Mira

|21| love fictional men, not real ones

[kkunai]

KISS IT BETTER ˓˓ JJK MEN

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. you try out the recent tiktok trend with your boyfriend: tricking him into holding his arms up for a so-called challenge, then surprising him with a kiss to see if he melts into it.

tags. gojo satoru, geto suguru, nanami kento, fushiguro toji, sukuna ryomen, kamo choso x reader (separate). fluff, suggestive themes. implied size difference. reader is called ‘baby, angel, sweetheart, brat, doll’ :: wc: 2.6k :: an: didn’t know if it started out as a challenge on tt but lets pretend it did

𝜗𝒞 GOJO SATORU

you’ve seen the trend blowing up on tiktok—girlfriends tricking their boyfriends into holding their arms up for some fake “challenge,” only to surprise them with a kiss and see if they’d melt into it.

with satoru, you figured it would be the perfect way to catch him off guard. he’s always the one teasing you, always so sure of himself, but you also know he’s a sucker for your affection. especially when you show it unexpectedly.

you set up your phone discreetly on the kitchen counter, propping it against a mug to capture the angle.

“okay, ‘toru,” you say casually and try to keep a straight face, “stand right here with your arms up like this—it’s for a challenge. don’t move, no matter what.”

satoru raises an eyebrow as that signature smirk of his tugs at his glossy lips. he complies easily and lifts his arms above his head in a dramatic way. his shirt rides up, revealing that sexy happy trail disappearing beneath the waistband of his sweatpants.

“a challenge, huh? y’know i never lose those,” satoru brags, a flash of excitement and amusement flashing in his bright blue eyes before they narrow playfully.

he can’t help but ramble on confidently as if he’s got it all figured out, “what’s the catch? are ya suddenly gonna tickle me or—”

before he can finish, you step forward. you cup his face and pull him down into a surprisingly gentle kiss. your plump lips press against his softly at first, as if testing the waters.

for a split second, you feel him freeze. a sign that his brain is probably trying to process the surprise. his cheeks flush a faint shade of pink as he gets a bit flustered by the gesture—a rare sight and one you cherish.

then, just like that, he . . . melts.

satoru’s arms drop instantly. one hand slides to the back of your head to hold onto your hair, keeping you close as he deepens the kiss. the other hand sneaks around your waist before playfully squeezing your ass. the touch pulls a gasp from you that he swallows with a low chuckle.

“mmh, sneaky little minx,” the white-haired man murmurs against your lips, his voice sultry and teasing. he fondles your curves shamelessly in the meantime. like he can’t get enough of you.

you pull back just enough to breathe, but he doesn’t let you go far. he nips at your bottom lip;

“oh? y’ think you can pull that on me and get away with it so easily?” satoru’s blue eyes sparkle with mischief, the flush fading but that cocky grin widening, “aht-aht, it’s my turn.”

your boyfriend spins you around to press your lower back against the counter as he kisses you again, slower this time, savoring it. his hand stays firm on your head and tilts you just right. the other explores and slides up your side before brushing against the undersides of your breasts.

the phone’s still recording, but you forget about it entirely. even more so when satoru pulls back just enough to whisper right against your parted mouth.

“i think we should keep this in the vid—let ‘em all see what my girl does to me.”

not giving you a chance to retort, he captures your lips in another kiss. this time it’s deeper and more intimate. a promise of more to come.

𝜗𝒞 GETO SUGURU

you position your phone on the living room shelf, hidden behind a plant for the perfect shot for this ‘challenge’ you want to do with your dear boyfriend.

“hey, sugu!” you call out innocently before waving him over, “come here for a sec. i need you to stand with your arms up like this—it’s a dumb challenge thing. just hold them up, okay?”

suguru, who’s been reading a book on the couch, curiously raises a brow. he puts a bookmark between the pages before standing up the second you call out for him. he walks over with a hand in his pocket.

your lover tilts his head at your beaming smile, dark strands of hair falling over his shoulder as he smirks ever so faintly. he knows you’re probably up to no good, but he indulges you without hesitation.

“alright. if you say so, angel,” suguru hums. he lifts his arms gracefully, muscles flexing under his loose shirt, “what’s the goal here? an endurance test?”

you don’t answer with words. instead, you close the distance between you by rising on your toes to capture his lips in an unexpected yet sweet kiss.

suguru pauses for a heartbeat. and then you feel it—the curve of his smile against your mouth. he doesn’t resist at all. he returns the kiss gently, his lips moving with yours in that warm and unhurried way that always makes your heart flutter.

his arms drop down slowly to wrap around your waist, palms resting against the small of your back. he pulls you closer and squeezes you to his chest in a tender embrace. it’s not forceful, just secure, like he’s enveloping you in his world.

“ah, you got me,” suguru murmurs into the kiss with an indulgent chuckle, voice laced with affection and amusement.

you deepen the kisses a little and he immediately matches your rhythm. one hand slides up your back to hold you steady while the other stays at your waist, his thumb tracing lazy circles along your shirt.

when you finally break apart, his eyes are soft and that small smile still lingers on his lips. “that was clever. didn’t see it coming at all,” suguru chuckles and squeezes your waist.

you laugh and rest your forehead against his, “hehe, the trend’s all over tiktok. it’s kinda like a ‘see if your boyfriend melts into the kiss’ thing,”

suguru chuckles before pulling you even tighter to his chest. “oh—well, how could i not?” he leans in for another quick peck, “you’re too irresistible for any challenge to hold up.”

the phone is forgotten in the background as he sways with you slightly, like a slow dance.

“next time, warn me,” suguru teases as he lightly flicks your forehead, but his tone is fond, “or don’t actually—i like the surprise.”

𝜗𝒞 NANAMI KENTO

you prop your phone on the desk in your boyfriend’s study, angling it just right. kento watches you from the corner of his eye while he checks a few documents.

“kennn,” you say after a couple seconds pass, “indulge me for a moment? stand here and hold your arms up like this—it’s for a challenge. don’t lower them until i say, ‘kay?”

kento adjusts his glasses and leans back in his chair. a small frown of curiosity creases his brow, but he complies without protest. he stands up and comes to a stop in front of you.

he raises his arms steadily. his eyes soften as he looks down at you, “a challenge, hm? sure.”

smiling inwardly, you step closer and loop your arms around his neck before you connect your lips in a kiss. it’s soft at first, your lips moving against his simultaneously. you feel him tense slightly in surprise—his eyes widening a fraction.

then they close and kento leans into it. the kiss turns gentle, loving and slow. like he’s savoring a fine wine.

the blonde’s arms lower gracefully with both hands coming up to cup your face. the pads of his thumbs strok your cheeks with tender care as his tongue swipes over your bottom lip, coaxing a satisfied sigh out of you.

kento holds you like you’re precious, deepening the kiss without rush and pouring quiet passion into every move of his mouth against yours.

when you pull back slightly, his eyes open with a warm and affectionate light glinting in them.

“that was quite sneaky,” he chuckles softly, a hint of feigned reproach in his voice, but it’s undercut by the way his thumbs that keep lovingly caressing your cheekbones.

“you could have just asked for a kiss, sweetheart,” kento teases with a hint of a grin.

you giggle before leaning into his touch, “but where’s the fun in that? it’s a trend—to see if you’d melt into the kiss.”

kento sighs fondly and places a quick peck to your forehead, “i see. well, consider me defeated.”

your boyfriend pulls you back in to kiss you again, this time with a bit more intensity. like he can’t wait to turn the initial ‘tiktok trend’ into something more.

the world fades—the pile of work on his desk, the muffled chatter outside your home—until it’s just the two of you.

𝜗𝒞 FUSHIGURO TOJI

you hide your phone on the nightstand in your shared bedroom with the camera aimed at the bed’s edge.

“hey, babe,” you motion for toji to come over to you, batting your lashes so he’d comply, “stand here with your arms up for a second. it’s like a challenge. don't drop ‘em, or you lose.”

toji, who was lazying around on the bed, drops his phone to the side after a second. he stands up with a grunt and grumbles something under his breath before standing in front of you.

the dark-haired man towers over your smaller frame. he looks at you and them at the phone before smirking, scarred lip curling up. he raises his arms and the muscles bulge slightly.

“a challenge? doll, y’know damn well i don't play games i can't win,” toji boasts and flexes his arms a bit as if expecting something physical, “what’s the prize? better be y’r pu—”

with not another word, you lunge forward and crash your lips against his.

toji grunts in surprise, but it lasts a nanosecond before he goes all in. he bites down on your bottom lip with just enough pressure to make you whimper. his raised arms drop like dead weight within a split second, veiny hands grabbing your ass and lifting you up effortlessly.

you wrap your legs around his waist on instinct. your boyfriend deepens the kiss, rough and passionate, his tongue invading your mouth like he owns it. he backs you up against the wall next to the bed and pins you there with his body. one hand squeezes your thigh while the other grips your hip hard enough to bruise. in the best way.

“fuck the challenge,” toji growls against your mouth, his voice gruff. it’s like that simple kiss has unlocked his pent-up desire for you. he grinds his hips up against yours before moving on to nip at your neck, “y’ think you can tease me like that and not pay up?”

you laugh breathlessly, but it’s abruptly cut off as he kisses you hard again, his hands squeezing the plump flesh of your ass.

you realise the phone’s still rolling and capturing every heated moment. perhaps it’d be smart to stop it before things turn. . . real explicit.

“wait—camera’s on,” you manage between gasps.

toji breaks the kiss before glancing at it with a wicked smirk. he turns back to you and angles your bodies just right so your phone gets everything on screen;

“good. keep it on—show ‘em how i really handle you.”

he carries you to the bed and tosses you down before blanketing your body with his larger one, the kisses turning almost feral in the meantime. clothes start coming off and moans fill the air.

and the video? it might just capture more than a trend.

𝜗𝒞 SUKUNA RYOMEN

trying the tiktok trend on sukuna felt risky—faking a ‘challenge’ only to kiss him and test if he’d melt into it. you don’t think the king of curses would exactly ‘melt’ into it. you set it up anyway, curious and determined about cracking that facade. even if it’s just a tiny bit.

your phone leans against a book on the table to record everything subtly.

“ryo,” you call out, your voice steady despite your nerves, “can you please come and stand here with your arms raised? it’s a challenge.”

sukuna scoffs from his place on the couch, red eyes narrowing at you. though he decides to humor you so you won’t whine in his hear.

he stands up and looms over you, raising his beefy arms up, but not without complaining gruffly, “tch. be quick about it, brat. got stuff to do.”

you roll your eyes, not bothering to reply verbally. you step closer, wrap your arms around his neck and tilt his face down to kiss him, lips smushed firm against his.

sukuna stays still for a moment, unyieldingly so, then lets out a gruff scoff into your mouth. he then kisses back with pure dominance. hard and unforgiving, but not entirely brutal. it’s like he’s aiming to reclaim the upper hand in this situation.

his arms drop instantly and wrap around your smaller form, squeezing you tight to his chest as he lifts you effortlessly. your feet dangle off the ground and your nails dig into the skin of his shoulders for stability.

