blurb: a rich uptown girl with car issues keeps visiting the small garage off the highway where the owner’s super hot son works.
warnings: fem!reader, fluff, lowk ditzy!reader but not really, yummy mechanic!logan.
Logan heard you before he saw you.
He memorized the sound of those heels clicking against the rough pavement like a second heartbeat. After all, not many girls around this side of town wore vintage Prada pumps to an off-highway garage.
And even if they did, they most certainly did not own a BMW 6er f12 convertible.
Logan’s older brother Jeff was leaning against the workshop desk and sipping on a can of Coke when he saw you strut in. He sighed, “Here comes Lottie.”
The nickname was a running joke between the brothers. Jeff had muttered it under his breath when you first visited the shop and asked a question about diesel gas. He took one look at you and knew you were a clueless, rich girl who shouldn’t be visiting garages such as theirs.
Logan hadn’t entertained the nickname so much. He thought it was unnecessarily mean. Besides, Lottie was always a sweetheart in Princess and the Frog.
Jeff turned on his heels and disappeared into the garage’s office, leaving Logan to deal with you on his own.
Logan put down a spare part he was working on and turned around, leaning back against the counter.
You waved excitedly with a cheerful grin. “Hi, Logan!”
He smiled politely, “Hey…”
“Did you save my girl?” You asked, batting your lashes.
Logan nodded, “She’s all fixed up for you,” he said, walking over to the wall of car keys hung on hooks to retrieve yours.
You clapped your hands, “Yay!”
He chuckled whilst shaking his head. You got happy over the simplest of things. He thought it was endearing.
You walked over to your car. Nebula, as you called her. A fitting name for a sleek, black convertible with dark purple leather upholstery and shiny silver rims.
Logan came over and handed you your keys. “You wanna try her out?”
You nodded and unlocked your car before opening the driver’s side door. No beeping. Perfect.
You beamed at Logan. “You did it!”
He smiled with an easy laugh, feeling proud of his work. In reality, your car issue was a minor one; the door sensor just needed a replacement. Nothing about it required a lick of rocket science, and yet you looked at him as if he hung the stars in your galaxy.
You put your designer bag into your car and bent over to fish out your wallet. Logan stared at your body for a second before he caught himself, clearing his throat and looking away respectfully.
You stood up straight, holding your leather wallet between both hands, looking at him with a doe-eyed expression.
He scratched the back of his neck and gestured for you to follow him to the counter. The gritty sounds of his boots crunching the gravel below and the rhythmic click click click of your heels echoed through the garage.
Logan went around the counter and pulled out a receipt and wrote down the service you needed with the price. He slid the piece of paper to you but you just kept looking at his face with a smile. He blinked before realizing you didn’t care for the price. Right, he thought. Rich girls don’t worry about those things.
“Cash or card?” He asked.
You held up your metal black credit card.
Logan pursed his lips and nodded as he pulled out a card reader. You tapped your card without even glancing at the screen and clapped your hands when the machine beeped in satisfaction.
“Thank you, Logan,” you told him kindly.
He shrugged politely, “It’s no problem.”
You smiled at him. He returned it, “Do you want your recei—“
Before he could even hand you your proof of service, you were walking back to your car. He nodded to himself and stuffed the receipt into the cash register.
He watched as you exited the garage, waving at him enthusiastically as you drove by. He gave a small wave back.
+
A week later, your BMW pulled into the garage whilst Logan was working under a car.
He didn’t hear the sound of your heels this time as he had headphones in, blasting a classic rock song. He felt a shadow looming nearby so he turned and saw your heels appear. He paused and rolled out from under the car, meeting the sight of your broad smile peering down at him.
“Hi, Logan!”
“Hey…” He sounded confused. His eyebrows furrowed and he glanced around, “Didn’t you pick up your car last week?”
You nodded. “Yep. But my AC is broken now…” You pouted.
Hm, Logan thought. He sat up, “Oh, I didn’t see that when I did the diagnostic last week—“
“Must be a new issue, then. These foreign cars are all funny,” you replied, tilting your head.
He cleaned his hands with a rag before standing up. He had oil stains on his shirt and just a little smudge on his face. You thought he looked so ruggedly handsome.
“Let me take a look,” he said and you stepped out the way for him to crank open your hood and inspect the situation.
As he got to work, you leaned against your car and watched. After a moment, you asked, “How was your weekend?”
People don’t usually talk to Logan when he repairs their cars. Especially not pretty, rich girls like you.
“It was good, played hockey, worked here in the shop,” he responded casually.
You nodded along even though he couldn’t see you.
“Did you win?” You asked.
He laughed, an amused sound. “Yeah…yeah, we won.”
You clapped your hands, “Yay!”
Logan laughed again. It was cute, he thought, how you always clapped at good news.
“You like hockey?” He asked, looking over your hood to meet your eyes.
You hummed, “I only recently got into it. My family prefers watching polo, golf, or tennis.”
Rich people sports, he wanted to say. That made sense.
“Recently, huh?” He said instead, ducking his head to keep working. “Who should I thank for putting you onto hockey?” He joked.
You smiled shyly and said, “You…”
His hand paused. The parts of your car suddenly looking like alphabet soup moving in jumbled letters. He lifted his head to meet your gaze again. But before he could manage a reply, you changed the subject. “Is it broken beyond repair?” You asked, turning your attention to your car parts.
He snapped out of his daze and shook his head. “Uhh, no. No, you just need AC coolant.”
“Is that an easy fix?” You asked.
He nodded, “Yeah, the easiest.” He said.
You smiled in relief. “Thank goodness I have you fixing my car,” you told him.
He smiled at that.
He fixed your car, you chirped out a “Thank you, Logan!”, you paid without looking at the bill, and waved goodbye as you left.
“That the BMW girl again?” Logan’s dad asked as he stepped out the office.
“Yeah,” Logan replied, wiping his hands.
“Lottie back again so soon?” Jeff teased. Logan rolled his eyes at the jab.
“You overcharge her?” His dad asked.
Logan looked at him, “Why would I do that?”
His dad shrugged, “Luxurious car fee?”
Logan squinted his eyes, “We don’t do that.”
Jeff piped in, “We could. She doesn’t even check her receipts.”
Logan looked between his dad and brother, “So what? We charge her fair and square.”
His dad shared a looked with Jeff before he went back inside the office.
+
Week after week, you came by to the garage. First it was an oil change, then a rim replacement, then a loose window ribbon, then a tire with low air, and so on.
By week 7, Logan had had enough. It’s not that he didn’t like seeing you, no. Far from it. He actually enjoyed your company. He often looked forward to when you’d come by and say Hi, Logan! in that sing-song voice of yours, your joyful smile, and innocent questions.
But now he was noticing a pattern.
So when you rolled in that Thursday night like clockwork, he didn’t go up to you. He stayed by the workshop desk and watched you with his arms crossed over his chest.
“Hi, Logan!” You beamed with a gleeful wave.
But upon meeting his stern expression, your smile faltered and your hand slowly dropped back to your side. You looked around the empty garage before walking over to him in hesitant steps. The sound of your heels filled the space between the two of you. You stopped in front of him and flattened down your skirt, a nervous tic of yours that you never noticed before.
“Y/n,” he said, his tone serious. “This is the seventh time you’ve come to the garage.”
You nodded, “Nebula keeps acting up—“
“No, she doesn’t.”
You looked at your feet. No smile, no lively clapping.
His arms uncrossed and he stepped closer. He wasn’t angry. No, it wasn’t that. Logan isn’t an idiot. He knew. He knew you had a crush on him, knew the only reason you showed up time and time again was just to spend time with him. Why else would you come? He knew families like yours had their own repairmen at fancy dealerships who could fix any problem. You didn’t need to come into his family’s garage.
Yet, you did.
Logan figured it out by week 4. But truth be told, he never mentioned it because a part of him liked being around you too. He liked hearing your upbeat voice, the familiar tap of your heels, the sound of your laugh. So he stayed quiet, he fixed your tires, and refilled your car’s oil. He went along with it. Because he liked your company just as much as you liked his.
Unable to lie to him, you lifted your head and met his eyes. “I did those things to my car on purpose.” You confessed quietly.
Logan blinked. His stance eased at your admission and he looked at you with soft eyes.
“I watched a YouTube video on how to drain AC coolant,” you added. “And drove around until my tires lost some of its pressure, and—”
“Y/n,” he held your chin with his hand. “You didn’t have to do all that to see me.”
Your eyes widened as you stared at him. He smiled gently, “I…like seeing you. With or without Nebula.”
“You do?” You asked.
He nodded, “I do.”
He leaned in slowly, giving you the chance to pull away. But you stayed. His lips met yours in a gentle kiss. Not hungry or desperate, just a soft sealing; a mutual understanding—I like you and you like me.
When he pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours. You looked at him with a honeyed, dazed expression. He smiled down at you and pecked your lips once more. You weren’t a spoiled, rich girl to him. Not clueless or ditzy. You were just…you. A sweetheart with a crush on a cute guy who would do anything to see him. You were Lottie.
He glanced behind you at your car. He pulled away with a reluctant sigh, “What did you do to her this time?”
You smiled sheepishly, “I jammed my gearshift…”
He chuckled softly, both amused and fondly exasperated by you. “Okay…let me take a look.” He said, lacing his hand with yours and bringing it up to his lips to press a kiss.
𝙒𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: 18+, minors dni, daddy kink, sugar daddy x baby relationship except they’re also actually in a relationship, age gap (Rafe is in early-mid 30s, reader is in early 20s), misogyny, sexism, Rafe is a lil bitch, oral (f receiving), swearing, arguing, reader keeps calling rafe old lmao, that’s it I think.
𝙎𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮: Rafe can’t have people thinking he doesn’t know how to discipline his girl.
𝘼/𝙉: Surprise lil drabble which I wrote during work today hehe. Please let me know what you think!
“She, like, basically has you on a leash.”
Rafe snorts, watching his friends laugh at the comment and pretending to join in except inside he’s seething. His hand clenches around the crystal glass which holds his whiskey, and he shoots them a sardonic smile.
“You keep thinking that.”
“It’s true, though. Weren’t you with her at the mall the other day, holding like fifteen different shopping bags?”
He shrugs, “I like to spoil her.”
“Yeah? But you don’t keep her in check, do you?”
Kelce and Topper exchange a meaningful look before they both burst into a fresh wave of laughter. Rafe’s jaw clenches; he leans forward, annoyed.
“The fuck are you talking about?”
“Word on the street is she’s a little wild. A party girl, if you will.” Topper refills his drink, doing his best not to look Rafe in the eye. Fucking pussy.
“Yeah,” Kelce adds, “As in, she’s everywhere. Out every night, every club on the strip. Unsupervised.”
“She’s not a child, you morons.” Rafe takes another sip of his drink, and it takes everything in him not to down the whole damn thing in one go. You were younger than him, sure. But that didn’t mean he had to personally hold your hand every time you went out.
“No. But if word spreads that you can’t keep her in check? Won’t be good.”
“Yeah, man. Especially those old school investors you’re always having meetings with. They won’t wanna do business with you if they know you can’t discipline your girl.”
“I discipline her just fine,” Rafe snaps, but they’ve got to him. And he hates it. His stupid clown ass fucking friends who couldn’t even dream of having a girl as hot as you in their beds. Talking to him about not knowing how to discipline his own girl. “Trust me, I have things under control more than you’d know.”
They leave it at that and change the subject. But Rafe’s pissed the fuck off. Wants to shatter his glass on the goddamned coffee table type of pissed off.
He’d show them.
***
“Baby, look! That new dress I bought finally came!”
You’re like a ray of sunshine inside his dark, desolate house. Always so excited, always up to something. Trouble, but in the most intoxicating sense. It’s what had attracted him to you in the first place.
But Rafe’s still seething from earlier, and all he does is grunt, tugging his tie off and throwing it on his bed along with his suit jacket. You jump into his arms, your legs wrapping around his waist.
“Daddy, I missed you. Do you like my new dress?”
“Sure.” He mutters, gently prying you off him and not giving the dress you’re wearing a second glance. He knows it’s the one from some high end designer label’s new resort collection or some shit like that. It wasn’t even out in stores yet, but you’d made him pull some strings to get it for you. The exact one that had been worn on the runway. Nothing less for his princess. And all you’d had to do was bat your eyes and mention that you’d wanted it.
Maybe he was too lenient…
“Well, okay Mister Grumpy,” you giggle, skipping off back to your place in front of the vanity which is littered with your expensive makeup, skincare and hair oils. The ornate, vintage vanity you’d made him buy for you when he’d moved you into his house. “Well, I’m gonna wear it out tonight. Don’t wait up, by the way. I’m not sure when I’ll be home.”
He frowns, sitting down on the edge of his bed, “What?”
You pout, but it’s only to put your sparkly, candy pink lipgloss on. He loved it on you, it made you taste so extra sweet and made your lips look so fucking sexy and kissable.
“My friend Sierra’s party, silly! It’s at this new VIP club called Absynthe. And then there’s an after party back at—”
“You’re not going.”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
There’s a few beats of silence before you put your makeup brush down and cross the room. Perch yourself on his lap all pretty, looking so tiny and delicious, yet taken aback at the same time. You grab his hand, pressing it down on your bare thigh.
“Daddy,” you breathe in that sexy voice of yours that gets him weak in the knees, “Is this ‘cause you’ll miss me in bed tonight? ‘Cause we can make up for that right now, if you want…”
You press his hand between your thighs and he sucks in his breath sharply. Fuck, you were so hot. He doesn’t pull it away, instead feeling the warmth of your bare skin which glows with whatever glittery body oil you’ve massaged on. And inhaling that sweet perfume of yours that you’ve spritzed liberally all over your body.
