fuck— there ya go.” he grunts before a sloppy kiss is placed on your spit slick lips, “this is what you needed— jus’ needed daddy to be gentle with you, huh?”
you nod in response, watching with glossy eyes as he brings a calloused thumb to his lips, popping it in his mouth and running his tongue along the pad of the digit before slipping his hand between the two of you. he rolls it over your clit in a slow but calculated circle in the next second, and your breath catches in your throat while your legs tremble around his waist. a string of curses, his name, and daddy fall from your lips with your eyes rolling back into your head.
you’re creaming on him before you can apologize for being so silly, not even considering how you’ll feel and the endless teasing you’ll receive once your high wears off.
rafe cameron enthusiast @rafeysbafey - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
kaledo-art
romaincrisis
dailybridgerton
origamiaround
vaporwave
ellievsbear