“hah, knew you’d pull some shit like this,” sukuna mutters while biting down on your bottom lip. he relishes the yelp you let out before the kiss intensifies.

his grip turns almost bruising but thrilling, holding you like you’re prey. with a casual flick of his fingers, sukuna sends your phone skittering across the table to make space.

he then lays you down on the same surface and hovers over you, blocking out any light. his crimson eyes gleam with smug satisfaction.

“challenge over, woman,” sukuna growls while his lips move against yours, controlling the rhythm. one hand pins you by the shoulder, another grabbing your jaw. it’s intense and overwhelming, but you melt under it.

he nibbles on your bottom lip with his fangs, almost hard enough to draw blood, “next time, just beg if ya want my attention that fuckin’ badly.”

𝜗𝒞 CHOSO KAMO

you set your phone on the coffee table, hidden by a vase. “cho, c’mere,” you say lightly, “i need you to stand with your arms up for this challenge. don’t drop them, okay? it’s important.”

choso walks into the living room, hair still a bit wet as he had just finished showering. he blinks, a tad confused but trusting. he raises his arms obediently

“like this? what’s it for? some kinda training?” choso asks curiously.

smiling, you approach and lean in to kiss him without warning. your lips are gentle against his, a soft caress that has him short-circuiting. he keeps his arms up, almost frozen and only blinks a few times as realization dawns. his cheeks tint pink and his eyes widening before they soften.

choso slowly kisses back and his arms stay up for a few more seconds before finally dropping just to pull you close. his fingers hold you by the back of your head, keeping you pressed up against him while he goes all putty in your embrace.

a soft smile breaks between kisses as he murmurs, “that was sly of you,” choso’s voice is quiet and affectionate, his tongue brushing yours once you part your lips, “real sly, pulling that on me.”

you gently laugh into the kiss and he deepens it gently, hands tentative at first though slowly growing bolder. one cups your cheek, the other still holding you by your nape.

“didn't expect that,” he whispers and smiles wider, “but i like it. a whole lot.”

the phone captures it all: the initial obliviousness, the surprise and the eventual kissing. but choso’s focus is only on you now, kisses interspersed with soft words.

“you’re full of surprises, baby,” he says and nuzzles your nose, “do stuff like this more often, yeah?”

KKUNAI 2025.

[whydoineedastupiduser]

true form sukuna would eat up this challenge with his 4 arms bro

[indiewritesxoxo]

he's (not) my man

who woulda thought you'd end up sharing a last name with Ryomen Sukuna? not you!

synopsis: in a last ditch effort to save your family's failing ranch, your father arranges your marriage to a man you've never met. now you've got an even bigger problem - a six foot something one who clearly can't stand you either. looks like navigating newlywed life is going to be a little tough when he's already talking about divorce!

pairing: cowboy!Sukuna x rancher's daughter!Reader

content: mdni, fluff and smut and angst, marriage, financial trouble, drinking, complicated relationships, enemies-to-lovers, arranged relationships, talks of divorce, teasing and tension, hate fucking, unprotected piv sex, creampie, brat taming but they're both brats, more tags to be added

chapter index

one two three four

five six seven eight

nine ten

divider by @bronzewasp gorgeous Sukuna art by @winterrbluess !!

[whydoineedastupiduser]

always gotta love that arranged marriage/marriage of convenience trope. love jealous sukuna in every universe

[reignpage]

What Am I Now?

Synopsis: in which everything falls apart in one night because of a bad argument between you and Toji Warnings: angst, major character death, hurt/no comfort, f!reader, lots of swearing, grief, some description of bodily injury but nothing graphic, there's no light in this tunnel like fr, not proofread Word Count: 5.2k Losing Dogs - loose sequel

“I just don’t understand why you’d rather go to the bar than sit here with me?”

Toji scoffs. “All we fucking do is sit here. What’s so bad about me taking a break and getting some air?”

“A break?” Your hands are flying, waving about as if they could get it through his head how ridiculous he sounds. “You want a break from me? So, what, I’m this horrible monster you just can’t wait to get away from?”

This argument has been going on for hours at this point, with neither of you willing to cave. It started with you, in comfy pyjamas and face mask, preparing dinner and super excited to watch a new movie on Netflix with your boyfriend, but when he came out of the shower, he was in jeans and a shirt without stains. You both looked just as incredulous as each other. He said he was going out. That he had told you. And you were sure he hadn’t because if he had, then you wouldn’t have gone through the trouble of making a hearty meal, laying out the snacks and his very own matching pjyamas. 

Slowly, like he thinks you can’t understand anything when it’s said at a normal pace, he answers, “I didn’t say that. You’re acting fucking crazy, woman. Look, I’m going out to the bar, with my friends, and that’s that. You can do all the shit you wanted to do on your own.”

He’s walking to the door now, grabbing a jacket on the way. Stomping over to him, you get in the way, blocking his exit with a furious glare. There’s no way this conversation’s ending like this, with him deciding it’s the end, with him getting what he wants and your feelings being trampled all over because he’d rather drink himself to death than cuddle on the sofa with you.

“No.”

“No?”

“Yeah, I said, ‘no.’ You’re not going. We have to talk about this.” Toji opens his mouth, disbelieving and growing more irritated with every syllable you utter, and you know he’s going to ask what the fuck you mean about ‘this,’ so you get the words out before he does, “This. Us. Our night. Our home. Why don’t you want to be with me?”

Rolling his eyes, he bulldozes past you, pushing you to the side. You don’t let him. You’re tugging on his jacket, nails digging into the thick material. He can’t go. What if he never comes back?

The words that have been thrown around tonight are sharp edged swords, though they don’t dig deep, they weave several shallow cuts that sting. No ambulance to rush you away, no hospital to take you, no surgeon to sew you back up. You just bleed out, alive and wobbling away. 

Clearly beyond done, Toji grunts, easily shrugging off your pathetic attempts to hold him back. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about and I don’t want to hear it right now. Just get out of the way.”

“No, answer me.”

Pitiful fists smack into his chest in a flurry. He doesn’t budge, doesn’t even flinch. You want to make him hurt. That ache inside your chest, the one that’s holding onto the tears that threaten to stream down your face, that’s driving you insane – you want him to feel it. You want him to care.

Toji doesn’t relent. Instead, he stands there, an immovable statue sculpted by someone else, and pinches his nose. “Just stop.”

“No. Why are you always leaving? Huh? Why can’t you just stay? What’s so fucking wrong with me that you don’t want to have dinner and watch a movie with your girlfriend?”

“Because you’re suffocating me!” He bellows. 

You stumble back.

“I can’t fucking breathe. God, I can’t even think without you nagging me. ‘Let’s get dinner,’ ‘let’s go to a museum,’ ‘let’s wear matching shirts.’ It’s never enough for you. For fuck’s sakes, I just want to be able to put my feet up, drink beer and not have to cater to every fucking whim of yours like I’m some goddamn dog.” Combing a hand through his hair, he breathes through his nose. He’s losing steam – you can see it in the way his shoulders fall and he shakes his head, slowly, weary and fatigued. Then, with a quieter, gentler, more desperate tone, he asks, “I see you everyday and you still want more? You ain’t tired of this shit? Of all the fake coupley shit that you think we have to do otherwise we’re frauds? You haven’t had enough? ‘Cause I’m growing pretty fucking sick of all the bullshit.”

Speechless, you just keep as still as you can, feeling mighty small under the weight of his words. You’ve never seen Toji like this. Usually he’s passive, allowing you to ramble on and on about whatever’s filling your mind, even when you’re mad at him, when he’s heard your story a million times before, and even in your worst moment when you bait him into chasing after you. Through it all, your boyfriend took your insecurities and flaws like a champ. 

Now he’s done. Now he’s been backed into a corner and there’s nowhere else for him to go except past you. 

It’s unclear to you what expression you wear on your face; you can really only focus on that hollow sinkhole widening in your heart. Something about your eyes makes his close tight. Toji breathes once, twice, and says, “We’ll talk later. I’m late.”

And then he leaves. 

His jacket is dangling from your clutches and it’s suddenly so heavy. Tears threaten to fall. You don’t let them, even when your bottom lip wobbles and so does your balance. Heaving, you lean against the wall.

How did it all fall apart so quickly?

The day had started off like normal: sweaty, dirty sex, pillowtalk, late breakfast, lazy lounging around the living room, and catching each other up on what’s happening on your phones. Weekdays are more productive, what with you both having jobs to do, but weekends are yours and his to share. Or at least that’s what you thought. 

An eerie silence falls upon the apartment. It’s unlike the silences you’re used to, like being the last one to leave the house and you’re eating the breakfast Toji made for you, or waiting for him to come back from throwing the bins out, being the first to come home, sitting in bed doing your own thing as you slowly unwind from the day’s toils.

You can’t stand it – the doing nothing – so you shuffle away from the closed door that’s not going to open anytime soon. There’s a lot to tidy anyway: the plates of food untouched, the unfolded blanket you wanted to be cuddled under, face masks and snacks and dips, and the pile of clothes he probably wasn’t going to wear even if you begged. 

Maybe you are too much. 

Maybe what Toji was saying had some merit to it. 

All those outings he would have never done if you hadn’t pleaded with a huge smile and puppy dog eyes were planned by you. The dinners reserved by you, the anniversaries, the dates, all of it. You. It wasn’t as if he didn’t love you. The fact that he did all of it, albeit begrudgingly, was proof of that. His love showed in his gentle touch, his patience, though limited, and in the fact that, through the ups and downs, he still stayed. 

But he won’t forever, not when he feels…suffocated. 

With a sigh, you grab your phone, snatch his jacket and decide you’re not going to let him be out there, cold and angry. 

So you, too, leave.

.

.

.

“Go home, Fushiguro.”

That isn’t what Toji wants to hear from his friend slash handler, Shiu. Truthfully, he wanted to be validated, wanted the man to tell him you were acting crazy, and that he wasn’t wrong for walking out. 

As he stomped into the bustling bar, the suited man took one look at him, shook his head with an exhausted laugh and took a huge gulp of his whiskey, knowing damn well it was going to be a long night. It always is when the scarred man looks ready to kill and for free.

Toji takes a swig of his beer. “You didn’t hear a single shit I said? I said, ‘I'm not in the mood to get into it with her again.’”

“Being a man is about learning to take the beatings life hands you,” Shiu professes mysteriously, tracing the rim of his glass. 

“Fuck off.”

Sitting in the corner of the bar, they’re left alone to wallow in their problems – one man chronically alone and the other about to lose it all. They don’t remember how they found each other or why they stayed as friends when they barely like the other, but they suppose it’s really because through all the faces they’ve met, not many have ever stuck around. But they did. And that has to mean something. 

The bastard is rarely not right and he knows it. He prattles off great advice with a smug face and one has to fight the urge to lay a good one on his nose. No matter how fucked up shit gets, Shiu could always make things so simple, so clear, and straightforward that he’d feel like a dumb sack of shit. 