“This dress is too short.”
The realisation snaps Rafe out of whatever spell you were about to put him under. He takes a closer look, unable to stop the poisonous thoughts that invade his mind. The dress barely reaches mid thigh, barely covers your fucking ass. And it’s tight like a second skin, makes your body look insane. Too insane to be seen by any pair of eyes that weren’t his own.
You giggle, “I like short dresses. You said you like me in them.”
“Yes. I like you in them. Doesn’t mean the entire male population of Kildare gets to see you in them too.”
You huff, standing up abruptly, “Fine. Then I’ll change into something else.”
Rafe knows you too well. Knows you’ll change back into the slutty dress the moment you leave the house. You’re trouble with a capital T, and he’s always found it enamouring, cute, sexy, exciting. Except now.
“Change into whatever you want, you’re still not stepping foot outside this house tonight.”
Your hands land on your hips, perfectly groomed eyebrows raised and an indignant look on your face, “You can’t be serious…”
“I am. And spare the dramatics, I’m not in the mood.”
“Just because you’re in a bad mood doesn’t mean you have to take it out on me, Rafe!”
He frowns, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Don’t be a spoiled brat just because I won’t allow you to go clubbing till the early hours of the morning in a dress with your tits practically spilling out.”
Your jaw drops, and now you cross your arms below your chest, and it makes your cleavage look even more incredible. Despite everything, he can feel himself getting hard.
“You’re being mean,” you look at him venomously, but your lower lip quivers. That’s when he realises just how much he let you get away with in the past. But you were just so sweet, so charming. Such a sexy little thing, and you were his weakness.
He couldn’t be weak anymore.
“Trust me, you haven’t seen mean yet.” Rafe mutters, “No more clubbing for the foreseeable future. I won’t have my girl doing that shit anymore.”
“You can’t tell me what I can or can’t do.” You breathe.
“No? Do you want me to cut your allowance? Change my credit card details?” He waits, but you remain silent. “That’s what I thought.”
Now you’re glaring at him with daggers in your eyes, meticulously manicured hands curling into fists by your sides. You’ve always been a brat, and right now you look like a petulant child about to throw a tantrum. You’ve done it before, and he’s always given in. Happy wife, happy life, that kind of thing. Not this time, though.
“Go fuck yourself.”
Rafe snorts, standing up and running a hand through his buzzed hair, “Why? When I’ve got you for that.” He smirks when you gasp lightly, “Now if you actually want to make yourself useful, then make me a drink how you know I like it, and bring it to me in my study.”
He leaves, but not before tapping your ass on his way out. You huff angrily, but he doesn’t look back. Not this time. Who said he couldn’t discipline you? Hell, you’re lucky he didn’t take you over his knee the moment he saw that fucking sorry excuse for a dress.
No, this time you’ll learn.
***
Predictably, you don’t bring him his drink. Instead, he leans back against his leather chair in his study, watching as his phone pings with multiple rapid notifications from his bank.
You were using his credit card right at this very moment, spending his money on a bunch of different shit. Several thousand dollars at Van Cleef, Guiseppe Zanotti, Chanel. It was your way of getting back at him, but you spending his money only served to turn him on.
The corner of Rafe’s mouth twitches upwards. He could block his credit card from your phone, or change his details. But he’s never had a problem with you spending his money. In fact, he found it to be the hottest fucking thing: the confidence with which you spent his money on the most extravagant shit possible. And he loved that he could show you off, his girl who was always dripping head to toe in diamonds and designer labels. Well taken care of. And all his.
Now if only you could just be a good girl and stop going out partying so much.
It’s not that Rafe cared much about you going out clubbing before today. He himself felt too old for that shit, but he never had a problem with you going. He liked to see you have fun, and you always came home to him all drunk and giggly. Snuggled up to him and let him take care of you. He liked that. Because he trusted you and knew you were a good girl who knew who she belonged to. But what he didn’t like was other people thinking he was some pussy-whipped little bitch.
It takes him upwards of an hour to get through the remaining work he has. By the time it’s all done, Rafe’s itching to get in bed with you. Hopefully you were done being dramatic and he could have a quiet night.
Instead, he walks back into the bedroom to see your suitcase open wide on the bed, and your shit strewn everywhere.
“The fuck is this?”
You sniffle, dramatically folding an article of clothing, “I’m leaving you.”
He rolls his eyes, “Can you leave me tomorrow? I’d like to sleep right now.”
You toss your hair over your shoulder in frustration, shooting him a glare but all he can focus on is how hot you look. You’ve changed into a pair of tiny pink silk pyjama shorts and a matching vest top. Hardly the kind of attire you’d wear when you were about to leave someone.
“You’re such a jerk, Rafe. A mean, horrible, unfair jerk. Fuck you.”
Rafe yawns, leaning against the doorframe and watching you in amusement, “A mean, horrible, unfair jerk, huh? For setting boundaries that you clearly need?”
You scowl, “I’m not your child, Rafe. And you’ve never had a problem with me going out before.”
He shrugs, “Yeah, well that’s going to change from now on going forward. I can’t have people thinking I don’t know how to control my girl.” He makes his way over to you and shuts your suitcase with a finality, pushing it onto the floor, “Now get in bed, I’m tired.”
“Of course you’re tired. You’re old and boring and you don’t understand that you’re smothering me and I hate you!” You’re growing more hysterical by the second, but it’s not something Rafe isn’t used to. This isn’t the first temper tantrum from you he’s had to deal with, and it probably wouldn’t be the last.
“Baby,” he wraps his arms around you, not budging even when you fight against him with your feeble, ineffective little punches that only make him chuckle, “C’mon, don’t be like this. You know I’m only trying to protect you.”
“No. You’re just trying to control me. Because you hate me.”
“If I hated you, you’d be dead,” he laughs, pressing a kiss to the nape of your neck while you’re still trying to push him away, “Now come on, there’s worse things to pout about than not being allowed to go clubbing.”
“It’s supposed to be the biggest party of the summer! And my outfit was soo good!”
“Why don’t you act like all the other girlfriends? Plan a brunch or go to the country club?” He continues pressing kisses down your neck.
“Because I’m not a brain dead tradwife, Rafe!”
That makes him laugh, and he can sense you holding back a smile too.
“No, baby, you’re just a brat.”
He kisses you, claiming your mouth while his hand reaches down to palm your ass. He grabs a handful, giving it a squeeze through the silky material of your shorts. You gasp into his mouth and he smirks, ignoring how you pound at his chest.
“Let go of me! I told you I’m leaving!”
But you let him push you down on the bed, let him climb on top of you and kiss you some more. Sure, you have a lot to say, cursing and whining and crying about your stupid club all while he kisses you everywhere. Your face, your neck, your collarbones, pushes your top down to kiss your breasts. And he can taste the chocolatey coco of your shimmery body oil, and he’s so fucking hard.
“I wanna go to the Bahamas.” You say while he’s between your legs, eating your cunt like he’s starved. It’s his favourite type of food, and he loves pressing your thighs so far apart he’s sure he’ll leave bruises.
He looks up at you indulgently, “Sure, baby. Anything else?”
A trip to the Bahamas with him was better than you going clubbing by yourself.
“I’d like a car. Like a cute pink convertible.”
“Of course you would.”
The truth is, he’d buy you just about anything you wanted. All the dresses, cars, jewellery, makeup, trips, all of it. If it meant you’d be happy in your gilded cage, satisfied enough that you’d give up your frivolous clubbing and wild ways that made him look bad.
Now, you thrash above him, grabbing at the sheets and at his head as you come undone. Arching your back so pretty, pressing your wet pussy right on his face as he laps you up. He knows he was hard on you today, and you need the extra attention.
“Mmmm, dada… I-I…”
Rafe makes you orgasm three times before coming up for air, kissing you possessively so you can taste yourself on him. And you’re more docile now, you always are after he’s tamed you and gotten you off. Like you’ve orgasmed the brattiness out of you. Except it never lasts long, but he’d take what he could get.
“Go to sleep now,” he orders you, pecking your face a couple more times. “It’s late.”
“For you it’s late.”
“Shhhh,” he kisses you again till he can feel you smiling against his lips.
“Fine.” You yawn, letting him tuck you by his side and pull the covers up as he turns the lamp off.
He knows it’s anything but fine, and the battle is far from over. But he’s got you tamed for now, which was a victory in itself.
Fuck his dumb fucking friends. Who said Rafe Cameron didn’t know exactly how to control his girl?
LMAOOO rafe is such a bitch. I love writing this kind of reader though, she’s so me 🙏🏼🥹 anyways, what do you guys think? PLEASE let me know!! I was bored at work so wrote this little drabble, hopefully yall enjoyed! kisses 💋
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harry guide (appearance in tropes).
last updated: Nov 6th, 2022
🔥 denotes sexual content
One Shots! (No verse)
#HendallReunited: Harry has trouble telling people no. It affects his relationship and his wife has had enough. How can he change the way he’s been his entire life? (5.2k) 🔥
Three Minutes: Harry slips up and it’s only right his wife serves him a little punishment. (3.2k) 🔥
Bathroom Floor Confessions: Harry and Y/N go on their first date where fans and paparazzi find them. Y/N has terrible social anxiety and Harry helps her through it. (3k)
Dad!Harry
Adjustments : Y/N is exhausted and tired of staying at home with the baby while Harry tours. Harry just wants to make his family happy but keeps mucking it up. (5k)🔥
Take a Hike: Harry, Y/N, & the baby take a hike while on tour. They encounter overzealous fans and he goes into papa bear mode. (2.2k)🔥
The Brits Dilemma: Harry & Y/N go to the Brits. It’s the first time they’ve been away from their baby. Y/N is struggling but doesn’t want to ruin the night for her husband. (1.8k)
Just a Lesson: Y/N is overwhelmed, Harry is overwhelmed, & Sasha is crabby. Then they get swarmed at the airport resulting Y/N and the baby getting hurt (minor minor injuries). (5k) 🔥
Famous!Harry x Influencer!YN
Since the First Video: Harry needs a recipe. He stumbles upon Y/N’s YouTube channel. She’s an awful cook, swears like a sailor, and never quite gets the recipe right. Harry’s in love. (4k)
Taste Like Sugar and Relief: When Harry gets swept up into the glitz and glam of being back on tour. YN starts to feel left in the dust as she attempts to film her videos on every off chance she gets. It gets to be too much for her to take. (7k)🔥
Deaf!Fratboy!Harry
Not Your Charity Case: Harry is a frat boy - who doesn’t need sympathy from anyone. He makes Y/N feel a sense of home when they’re together. But is Harry just like every stereotypical fraternity guy? (6.2k)🔥
Finally Fitting in: Harry goes homes to meet Y/N’s family. He’s gets more then he expected. He starts to feel like he has a home. (5.6k)🔥
It’s Yours: YN finally meets Harry’s family and it goes just about as well as expected it would. 🔥
BLURBS
ALL TROPES - these are blurbs and one-shots that contain more than one of the tropes as a collab of sorts (not a multiverse)
CEO!Harry (Categorized)
This verse is sorted into the timeline of their relationship. If you’re just starting the series - I suggest you start at the beginning but most can be read without. enjoy!
CEOVERSE INFORMATION
DATING AND ENGAGED
PREGNANCY/BIRTH
KIDS
BLURBS W/ JUST YN & H
BLURBS WITH THE BABIES
MLB!Harry (Categorized)
+ MLB = Major League Baseball
This verse is sorted into the timeline of their relationship. If you’re just starting the series - I suggest you start at the beginning but most can be read without. enjoy!
DATING AND ENGAGED
PREGNANCY
KIDS
BLURBS
JUST MLBRRY & YN BLURBS
HSLOT VERSE (Categorized)
This verse is sorted into the timeline of their relationship. If you’re just starting the series - I suggest you start at the beginning but most can be read without. enjoy!
LOVE ON TOUR
HARRYS HOUSE
BLURBS
BREAKUP BLURBS
Cheating!Harry Verse (Categorized)
This verse is sorted into the timeline of their relationship. If you’re just starting the series - I suggest you start at the beginning but most can be read without. enjoy!
ONE SHOTS
BLURBS
Gang!Harry Verse (Categorized)
This verse is sorted into the timeline of their relationship. If you’re just starting the series - I suggest you start at the beginning but most can be read without. enjoy!
ONE SHOTS
BLURBS
BLURBS W/ THE TWINS
Werewolf!Harry Verse (Categorized)
This verse is sorted into the timeline of their relationship. If you’re just starting the series - I suggest you start at the beginning but most can be read without. enjoy!
Briar Barlowe is the newest beverage cart girl at Wynnewood Country Club, a playground for the city’s elite. She spends her days making heavy pours and ignoring cat-calls from arrogant businessmen. One persistent member may just win her over.
a/n: idk was just horny and inspired. not entirely proofread. enjoy :)
warnings - smut, descriptive sex. Rafe (lol).
°❀.ೃ࿔
Contrary to belief…
I don’t think Rafe actually minds a girl who dresses slutty.
In fact, I think Rafe loves when his girl dresses like a floozy.
Yes, Rafe is territorial and deadly possessive. Willing to take drastic measures to ensure and protect whatever he’s deemed his stays his.
But Rafe loves attention, loves being the guy everyone envies. He wants to feel important and be important.