In fact, that’s pretty damn close to how he feels now. 

Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he admits, “I feel like shit. Like I got hit by a fucking truck. Look at me. I’m sitting here talking about my fucking feelings with your stupid ass. She’s always gotta get into my head about things. Made me a chump. Fucking hate this. Me. I turned into a pussy.”

“I don’t know about you, Fushiguro, but I like the you she created.” 

Toji snorts. “What the fuck does that even mean?”

“You were a massive asshole,” Shiu begins, using a tone that suggests it should be obvious to the man sitting opposite him. “You were angry all the time, moody and brooding for no reason. Hours could pass and you wouldn’t say a single word. Ha, a college kid bumped into you and you knocked his shit before he could even open his mouth to apologise. Made him piss his damn pants. Got everyone scared of your big ass.”

He couldn’t deny that. Their friends, if you could call them that, often joked that he was a monster. And yeah, well, moving place to place, house to house, couch to couch would make a monster out of anyone. Before, these kinda criticisms would have rolled off his back, maybe even brought a smirk to his scarred lips, but something about the person he is now makes that sudden blast from the past bring a grimace to his face.

Shiu chuckles and, with a clink of his glass to Toji’s, says, “Look at you now – you actually shower and smell less like horse shit these days. Sure, you’re still killing for a living but you don’t do that shit with a smile on your face like a psycho now. Hell, you even tip. You used to steal tips, remember? And then just last month, some pimply-faced kid fell onto our table and spilled our drinks and I, honest to God, thought you’d beat him black and blue –instead, what did you do? Huh? Tell me. What did you do?”

“Fuck you.”

“You fucking picked him back up and told him, ‘Get some water in ya, the girl you came with likes you so don’t embarrass yourself.’” He throws his head back and laughs as if he just heard the funniest joke come out of his own mouth. “And don’t try to argue with me. You know she’s cleaned you up, made an honest man out of you, or as honest as a killer-for-hire can be. You smile more, Fushiguro. Fucking cheesing at your damn phone, leaving the bar early, speeding to get the fuck home before she does just so you can do God know’s what – and don’t say, I’d rather not know.”

The changes he talks about, Toji hadn’t noticed. Of course, he knew life had changed for him. A steady, secure home with a woman that sees him and is happy with what fills her vision, a woman who doesn’t mind hearing grunts as replies, who’s patient and kind, that cleans up the blood off his shirts and does it all with a smile. There's stability in his life now. Something that gets him up in the morning other than hunger and a need to piss. A thing to look forward to, a home to come back to. 

"Honestly, I don't know why you'd rather be here with me than her. If I had a woman half as good as her, you'd never see my sorry face. Any more of these nights with you and people will think we're lovers, which is fine by me, just as long as they know I'm on top."

A bead of condensation drips down the neck of his beer bottle. The bar’s too loud, too crowded and it doesn’t smell sweet and floral like home. Everyone’s too drunk to give a shit about what’s happening outside, far too elated with the clumsy grinding and grimy sweating of bodies. Maybe that’s why he likes places like this so much; it’s easy to forget your responsibilities, your past, and all the things that drag you down. 

But that’s not you. You’re not a burden, you’re a part of his present, and the only thing that keeps him going. 

So why didn’t he act like it?

You looked so damn excited to watch that movie with him and he crushed that spark that makes you you under his boot, for what? For booze? For some time alone with an asshole wearing a tailored suit and tie in a dingy bar?

The words he spewed at you come crashing back like a tidal wave of regret and shame. He told you you were suffocating him. He told a bunch of lies, anything to get you off his back, to make his need for alcohol justified. Like. A. Fucking. Pussy. 

Glancing at his phone, he sees missed calls and a voicemail. From you. So does Shiu, who whistles and suggests, “You’re done for, my man.”

“Fuck.” Toji throws his head back. He fucked up. Big time. Running a hand down his face, he says, “I need to go. I need to get home, catch her before she fucking leaves me or some shit. Ah, fuck, fuck, fuck.”

A couple papers get thrown on the table, along with whatever loose change he has in his pockets, and he lunges out of the bar faster than if there was a fire, though not before he sees, in the corner of his eyes, a familiar looking smug tilt of a brow on a suited prick. 

He’s driving home now, fingers thrumming on the wheel, a subconscious desperation to manifest the ability to push the car beyond its limits and get to its destination faster. The useless piece of shit isn’t going fast enough; every second he wastes getting home when he should have been there to begin with is a second closer to him losing everything he never deserved to have in the first place. 

Images of you crying, hugging yourself and waiting by the door, or sleeping, alone, in an empty bed flash in his mind and without realising it, he’s accelerating even more. The roads are empty this time of night and he thanks the universe; the last thing he needs is to be honked at. 

Why couldn’t he just suck it up?

Movie nights are a lot of work – he often has to drive down to the store and get all the snacks your heart desires, squeeze into the cheesy pyjamas you bought him, let you spread some goo on his face, and then sit through some chick flick that he grumbles about at the start but gets really into once ten or twenty minutes has passed. All the dates that required him to get off his ass sent dread settling in his stomach usually turn out more fun than he thought. Because you know him. Because you know his strengths and weaknesses, his sore points and intolerances. And love him because of them. 

Having half a mind to listen to the voicemail you sent, Toji thinks about what he wouldn’t want to hear. What he can’t. The argument was bad, yes, he admits. But it’s not bad enough to quit, to end the beautiful thing you’ve grown, to give up. There’s no life after you, without you. It’s just you. You’re his…everything. And when he gets home, he’ll take you into his arms, apologise for all the shit he said and will say, and watch that movie with you. Hell, he’ll watch it a million times. 

Toji will do anything to make it up to you.

Maybe he should take you to the sea. That’d be a nice break from the chaos of the city. You two can go fishing, take long walks down the beach like women love to do, and do that thing he watched in a movie, where he carries you into the water, laughing and giggling. 

And what about the ring he’s been meaning to buy?

Flashing lights catch his attention. A fuckload of police cars and ambulances off the side of the road. Toji’s brows furrow. “Fuck happened there?”

Palm sweaty, he fishes his phone out. That voicemail he’s been ignoring, pretending it doesn’t exist because if it’s anything other than an ‘I love you, let’s not break up,’ he might just throw his phone out the car. He runs a hand through his hair and presses play, only hesitating twice. A second of static silence reaches his ears before your voice does. 

“Hey, Toji…I, um, don’t know if you want to hear from me right now."

Your voice has the corner of his scarred lip twitching. It's the tender and gentle voice he knows, and not the scratchy half-screams he last heard. The latter never suited you. It's just not who you are and deserve to be.

"But uh…I wanted to say sorry…You’re right, I was a lot today, like usual….And I’m sorry. About the movie that you didn’t want to watch, t-the face masks and the food I didn’t even ask if you wanted to eat. God, I’m so fucking sorry, Toji...I was too much, wasn’t I?”

He shakes his head. There’s a creeping sudden tension rising up his spine and he tightens his hold on the wheel, slowing down for show so the uniformed men don’t give him shit, and as soon as the red and blues of the night disappear from his rearview mirror, he revs up. 

“I think it’s ‘cause there’s so much I want to do with you, y’know? Like, you’ve lived a whole life before me and it’s a little intimidating….You’ve loved before…and it’s beautiful…but you’re my first and I’m not trying to compete with her or anything, I swear! I just want to make our own memories, y’know? I want experiences too. And when you’re quiet, less active, less…present, I guess it triggers something in me: a need to compensate. Maybe one could even say I’m overcompensating and they wouldn’t be wrong, I guess.”

When he pulls up, his feet carry him out and into the building on autopilot, gravel crunching under his shoes and the weight of the world bearing down on his shoulders. There’s no one else around. The lights of every window are off. It’s too quiet. Toji scratches his chest. 

“I don’t know where I’m going with this; you know I ramble when I’m nervous. Maybe I should just go to sleep and wait for you, fight through that feeling I’m getting that says I won’t see you ever again after this. I should sleep everything off…but I couldn’t let our night go like this. You have that mission tomorrow and you’re going to be gone for a couple days so I guess I just wanted to cram some time together…”

The door’s unlocked. He flexes his hand, knuckles turning white with the tight clench of his fist. Somehow, his work schedule had eluded him; it was you who kept up with all that admin shit that Shiu never bothers to remind him about, after all. 

“I should have known it’d be too much. I mean, you’re right that we see each other every day – that was hyperbole, of course...I think anyway...but it’s practically true. We see each other a lot…but I don’t know…I guess I just thought it wasn’t enough.

Your voice grows quiet and he has to lift the speaker of his phone to his ear to hear your next words over the sound of his heart pounding. 

“To me, I could never see too much of you. I always want to see you. To be with you. And…you don’t feel the same…”

Something painful scrunches in his chest, it almost makes him double over. Under his breath, he mutters, “No, baby. I do. Fuck, I do.”

“And that’s okay. I’m realising now that that’s probably healthy. I think I just love you too much. More than you love me – that’s not a complaint at all, I promise. It’s not a reflection of you but rather of me….God, I’m crazy, aren’t I? I never know when to shut up and wow, even now I’m saying ‘I’ a lot. Okay, so yeah, I have problems and I need to work on them.”

You’re not in the living room. The TV is off. And what was that about him loving you less? That’s bullshit. Complete and utter bullshit. You know that. You have to. Right?

Making a mental note to make that the first thing you hear, he continues his search. 

“Ma? Where you at?” He checks the kitchen and finds containers of the food you prepared put neatly away. It’s his favourite. His stomach rumbles. “You sleeping, doll?”

The bedroom’s empty too. Fuck.

“I’ll work on it, Toji…so, please, will you give me a chance? To do better. To be better.”

He’s checked every room. Twice. And again. You’re not home. But that can’t be right. You have to be home. You just have to. It’s dark outside and cold and dangerous and he’s not there to hold your hands to make sure they don’t fall off from the frost of summer. 

Louder, nearing a scream, he says, “Baby, I’m not messing around. Tell me where you are. You hiding? Is that it? You hiding from me? Fuck, sweetheart, I promise I’m not mad, okay? So just come out here. L-let me see my gorgeous girl, yeah?”

Breathing faster and faster until he has to lean against the wall for balance, Toji scrambles to think. You’re saying so much so fast and he can’t keep up. For every sentence you utter there’s a whole conversation to be had. So many inaccuracies he needs to correct, to set straight. Where the hell did you even get all this shit you’re saying?

Not from him, right?

He didn’t make you feel so small, did he?

The woman that had built him up crumbling all by herself because he’d rather drink himself to death than live a life you made possible for him. Fucking bastard. Ungrateful son of a bitch. Useless fucker.

“Uh this is getting long, sorry. We can talk more about it when I see you. So, yeah, that’s what I was trying to say. I’m driving over to the bar to give you your jacket. You forgot it. Or maybe you left it on purpose. I don’t know. I just don’t want you to be cold. Or maybe it’s just an excuse to see you, hopefully smiling...You don’t smile without a bottle in your hand nowadays but if I had a clingy girlfriend, I’d probably be making out with beer too. I’m kidding. Sorry, that’s not funny…okay, so, um, I love you and I’ll see you soon. Bye.”

Flashing lights, 

Cop cars. 

Ambulances. 

The crowd…gasping and pointing.

And a flipped over car he only now just processed. 

The ride over to the crime scene goes by in a blur. Only static and the faint sound of your voice on repeat playing in the background. Every stop light is ignored, pedestrians barely avoided, and the wheels pushed to their very limits. All while he foregoes wearing a seatbelt.

Toji doesn’t breathe. Doesn’t think or slow down or answer the many calls from unknown numbers. 

He doesn’t even make a sound.

Not until he arrives, shoves past tiny men with their tiny understanding of who you are and what you mean to him, and finds a body wrapped up in a bag. Rushing of blood fill his ears. People try to hold him back, to get him away, but there must be something in his face or his eyes that warns, ‘don't get in my fucking way’

It’s akin to a wounded yelp of a wild beast or the guttural flames of hell as it opens up and consumes whole poor, unfortunate souls. No one’s ever heard anything like it. Yet, they know. Just from the way he had fallen to his knees, had rushed to yank that zipper down but hesitated to pull the bag open. But the sound…the sound tells a whole story. 

Some look away, half paying respect and half all too familiar with the scene. Others can’t. They bear witness to the shaking hands that cradle your cold face, cut up and bleeding, and the one sided conversation. 

“No, no, baby, what h-happened? Wake up.” Toji’s patting your cheeks, searching for a flicker of your lashes or the rise of your chest. Even now when he feels the nauseating coldness on a body that had only ever kept him warm he's mindful of the force he's using. He could never hurt you. Not like this. “Come on, this isn’t fucking funny. Open your eyes, baby. Come on. Please.”

Shallow cuts on your face, glass shards still embedded in the skin graze his thumb as he brushes the hair from your hair. They cut him too until the blood staining the skin he’d felt and tasted are both his and yours. 

“I need you. I need to talk to you. Fuck, it isn’t fucking fair. You got to say your shit. You need to hear me apologise ‘cause I am fucking sorry. You hear me, you stubborn woman? I’m s-sorry. So wake the fuck up. Please. I can’t do this without you. I just can’t.”

The car’s totalled. Hit a tree. He can hear the police talk on their radio, something about how you were crushed for hours, alive and yelling for help, but was dead when anyone got to the scene. A roaring of injustice wages war in his very soul. His babygirl in pain and alone and dying. Did you call out for his name? Did you think he was going to come even till your last moments? 

He doesn't know how long he holds you for, can't even tell if it's raining or if he's just sweaty as hell. Those trembling hands of his, that have killed countless men and got him this far in life, seem so useless now as he wills warmth into your limbs. Your pyjamas are soaked with a metallic liquid; they stain his hands.

A familiar face shows up, suit wrinkled. “Fushiguro. They need the body.”

Firm hands pull at him, tugging him away. He won’t let go. Can’t let you be all by yourself. Look at you. You’re not even wearing a jacket. Silly girl. You’d bring his but not your own? 

Do you always have to be so goddamn perfect?

Pressing a kiss to your forehead, he says, “Let’s go home, yeah? Let’s go home and watch that movie. That sound good, doll?”

But you don’t answer. 

Not his prayers the next day or his pleadings the week after and certainly not your phone every day since.

Toji never touches another bottle again if only because when he does his mind gets so blurry, so fucked out, he can’t envision the exact angles of your smile or how many wrinkles form at the corner of your eyes. Honestly, if he could, he'd never return to that place you two lived in; it's far too big now and everywhere he looks he sees you. But where else would he go? Where else in this fucked world could he go to find you?

He doesn’t eat either – no one’s cooking tastes the same as yours. They lack something he thinks he might never find again. And maybe that’s fine. It was always too good for him anyway.

None of the people that show up to his door are allowed in; they’d just disturb the air you touched. Not his friends or yours, he has no family and yours don’t really want to see him. Good thing too. He can’t deal with the pity or the attempts to relieve him of his responsibility. 

‘It’s not your fault,’ they say. ‘It was an accident.’

Shit doesn’t matter. Nothing does. How could anything mean shit to a man who only wants to spend his days in bed, holding your pillow over his face, simultaneously wanting to consume every particle of your scent and suffocate on memories of a life he barely lived?

They say he shouldn't let your death define you but how would that even be possible? You've always defined him. There's only the Toji before you, during you, and without you. He thinks maybe his life will forever be defined by all the things he never should have said and the things he wishes he did. That's the real tragedy.

'You need to move on.'

Bullshit. All those grief counselling pamphlets and self-help books don't know shit. There's no moving on. There's only you.

The worst, perhaps, that he’s heard is, ‘she’d hate to see you like this.’

Because what the fuck do they know about you? 

Those assholes see a man locked away, beard growing in, dark circles under his eyes, and an air of death about him. Whereas Toji sees himself as someone who’s keeping your memory alive. Because, contrary to what you believed, you weren’t too much. God, you couldn't ever be too much. With your scent fading, your clothes collecting dust and the divot in your spot on the sofa evening out, he thinks he hasn’t had enough. Could never have enough.

Even the fact that when he closes his eyes he sees you serves as no consolation. It’s not enough. He wasn’t enough. Wasn’t man enough. Didn’t love you enough. Toji needs to touch you, to feel you, to make up for all that he never gave you when he should have. Wherever you are, he wants to be.

His girl all alone? No, he can’t have that. Someone needs to listen to you ramble, to lift heavy things for you and hold you the way you like when you sleep. Who's keeping you company up there? Who's drawing on your palm when you get nervous? Who is telling you you've always been enough?

Someone needs to be there for you.

Staring at a picture of you on his bedside table, he smiles softly.

“I’m coming, baby. Just wait for me, yeah?”

[whydoineedastupiduser]

why do i let myself suffer through angst (i fcking LOVE it) the words got blurry halfway through🤧🤧

i feel reader’s perspective sm and i hate the fact she died believing that about herself and toji perceiving her as that💔

[liahcharms]

Loving you was really hard

Two years of dating, three years of marriage. You, Suguru and Satoru – a perfect marriage most friends could be jealous of. You adored each other so much, it almost hurt. Sometimes their love felt a little too tight. A little too consuming. But that's what true devotion looks like... right? You’re still wondering, quietly packing your bags in the dark, careful not to wake your husbands.

this series is finished

content/warnings: MDNI, marriage, husband Geto Suguru x reader, husband Gojo Satoru x readers, Satosugu, yandere, obsessive behaviours, possessive behaviour, dark romance, pregnancy, kinda babytrapping, it's a healthy relationship at the beginning?, or maybe not, smut, HEAVY breading kink, if I put this tag it'll be a spoiler, fem! reader runs away, slight dub-con, manipulation, guilt-tripping, age gap, violence

Chapters: 𐙚Chapter 01 | 𐙚Chapter 02 | 𐙚Chapter 03 | 𐙚Chapter 04 | 𐙚Chapter 05 | 𐙚Chapter 06 | 𐙚Chapter 07

Will be very grateful if anyone can let me know who the author of Gojo fanart is! :(

[whydoineedastupiduser]

This might be my favourite satosugu series. The writing is genuinely amazing and the vibes are so creepy in some moments, I love it. (Genuinely sometimes felt I was reading a horror or thriller fic)

I read this at 3 am so all the suspenseful scenes was intensified 😬😬

THE ENDING!!!!I need more, I’m gna be deprived now😭😭. Also really wish there was a POV from satoru and suguru when reader ran away and how they was functioning during it.

Author I love you for creating this masterpiece but I hate you for the cliffhanger (it may technically not be one but I have sm questions and I’m gna overthink until I sleep👎👎) I need at least an epilogue or flash forward to future to see reader is not the one in the basement or smt

I have love and hate relationship with reader because I gen feel bad for her however she’s actually dense asf no offence cos how did bro ignore all those signs and then when she ran away she decided to keep the child (lowkey selfish esp she knew they would eventually find her, higher chance with having children too)

Also, What happened to nanami?! Like did they ever find out he was the one who helped reader?

[liahcharms]

Gojo is sexting to his wife with Nanami's help | MDNI

Drabble made based on this video, bc it's something Gojo would do <333 Yes, I changed Suguru for a reader, SORRY! Satosugu fucking fic next time.

"Thanks for the lift," Nanami murmured, resting on Gojo's leather seats, with a loosened tie and heavy breath finally escaping his chest.

It was a ridiculously long day, spent on killing curses, doing lectures, finishing all the fucking paperwork Gojo was too lazy to do, and he truly wished for nothing more than to go back home, take a bath, and open a can of beer.

"Yep, bud, my pleasure," Gojo drawled, starting the car as he finally left the high school's parking.

He hummed under his nose, cheerfully, the thought of going back to his beautiful wife draining all the tiredness from his body. In his mind, he could already catch your lips curling sweetly as you greeted him with his favourite aproan on tied around your body, and ass hugged by those mommy sweats that made it look perfectly fat and juicy.

But firstly, he needed to drop Nanami off at his flat, a poor man sitting on the passenger's seat with a weariness tormenting his eyes.

Before Gojo could start another series of pesky jokes, a little ping! from his phone filled the car.

"Nanamin, can you check it?" he asked, the blonde man, taking his phone and squinting eyes to read the text.

"Y/n's asking when you'll be home."

Ah, his sweet wife was already missing him!

"Just say, I'm dropping Nanami off and be there in twenty."

The keyboard clicked quietly under the man's fingers before another message plopped on a screen.

"She says, can't wait to see you. And... tongue emoji?"

Oh, Gojo kneeeeew the way it was going and couldn't help but bit his lower lip.

"Write, baby, when I get home, I'm gonna eat your ass out."

A silence fell heavily when Nanami's fingers hung over the keyboard, mouth dropping open, eyes widening, darting at him as if he just misheard. "What did you just say?"

Gojo, however, ignored him completly, humming sweetly with a smirk plastered to his face.

"Or no, wait, say, I miss you, baby, gonna show you a real Shibuya incident when I get back."

"Jesus fucking Christ," Nanami murmured, nevertheless typing a message out.

Another ping! almost made him jump.

"What did she say, what did she say?" Gojo chuckled excitedly, his cock already swelling in his briefs.

"Yes, hubby, I'm such a naughty whore, want to choke on your huge cock till your cum fills my belly."

Nanami thought that maybe he should've taken the subway, because any other second spent in this car would push his sanity to the edge.

"Amazing," Satoru laughed, fingers tightening on a wheel. "Write, fuck baby my cock is leaking right now, I wanna take it out and cum right on the screen, but Nanami is right there. Be ready for me on the table because tonight I'm taking you to Pound Town, you dirty little whore."

Nanami did exactly as he said, wondering whether it was actually happening or if it was just a fever dream, and he didn't just see Satoru's jeans tighten up.

"She sent a picture, but no way I'm gonna open it."