He wants people to envy his name, his looks, his home, his status, his family, his wealth and most importantly..
His girl.
And they do.
His perfect little arm candy who he plans on making his perfect trophy wife.
His sex kitten who struts around in sleazy stilettos, figure defining outfits and dresses. Skirts so short that she doesn’t even need to bend over for her ass to hang out with nothing but a flimsy piece of fabric wedged up her pert ass. Sheer tops and pieces of string that barely contain her beautiful breast, pert nipples and well-shaped figure. The type of clothing meant to embrace the gorgeous curves gifted to her.
Rafe constantly thanks whatever higher power carved her and sent her his way.
His flawless baby..
Wrapped up in all that with a stunning face, pouty lips slathered in glittery gloss and dewey come-hither eyes accentuated by perfectly done false lashes.
Fuck, does Rafe love when he walks around with her strapped by his side. Large bruised hand constantly groping her ass, or thigh, or slipping up her top as he pinched her nipple and laughed into her hair when she lets out a sexy whine with pouty lips. His friends and island-goers not knowing whether to look away or watch the show whenever Rafe felt like groping up his girl in public.
And it was quite often. Shamelessly.
Pride filling him when men and women can’t take their eyes off of her and fall to the way her perfect ass hangs out her dresses and skirts or is firmly accentuated by second skin body suits and jumpers. Or the way their eyes never fail to land on her chest as her pert nipples poke through thin cotton sundresses that stick to her damp glowy-skin in the summer heat or sheer tops that leave nothing to the imagination but a need for desire in their minds. Or the outliers who look at her like she’s a jezebel.
And does Rafe absolutely love it…
When his family throws a massive barbecue and his perfect temptation of a girlfriend is leaping around in her little turquoise micro-bikini and white cover-up wrapped around her perky, well rounded ass. Bottoms so far wedged up barely covering the sinful treat between her smooth thighs and top so tiny the sides of her tits were spilling out mouthwateringly with every cheery bounce as sexy giggles spilled from her sinful lips.
Her perfect face shaded by a huge white beach hat to match her impractical cover-up. Her little wedge sandals clacking as she runs around and talks to everyone.
That’s the thing Rafe loves about his girl the most.
Her sparkling personality and alluring finesse for speaking that leaves any one who talks to her nodding their head dumbly and looking at her with stars in their eyes. Her aptitude for flirting and capturing a crowds attention at the first syllable that drips from her perfect glossy lips.
So yeah, safe to say that Rafe has a nasty fixation on the way his captivating girlfriend draws attention at every corner she turns. A sexy little oblivious smile on her face as she walks through the world like she doesn’t know the way she leaves jaws hanging and heads whipping around.
Rafe doesn’t blame them, he doesn’t think he could have looked away from her if he tried the first time he laid his crazed-eyes upon her with an immediate claim and turning of cogs in his head on how exactly he was going to make that sexy little fairy who sparkled him in her magic the first night they met, his.
Cause he knows at the end of the day he’s the one who holds her hips down and knees to her chest as his hips beat into her with unadulterated passion. Leaving a creamy ring of their love wrapped around the base of his cock and dripping down between her cute ass and winking hole onto their egyptian cotton sheets.
He’s the one who caresses her soft cheek with infatuation and undivided attention as she presses cute kisses across his swollen, leaking tip. Hisses of praise and ‘put it in your mouth, don’t play with me. Been wanting that mouth wrapped around me all damn day.’ Falling from his swollen lips as his hips buck up. Her watery flirty eyes gleaming at him mischievously as she giggles and then presses her perfect nails into his abdomen before dragging them up with nasty red lines to flick his nipple with a bratty, ‘I’ll do whatever I want,” and bite to his thigh that makes him hiss, twitch and let out a shaky breathe.
And he’s definitely the one who bends her in front of the mirror in the men’s restroom at the Island Club with the door barely locked. Large hand gripping her scalp as his other hand presses the back of her knee into the counter and his hips smack into her ass loudly with wet ‘plaps’ of their arousal stringing them together every time he pulls away. Her gorgeous eyes rolling back and perfectly done makeup now a sweaty mess and rolling down the sides, plump swollen lips bitten and bruised from his need to devour her at any given moment and drool hanging from from the corner as pathetic mewls and cries fall from the brutal beating on her dripping pussy.
Her red-bottom mule stiletto barely hanging onto her cute foot as her other heel clacked on the floor with her pathetic, shaky efforts to hold herself up with the other leg, skirt pushed around her waist. Skin damp along with Rafe’s as she tries her very best to focus on him through teary love-filled eyes. Her sexy, hectic man holding his shirt between his teeth with a snarl and his strong abdomen clenching harshly with every pound as he gives out harsh claiming grunts from his exertion. Stringy curtain bangs sticking to his damp forehead as sweat drops down the side of his flushed sun-kissed face.
When his eyes snap up from watching the way her red, bruised ass jiggled sensually with each snap of his hips and watched the way their love kept them together in a sinful display of their mixed arousal. His lips dropped his baggy cotton button up and he takes the hand from the back her knee and wraps it harshly around her throat. A snarl forming on his face once more as he forces her to look at him with the rough grip on her scalp and a gruff…
“Look at me,” falling from his equally red, wet and swollen lips. Saying it even harsher when she failed to do so from the way he was fucking every single sense and thought out of her but him.
A mocking smile and, “there she is, there’s my stupid lil’ show off. Yeah yeah,” he shushes her whines mockingly when she listens to him the second time and forces her dumb brain to make herself look at him. “Knew what the hell you were doing out there and you know it. So shut the fuck up and take it.” He spits out with a nasty tone and no room for arguments.
His hand leaving her throat to smack her damp once meticulously dazzling cheek before her gripped both of them in his fingers when she let out a bratty whine. “Na, don’t act dumb baby, know you like it. The way everyone looks at you, the way they want you.” A hiss falling from his lips as she clenches around him confirming his statement before a cocky chuckle follows right after. Nodding mockingly with a coo as he pulled her head more back and hushed her whines before meeting his lips with hers. His hips speeding up impossibly harder and claiming and definitely loud enough to be heard outside by anyone passing by.
Probably even all the way down to the main hall.
And when Rafe lets go of her swollen lips as her breathes into her mouth and she whines into his, their equally watery and passionate, love-filled eyes looking into one another all he says is..
“Fuck,” he spits out with a grit before continuing, “you’re lucky I like the way they look at you too. Now take that shit,” His words almost menacingly threatful as his hips and grip gain a new life force. Her body completely his and their mixed arousal starting to drip onto the floor as she produces even more slick. The loudest whine and mewl leaving her lips so far and when Rafe bends his head a little back to look down at her. Proud of the way she looks so pathetic under his whim as a hung smirk finds its way onto his handsome face he tells her with a demanding softness..
Warnings: daddy kink, Rafe is much older than the reader, and there is mention of oral sex (the reader receives it).
Note: Maybe I'll write more about Dilf Rafe if that's something you guys like.
- Dilf Rafe who, whenever he sees you walking down the street alone, pulls over to give you a ride; after all, he gets it into his head that he can't let a little girl go home unaccompanied, but the way he looks at you through the rearview mirror gives everything away.
- Dilf Rafe who restrains himself every time he sees you, because he knows deep down that you are too young for him, even though he thinks you're incredibly hot and can't take his eyes off your body.
- Dilf Rafe who loves to manipulate your scatterbrained head; since he’s much older than you, he uses all the experience he has to lead you exactly where he wants with just a few words.
- Dilf Rafe always watching over you when you're with boys your age, because he hates the thought of some moron touching you in the place that should be his.
- Dilf Rafe who traps you in a corner with the excuse that he’s just fixing something on your clothes, being merely a pretext to finally get his hands on you and feel your skin.
- Dilf Rafe whose cock throbs just from watching you do anything, no matter how silly or stupid the scene is.
- Dilf Rafe who’s always buying you sweets, especially lollipops, because he loves the sight of you distracted, sucking on the candy while he imagines his cock there in your mouth.
- Dilf Rafe who calls you a brat just to tease you; he knows he’s too old for these games, but he loves seeing how it irritates you and how, deep down, you love his attention.
- Dilf Rafe who, when passing behind you in a tight space, always makes sure to place his hands firmly on your waist, pretending it’s just to clear the way and nothing more.
- Dilf Rafe who gives you hot kisses and says things like “That’s enough, darling, we can’t go past this,” even after wild make-out sessions where he leaves his marks on you, always leaving you wanting more.
- Dilf Rafe who never leaves you unsatisfied as much as sex itself doesn't happen, he loves to suck you off until you lose your breath and come, always finishing with a “Don’t tell your father about this.”
- Dilf Rafe who makes a point of brushing your hair when you ask, taking care of you as if you were his little girl, but with a possessive look that is anything but innocent.
- Dilf Rafe who has a huge kink for being called daddy, especially when that word comes out of your mouth with that way of yours, like you don't know what you're doing.
- Dilf Rafe who strokes your head to make you soft and relaxed, using that protective and firm way only he has to keep you in the palm of his hand.
“you're so pretty. y’know that? c’mere” he muttered gently as he pulled you in closer.
rafe was a busy guy. whenever he had some time to hangout, it felt like christmas to you. he was always the sweetest guy when he had time for you. with his arm around your shoulders, you guys walked down the hill to the golf course a few feet behind topper and kelce. as he whispered sweet words in your ear, you giggled and nervously played with the bottom edge of your skirt. rafe knew just how to make you feel like the princess you are. “say you’re pretty f'me” he demanded. “i’m prettyy~” you laughed. “gorgeous..” he placed kisses on the side of your neck making you giggle even more. the two boys in front of you guys had turned their heads to see what was going on behind them. “you two alright?” kelce joked as topper laughed along. “yeah!” you replied. rafe didn’t even bother lifting his head from your neck to respond.
“thank you for bringing me” you muttered still fiddling with your skirt. “hm?” he lifted his head to hear you better. “thank you.. for bringing me” you repeated a bit louder. he pulled back and looked down at you as a small smirk crossed his lips. “you thankin' me for hangin' out with you, baby? i’m your boyfriend, i have to” he chuckled. “i know but.. i never see you anymore. it’s nice to know you still care” his smirk faded at your words. “of course i care.. why would you say that?” he asked in a serious tone. you noticed the change in octaves and looked up at him to see if he was angry. from what you saw, you could tell he was in the early stages. “nothing. i- it was a joke” you looked back down at the path even though you could feel his gaze on you. “babe, you know i care about you, right?” he asked with his eyes now stuck on you. before you could respond, without realizing it, you guys had already arrived at the field.
“rafe!” topper called out. both your heads turn to him. “you gonna start?” he offered as he held out a club. rafe looked back at you who was still playing with your skirt. he slapped your hands away making you flinch. “how many times i gotta tell you not to do that? hm?” he was now in the middle stages, slight aggression. kelce scoffed at the action. he glared at you for a moment more before turning to topper and snatching the club from his hands and walking onto the course.
~
a good half hour into playing, you noticed each one of rafe’s swings were strong and rough. you just told yourself that that’s how you’re supposed to play. you also saw that after every hit, he wouldn’t go near you, his “caddy”, topper had said which made kelce laugh. you didn’t know what it meant but you were happy to be rafe’s anything. with the heavy bag in hand, you approached the blonde who had crossed his arms waiting for kelce to swing. you tried holding his hand but he didn’t budge to make his hand accessible to hold. you simply gave up trying and laid your head on his bicep. “you’re doing really good, babe” you whispered to him as you traced shapes on his crossed arm. he stayed still while you covered him with attention. “i didn’t know you were so good at golf” you chuckled trying to lighten up the mood. “apparently you don’t know a lot about me” he grumbled.
your eyes widened. you felt a pain in your chest as if a knife was being screwed in between your ribs. he was mad at you. “..it was a joke, babe..” he scoffed at that. “i don’t care.. ‘s whatever” you knew that was a lie. and you knew if you didn’t do something to fix it soon, you would pay for it later.
rafe nudged your head off him and took kelce’s spot. that broke your heart. you couldn't help but pout a little. you were starting to question if this was even a hangout anymore. he was pissed. you rarely get to see him and you somehow managed to make him mad at you. sadly, you've learned from experience that you'd only make it worse. you needed to let him come to you so you could apologize properly. he wouldn't want to hear a word of it right now. heaven forbid you start crying in front of him. you could already feel that little tingle in your heart letting you know tears could fall any second now. he couldn't see you like this.
"hey!" you shouted a little louder than you wished to. before rafe swung, he turned his head back to you, so did kelce and topper. they looked at you with indifference but rafe didn't bother hiding his anger. "i think i'm gonna head home. i wasn't that good of a caddy anyways" you let out a nervous laugh mainly to comfort yourself.
rafe slowly walked towards you with a look of irritated confusion. "oh yeah?" he spoke softly, masking the emotion behind it. your feet shuffled nervously as he got closer. "y- yeah.." you subconsciously began fidgeting with the end of your skirt again which brought him to slap your hands. you let out a whimper. "stop. fucking. doing that." he spat on the verge of shouting. he stood directly in front of you as you looked up at him with big pleading eyes.
rafe stared at you for a bit before tightly shutting his eyes and taking a deep breath. once he opened his eyes, he looked back at kelce and topper then turned to you. "you know how fucked that is right?.. i mean we get to see each other every blue fucking moon and you're ditching me" the guilt could've swallowed you whole. you knew he was right but on the other hand, you leaving would be for the best. the conviction left you speechless.