"Yep, better not do it if ya wanna get back home with all fingers in their place, Nanamin!" Satoru stopped the car at the red light, and Nanami prayed for this journey to not last any longer. "Okay, go to my photos, dick folder, scroll to the week before, send her a video of me cumming on her panties. Red set." Nanami stopped questioning him, fingers working almost automatically, when he found the video Gojo was asking for. "She's gonna be sooo pissed, I literally just bought it for her."

Ping!

"She says, What the fuck you asshole, it's my favourite set. Your cock looks so delicious btw, I need it right now deep in my tight cunt, leave Nanami at the bus stop."

"Amazing, reply, fuuuck baby, I'm gonna fill your hole so good tonight, till you'll be dripping with my cum and moan like a bitch in a heat. Honestly, I might do it; he's been pissing me off all day, making me do all the paperwork and complaining when I paid for his dinner. He's an ungrateful prick and ordered so much I wanted to strangle him on the spot, it's a Friday night for fuck sake, I wish he would find some pussy for himself, anyways I can't wait to see you so I can watch you ride my dick like a dirty slut and eat my cum out of your ass for the dessert. Send."

The car suddenly stopped, Nanami's apartment building looking like a heavenly gate when he left the car on trembling knees.

"Thanks Nanamin, always a pleasure to have a talk with you! See ya after the weekend." Gojo laughed and left the parking lot with a screech of tires.

The next day, Nanami signed up for a driving lesson.

[whydoineedastupiduser]

Firstly nanami actually needs to learn how to say no cos why did bro actually let himself suffer through that🤣🤣🤣

[suguruftw]

the last dandelion — suguru geto

part 1! (current chapter) – part 2

synopsis: you notice your classmate spiralling after riko's death. he needs a friend—and even a freshman such as yourself would suffice. right?

tw: mentions of depression

**𐙚***𐙚***𐙚***𐙚***𐙚***𐙚***𐙚***𐙚***𐙚***𐙚***𐙚**

freshman year

suguru geto.

you only knew of his name first, and then the boy himself as he took his first steps into jujutsu high. quiet, reserved, and a bit mean at times but you'd come to learn he was just as kind. it didn't take long for you to fall trap to his magnetic charm. the low purr of his voice and low-lidded eyes, silky locks he tied back from his face.

geto barely knew you. sure, he remembered your name but only out of respect, to know who his juniors were. you certainly weren't as close with him as gojo or shoko were.

you didn't mind. you would take what you could, the little glimpses of his smile or small brush of his hand against yours. anything to exist within the same axis, even if you were nothing more than a distant side character in his bright, bright life.

until fushiguro toji happened. that's when everything began to fall apart.

you noticed the way geto withdrew into himself. full-length uniform still on while everyone else switched to shorter clothes in the summer. his features greying like his skin was eating itself into dust. the way he no longer existed but hovered, half-in and half-out of his mind. it went on for months.

you stood outside his dorm, the last glow of twilight settling as you raised a hesitant hand to knock on his door. silence met you first, before a long shuffle approached. the door opened. dull eyes met your stare.

"hey." you tried for a smile but your gaze wandered across his face, the hollow of his cheeks and purple eyebags. "i was just wondering if you're alright?"

"'m fine."

oh. "you look tired."

"i'm fine," geto repeated, unkindly. he couldn't bring himself to be better.

"can i come in?" you were stubborn to a fault.

he was already retreating back into his room. "sure."

you took a step inside. his room was a mess of memories that never happened, pillows strewn across the floor and empty food containers left discarded by the bin. for a second, geto watched your face—were you disgusted? repulsed? he wouldn't know, since you disappeared into the bathroom, and he wouldn't care. if suguru ever wondered if there was a point to having you around instead of one of his closer friends, he never mentioned it.

you appeared shortly after, sleeves rolled up to your elbows. and damp. "i drew you a bath. it's not too cold right now, so it'll feel better."

"didn't ask for one." geto slumped back into his bed. the sheets hadn't been washed in weeks but they were a familiar comfort to him while you were not.

he was startled when a spray of water hit him square in the face.

"get in," you said, cocking the spray bottle like it was a lethal weapon. "this doesn't just work on cats."

in hindsight, maybe there was a better way to approach the situation but hey, it worked! geto's deathly stare on your face might have not faltered, but he was in the bathroom. tugging his clothes off. stepping into the bath slowly, like every step pained him.

and you were still here. "what do you want?" he asked, annoyed. it was the first real emotion you had seen on his face after weeks of weak smiles and fake reassurances.

"nothing," you muttered. he wasn't the same suguru that you remembered, but you couldn't let him rot into himself. what kind of person would that make you? "you stink."

geto scoffed but didn't correct you. to your surprise, he let you wash his hair (after much pleading on your part, since you always wondered if it was as soft as it looked). your hands brought some life back to the dull sheen of his locks as you treated it with utmost care. you forced him to sit down while you opened his curtains, and made sure he dried his hair. you watched him eat every bite of the pasta you had spent hours making, and let him murmur his thanks as you swept away the mess on the floor, shoved his clothes into a washing machine down at the laundry room, planted a pot of fresh dandelions right at the centre of his desk.

you both may have not been close, but you were there for him. you never once expected anything more in return.

you both settled into an odd routine. you, showing up at his door nearly every night because you accidentally made an extra serving of food. geto, frowning as he let you in but you never saw him unlock his door. his room was still messy, yes, but he was putting some effort into taking care of himself. the floor was relatively clean. his laundry was occasionally done. the dandelions thrived.

you thought he was getting better. his smiles came by more freely, his skin less pale than it had been in weeks, and some of the heaviness in his somber gaze had cleared. you genuinely thought you were helping, or doing something right at least, till—

"suguru killed a village last night."

your throat went dry at those words. "why?"

yaga shook his head, grimacing. "i don't know why he did it, but he's on the run. be careful."

you, the one who spent countless days visiting his room and bringing along homecooked meals for him to eat. you, who never took his silences personally and sat next to him instead on days that were heavier for him to bear. you, without a single drop of cursed energy to your name.

so when suguru actually showed up in front of that kfc, hair down and eyes sharper than they'd ever been, it was satoru who stepped in front of you. "go back," he told you, fingers already reaching for his glasses.

how could you ever forget the look in suguru's face when he saw you? an emotion flickered in his eyes—disgust? repulse?

what kind of person did that make you, when you knelt beside him by the bathtub and combed your fingers through his hair?

disposable.

your high school years slowly crumbled into ruin, till nothing was left but distant memories and the mark on your back.

—

note: plot isn't entirely canon compliant bc i really cant remember the plot of jjk or any of their techniques, will edit once i do!

[whydoineedastupiduser]

The angst is amazing😞😞

[rambld]

݁˖𝜗ৎ frat boy sukuna when you bite back | 18+

contains: unedited, bullying, nerd reader, revenge, mentions of drugs and alcohol, slight smut, post nut clarity, sukuna is losing his mind a bit

words: 5.2k

note: he's a little mean here. here's the inspo.

When it came to Sukuna, everyone on campus agreed on two things:

The man was a god on cleats.

He was a fucking menace in human form.

The man moved through the quad like gravity bent around him—backslaps, laughs, girls flocking to him, freshmen scattering away. No one called him out when he yanked books from hands with a mean grin or made “jokes” that stuck to people like a bad odor. He didn't need to try very hard, his intimidating size and beady red eyes had him covered.

No one challenged him. Not when he "borrowed" bikes. Not when he publicly ranked girls. Not when he picked on trembling new students about their thrift-store jackets.

No one wanted to mess with a linebacker who could bench-press triple their bodyweight and had a fleet of loyal brothers ready to back him up.

And then there was you.

The kind of girl professors trusted with answer keys and underclassmen trusted with their breakdowns. You tutored half the dorm like it was what you attended college for. You baked cookies during finals to combat the stress and give fellow students something to nibble on for the nerves. Your grade point average is whispered about like folklore.

Unassuming.

Harmless.

Definitely not running in the same circles as the devil incarnate with coral pink hair and tattoos streaking his sharp features.

Whereas he sat in the row furthest away, backward baseball cap, varsity jacket stretched over shoulders that barely fit the seat, laughing too loud, interrupting professors, calling people “sweetheart” and “buddy” in unfriendly tones, you sat upfront in an oversized university hoodie, a high ponytail and thick-framed glasses while taking immaculate notes.

The day you told him to knock it off, it was almost anticlimactic.

He had cornered a scrawny freshman with a crowd of students who laughed and pointed, joining in because they either found the spectacle genuinely entertaining or played along in fear of being the frat boy's next target. Quarterback Toji and Satoru from Finance were there too among other frat brothers, both accomplices in the pink-haired jerk's torment.

Sukuna held the poor boy's eyeglasses, jeans and sweater, leaving the new kid in just his boxers and socks as he nervously chuckled at his expense, arms hugging his body to try and maintain his decency while his glassy gaze bounced around the crowd, watching his friends who were too scared to meet the same fate as him give him pitying looks while others snickered and shook their heads like he was a clown at a circus.

“Come on,” the douchebag who'd lured the freshman in by promising a tour around campus called out, grin crinkling the ink around his eyes. “Dance for us, will ya?”

Phones were pulled out and held up, filming the scene as the boy gulped. “But there's no music—”

Snorting, Satoru clicked play on his phone and Toji produced a portable speaker from behind his burly body as some raunchy song began. Shakily, the boy smiled and readied himself to embarrass himself even further. He would never be able to show his face again, maybe he could ask his parents to transfer him somewhere else, sure this was his dream school and he worked hard to get accepted, but he couldn't bear this—

With a crackle, the music comes to a stop as does the jeers and cackles of the crowd.

Frowning, Toji looks to his side and his eyebrows shoot up to find you there, expression bored as your hand falls away from the speaker and you give him a disappointed head shake. He was never like this when you tutored him, surprisingly smart but downplaying his intelligence around his dumbass frat.

As if ashamed, he doesn't protest, head tipped down slightly as you pass him to stand in front of his ring leader of fucking sorts.

“Hand me the clothes,” you tell him, voice calm and cool but there's an underlying command in it that has Sukuna's face twisting in disbelief.

He huffs a chuckle. “Excuse me?”

You hold a hand out wordlessly. He looks around at the mob of students who are watching the scene with just as much confusion as he is. Some even look away and retreat, recognizing you as the girl who's always happy to help them with the work they're struggling with.

Even a cocky, mouthy bastard like Satoru Gojo has nothing to say

“Why the fuck should I listen to y—”

Sukuna bristled when you reached for the clothes and eyeglasses, ripping them out of his hands with more force than necessary. Still, you didn't stumble as you took them and walked over to the freshman who slumped as you came to his aid.

The smile you give him, reassuring and comforting as he took his clothes from you, is nothing compared to the indifferent, hooded glare you fix on the culprit of this whole ordeal once you send the freshman off, hands folded across your chest.

Sukuna's scowling now, features drawn in a sour look that fits him perfectly. You revel in the sight of it. That you were the cause of it for ruining his sick idea of fun. It was refreshing to see the asshole that was feared rather than respected because he was like a snapping, reactive dog that needed to be put down, muzzled or at least trained experience displeasure for once.

And you happened to know exactly how to handle those kinds of rabid mutts.

He rose from his spot on the bench before he could even think about it, not that a lot of his actions have any thought behind them anyway since he's a fucking meathead. In long, heavy strides he appeared in front of you, looming over you like a cryptid from a story that kept you up at night, eyes as red as those caught on cameras in the wild by monster hunters.

When he leaned in and crowded your space with his overwhelming presence, you barely bat an eye, raising your chin and meeting his piercing gaze head on.

Your lack of fear or cowardice made his temper flare even more and that's saying something for a guy who's known for his short fuse.

“Do you want a good samaritan award for sticking up for that dork? No one's gonna clap for you, four eyes,” his voice is low yet loud enough for the remaining students to hear.

Staring at him, you regard him with a blank look and he hates it, wanting to shatter it. He wants to see your resolve break, see that composure of yours shatter until you're crying fat tears with a blotchy, scrunched up face while he laughs at you.

Thus, he continues.

“Careful. Standing up to me isn't exactly a wise career choice,” he threatens and some people flinch because they know the power he holds. Satoru's father alone is a politician who could stain your reputation if Sukuna asked.

You merely blink.

His jaw ticks.

“Do you really want to make this your problem?” He dips his head to your ear to ask and when he pulls back, he nearly smirks at your brow twitches.

The asshole cooed. “Sit down before you hurt yourself trying to act tough, yeah?”

Brows lowering, your eyes bow and your nose wrinkles at his condescending words and Sukuna feels satisfaction pool low in his stomach, chest inflating as he prepares to preen. He knows that look, is all too familiar with the ugly twist of faces before people break down at his harsh insults.

Lips thinning as they tremble, he's about to mock you when you sputter out a breath.

And laugh. Loud and hard right in his fucking face.

He rears back, mind blanking as he sees the hysterical glaze that comes over your eyes which has nothing to do with fear or tears.

“What an idiot! Do you know how pathetic you have to be to stoop as low as bullying younger students as a fucking adult? Are you that bored that shit like this makes your day? Is this what you come here for? The power trip and to jerk off to the misplaced praise you get? Do you get off on hurting others?”

Blood roars in his ears as your questions, delivered through a flurry of cruel giggles, land one by one, so quick and pointed that he can hardly keep up. For once, the man is at a loss for words and his stomach sinks.

Not that you allow him the chance to respond as you push past him and he watches you go, your accusations heavy on his shoulders. Toji tries to snap him out of his daze but he roughly shrugs him off.

“Whatever. Like I give two shits what little miss valedictorian says,” he spat as if embarrassment and irritation didn't burn his face as he shoved his arms into his jacket and stormed off, wanting to go cool himself down with football practice, a blunt or fucking some bimbo.

Later, when none of that helped, he began plotting his revenge.

One of the first things freshmen are told when they set foot on campus is that no one—no one—fucks with Sukuna Ryomen. Not if they valued their tires, their reputations, or their peace.

You were not going to be an exception to that rule.

He would make a fucking example out of you like he does with others who don't even cross him.

The next week, in the cafeteria, he loudly told Geto Suguru—who looked mortified—to “stop encouraging your crush on him.”

He winked at you across the room. After doing some digging, he found out that you liked Suguru, one of the more decent, gentlemanly frat brothers so of course he had to expose you.

“You're too good for her, man. I bet she's a fucking creep, stalking your Instagram and keeping a copy of your schedule so she knows where you are at all times,” he continues, loud enough to draw the attention of others.

Suguru plays with his ramen, chopsticks fiddling with the noodles individually as he cringes between Satoru and Sukuna. “Seriously, Ryomen?” he asks, not one to join in on the teasing unless it's harmless fun.

He openly detaches himself from the part of the frat that bullies freshmen even if they are in his social circle.

Unfazed, Sukuna nudges him and nods over to you. “Come on, look at her. She doesn't deserve you. You're way out of her league.”

The obnoxious clique ooh's and aah's, all their himbo eyes on you. You doubt they even know what he's on about, their brains dented from all the concussions on the field.

Your gaze holds Sukuna's as you bat your lashes and frown. “You have something on your chin,” you said pleasantly, pointing at your own.

“What?” He scoffed, rubbing his chin mindlessly to check.

“Cum from dickriding your friends.”

Startled laughter rippled through the cafeteria but he thinks your friends, Shoko, Utahime and Yorozu were the loudest. Suguru barely stifled his smile behind his bottle of water.

He knocked his soda “accidentally” onto your meticulously organized notes while passing by the next draw, mouth agape as he watched it spill.

“Oops.”

You stared at the spreading brown stain.

“Tragic,” you drawled. “You just destroyed the only copy of the answers to next week’s quiz.”

His face dropped as the class groaned, knowing damn well that the professor was a gatekeeper who refused to give out memorandums and such so this was the once in a lifetime chance that he would and now Sukuna fucking ruined it.

It didn't help that said professor didn't like the jock either.

(You had backups but you wouldn't tell him that, wanting him to soak in his mistake.)

Then there was the gym incident. You came back from the shower to find your favorite top snipped into something avant-garde and unwearable, holes placed with surgical cruelty across the chest, one for each of your breasts

Regina George, much?

You held it up, examined the damage like a museum curator, and said, “Bold. Very early-2000s villain arc.”

You wore it as if you meant for it to look like this then put on your backup hoodie before you went home, ignoring Sukuna's scowl and smiling to yourself.

Because it was obviously his doing. You didn't have any other antagonists here, even your academic rivals respected you so who else could be the cause of this other than the dickhead you scorned?

You never raised your voice. Never confronted him again.

Which is when his life began to unravel.

It started small.

His beloved monstrosity truck wouldn’t start one morning. Just coughed and died in the parking lot while his teammates watched. He kicked a tire. Swore. Called roadside assistance.

The mechanic later used the phrase "adhesive polymer in the fuel system." It was going to be expensive. Very expensive but it wouldn't dent his bank account, just his ego.

Sukuna used words like "What the hell?" and "I swear I didn't do anything."

A week later, his phone wouldn’t stop buzzing.

Unknown numbers. DMs. Graphic enthusiasm with dick pics from strangers addressing him as a down-low man looking for “adventure” that his alleged girlfriend can't know about. One message arrived while he was at dinner with his boys.

“Can’t wait to meet you. Hope your girlfriend doesn’t mind.”

“I'm not gay and I don’t have a girlfriend!” he barked, shoving his phone in his pocket while his friends stared.

“Sure,” someone muttered.

Later, he found out that there was a Tinder profile made for him with photos cropped from his own Instagram and a bio that said: DL. Discreet. Pics are always appreciated. Girlfriend can't know.

Then the postcard arrived.

Bright, cheerful font.

“We’re sorry you missed your consultation at the Men’s Vitality Wellness Center. Erectile dysfunction affects 1 in 5 men—”

It was pinned to the frat house corkboard before he even saw it and Satoru did the honors of reading it loud and proud for everyone, even the pledges to hear.

He tore it down while his brothers howled.

Next came the emails about introductory scientology classes. “Reclaim your true potential.” “Unlock your inner power.” A well-dressed man showed up at the house asking for him by name.

“I’m not joining anything!” he snapped.

The voodoo doll arrived two days later.

It was crude. Yarn coral hair. Marker scrawled for his jersey number. A sewing needle stabbed dramatically through the felt crotch.

He didn’t laugh.

He didn’t sleep much that week.

He started glancing over his shoulder. Jumping at shadows at the corner of his eyes. His grades dipped. His coach asked if everything was okay.

It escalated.

His father called him, furious and confused, asking why a nursing home had phoned to confirm a move-in date.

“What application?” Wasuke demanded, voice eerily steady.

“Huh?” he asked dumbly and that always pissed off his old man.

As expected, he blew up. “YOU FUCKING BRAT, TELLING THEM MY FACULTIES ARE DECLINING? JUST WAIT ‘TIL I BEAT YOU AND WE'LL SEE HOW YOUR FACULTIES ARE AFTER, HAH?!”

“I DIDN’T—” he stopped, breathing hard.

Flyers appeared on lampposts around his off-campus house.

“WARNING: KNOWN PEEPING TOM IN THE AREA.”

It was a blurry yearbook photo.

He ripped them down until his fingers were raw. They reappeared the next day.

He started muttering about curses.

His friends started avoiding him.

And through all of it, you were sunshine.

Helping classmates. Smiling in lectures. Sharing your highlighters. Watching him quietly from across rooms with a small, thoughtful tilt of your head.

The campus was also at peace.

Gone was that black truck that'd rattle the windows and your ribs cage with the booming bass of rap music. Freshmen could walk around campus without watching their backs. Professors didn't have to worry about their lecture rooms being turned into hotboxes.

You didn't have to watch Sukuna push up his nonprescription glasses up onto the bridge of his nose with his middle finger before he challenged one of your answers in class to steal valuable learning time. You hated to admit that he was quite smart too, not the himbo that he portrayed himself to be unfortunately.

He never suspected you.

Why would he?

He’d pulled stunts like his on half the campus. Anyone could hate him.

The breaking point came in the library.

He was hunched over a table, hair disheveled, dark circles under his eyes, whispering furiously into his phone about identity theft and “psychological warfare.”

You took the seat across from him.

He didn’t look up.

You slid something across the table.

It was a printed screenshot.

His fake dating profile. Bio rewritten in clinical, devastating prose. A collage of the flyers. A photo of the voodoo doll. The nursing home confirmation email.

At the bottom, in neat font:

Stop bullying people.

He froze.

Slowly, he looked up.

You smiled. Warm. Friendly. The same smile you gave everyone except him.

It was as sweet as poison.

“You?” he croaked. “It was you.”

You tilted your head.

“Well,” you said lightly. “You pull this kind of thing on so many people. Statistically, it could’ve been anyone.”

His jaw worked soundlessly.

You leaned in just enough for him to hear you over the hum of the library.

“You humiliate people publicly. I humiliated you anonymously. Notice the difference? Mine stops when you decide to.”

He swallowed.

“You glued my gas tank shu—”

You raised a finger, interrupting him.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Your smile sharpened, just a fraction.

“But if you ever cut someone’s clothes again,” you added softly, “I get creative.”

You stood, slinging your backpack over one shoulder.

“See you in class.”

And for the first time in his large, uncomplicated life, the campus god looked very, very mortal.

(Sukuna would be lying if he said he didn't jerk off to you later that night until his hand ached and the spurts of his seed were far and few between as he shot blanks.)

You knew three facts for sure:

Sukuna Ryomen was an conniving asshole who needed to be put in his fucking place.

No one else would do it so you took matters into your own hands. It was a success.

You hated the guy and wanted nothing to do with him after this.

See, the thing about listing rules or other forms of information beforehand is that one is bound to see them be broken in what comes after them. It's a common pattern in books and such. In your case, the idea made you snort because it was not going to come to fruition for you.