"leave then. i don't give a shit" he said using his ordinary controlled tone before walking back to his friends. you nodded and tried to fight back tears. you set down the heavy equipment. "i- i'll.. catch you guys later" you gave them a small painful smile and wave before turning away, holding your hands behind your back to avoid messing with the hemline of your skirt.
꣖ mdni! ꣓ 💬 .. ꕤ * .ﾟ steprbro !rafe bragging abt u to his friends.. but they’ve no clue his dream grl is his sister!
fauxcest
rafe punched topper in the shoulder, jaw unhinged as he let out a loud laugh, “yo.. chill the fuck out. ever heard of a joke?” topper shook his head, rubbing his arm, “’s just a weird thing to say.. she feels like a sister to you?”
rafe shrugged, taking another sip of the bottled drink in his hand, “she knows me well like one. knows how to use that little mouth to suck all her nephews out..” he grinned at toppers yucked out expression, “we’re close like that, best friend just isn’t enough.” he sported the same demented smile as if these words aren’t.. weird.
“alright, whatever, bro. how come we’ve never seen her? never knew about this? sure you’re not making this chick up?” kelsey chimed in, throwing an accusatory brow rise at rafe.
rafe got silent for a second, pressing the opening of the bottle to his lip, shaking his head once, “she barely even knows..” he murmured. then sniffed, adjusting himself on the seat, “i don’t like sharing. you know this.. she has so business getting to know other guys. ’m right here, that shit’s unnecessary.”
rafe tilted his head to the side, taking a glance around the crowded room, trying to imagine you amongst the bodies. just doesn’t feel right in his head.. you’re perfectly fine relying on rafe, only being under him. why take you away from where you belong?
topper shook his head, scoffing, “now i’m worried for her safety..” he joked, unaware of rafe’s serious demeanor. his jaw ticked, stilling. “she’s fine,” he bit out, “i take care of her.. like a big brother,” he laughed, taking in the guys’ shocked faces.
“stop with that freaky shit, don’t call yourself that,” topper turned so serious. rafe mock frowned, leaning in closer to him. “why, pussy? you never looked down at your girl while she’s stroking your shit and wish she was your little sister? that boyfriend, girlfriend type ’s not enough. i’m already teaching her everything she knows, taking good care of her.. what’s the difference?” he smiled at how uncomfortable he was making topper, leaning his head wherever topper backed his away.
topper lightly shoved him back, rafe barely budging. he leaned away in his own, shaking his head at his lame excuse of a friend. “’m fucking with you. you think i’m for real? that shit’s gross,” rafe played up.
kelsey shook his head, running a hand down his face, “had me for a second. so is it serious or not, y’all labeling it?”
rafe shrugged, nudging his nose with his knuckle, adjusting his hard on his pants with an obvious hand. “she knows what it is. she give my pussy to anyone else, i’ll lock her outside naked until she remembers i’m the only one who gets to see it.” rafe licked the last drop of the drink from the neck of the bottle, tossing the glass.
topper fixed him with a nervous look, “what?”
rafe shook his head yet again, slapping his hands to his knees to support his weight as he lifted up, pulling up his lowering jeans, “i’m still fucking joking, idiot.”
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
you’re used to people thinking you don’t belong in the fancy hotels that harry books for the two of you to sneak around in. when you struggle on your own and he has to come sort out your shit, don’t you think you owe him?
based on this -> this and -> this
CW: eventual smut, current harry, age gap, subby reader, angry/mean harry, !HEAVY DEGRADING! (consensual), kinda tattoo worship, size kink, wealth kink, dom harry, oral sex (m), veryyyyy mean harry if u don’t like that this prob isnt for u!! this is just fucking filthy.
likes/reblogs sooo appreciated!!
WC: 5.8k
You were used to it.
The glares. The corked eyebrows. The subtle tinge of ‘I’m sure that I know what you’re here for and our business does not allow it.’
But you were no prostitute, and you weren’t out of place here. You belonged here and were overly exhausted of stingy employees thinking otherwise.
So when you got the text from Harry, you had already mentally prepared yourself for what would come of your night.
H: Booked us a room at the Ritz on West 28th. Finishing up in the studio and then I’ll meet you there. It’s under your name.
A usual text to receive from your secret lover.
He was older than you, ridiculously older than you to the point where you were sure it would cause some controversy if the public gained any awareness. So, sneaky over-nights at fancy hotels and cryptic stares are what you were used to.
And you liked it—the forbiddenness of it all. You were his cute little thing, a pretty girl to play with and spoil however he pleased.
So when you walked through the big glass door of the luxurious building, you found yourself wet just at the smell.
That was the thing about what you and Harry had going on. He’d opened up new parts of you that you would’ve never known existed if it weren’t for him. You were addicted to the riches of it all. His money. His wealth, more like.
Smooth tile and obscene light fixtures and quiet jazz turned you on, at this point. And it wasn’t because of the fine craftsmanship, it’s because his money brought you here. Allowed you to echo your tiny feet across the slick flooring and take in the thick smell of an expensive room spray.
You pattered confidently over to the front counter, dressed in a cute little outfit that was to Harry’s liking, and placed the tips of your fingers against the tall podium.
“Hello,” you smile politely, “I have a room for tonight under Y/L/N.”
The receptionist peers up from her desk to scan you over, a soft smile on her face as she takes you in silently.
And then, there was that look. The one you were more than used to, at this point.
“Hello,” she finally greets you, “you said you had a room at this hotel?”
A smile smacked on her face so condescending that you nearly screamed.
“I do, yes,” you keep on your smile, remaining composure as you readjust the duffle bag against your side.
She peers down at the movement to take in the bag that was hung over your shoulder, staring at it for a bit longer than you appreciated. It was a soft pink, white stripes down the fabric with your initials embroidered on the side. It was childish, you know. But it’s been yours since you were small and why change something that’s not broken?
“Let me take a look, dear,” she nods, slow and unhurried.
So you wait. Tapping your finger tips against the sleek wood of the counter as she takes her sweet time.
And then, another buzz from your phone.
H: Get to the room okay? I’m wrapping up.
Y: just waiting to be let up
You keep it brief, knowing not enough time has passed to really know if the staff was judging you just yet. You’d like to think the best of them. Maybe your reservation was just dug deep in their files.
H: Are they giving you trouble?
You take a thick swallow, reading over the 5 words like they were here in front of you, low and threatening.
Y: i don’t think so, probably just super busy tonight
He types, stops, types, and then the bubbles go away completely. You just shut off your phone, slipping it back into your purse before peering back up at the front desk.
And when you look up, she’s peering behind you, looking at the nicely dressed man that stood after you in the line of the lobby.
“Hello, sir. How can I assist you?”
Your brows furrow, peering back and forth between the man and the receptionist with innocent confusion.
But then, you think, this is a nice place, right? You’re sure they’ve got you all checked in and probably sending down a concierge to lead you to your room as we speak. Nothing to worry about.
So, you stand off to the side with a sweet smile and toy with the ends of your hair as the two start their conversation.
But then she gave him a room key. And a kind smile, one different from the one you had been given just a couple minutes prior. And ushered him to the elevator with directions that would lead right to his door.
Now, you were stumped.
“Um, excuse me,” you ask so quietly that she doesn’t hear you at all.
You were always like this. Too sweet for your own good and always afraid to rub off the wrong impression.
The receptionist was busy (or so she looked) at her desk, scrabbling through papers and binders that you were only half sure actually had anything written on them. So, you mustered up the courage to speak again.
“Excuse me, ma'am?" A bit louder this time, but still never without your fragile twinge of politeness.
She looks up at you as you stood in front of the tall counter. Glasses hung low on her nose and her red lips glued to a straight and very unamused line.
“Yes?”
“Um, was there a problem with my reservation?” You ask, lacking confidence just a little bit too much. You knew it. The receptionist knew it, too.
She takes her glasses off, glaring up at you from her seat behind the thick counter and takes a deep breath.
“What was the name again, hon?”
You cringed at the nickname.
“Y/L/N. Maybe Y/N.”
She pauses her fingers though the stack of papers and tilts her head at you in a stare of disbelief.
“You’re not sure what your reservation is under?”
Yes, you were used to this. But no, that didn’t mean it got any easier for you. This was always stress for you. An unbelievable amount of anxiety and you almost never handled it well.
“I, um, I’m not totally sure, no. I wasn’t the one who made the reservation,” you say through red cheeks.
She smiles up at you, cold and knowing, like she’s got you all figured out now. Like she’s seen this sort of thing before.
“I see,” she nods, “let me take another look.”
You just nod, backing away slightly and trying to ignore the growing need to nib at your nailbeds and twist around your hair. You didn’t want to seem even more immature.
Another phone vibration from your purse.
H: Assuming you’ve gotten to the room now? Just about to leave.
Y: no not yet, its ok tho they’re looking again now i think
H: Looking for what? You’re still in the lobby?
Y: for our reservation, i think maybe i gave them the wrong name or something. and yes i am
H: I put it under your last name. If that helps.
Y: yeah that’s what i told them, im sure they’re just looking for it
But you weren’t sure. And Harry could smell bullshit right through his phone screen.
H: This is ridiculous. You’ve been there nearly 20 minutes. I’ll be there as soon as I can.
You couldn’t ignore the ping between your thighs at the message, slightly embarrassed to feel so turned on by a string of black letters across your tiny phone screen.
“Here you are,” your texting is interrupted by the shove of a thin black card in your face, sudden and disruptive.
“Oh,” you grab onto it, “ok, thank you. Where is my room?”
She sighs again, acting as if your simple question has seriously disturbed her peace.
“The room number is on the card. There are signs on the walls.”
Your brows turn inward with a small frown, literally having just watched her direct the last young man to his room. You really didn’t want to spend the next couple minutes following plastic signs on the walls like an idiot.
But, you don’t fuss. Don’t put up a fit and don’t mention it. Instead, you just nod, walking away from the counter with really no idea of where to go at all.
You were clearly confused as you walked around the first floor of the luxurious hotel, desperately searching for the signs on the walls and any indication of where an elevator could be.
The staff saw you. They saw how confused you were and they watched as you dawdled around the big tall lobby. Yet, they remained mounted in their place, even looking somewhat amused at your struggle. As if you were a baby deer trapped in the overbearing headlights of an 18 wheeler.
Once you land on the sweet sight of the elevators, you b-line over the large room with your little pink bag clinched tighter against you. You were desperate to get to the safety of your room.
“Can I help you?” A man, tall and dressed formally in a suit, asks as he guards the buttons to the elevator.
“Hi, yes please! I’m in room…” you look at your card, “614. Is that the sixth floor?”
He stares at you. Takes you in, grazes over your cute little outfit that was surely not a fancy dress or a designer brand. Then peers to your bag. Then back up at you—young. Naive. Cute.
“I’m sorry, these elevators are for hotel residents only.”
If you weren’t already confused before, now you are stumped.
Are you not a hotel resident? Are you more of a…hotel guest? Do residents have some sort of special card or something? You were too nervous to ask, so you didn’t.
“Oh,” your brows turn in, “ok.. Can you please tell me how to get up to my room then? I’m sorry, I guess I'm having some trouble finding it.”
“I’m sure,” he chuckles. “You can go speak to the front desk. They will escort you to your room.”
He drew out the word like he was claiming that that’s what you were. Nothing other than a little escort for some rich slob of a man who couldn’t find a woman on his own.
“Um, she already directed me to the…signs. So, should I try to follow those again? I just feel like maybe I'm supposed to be going up the elevator.”
You were rambling now, soft and unsure and all he could do was stare at you unamused.
“The signs will lead you to where you’d like to go,” is all he says, with a nod.
Defeated, you slump away and now you’re left right back where you just were. Wandering around the lobby, peering at every sign you see, desperately trying to get the hell out of this situation.
It wasn’t ‘where you'd like to go,’ it was where you should go. Where you belonged. You knew it, but you just couldn’t muster up the courage to tell them that you knew it.
After another couple minutes of walking back and forth and desperately trying to find any signs other than roof top or pool or buffet, you give up and tip toe your way back over to the front desk. Back in front of the woman who looked like she was already tired of you before you even opened your mouth.
“Hi, you gave me my room key a bit ago but I just can’t seem to-”
“I remember.”
You blink, not sure what to think of her rude interruption but continuing anyway.
“I, um,” you were even more nervous now, “I guess I’m just not sure how to get to my room and no one really seems to be helping me out.”
“And what exactly would you need help with?”
You blink again. Slower this time.
“Finding my room…” you’re confused, feeling like you literally just explained that not even 4 seconds prior.
“I have already explained this to you, as long as you follow the-”
“Is there an issue here? Does anyone want to explain to me why she got here half an hour ago and is still standing in this lobby?”
There he was, Harry, tall and broad and two creases stuck between his brows that were only there when he got angry. Two creases that had your crease dripping.
“Hi, baby,” he drops his voice softer as he comes behind you, letting his big hand rest on your tiny frame as he presses a kiss to your forehead. Your cheeks fade pink at his gentle greeting as you smile up at him kindly, a contrast from his fury towards the staff.
“Mr. Styles, hello! It’s lovely to see you, we were just getting her set up to the room-”
“But you weren’t,” he cuts her off, “if you were half competent and even somewhat decent at your job she would’ve been resting in the privacy of that room ages ago. So really, does anyone want to tell me what’s been going on here?”
He was… terrifying. Deliciously terrifying and just who you needed to come and save you. You were helpless without him and he knew it. Too trusting for your own good and ever so naive.
“Mr. Styles, really, we were just gathering some documents together and then we were going to send her straight up to your room.”