Alas—

The fence rattled with the impact of your body thrown against it. You weren't given much time to recover as you were shoved into the clinking boundary again, firmer this time so that you were pinned there.

Soft lips like petals came down on yours, swallowing your protesting words, muffling them into a disgruntled noise as you were practically punched in the face. Tequila, smoke and mint coats your tongue with a balmy sweetness as he licks into your mouth, grunting harshly with a sharp exhale as your noses smashed against each other.

“All that fucking talk yet you're kissing me back, huh?” Sukuna growls against your lips, cussing with a wince when you bite down hard on his plump bottom one.

The past few hours were a blur to you. You'd come to this party with your friends who got lost in the music, dance, drinks and debauchery of it all. And because you were in his fucking element, he sought you out, spouting a whole lot of shit before you decided to leave and he caught you outside, the night's air cool and biting.

You anticipated a screaming match, maybe him pushing you around if he was one of those fuckers who fight women, perhaps a threat to call the cops on you for the tormenting him and pushing him to the brink of his sanity in these past couple of weeks.

Being kissed while the metal of the fence dug into your back in a way that told you that you'd have grooves there for weeks, the indent of the crisscrossing wires in your skin did not cross your mind.

Much to your dismay, Sukuna didn't hit women so you couldn't hold that against him. He found that channeling his anger towards them into something more productive like a make out or a rough fuck felt much better. Helped release the tension in him.

Hands sliding into his hair, your manicured nails dragged across his scalp a little too sharply and tugged at his silky tufts but he shivered and pressed into you anyway. Cock throbbing in his jeans, he ground it against your lower belly, low lidded eyes narrowed on you.

“You don't know when you shut up, do you?” Gripping his hair, you yanked him closer, nearly busting your lip and his with the force as you silenced him with another bruising kiss that had your mouth stinging and swollen.

Crushing you into the rickety fence as it swayed, he thrusts his hips against yours, hands dropping to the backs of your thighs to hoist you up as you looped your legs around his waist. Electricity sparks through your clit as you drag yourself over the bulging length of his cock, his responding groan thrumming through you as light bulb goes off in your head.

Just then, you thought of the perfect way to shut the bastard up.

Frat boys are known for not going down on girls. It's a relative rumor. Some do. Some don't.

Sukuna forms a part of the group that doesn't bury their faces between a woman's thighs but will fuck her throat like it's an obligation. Not that anyone's denied him before.

Therefore, you can imagine how his brain chemistry was altered when he got a whiff of your sweet honey scent that had him salivating. Saliva pooled thick and warm in his mouth as his cock bobbed against his stomach, scarlet eyes hooded and glossy with desirous heat as he watched you straddle his face after sitting on his chest in all your naked glory.

His mouth parts instinctively, eyes devouring the sight of your cunt hovering over his face as your knees sink into the bedding on either side of his head. It's glistening like the lip gloss he'd stolen off your lips and he thinks it's the prettiest shade he's ever seen.

Syrupy arousal trickles out of your fluttering entrance, smearing all over the puffy petals of your pussy. He wets his lips, throat parched as he wills that glob of gooey slick that glitters and dangles from your hole to land right on in his awaiting maw.

Rough hands clasp around your thighs, tugging you down—

You smack them away, bracing your hands on his headboard as you hold yourself up, refusing to drop down and suffocate the more than willing man who wants nothing more than to be your seat.

“Do you think you deserve it?”

He nods.

“Have you been a good boy?”

“Yes,” he breathes.

Your eyes narrow into slits.

“Liar.”

A strained noise sounds at the back of his throat. He knows you're right.

Sukuna swallows a thick dollop of spit. “Look, I’m not good at this— I don’t do this. I don’t beg. But for you? I will.”

“Go on.”

“I know I don’t deserve this, but I’m asking anyway,” he admits, voice lower than you've ever heard it. “Just… please. Five minutes. That’s all I’m asking.”

“And what will I get in exchange?” you ask as if him eating you out won't pleasure you. Though it could be true because he's never done it before.

He doesn't have to think hard about his answer.

“I've already stopped my shit. The bullying and the shaming—but I'll even go and apologize to everyone I've wronged on campus,” he promises.

That is a good wager but it sounds a little too good to be true and a little unrealistic. But Sukuna is nothing if not determined.

He just never thought he'd be having a change of heart while pleading to go down on a girl.

A very sly girl at that.

Humming, you think about it, swaying your hips.

“You promise?”

“Pinky.”

Snorting at the childish response, you relent. “Deal.”

Sukuna feels like he can finally breathe as your weight comes down on his face, smothering him. You didn't give him the satisfaction of moaning for him, only quiet sighs and soft breaths passing your lips. Though the drawn-out airy groan he coaxed from you when he suckled at your pearly clit had his cock kicked, the mellow taste of you nearly having him come untouched as you finish on his face.

To his delight, it doesn't end there. You grant him the privilege of letting him stay buried between your thighs, hands digging into your rocking hips as you ride his tongue.

Fucking Sukuna is like scrambling to grab the crumbling rock face as you fall off the edge of a cliff. Clawing, slipping, grabbing and holding onto everything and nothing for salvation. It's scary and adrenaline-inducing but he's right beside you giving you a “if you jump, I'll jump” smile. So is it really falling off if you both willingly jump with no safety harness on? Plummeting is thrilling and the rush is addictive.

As you plunge into the water that's coming up fast, the crash is relieving as you're submerged, dewy skin prickling with excitement, heart pounding in your ears and body afloat.

It's all tantalizing sensation and exhilaration until at the end reality punches you in the gut and you're now aware that you actually lost your footing and fell off the cliff only to land in a bloody splatter of a jagged fucking rock.

At least, that's how you feel the next morning when you wake up in his bed next to the peacefully slumbering man who's covered in your hickeys and scratch marks as if he was the rock face you were clambering for last night. The tawny skin of his back is golden as the sun kisses it, muscular frame rising and falling with his breaths.

You wish you had the content he was feeling right now as you sit up, throwing your legs over the side of the bed numbly, head in your hands as you stare at the floor in despair.

How could you have done this? Out of all the bad decisions in the world, you choose him? You couldn't even blame the alcohol or drugs because you didn't dip your toes in any of that last night. Your cunt pulses with an accusatory ache and you groan at your utter stupidity.

It feels like all your hard work and dedication have gone down the fucking drain.

“Oh my god,” you lament, pressing the heels of your palms into your eyes until stars burst behind you eyelids like that'll warp you back into your own room and not this horrid place.

Sukuna stirred when he felt the bed shift when you sprung upright. Cracking a bleary eyes open, he squinted and saw you hunched over, hands covering your face.

Heh, after how you'd milked him until he couldn't go anymore last night, he didn't think you'd be one of those girls who get shy the morning after.

Stretching with a soundless yawn, he feels his stiffened muscles complain, sore and well-used. He's puffing with pride, any resentment towards you hard to find after your passionate tangle in the sheets last night. He knows his skin is going to fucking burn from all the claw marks when he's showering but it'll be worth it.

“Everything okay?” he rasps, all too smug as his groggy question makes you go stock-still. He grins, knowing his morning voice has that effect on women.

“What the fuck have I done?” You cry into your hands, startling him with how regretful you sound.

Ah, it must be that post-nut clarity hitting. He's been there, feeling disgusted with himself once the haze of lust and arousal wears off and he questions all his life choices leading up to this moment. But he's used to it and doesn't let it tamper with his satiated bliss anymore.

“Relax, it's nothing to be ashamed of—”

“No!” You snap, whirling around to face him as the mattress jostles from your movements. The covers fall from your bitten breasts and his gaze traitorously dips before he brings it right back up to your face as you cover yourself up again.

There's no guilt, shame or doubt there.

No, it's pure, unadulterated rage and regret burning in your unnervingly cold eyes despite how messy you look. How soft you look in the early hours of the day.

Brows creasing, he reaches out but you slap his hand away. “Hey, what's wrong?”

“Everything!” You yell, gesturing wildly all around you. “I fucked you. You! Out of all the guys on campus, I slept with your arrogant ass!”

Pushing himself up now, he frowns lightly. “Hold on now, you didn't have any issue with that last night,” he points out, offended despite having heard that from plenty of people without batting an eye before.

“No, I didn’t but that's because of a major lapse in judgement. This was a mistake. I can't believe I—That I—That you—” you're bumbling now, unable to string words together as eloquently as you usually do.

“It's not your fault.”

“You're right. It's your fault.” You poke him in the chest and he inhales sharply, affronted. “If you didn't fucking chase after me and kiss me last night, none of this—”

“Excuse me?” He hisses. “You kissed me back! Quite enthusiastically, might I add,” he argues with a finger pointed to his bruised lip.

Face hot with fury and mortification, you give him a withering glare that has his heart dropping into his stomach, pressing his back against the cushioned headboard.

Slumping, your face crumples. “Oh fuck, my mum's gonna be so disappointed,” you whine in distress.

His eyes bulge at that. “You're going to tell your mother?”

Cutting him a nasty sideways glance, you sneer. “No, but that's not the point. You don't know her. She's like a fucking bloodhound hooked on a scent.”

That and when you're alone with her, all your wrongdoings and misdeeds bubble up in your throat like someone tossed a mentos in a coke bottle. Like a sinner at a confessional, it all just spills out of you.

For fuck's sake, you couldn't even bunk a class without calling her and asking if it was okay first because it was late in the year and the syllabus was fully covered.

“Geez,” he huffs.

“I can't believe I let this happen. That I let you do that to me.”

He straightens up at that, expression growing grouchy.

“Hold on a minute, I'm the one who had things being done to him,” he points out because you were adamant on taking the lead last night.

While he's more of a leader himself, he reluctantly agreed and hadn't regretted it. In fact, he considered giving women like you the reigns more often after how you rocked his world.

He'd let you do it again but you clearly didn't want to.

Tossing your hands up, you shriek. “That makes everything worse! Should've just let you do what you want so at least I could be happy that I didn't enjoy any of it.”

“Hey!”

“Shut up,” you hush him, hand splaying on his face and pushing his head away.

He can barely believe his eyes as you stumble out of his bed, hastily putting your clothes back on as you grab your bag. Pausing with your hand on the doorknob, you look over your shoulder with a scowl that has his stomach churning.

“Tell anyone, and I mean anyone, about this and the glue in your gas tank will be the least of your worries.”

His mouth opens and closes like a fish as he blinks rapidly. You're gone when his eyes open again, leaving him in his bed stumped and hard again.

note: i don't know what this is lmao but thank you @peachygelic for the mean girls idea!

tags: @emluvsgetou

[whydoineedastupiduser]

Omg I saw that TikTok it was actually hilarious. Love reader for being a diva😩 and idek if I want reader or sukuna more (both?!)