Other staff members were slipping away while they could, leaving the lonely receptionist to take all of the blame. And, to be totally honest, that was fine with you.
“Up to her room,” he corrected, “a room that was booked under her name and a room that she should have had no issue getting into. So, and I do ask that you be honest this time, are you going to tell me what’s been going on?”
She stares at him, eyes wide and mouth slightly parted as she stutters on her own breath. You just stood there, protected in Harry’s grasp as he stood behind you.
“I apologize on behalf of the hotel for any trouble that this misunderstanding has caused and-”
He’s laughing now, deep and cynical and just truly in disbelief.
“And what exactly was misunderstood? I’m yet to hear the reason and I think I’ve asked quite a couple times now,” he knows what went on. It hadn’t been the first time something like this had happened. But he was stubborn. For you, at least. And if anyone even dared to make life difficult for you, he’d wait til they were fully humiliated before he was done.
“I-I’m sorry, we were under the impression that she may have been here for reasons against our policies as a company and we were mistaken.”
He lets out a deeply intimidating smirk before peering down at you, waiting for your attention before he speaks to you.
“I’m sorry, is she speaking some language that only imbeciles can understand? Or has she still not explained why you weren’t let up to your room?”
You shook your head up at him with your big round doe eyes, basking in his behavior and clenching your thighs together tight.
“We were under the impression that she was here for some sort of explicit work, sir. I’m very sorry for this incredibly wrong misunderstanding.” She corrected herself under a mumbled breath, ashamed and terrified of the man on the other side of the counter.
He nods, slow with a deep breath like that’d been what he was expecting.
“Full refund.” He mutters, closer to the desk now with a diving stare that you were lucky you weren’t on the receiving end of.
“I-I’m sorry?” She’s taken aback at his well justified request, but he doesn’t budge.
You knew how much this room cost…it was the largest and nicest room in the building. It was tens of thousands of dollars a night and to stay there for free would be detrimental to them. Harry knew it. He didn’t care. They were lucky he wasn’t shutting them down.
“Full. Refund.” He enunciated sharper this time, pressing his fingers into the wood of the counter and pressing his body closer.
“Y-yes, of course, sir. Again, we apologize for any-”
He walked away before she could finish, hand in yours as he tugged you over to the elevators. His grip was tight and his long legs moved quickly through the dazzling lobby, steps echoing up and down the tall ceilings until we reached the elevators.
And this time, with Harry at your side, the man at the doors pressed the up button hastily and stood to the side with a shaky smile. The wide gold of the elevator doors crank open, and Harry calls out one more thing to the receptionist before you both step in.
“Breakfast sent to the room by 10:30.”
She nodded quickly, “Of course! What would you like?”
“The menu.”
She swallowed thick and nodded without argument, and her reaction had your panties even more soaked than they already were. You were obsessed watching him dominate everyone around him. Controlling them with every little word and watching as they slip further into their fear. It was erotic.
And as the two of you walked into the private confines of the elevator, you were trembling. Nervous to what he would say and daydreaming about how he’d man handle you after this.
They seemed to shut in slow motion, swallowing all the outside noise with them and leaving you two in deafening silence. You gripped the handle of your bag tighter.
“Jesus, y/n,” he shook his head, “You ever gonna be able to speak for yourself? Or are you gonna need me to come and pick up your scraps every fucking time?”
You rounded your eyes as you peered up at him submissively, just how he liked, to find him already staring down on you. Preying on you. Jaw clenched tight and jutted outwards.
“I’m sorry, sir. I thought I could handle myself without you. I thought I was doing good,” you know you weren’t. But you wanted him to tell you that you weren’t. You wanted him to tell you that you were nothing without him.
“You didn’t do shit,” he spits, “you stood there all pathetic and let them walk over you. Fucking embarassing.”
The elevator dinged open. You were dripping. Cheeks red. Lashes fluttering up at him. Legs wobbly and mind fuzzy.
He waited for you to leave the elevator before following suit, staying close behind until you reached your room.
And once you heard that click of the door unlock and the handle twist open, you were quivering in excitement for what would come next behind this closed door.
The room was ridiculously ginormous. Big for a group of fifteen, let alone two people who were constantly attached at the hip. They might as well have counted as one guest.
It was shimmering and spacious and gloriously luxurious. The curtains were pulled open to reveal the most beautiful view of the city you had ever seen, dazzling and high and something you knew was a treasure to get to lay your eyes on.
He followed you into his wealth, barely even acknowledging the space as he was used to it. This was an everyday encounter for him.
But he was watching you. He liked to watch your pretty little face as you took in what he gives you. How he spoils you. It was his favorite thing. He’d even felt himself growing hard just from your reaction to the hotel room.
“All this shit I do for you,” he tossed the key onto the entryway table, “fixing your problems. Treating you to expensive hotels. Buying you whatever you want. Don’t you think you owe me some gratitude? To give me something in return for once instead of swimming in my money like a brat?”
You knew he wasn’t serious. You knew it was play. He’d never expect anything from you in return. And, besides, you did well enough for him already. More than he could ever beg for.
“You’re right, sir, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be so greedy,” you say, walking closer towards him as he stands in front of the big window.
His eyes turn into themselves as he locks them on you, resting low and staring into your own with a straight face. So monotone that you nearly faint.
“Get to your knees,” he waves his head forward in demand, signaling for you to drop.
And you do, slow, teasing. Staring up at him with those big glossy eyes during your whole way down.
“Want you to choke on my cum,” he spits, “think you can piece together in your dumb little head how to do that right? Or do you need my help with that too?”
You were dizzy, drunk off of the man in front of you as you bruised your knees for him. You were embarrassingly wet and thought you might even cum while you sucked him off.
“I don’t know, sir,” you played, “Maybe just some help to get started…and then I’ll do it all by myself.”
You weren’t stupid. And he knew you weren’t. In fact, you were smart enough that you knew exactly what he wanted. Exactly how he wanted you to speak to him and exactly the kind of fuck toy he’d been dreaming of.
But, now, with you below him as he peered down to you, he wanted to imagine that you were that fucking dumb. That you were so ridiculously helpless that you couldn’t even shove a cock down your throat without stumbling.
“Fucking useless,” he mutters, taking off his belt for you like you weren’t smart enough to figure out how to do it on your own.
You watched in a daze, teeth sinking into your bottom lip in concentration. He undid his button after too, pulling the zipper down and even shoving all of his clothes off. So helpful to you.
You instinctively hummed at the sight of his rock hard cock in front of you, so big and rigged and swelling for you. His tip was a pretty bright red, aching for relief and glistening in the glory of his precum. It swung heavy against his thigh at the release, steadying now as it adjusts to the world outside of his boxers.
His balls hung low beneath his thick shaft, framing it perfectly and resting against the dark hairs of his thighs.
That was another thing that had you shaking—his thighs. Bare and exposed and paler than any part of his body. A piece that only you see. So raw and meaty and inviting. You lulled on what it feels like to have your wet folds dragging up them, running over his roaring tiger until you hissed just like it.
You lick your lips to keep in your drool, staring at the treat in front of you and not even noticing when your jaw goes slack. It was pure reflex—to open wide for his cock. You hadn’t even known you’d done it until you heard the dark scornful laughter above you.
“You’re a joke,” he taunts at the sight, and it does something sick to you.
Your thighs pressed even harder together than they already were as you kneeled, begging for some sort of friction.
You looked pathetic like this. Squirming on your knees and mouth spread open mindlessly. You even let your tongue fall out flat without thinking too, a silent beg for what was in front of you.
He grabs the base of himself, pulling his hips forward until his salty tip is laid against your tongue. He taps his crown three teasing times against the muscle, watching as your lips flinched in rejection of their reflex to close around you.
He pushed forward, holding your head still with his hand. His hand covered your entire scalp, the heel of his hand at the line of your forehead and the tips of his fingers curved to the back.
He fucked himself into your mouth slowly, pushing deeper than he should. But you didn’t care. You gagged and gurgled around his thick head and even sucked around the length as he did it.
“There we go,” he breathes low, “good for something.”
You moan around him, vibrating up him until it tingles at his balls. His hips stutter and quiver just barely against you, but it’s enough for you to notice and feel satisfied with yourself. You were making him feel good.
You were completely stuffed with his cock, dripping in bubbling saliva and throat aching. It throbbed back into you and slipped around and between your swelling lips, so pink and pretty wrapped around him.
He pushed into you again and again as your hands stayed resting on your lap. You hadn’t been given any instruction to touch him, yet. He was happy you behaved without being asked.
And you looked so pretty. Your rounded eyes were welling in tears and your cheeks were flushed in a deep mauve. You were taking him down your throat so good and you would never dare to complain of the pain he was inflicting onto you. It felt like heaven. In fact, you craved it. You were worried if you showed how much it stung that he would stop.
“Gonna fuck my fist to the thought of this later,” he groans, “letting me treat you like shit just like you let everyone else.”
You were crying around his cock at how turned on you were, how badly you wanted him to fuck you until you passed out. But you wanted this more, this was more fulfilling to you than any orgasm of your own.
He pulls his dick out of you and pinches your chin between his thumb and index finger, lifting your head further upwards to look at him. He examined your fucked face. The way you panted and the way you were swallowing to try and ease the pain in the back of your throat. The way you were looking back up at him, pleading and ready for more.
“Now do it by yourself,” he nudged, “like you said.”
You nodded and grasped the girth of him into your small hand, stroking softly around the skin covered in your saliva.
He exhaled long and deep at the feeling of your sweet hands around him, where they belonged. Hands grasping the hem of his shirt before tugging up and over his head, revealing his ink and the valleys of his abs.
You whimpered at the sight, darting your eyes around his bare chest in defeat. He just smirked at the little sound you made, pushing your hair out of your face as he took in your stare.
You grazed around every inch of him, going stupid at the distracting sight of his dark tattoos and the way they shrunk and stretched with every breath. You watched as they flinched with every sudden flex of his muscles, specifically when you squeezed his cock a little harder or stroked up a little closer to his tip.
“You see that?” He gestures to the butterfly on his stomach. You gasped soft as it moved, deep and slow with every breath he took. Staggered through the pleasure of your hand tugging on him.
“Yes, sir,” you nod, batting up at him as your strokes quickened absentmindedly. You were getting quite worked up, after all.
“Suck me off and watch it flap, baby,” he whispers low and gravelly as he watches you whine.
You obey instantly, locking your lips around his tip again and keeping your eyes up at his stomach. He looked incredible like this, the curve of his pecs so firm from this angle and covered in dark hairs.
You sucked and swirled and gagged around him. Taking him so good and you could tell by the way his face twitched that he liked it.
But you weren’t all that focused on his face. You were doing what was told of you, watching his pretty inked butterfly flutter and flap above you with every breath he took. Sometimes you could make the creature fly quicker, if you licked a certain spot or tugged a bit harder. It was an addicting game and even more addicting sight, one that you were sure you’d masturbate to for weeks on end.
And when you released the suction of your mouth with a pop and instead sucked around his balls, that butterfly flew.
He groaned at the dirty act and you hummed at the taste of them, sucking and rolling them around in your mouth like a filthy whore. Your hand continued to pump at his shaft as you did so, sometimes even massaging his frenulum at the same time which you noticed he liked the most.
His deep ink shuttered and flinched and shape shifted so many times that you felt dizzy, drooling around his heavy balls at the sight of his work melding over you.
“Fuck, y/n,” his hand found your head again, “just like that.”
It was the best thing you’d ever heard. You were so proud and so hungry for him still, even after all that you’ve been fed. He was squirming and twitching and falling undone right before you.
You pull off from his balls to reattach to his cock, replacing your mouth with a hand down there instead which he was relieved about. You peered up at him, exhausted but desperate as his stomach heaved.
“Am I doing good for you? Making you feel good?” You ask, hand still stroking his cock.
“You are, baby. Making up for all your other shit,” he nods, twitching into your hold as he tries to contain himself.
You smile to yourself as you wrap your lips around him again, sucking him hard and watching as his face corrupts into itself. You lapped your tongue around his throbbing head and shoved him down into you over and over and over again, suffocating yourself.
His thick cock pulsated a quick couple of times, and you knew he was about to cum. Your pace quickened and your hands worked overtime on his balls and up his shaft, desperately trying to get him there and have him satisfied.
“Fuck,” he groaned, “that’s right, tire yourself out. Sweat for me.”
You did. You pumped your arm and bobbed your head, working your tongue simultaneously and even humming around his tip to send the waves through to him. You were humiliatingly desperate for his cum and he was fucking obsessed.
He came into the back of your throat sudden and hot, spurting into you with a long and drawn out groan.
“Fuck, swallow it all. Don’t be selfish,” he demands and you quickly follow.
You swallowed up his thick salty insides and let it soothe down your throat, so yummy and addictive. You were obsessed with his cum. You were so fucking greedy for it, constantly craving it in your tummy and on your tongue. You were even wishing he could’ve come in your pussy instead of your mouth, because that’s where it belonged. You wanted his cum constantly swarming up inside of you and dripping out through your creases.
“Mmm,” you hum against him as it swirls in your belly and warms you up, milking him dry until his body relaxed his breathing steadied.
You pop him out of your mouth, kissing the tip before shimmying his underwear and pants pack up while he watches you. You were sweet—zipping them up and buttoning them too. Eyes squinted in concentration.
And when you stood up to face him, wiping your mouth dry with the back of your hand, he realized he had forgotten to kiss you.
So he wasted no time, pressing his lips against yours softly and falling into it in bliss. He tasted the remains of himself in your mouth as you kissed him back, face hot and hair ruffled.
Your hands fall against the back of his neck as the two of you kiss gently, a silent hello to one another as you sort of skipped over your initial greeting. Not that either of you were really complaining.
“How was work?” You ask softly as you pull away from his lips for a moment.
He chuckled, low and barely audible into your mouth. The casualness of your question after such a filthy act messing with his mind. You always did.
“It was good,” he nodded into you, “wrote about you.”
You pull away, hands on his cheeks as you look him deep in the eyes. You weren’t sure if he was toying with you—trying to see if you’d be gullible enough to believe it. But he wasn’t. You knew the second you looked at him.
“Really?”
He breathes out a laugh again, “yeah.”
And you just looked at him, a smile growing up your cheeks and chest swelling full.
“Can I hear it?” You ask, carefully. You weren’t really sure what the proper protocol is for when someone tells you they’re written a song about you. Especially when that someone is a world famous celebrity.
“Mhm,” he kisses your forehead, “why don’t you get into your PJs and wait for me on the bed. Okay?”
You nod with a shy smile, skipping away to your bag as you go to change for the night. The night that you’d be spending here, in this ridiculously expensive hotel room, with a hunk of a man sleeping next to you.
It really couldn’t get better than this.
Or maybe it could.
You’d have to hear the song first.
whew. anyway!
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c/w .ᐟ.ᐟ language, pet names, reader was in a situationship with jj, toxic frat!jj, rafe’s a d1 yearner, choking, shower oral (m. receiving), first-time protected p in v, jealousy, possessiveness, praise + exhibitionism
5,039 words
You catch yourself smiling at your phone and immediately roll over, pressing your face into your pillow like that is going to erase it. Your cheeks are warm, and you hate it.
You did not want to do this. You wanted a minute to be by yourself and reset, not get pulled into something else the second things ended.
The worst part is that it’s working. He’s charming you without even trying, and you can feel it happening in real time, which only makes you more annoyed with yourself.
You pause for a second, reading his message again, because he is not even trying to hide it. He’s being direct about what he wants, and somehow that feels more comforting than anything else.
You’ve always had a thing for Rafe Cameron, even when you tried to ignore it. JJ never treated this like it was something real, and now you know why. He was hooking up with one of your sorority sisters the entire time and still acting like you were supposed to be okay with it.
It is nice to finally feel wanted, especially by Rafe.
The knock barely lands before you’re flinging the door open, breathless and excited. Your pulse jumps the second you see him—the man flushed and grinning, his hand still lifted mid-knock.
You don’t even say hello. Grabbing the front of his shirt instead, you drag him to your lips. Rafe’s big arms wrap around you in one smooth motion as he lifts you clean off your feet. Your legs hook around his waist as his mouth crashes into yours, stealing your breath as you kiss him for the very first time—riding high off the feeling that you’ve been waiting for this exact moment longer than you ever let yourself admit.
The kiss is messy and deep, all tongue and heat, breathless laughter whispering in the spaces between as he carries you inside, kicking the door shut behind him with his heel.
“Fuck,” he murmurs as he breaks the kiss, reaching for breath, his voice low and thick.
He turns and presses your back against the wall, his body settling against yours with a heavy weight that makes your breath catch as your spine meets it. His mouth drags along your jaw before finding your lips again, teasing you with a kiss before drawing back ever so slightly, leaving you chasing his lips.
“You sure?” He whispers.
“I need it,” you breathe back, the words coming out soft and breathless against his mouth. “I need you.”
He takes his turn smiling into the kiss, sending chills down your spine, cocky and stunned all at once. He dips in again, kissing you slower this time, deep enough to make your head spin and everything else fall away.
“Need it, huh?” He mumbles. “Need what?”
“You,” you breathe. He lets out a low laugh against your skin before he sets you to your feet, your body still pinned against the wall, his rough hand cupping your cheek as the other holds you close, kissing you again.
“Still need that shower?” He murmurs into the kiss.
“Mhmm,” you answer softly. “Do you?”
“You kiddin’ me?” He says as his hand wraps around your waist, the other gripping your ass, pulling you off the floor, into his arms again.
Your head swims as you kiss your way to the bathroom; your body melting into him, legs wrapping around his waist. Light spills in from the bedroom, leaving the bathroom half-lit.
He sets you down on the edge of the countertop, the cool top sending shivers up your spine as your upper thighs press on top of it. Rafe presses in closer, widening your thighs, looking down at the slight space between you—the soft fabric of your shorts shifting just enough to give him a teasing glimpse underneath.
He shakes off his jacket, his clothes falling with a thud to the floor. Your hands skate around his waist while your tongue sweeps along his, your fingers curling into the hem of his shirt as you pull him closer.
He tugs the shirt over his head in one smooth motion, already leaning back toward you, chain swinging between you. You hum a satisfied sound against your kiss; your fingers tracing down every dip and line of his cut abs, sliding lower, teasing the skin just under his waistband, leaving him yanking at his belt for more.
His pants drop to the floor, the belt clattering as your hands reach for him. Your fingers rake up into his hair, pulling him back into another kiss, deeper this time, and the two of you move toward the shower.
Rafe pushes open the glass shower door, twisting the knob, sending water hissing out of the head, pattering onto the floor. His cock presses heavy against his briefs, long and thick, his tip weeping against the thin fabric.
His hands move over your body, dragging up your thighs, bunching the material in his fists, before drifting up your back. He smiles as he brushes the satin straps off your shoulders.
He exhales as your set falls off your body, leaving you in next to nothing—lace hugging the swells of your breasts, his thumbs quickly hooking and snapping your panties teasingly against your hips.
“Look at you, huh?” He murmurs, smiling when your arms wrap around his neck. He tilts down, kissing you as the steam starts to rise around you, the heavy heat and moisture clinging to your skin and his.
He tugs at your panties—caught on the discarded clothes on the floor, his greedy hands pinching the clasp of your bra, undoing that as well.
There’s a split second where he just looks at you like he can’t believe you’re actually standing there letting him this close. “You fuckin’ kidding me?” He mutters hungrily under his breath, helping you hastily as you reach for the band of his boxers, pulling them down his strong thighs.
You look down, the two of you watching as your fingers curl around his long, thick dick. The ridges of his abs cut more as you stroke, letting his messy tip brush against your warm skin, dangerously close to your clit—close enough that he could scoop you up and take what he wants, but you can tell he’s holding back.
“Stop teasin’ me,” he mumbles, through the thick air between you, the corners of his lips curving into a smile, contrasting his dark words.
His hand wraps around the back of your neck, pulling you toward the shower and into his lips as you stumble past the glass. You gasp when the water hits your skin, whimper into his mouth when he backs you into the tile.
“You gotta stop me,” he mutters, his voice rough and deep.
His breath catches the moment your hand moves between you again; fingers closing around him as you smile.
“Goddamn,” he moans, the sound echoing around you before his forehead drops, resting against yours.
“Let me make you feel good, Rafe,” you whisper, unable to see his lips for how close you are but you can hear how his breathing quickens, the hold on your body tightening.
“Anything—Do anything you want to me,” he breathes as your lips kiss down his neck, brushing over his collarbone, his chain cool against your lips as your hands follow the water down his body.
It hits you all at once, somewhere between your hands on him and the heat of the water—how easy this feels, how right, like you skipped all the parts that were supposed to be complicated and landed exactly where you wanted to be.
You follow the line of his stomach, your tongue tracing lightly over his skin as you sink to your knees in front of him. Water wicks off your lashes when you look up at him.
“Fuck…” He murmurs; head tipping back against the tile as the water runs through his hair and down over his broad shoulders.
You look up at him through the rising steam, watching as his jaw tightens the moment your hands settle on his thighs, nails tracing over his skin, his body going tense when your mouth hovers close enough for him to feel your breath.
You press a slow kiss to one hip and then the other, his hands flexing uselessly at his sides while he watches you. And you just know if you were his, he’d be putting you right where he needs you—just a fantasy for another night.
“You’re really gonna do this?” He asks needily, words trailing off when you press a kiss on his tip, swirling your tongue around the fat head of his cock. His hips twitch forward before he can stop them, one of his hands coming to rest at the back of your head, holding you there, urging you forward as his eyes roll back.
You hum softly around him as your hand moves over him, the sounds of his pleasure running straight through you, and you haven't even taken more than the tip. His head lolls back against the bathroom wall while his hips push forward at a steady pace, getting deeper and deeper as your tongue toys with him.
“Oh my God,” he breathes, dragging a hand over his face like he’s trying to pull himself together. “Fuck, baby, I…”
You let out a quiet laugh against him as the words die on his tongue the moment you start to suck, the warmth of your mouth making him shudder as your hand keeps stroking.
“You feel unreal,” he says quietly, his voice rough around the edges. “So good—so fucking good.”
The muscles in his thick thighs tremble as you gag on him, water sliding down your back, the tears that had started to pool on your waterline and roll down your cheeks, catching the off warm water as it bounces off his tan skin.
“Shit,” he rasps as his mouth falls open in pleasure, water dripping off his bottom lip, one hand holding your head, the other gripping the shower bar for support. “What are you doing to me, baby…”
“Tell me to stop,” you tease softly. “I will.”
“Stop?” He breathes as your lips wrap around him again, sucking and sliding along his thick dick. “Fuck, don’t—don’t fucking stop.” His jaw tightens; eyes hooded as he looks down at you, a slow, dangerous smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth.
He starts to move his hips, slow and shallow at first, his rhythm growing steadier with each stroke, watching your mouth take him in. You moan around him, and the sound all but tipping him over the edge.
“Ohhh fuck, there it is,” he groans, letting his hips shift again, this time with a little more force as your hands drift back. Your fingers claw into his thighs, urging him to use you. “You like that?” He asks, his voice dropping low. “You like when I use you like this, huh?”
His movements stay fluid as the steam thickens around you, his chain swaying with each measured rock of his hips.
“Look at me,” he mutters.
Your nails dig into the back of his legs as they tremble, his cock swelling on your tongue.
“Jesus, baby…” He moans as his head thumps back against the tile and his jaw tightens. “I—I’m gonna cum.” His voice breaks, bouncing off the shower walls. “Wh-What… Fuck. What do you want me to do with it?”
Your eyes never leave him as you take him deep, your tongue tracing the underside of his cock, and that is all it takes. A strangled moan tears out of him as his hands fly to your head, holding you in place.
His muscles pull tight as he spills into your mouth, his abs contracting; thighs shaking, head dropping forward.
He looks down at you through half-lidded eyes, watching you take everything he gives you, lip tucking between his teeth when you suck just a little longer, overstimulation leaving his fingers curling in your wet hair.
The breathless laugh that leaves his throat is everything; satisfied, smug, and thankful all in the same breath, like he’s just waiting to wake up.
His hold loosens, cock sliding out of your spit-slicked lips. You shiver as his hands slide over your ribs, drawing you closer. Hot water pours down your body and his—his breathing still heavy as his eyes search yours.
“Thank you,” he mumbles against your mouth as his muscles tremble around you, that same hung-smile painted on his lips.
“Of course,” you whisper, kissing him tenderly. You can feel his lips twitch against yours, like he wants to ask you something, he just doesn't know how far he can take this. “Rafe…”
“Yes, Ma’am,” he hums, his words buzzing against your lips as his hand comes up to cradle your cheek.
“How far?”
“How far what, sweetheart?” He asks, and you laugh like he wasn’t hoping to guide you right where you ended as your fingers trace down his spine.
“How far did you want to take this?” You ask.
“As far as you let me,” he answers easily. “Told you, you were gonna have to stop me—”
“I don't wanna stop,” you breathe into your kiss.
“That’s not really an answer, pretty,” he mumbles, grabbing a fistful of hair, using his hold to guide you to his lips. “You won’t hurt my feelings. Hell, I got good hands.” His rough fingers slide between your thighs, pressing against your pussy, making you gasp against his lips. “M’really good at eating pussy,” he mumbles, swallowing the little sounds that slip your lips as he starts to circle his fingers on top, the words low and shameless. “Swear to God.”
“Rafe…” You breathe as you pull away, just enough. “Fuck me.”
“Holy shit,” he mutters against your mouth, the words thick with satisfaction and a smugness he does not bother hiding. “That’s what you want, huh?”
“You gonna make me wait?” You whisper against his lips.
“Fuck me… No. No—hell no.” He stumbles over his words as you question him, ragged and eager. “You’re not waiting for shit from me—you sure?” The rush of water stops in an instant, Rafe quickly taking you back in his arms before he can get another word out.
Your arms wrap around his neck, and your legs around his waist as he steps out with you; your fingers scratching up into his damp hair as he licks his lips, his eyes locked on yours through the sliver of space in between.
“Condom?” He asks.
“By the sink,” you whisper.
You kiss all the way to the sink, messy and impatient, his feet slapping wet against the floor as he walks. One hand braces under your thighs while the other taps blindly across the counter for a condom, fingers finally finding the foil packet; letting out a quiet groan of relief against your mouth.
You giggle against his lips and he smiles against yours, slowing his pace just enough to walk into the bedroom, the two of you still soaking wet. Too desperate to think about drying off, just desperate for what comes next. “Fuck,” he groans softly. “I cannot wait to fuck you—” Knock. Knock.
Your head snaps toward the door, stomach sinking as everything suddenly goes quiet.
“Probably just one of the girls,” you whisper, even though your better judgment tells you it’s not true.
Knock. Knock. Knock. A fist pounds against the wood on the other side of the door as Rafe’s lips meet your neck, licking and sucking down on your pulse point like your word was good as gold.
“Rafe—”
“S’fine,” he stops you, kissing up to your ear. “Just one of the girls—”
“Open… the goddamn door,” you hear JJ’s voice on the other side making chills fall down your spine, the water on your hot skin suddenly feeling cold.
“You gotta be kidding me,” Rafe mutters as your heart starts to race again for a completely different reason entirely.
“Shh,” you plead, searching for his eyes, making a silent plea for his temper not to get the better of him—for him to tell Maybank to ‘fuck off’ and stir the pot like you know he loves to do. The utterance leaves your lips as you slide down from his arms, moving toward the door on unsteady legs, water dripping off your naked body onto the floor.
Rafe follows close behind you without thinking about it, his palm resting on your hip possessively. You hold your breath nervously as you near the door, a wave of nerves crashing over you the second you hear him mumbling.
“Rafe…” You whisper, looking back over your shoulder, finding him with not one care in the world—his entire focus lost in you. He knows it’s JJ. He knew it the second the first knock landed but he also knows there's nothing his frat brother can do about it.
The backs of your legs brush his as he steps in close behind you, his stiff cock brushing snug between your thighs; the condom bit between his teeth, as his eyes trace from your ass, following the sway of your back, up to your lips.
He lets out this quiet, almost disbelieving breath, like this has been playing out in his head for so long he’s still catching up to the fact that it’s actually happening.
His fingers tighten as he guides you back, arching your spine, pressing your ass into him more. Knock. Knock. JJ’s fist lands against the threshold again, making you gasp. “—Hey, baby?” JJ calls from the other side and your eyes widen on Rafe’s.
“Baby? Who the fuck’s callin’ you baby, huh?” Rafe asks through the corner of his mouth, warm and casual, reaching up to pinch the edge of the condom wrapper before he tears it nice and slow.
“Open the fucking door,” JJ mutters as Rafe spits the wrapper to the floor, shaking his head.
“You want me to stop?” Rafe asks as he draws back his hips and lowers the condom. “Tell me to stop and I will—”
“I’m not gonna ask again, alright? Open the fucking door,” JJ snarls but you're already turning around, your back pressed against it, taking the condom off Rafe’s hands.
“Don’t stop,” you whisper, making Rafe suck in a sharp breath as you press it against the tip of his cock, rolling it on with your eyes locked on his. He grabs your hips, turning you fast, your hands landing against the door with a thud.
“Sweetheart?” JJ voice breaks at the sound.
“Go—” That’s all you manage before Rafe pushes into you in one slow, steady stroke. A strangled sound catches in your throat and your hand flies back, grabbing his wrist where it locks tight around your hip while your other hand clamps over your mouth.
“Go?” He snaps from the hallway. “One fucking word. That’s all I get?”
“—Yeah, that's all he fuckin’ gets,” Rafe murmurs softly against your skin as he steps in, his lips finding your ear, cock buried inside you, his voice low and satisfied. “Pussy’s so damn good. Fuck me.”
Your head falls back against him at the way he stretches you wide, his big hand locks around your neck, drifting higher, making your hands fall away, turning your face so your lips find his.
“Just—Just leave,” your words breathe out against Rafe’s lips. He rocks back, making you whimper, his lips pressing against yours to swallow your sounds as he pushes back in again.
“I know he’s in there,” JJ seethes. “Cleo saw him walkin’ inside. He thinks he’s slick.” His fist bangs against the door again, making it rattle on the frame. “Open the fucking door, Cameron.”
“Want me to say somethin’ or do you want to keep going?” Rafe asks again, smiling against your lips as you breathe out, “keep going,” hearing just how wet he has you, the sounds of your pleasure filling your room.
“I’m not leaving until he comes out.”
You gasp when Rafe pulls away without warning, your whole body tightening at the sudden loss, until he turns you around in one easy motion and lifts you. He steps twice, pressing your back against the wood door. His tongue runs along his bottom lip with his eyes locked on yours.
“You know how good it would feel to pound you into this door right now?” He whispers as he adjusts, lifting you just enough to find your entrance, your eyes softening on him when he lets gravity do the work, your body sinking down on his cock with you held in his arms taking all of it. “So pretty taking my dick,” he whispers, burying himself in your neck, being careful as he thrusts up into you but you know it has to be making some sound on the other side.
“You’re being irrational—” Bang.
You cut off JJ’s words, letting your fist slam against the door this time, making both men stop for a moment. “You can leave or listen, JJ. Honestly I don’t give a shit—”
“Listen? Listen are you fucking kidding me?” JJ spits as Rafe chuckles just under his breath at your words and JJ’s reaction, unable to keep it in any longer. “You do anything with Cameron and we’re done!”
“Well shit… Who’s gonna tell him?” Rafe mutters, just loud enough for you to hear—just loud enough that it might carry through the wood like he hopes it does. And it does.
“Leave, Maybank,” Rafe hums, like it’s an afterthought—like he’s knee deep in better things to do. “You’re embarrassing yourself.”
“Talkin’ shit behind a locked door like a fucking pussy… very Rafe of you, Rafe.”
“Maybe it would be good for him to hear, hmm?” Rafe asks, throwing his hips up hard and final, leaving your fingers clawing into his skin and his name whimpering past your lips. “Shh…” Rafe teases you as he dives in for a kiss, harder this time, drawing you off the wall and toward the bed.
He lays you back on the mattress, his broad hands spreading your thighs as his mouth drags over your chest. Rafe only laughs, low and rough, not the least bit concerned as JJ continues his tantrum and threats outside.
Rafe leans over you, fists curling around the backs of your thighs as he presses them up toward your chest. “Be good and hold ‘em,” he breathes before his cock slides through your folds, slick and warm, teasing you as his eyes drink you in.
“Rafe,” you whine, pleading sweetly for more.
He shakes his head and smiles, lost somewhere on cloud nine. “Sure this is okay?” He asks like you weren't just begging for him, smacking his tip against your clit making your hips lift off the mattress.
“Yes, fuck.” Your breath catches, lips parting as he traces your slit, falling open completely as a soft sound slips past your lips as he pushes in, stretching you wide and full, your shaky hands resting gently on his hips when you take him all.
He lowers your legs gently and tilts in to kiss you, deep and unhurried, his rough hands sliding around your hips to draw you closer before he draws back, thrusting into you again.
Your hands lift to cradle his face mewling into his mouth when he thrust deeper, finding that place inside you that makes your mind shut off.
He groans into your kiss as your pussy tightens around him, his forehead comes to rest against yours—his breath warm and uneven against your lips.
And then, it's just you. The heat between your bodies, the pressure between your thighs, the pleasure climbing with your heartbeat, higher by the second.
Rafe’s hand slides down your thighs as he shifts his weight, and before you can quite catch your breath he rolls, turning the two of you in one smooth motion, guiding you over until you are straddling him.
You let out a soft laugh of surprise as you settle on top, your hands landing instinctively against the solid plane of his chest. His hair’s damp and pushed back from his forehead, his chest rising and falling in slow, steady pulls of air as his chain glitters around his throat.
“Jesus,” he murmurs, his voice rough with awe. “Look so good on top of me, you know that?”
You shift your weight and he groans low in his throat, his hands tightening on your hips as you circle them.
“That’s it,” he breathes, his hands guiding you gently. “Easy, baby. Just like that.”
Your nails dig into his chest as you begin to move, slow and steady at first, your body finding its rhythm while his muscles tense beneath your palms, his mouth falling open.
“Fuck,” he exhales. “You move like you were made for me.”
Your hands drift a little higher, thumb resting the hollow of his throat with your hands wrapping and squeezing just enough to make his eyes roll back in his skull.
“Holy—Holy shit. Tight… Tighter,” he moans as you ride him, your hips finding a deeper rhythm, and his eyes fluttering open just enough to find yours, fighting to stay open like he doesn’t want to miss a second of it.
“Rafe, I—” You start but he can already feel the way your body squeezes around him and your thighs tremble, grabbing for you, switching positions before sinking into you again.
Your fingers twist into the sheets as he grips you by your hips, drilling into you again and again until your back arches, and your pussy gushes, cumming around his while he does everything he can do to keep his pace, but it feels too fucking good.
Your body softens slightly as his dick throbs inside you, filling the condom with his head thrown back and his muscles cut tight to keep himself as deep as he can go.
“Holy shit,” he says softly, a quiet kind of disbelief in his voice breaking with pleasure. “You got no idea how—” His words drift away as he draws in a deep, needed breath, blowing it out with a satisfied smile. “You got no idea how long I wanted that.”
“Yeah?” You giggle, feeling your entire body warm when he looks at you like he means every word—like he’d say more if he could get it out.
He leans down and presses a slow kiss to your mouth, tender and deep as his rough thumb traces your cheek. “How was that?” He asks, quiet now, a smile pulling against your lips.
“Amazing.” Your voice is small but honest when your lips brush against his. “I’ve never cum like that before.”
He pulls away just enough to make sure he heard what he thought he heard, exhaling a short, breathy laugh and drops his head to your neck.
“Baby,” he murmurs. “Why the fuck would you tell me that?” His head turns, lips finding your neck, pressing his mouth to your skin as your fingers drift into his hair. “It’s gonna kill me not to bring that shit up.”
“Don’t.”
He groans again, pained and dramatic as ever. “How the fuck am I supposed to keep that to myself?”
“Please tell me you didn’t actually plan to bring that up.”
“I mean…” He mumbles, already picturing it. You pull him out of the fantasy, tugging playfully at his hair. “Please tell me you faked it with him.”
You hesitate for half a second before glancing away, lips twitching. “Rafe, c’mon,” you sigh, unable to answer—too bitter to lie.
“You’re shittin’ me?”
He pulls back to look at you and your features sharpen, threatening him with a look. “That stays between us.”
“Us?” He asks as he closes the space between your lips, kissing you softly.
“Us,” you whisper. “I’m not rushing into anything, Rafe.”
“Nah. No,” he breathes into your kiss as it gets a little deeper, his hand coming up to cradle your head. “I’m not—I mean… I wouldn’t want to pressure you into being mine or anything—”
“You’re so convincing,” you giggle against his lips and he sighs. “Haven’t even taken me on our date yet—”
“Shit’s planned though. Tomorrow. Tomorrow night, you and me?”
“I swore off frat guys though,” you mumble.
“Mmm,” he hums. “How’s that workin’ out for you, sweetheart?”
“Fuck you,” you giggle, smacking him playfully before he squeezes you tight.
“Fuck me, huh?” He teases, the warmth of his words ghosting against your jaw. “At least let me pull out first, yeah?”
“You’re so annoying,” you laugh.
“Yeah?” He grins. “You told me to come over… good luck getting rid of me now.”
“I did,” you whisper. “But, yeah… tomorrow.”
The corner of his lips curl into a smile as he hears exactly what he wanted to hear. “You won’t regret it. I promise.”
Everything in the room starts to settle, the party at the frat house next door still raging, the steady bass of the music thumping. But, Rafe’s still here, he hasn’t left, completely content with you in his arms.
He pulls out slowly, stepping out of the room, coming back in with a warm, wet towel and no plans to leave, and you can’t help but smile. He looks down at you, waiting for an invitation to step back in, breathing out a sigh of relief when you draw back the covers.
The towel moves between your legs, running up the inside of your thighs. His lips twitch at the corner again, like it’s killing him not to say everything he’s ever wanted to say to you.
“Rafe?” You giggle under your breath, watching a rosy blush bloom on his cheeks.
“Yeah, pretty,” he mumbles under his breath.
“Just say it,” you sigh.
“I, uh—I probably shouldn’t walk out there right now.”
You roll your eyes and snort out a laugh, snuggling into your bed a little more as he lays his head down on the pillow next to you, his big hand resting on your thigh. “Why not?”
“Well,” he says, like he is thinking it through moving a little closer, “JJ’s out there somewhere, isn’t he?”
Your eyebrow arches as another laugh bubbles past your lips, Rafe no stranger to a fight or two, or five. “Rafe—“
“Guy sounded pretty pissed.”
“Thought you didn’t give a shit,” you remind him.
He looks back at you, eyes warm and amused before his big arm tightens around you just a little, drawing you closer against his chest.
“But staying,” he adds quietly, his mouth brushing your forehead, “seems like the safer option.”
“Mhmm,” you murmur.
“Don’t make me leave,” he pleads softly, joking but not entirely. His finger draws under your chin, tilting your lips toward his, waiting for an answer he can feel before it even leaves your lips.
World Count: 2427
Warnings: Use of Alcohol
Summary: While Y/N acts bored and "bratty" at an elite industry party, Harry is completely mesmerized, choosing to cater to her whims rather than his professional obligations.
A/N: Hello, my loves! Soooo, this is officially my first One Shot. I’m actually a little nervous because I really hope you guys enjoy the dynamic between Harry and Y/N as much as I do! 🥹 I’ve been obsessed with this "bratty Y/N vs. totally whipped Harry" trope for a while now.
I’m definitely going to follow your advice, so please leave your comments! I have so many ideas swirling in my head and I can’t wait to keep sharing them with you. Enjoy! 💖🥂✨
The party was a suffocating display of industry ego, held in a glass-walled suite overlooking the glittering, rain-slicked sprawl of Manhattan. Harry was anchored to a long mahogany table near the center of the room, surrounded by his inner circle. Mitch, Jeff, and a few producers were deep in "shop talk," debating the merits of vintage synths and stadium setlists. Harry looked every bit the icon—his sheer black blouse open, his rings catching the light as he gestured—but his focus was fractured.
His eyes kept drifting, instinctively searching for a single point of light in the crowded room.
Across the space, Y/N was stranded in a sea of "WAGs" who took themselves far too seriously. Harry watched her from the corner of his eye while pretending to listen to a story about a tour in Rio, but he wasn't fooled by her silence. He noticed the exact moment her patience snapped; it wasn't a sudden outburst, but a slow, calculated descent into her "bratty" persona.
She drained her fourth glass of champagne with a practiced, impatient tilt of her head, her bright red candy lips leaving a defiant mark on the crystal. She wasn't even pretending to listen to the woman next to her anymore; instead, she began meticulously inspecting her nails as if they were the most fascinating thing in the building. Her silhouette radiated a boredom so profound it felt like a physical weight, pressing against the room’s artificial glamour.
Harry leaned back, a ghost of a smirk playing on his lips. He knew that look. He knew that every time she checked her phone with a theatrical sigh, or shifted her weight with a sharp click of her heels, she was talking to him. It was a silent, magnetic pull—a string of demands vibrating through the air: I’m done. Get me out of here. Pay attention to me.
"H, man, focus," Mitch said, rapping his knuckles on the table to snap Harry out of his trance.
"I'm listening," Harry lied, catching a glimpse of his girl out of the corner of his eye as she reached for a glass of wine this time.
"Yeah, and I was born yesterday. What’s up with you, man? You’re totally distracted."
Harry didn't answer, so Mitch followed Harry’s gaze just in time to see Y/N finishing off her glass of wine in two large gulps.
"So, that’s the reason," Mitch whispered, suddenly understanding everything. He knew she had an instant, magnetic pull on Harry that was impossible to break.
Both men watched as Y/N stood up abruptly, walking away from the group without so much as a glance at the manager’s wife. He watched her head straight for the bar.
"Look at her. She didn't even say excuse me," Mitch snorted. "She’s acting out because she knows you’re the only one who can’t look away."
Harry didn't answer. He just watched her reach the bar, his heart doing that familiar, erratic skip. The bartender, sensing her aura of redirected energy, quickly handed her a shot of tequila along with salt and a wedge of lime. She poured the clear liquid back with a defiance that was purely for Harry's benefit, throwing it back before locking her angel eyes onto his for a split second across the crowded room—a flare gun fired directly at his chest.
"She’s had a lot to drink," Harry murmured, his voice laced with a mixture of concern and a dark, helpless admiration.
"She has you by the throat, man," Jeff added, leaning back with a chuckle. "Totally whipped. Most guys would be embarrassed that their girl is being a brat in front of the label heads, but you're sitting there like she’s performing a private show just for you. You're obsessed."
Harry didn't argue. He didn't defend himself. He simply shrugged his shoulders, a slow, lazy gesture of total surrender. He was indeed deeply in love with her, and he knew her far too well. He knew exactly what she was doing. The tequila shot wasn't about the alcohol; it was her declaration of war on the party, and he was her only ally.
"Excuse me, lads," Harry said, setting his drink down with finality. "I think my presence is required elsewhere."
He walked straight toward the bar, weaving through the elite crowd and ignoring the hands that tried to stop him for a quick word. He reached her just as she was setting the lime wedge down on a small plate, her movements sharp and deliberate.
"You're a nightmare," Harry whispered into her ear, leaning his weight against the bar and shielding her from the rest of the room.
Y/N didn't look surprised; she didn't even flinch. She just turned to meet his gaze, her eyes glassy and flickering with a sudden, sharp spark of life. "Maybe," she said, a small, triumphant smirk playing on her lips, "but I'm your favorite nightmare."
Harry couldn't help it; he smiled back, the tension in his chest finally snapping. His hand found her hip, pulling her flush against him until she was tucked securely under his arm. "Yes, baby doll, yes, you are."
She leaned into him, her bravado softening just enough for him to hear her real thoughts. "That's how I like it," she murmured.
"Instead of making such a scene, you could have just walked up and told me you were bored and wanted to leave," Harry teased. He knew she wouldn't do it that way; she could be bratty, but she always wanted him to be the one to come find her.
"The thing is, I'm beyond bored. If I stay here one more minute, Harry, I’m going to start telling these people exactly what I think of their 'creative visions'. I'm starving, and this place only has tiny things on crackers." She gripped the fabric of his blazer, her voice dropping to a needy whisper. "I want burgers and fries. And a soda. And I want to get out of these shoes."
Harry chuckled, his thumb tracing the curve of her waist. "Burgers and soda. Done. What else, baby?"
She looked up at him, her thoughts already jumping to the next craving, fueled by the tequila and the boredom. "And I want that pink dress we saw on 5th Avenue. The one you said was 'too much' for a Tuesday."
Harry didn't even hesitate. He tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, completely lost in her orbit. "I'll have it sent to the hotel by breakfast, angel. It'll be the perfect thing to wear while you recover from this 'tragic' evening."
She made a small, muffled noise of pure happiness against his chest, and Harry realized then that the alcohol was truly starting to settle in. But just as he started to lead her toward the door, a hand landed on his shoulder.
It was Rob, the head of the label—the kind of man who didn't like being ignored.
"Harry, leaving so soon? We were just about to discuss the Canada dates with the sponsors," Rob said, his eyes flicking to Y/N with a look of thinly veiled annoyance.
Harry felt Y/N stiffen beside him. The "brat" was back in an instant. She didn't hide behind Harry; instead, she stepped slightly in front of him.
"The sponsors will still be rich tomorrow, Rob," she said, her voice dripping with a sweet, dangerous boredom. She reached out and, with an agonizingly slow movement, plucked a piece of lint off the man’s expensive lapel. "But Harry is tired, and I am hungry. And frankly, this room has run out of interesting things to say."
The silence that followed was deafening. Mitch and Jeff watched from the table, eyes wide, waiting for Harry to apologize for her. But Harry didn't. He just looked at Rob, then back at her, and a small, private smile tugged at his lips. He loved this. He loved that she didn't care about the power dynamics or the millions of dollars at stake.
"She's right," Harry said, his voice firm, leaving no room for argument. "We’re done for the night. I'll call you Monday, Rob."
He didn't wait for a response. He slid his hand down to the small of her back, guiding her toward the elevators. As they walked away, Y/N leaned into him, her head hitting his shoulder.
"That was kind of mean, right?" she whispered, though she didn't sound sorry at all.
"It kinda was," Harry countered, kissing the top of her head as the elevator doors slid shut, finally cutting off the noise of the party. "Now, let's find you those burgers before you decide to fire my manager too."
She laughed, a bright, genuine sound that only he ever got to hear, and Harry knew then that he would choose her over a thousand Canada dates.
As they navigated the exit, Harry kept a firm, protective hand on her waist, guiding her through the maze of people. He could see the paparazzi flashes through the glass doors, the blue and white lights indicating that their departure would be the headline on every tabloid tomorrow. But as he felt her lean her weight into him, safe and finally satisfied, he realized he didn't care about the headlines at all.
The cool night air hit them as they stepped into the waiting car, the city noise muffled as the heavy door clicked shut. The transition to the quiet luxury of the black SUV was instant. As the city lights began to streak past the tinted windows, the sheer amount of alcohol she’d consumed to survive the boredom finally caught up with her. She immediately found her way to his lap, and he welcomed her gladly—when she drank, she always became a little clingy.
Harry was leaning back against the leather seat, and Y/N was draped across his lap, her head buried in his neck. The SUV slowed down as they reached a 24-hour drive-thru, the neon lights of the menu board reflecting off the rain on the window.
"What do you want, pretty girl?" Harry whispered, his hand mindlessly stroking her hair, the gold of his rings contrasting with the dark strands.
Y/N shifted, looking up at him with unusually honest, glassy eyes. She looked a bit dizzy, the world spinning slightly for her. Instead of answering about the food, she let out a shaky, jagged breath.
"What happened, baby?"
"It just..." she mumbled, her voice thick and slurred. "I'm... I'm really hard on you, aren't I?" She looked up at him, a small tear threatening to smudge her liner. "I make you leave your friends. I make you buy me things just because I’m bored. I’m such a brat to you."
She hid her face in his chest, her shoulders shaking slightly. "I love you so much it makes me mean. I'm sorry I'm so difficult to love."
Harry went still, his heart thumping against his ribs as the driver waited for their order. He wrapped both arms around her, pulling her so close there was no air between them, shielding her from the cold world outside the glass.
"Hey," he whispered, tipping her chin up so she had to face him. "Look at me, baby."
She looked up, her lower lip trembling.
"Don't you ever apologize for that," Harry said, his voice intense and gravelly. He was firm, wanting to make it crystal clear exactly how he felt. "Everyone else in my life says 'yes' to me. They treat me like I'm made of glass. But you? You keep me on my toes. You’re the only person who treats me like a man instead of a monument."
"That’s exactly what I love about you, baby. I love that you’re difficult. I love that I have to earn your smile every single day. If you were 'easy,' you wouldn't be you. And I don't want anyone else."
Y/N let out a shaky breath, clutching his shirt as the driver finally pulled up to the window to collect their burgers and soda. "You're sure? Even when I wanted that stupid pillow from the other day?"
Harry let out a soft, beautiful laugh, kissing her with a tenderness that made the rest of the world disappear. "Especially then, baby. Especially then. Now, what do you want?"
Without detaching herself from his neck, she peered at the menu and mumbled her order. Harry gave the driver a nod. "Okay, that'll be the combo. Now, do you want to eat here in the car, or wait until the hotel?"
"Wherever you want to," she murmured.
"No, baby, I'm asking you. Where do you want to?"
"It’s okay here."
She reached out, her fingers catching his hand and holding on tight, her thumb grazing his rings. He looked at her—the girl who drove him mad, who demanded the world, and who loved him with a ferocity that matched his own.
summary — Drew just wanted coffee—something normal between long days of filming. Instead, he finds himself completely thrown off by a girl who doesn’t treat him like anything special at all.
tags — drew starkey x reader | celebrity x normal girl | coffee shop meet cute | soft fic | fluff | strangers to ??? | she doesn’t know who he is |or maybe she does 👀 | outer banks filming era | rafe cameron mention | barista shenanigans | new zealand reader | accents do things | quiet yearning | he fell first | polite girls supremacy | “no rush” energy |
authors note — stay tuned as this will be a series. fun fact i am @anawritez-posts made this blog sooo i can seperate my rafe and tom fics thank uuu.
Drew had been in that coffee shop more times than he could count.
Same corner table. Same order. Same baristas who’d long since stopped pretending they didn’t recognise him. It was part of the routine now filming, long hours, slipping into character, and then escaping here for ten minutes of something normal.
Or as normal as it could get.
The bell above the door chimed.
He didn’t look up at first. He rarely did anymore attention came with the job, and sometimes it was easier to just… not engage.
But then he heard her.
“Hi! How are you today?”
It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t dramatic. Just… warm. Soft, lilting. Different.
Drew glanced up before he could stop himself.
She stood at the counter, hands tucked into the sleeves of an oversized sweater, smiling at the barista like she genuinely cared about the answer. Not rushed. Not distracted. Present.
Her accent caught him first.
Australian?, if he had to guess. Light, but unmistakable. Every word sounded… brighter somehow.
“I’m good, thanks! What can I get started for you?” the barista replied, already smiling wider than usual.
She nodded thoughtfully, like ordering coffee required actual consideration.
“Could I please get a large flat white with Oat milk to take away, please, if that’s alright. And—oh—no rush at all.”
Drew blinked.
No rush?
Who says that?
She stepped aside after ordering, offering a small smile to the next person in line—him. Just a polite, passing smile. The kind you give a stranger in a hallway.
Like he was no one.
Like he was everyone.
And for some reason, that hit harder than being recognized ever did.
He watched her while pretending not to.
She didn’t check her phone. Didn’t seem impatient. When the barista called her name, she walked up with the same soft smile.
“Oh, we made this one a bit special for you,” the barista said, sliding the cup across.
Her face lit up—genuinely lit up.
“Did you? Thank you so much, that’s so kind.”
She meant it. Drew could tell. There was no performance in it.
And then—she tipped.
Not just the casual spare change kind. Enough that the barista actually blinked in surprise.
“Have a lovely day,” she added, like she was giving them something instead of the other way around.
Drew forgot where he was.
“Rafe.”
He didn’t move.
“Rafe.”
A little louder this time.
Drew snapped back, turning toward the counter where the other barista stood, eyebrow raised.
“That’s not my—” he started, then stopped himself, exhaling.
“Right. Sorry. Yeah.”
They smirked. They always did this—calling him by his character’s name just to get a reaction.
“Long day?” the barista teased, already making his usual.
Drew hesitated, then glanced toward the door.
She was still there, just pushing it open, the bell chiming again as sunlight caught her for a second—
—and then she was gone.
“…She’s been here about a week,” the barista said casually.
Drew looked back. “Who?”
The barista didn’t answer. Just tilted their head toward the door and gave a knowing little wink.
Drew huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head—but his eyes drifted back to where she’d been standing.
A week.
And somehow, he’d never noticed her before.
That didn’t sit right.
He picked up his coffee, barely registering the heat of it in his hands.
For the first time since filming started, he found himself thinking about something other than the next scene.
Or Rafe.
Or the cameras waiting down the road.
Instead, all he could think about was a girl with a soft accent, an easy smile, and the strange ability to make him feel invisible—