[whydoineedastupiduser]

hi, mira! thank you for the love on my sukuna fic <333 i simply adore how you leave comments in the reblogs to tell writers what you enjoyed about their works. it really helps keep me going on this blog of mine 🩷

OFCOURSEE QUEEN!! you absolutely deserve the hype🩷 and I’m currently in the process of reading another one of your fics cos they are too enticing. (Never stop producing these beautiful works😽😽)

[rambld]

a chance encounter — sukuna ryomen

pairing: ex-boyfriend! sukuna x reader 

synopsis: running into your ex is never fun especially if you ended things with unfinished business. especially if you're on your way to a date when you see him. especially when it's the “anniversary” of your breakup six months ago. 

contains: mdni, reformed womanizer sukuna, hyperindependent reader, exes to lovers, family issues, slight angst, mentions of therapy, smut (unprotected, marathon sex), sukuna is a little insecure but he's better at the end, 7.2k words

note: why do i insist on writing this trope? sigh. art by fxvcyay on x!

Sukuna is known for being an arrogant, irritable, stubborn and cold-hearted asshole. With his inked, bulky form and ever-present scowl, no one would try to test a man who looks like he'll bite you for breathing too loud. He came across as an unpredictable bull who saw red if someone stared at him for too long as if their being would morph into a flag held by a bullfighter.

And you, unexpectedly, became his bullfighter.

It wasn't even the staggering fact that you went head to head and toe to toe with a man who towered over you and could crush you like a bug beneath his shoe, it was just the confidence and how you carried yourself. 

The pink-haired man is not as soft or fluffy as his tufts look. He was used to girls begging for another taste yet he never gave them one, seeing it as unfair to let one of them come for seconds when there's just so many women in the world he hasn't graced with his presence yet. It was one of the reasons people tolerated him—he could unfortunately put his money where his mouth was and his cockiness was not overcompensating for his inadequate size. The fucker is packing. He's also exceptionally intelligent. 

Enough about him—back to you. 

When he tried his usual tactics on you—giving you what you want and then pulling back so you could follow a trail of breadcrumbs that lead to him, crawling on your hands and knees for scraps of his affection—it blew up in his face. Exceptionally so. 

The thing about you was that you'd never expect a man to do something for you that you couldn't do for yourself. Changing your flat tire? Done. Fixing a leaking tap? Done. Picking up heavy furniture packages and carrying it into your apartment? Done. Making a lot of money? Done. Going out on dates? Done. Creepy noise outside and someone had to go check but you lived alone and had to do it yourself? Done. 

That was only a few things you could do, the list could go on. 

So when you'd asked him if he could pick up your order from a restaurant from the other side of the city that he lived closer to, and he said he couldn't, waiting for you to add a “please.” You just said, “okay” and sent another guy to get it for you since you were too lazy to drive there yourself. 

When he finds out, he's flabbergasted and comes over that very night with all your favorite snacks and sweets to make up for it. You answered the door and shrugged when he apologized, expression disinterested, not upset at all as you said, “It’s not like we're dating. Don't worry about it.”

That was a physical blow to his ego. How could you just use the line he used on other women all the time when they wanted more, on him? Now he was determined to make you want him. 

And you did. But only for his dick. Something your toys could not replicate unfortunately. But he's sure when the line of shiny, new replace-all-men androids are released and customizable, you'll dump him for a less bothersome, unfeeling robot to match your personality. 

He never felt as…used as he did with you. You'd only call him over when you wanted release, using him like a fucking stress ball except instead of squeezing it in your fist, you were milking his cock with your snug cunt. On top of that, you'd lay him out completely. 

The sex is incredible, really. He puts you through the mattress and you love every second of it. You do the same to him, riding him until the wheels fall off. But what makes his eye twitch is how easily you get up after, barely a limp in your step as you gather your scattered clothes and go clean up, telling him to see himself out. 

Since the universe wants to make an example out of him, perhaps give him some karma for all the times he's wronged people, he realises he's in love with you when you snap for the first time at him. Gloriously too, over him having you worried sick because he got into a motorcycle accident even after you fucking told him your arrangement is over if he keeps that death trap that could turn him into a human crayon. 

Naturally, he sold all of his beloved bikes and asked to be your boyfriend instead. 

Things were going great but he had to make himself useful out of fear that you'd just get rid of him like an old shoe you once loved then threw away when it got worn down. He became your handyman, mechanic, electrician, plumber, chauffeur, chef—the works. It's a good thing he's a quick learner. 

Still, that nagging feeling that you'd never really have any need for him in your life always loomed over him like a dark, pregnant cloud. And you weren't perfect as much as he liked to think you were. You had bad moods, you didn't like people in your space all the time, you were snappy on some days. That was fine, he had his shitty moments too. 

What made him call it quits was when you broke things off because you were stressed from work, your family was on your back about their expectations despite barely helping you build yourself up to where you were now and you were having a bit of an existential crisis, overthinking your entire life. 

One of the decisions you made during that time was ending your relationship with him. It fucking hurt, stabbed him right in the chest as a thousand sharp needles but he grit his teeth and beared it. If it was meant to be, you'd have another chance. 

Though it sucked ass that you had many mutual friends who now had to plan hangouts with either you or him like you were coparents who just divorced and were sharing custody of their children. If you met, all hell would break loose, especially that early in the split. 

For everyone's sake, you and Sukuna shared a wordless agreement that neither of you could be friends with an ex after a break up. Couldn't stand existing in the same space as someone you gave so much to just to act like there was no intimacy, no history between you. It made your stomach turn to think about. 

Thankfully, once you ended things, all the shops and places in the city you'd both frequent never saw either of you. You never see flashes of pink amidst the busy crowds and he never hears your contagious laughter amongst the patrons at a restaurant. 

So imagine your horror and surprise when six months after that faithful day, you run into him on the street while you're on your way to your third date with a decent guy who'd never be him but that was okay. You weren't looking for another gut-wrenching heartbreak. 

Much to your dismay, he looks better than ever. But so do you. Time does heal all wounds, you suppose. He's glad the dark circles and apathetic expression he wore for the first three months are nowhere to be found as he smirks down at you and you're relieved that you're not running on two hours of sleep, caffeine and sheer spite anymore. 

Sukuna whistles at the sight of you in your coat, hair all lustrous and silky in the streetlight, face aglow, eyes bright and lips tinted a sultry red that matches the clinging dress you're wearing inside, heels bringing you up to his nose. You always did clean up so nice on a date night, blowing him away even now when this wasn't for him. That didn't mean he couldn't appreciate it from an outsider's perspective even if that reminder did sting a bit.

You begrudgingly think that he looks good too. He's got a fresh cut, the sides of his head tapered, strands akin to bristles that'd tickle your fingers and neck whenever he'd nuzzle his face there, the longer hair at the top pushed back, making his carmine eyes look sharper with a gleam of mirth in them, the tattoos decorating his face hiking up with the quirk of humor on his lips. He's on his way for drinks with Choso and Yuji, their weekly family meet up.

Despite the bored, unimpressed expression on your face, the man has known you for long enough to see the slight flare of surprise in your gaze and the traitorous flutter of your lashes when you take in the button up and jeans he's got on, a chain you gifted him sitting pretty on his neck. 

“Sorry,” he apologises in the least remorseful tone possible, smirk widening when your eyes narrow. There's that emotion he always fought to see when he was courting you. “Is this the part where I turn and run away?” 

Rolling your eyes in that arc that's imprinted in his mind—along with the way you'd drag the first syllable of his given name when you were annoyed but still very much in love with him and the kisses you'd press to his cheek randomly which would give him whiplash—you sigh. 

“We're adults, Sukuna,” you say and ouch, that hurts. He was wishing for a “Ryo” but that's a privilege he lost so he'll endure it. “We'll just go our separate ways and that's the end of it.” 

Lips thinning to hold back his instinctive protest like clenching his fist and pulling on a needy dog's leash so it doesn't break off and run free to tackle you, he nods. “Okay. Have a goodnight.” 

That should've been the end of it but to your annoyance and his delight, you set off in the same direction.

“Are you serious?” You hiss, assuming he's following you. 

Hands stuffed in his pockets so as not to reach out and brush away that unruly strand of hair that always curls on your forehead, kissing your eyebrow like they're long lost lovers, he shrugs with a helpless smile, puffing out a chuckle. 

“I'm not being a creep. My destination is on this route, baby,” he assures you, tucking his lips into his mouth at his blunder when you cut him a glare for the endearment. 

“Whatever, just shut up and walk faster so I don't have to see your face every time I look to my left,” you tell him with a dismissive wave. 

He scoffs in absolute refusal, coral tresses dancing with the breeze as streetlights cast his face in warm light, softening his ink and sharp features. Eyelids lowering, he casts you a flat look from the corner of his eye that's knowing and lazy.

“And leave you to walk all the way by yourself, looking like that? You know there's sleazy bastards around here,” he drawls matter-of-factly, glancing down at your shoes and exhaling through his nose as he shakes his head.

It's the same sadistic pair that would leave you limping with blisters by the end of the night. He'd massage your heels when you got home, your legs thrown on his lap as he scolded you about wearing them again while you just said, “Beauty hurts, Ryo.” 

“Tell me you brought a spare pair,” he almost pleads as he looks to the heavens for guidance because his ex-girlfriend is still a masochist. 

“No, I don't need them.” 

“Sure.” 

“You're free to leave if they're bothering you.” 

Somehow he convinces you to come to his car parked nearby as he remembered that he never took your backup heels out of it and you didn't even realize they were missing because you had so many pairs. And yet you still choose these evil ones. 

Once you put them on, your relief was instant as you groaned and Sukuna's ears went pink from how mildly sexual it sounded. 

Then, because your date was running late and the restaurant happened to be just across the street from the bar your ex was going to, he invited you to sit with him for a bit. 

Yuji and Choso are over the moon to see you, having missed you. Their friendship with you was more of a sibling dynamic than anything and they kept in touch even after you broke up with their older brother. 

“Got a date tonight, huh? You're gonna knock his socks off!” Yuji exclaims, ever your cheerleader, the sides of his eyes crinkling with excitement as he clinks his glass against yours, rosy cheeked already. 

Sukuna snorts which you ignore but Choso's gaze flicks to him for a second then comes back to you. They're having a private conversation with their eyes for sure which Yuji is oblivious to. 

“I don't know. It's not my first date with him so he's seen me all dolled up before,” you chuckle lightly, taking a sip of your mocktail since you didn't want to drink in front of a certain someone and spew your thoughts. 

“Well,” Choso starts and there's something scheming in his eyes. “You know what they say about the third date.” 

Oh. That was not something you'd ever expect him to say. He's always a bit reserved, never this blunt. You let out a surprised laugh, smiling behind the rim of your glass.

Yes, maybe you will let your date have you tonight. It's been too long and you were a bit starved, even catching yourself considering the coworker who was old enough to be your dad. 

“We'll see,” you reply playfully, causing Yuji to flush and Choso to shake his head in amusement. 

Sukuna however does not find you amusing in the slightest. Which is funny because he'd always laugh, even reluctantly when you made a dumb joke that pulled a grin from him. 

He finds it so lame that he stands and excuses himself, saying he's going outside for some fresh air. And as soon as he's gone, his brothers’ heads turning in unison like meerkats until the door shut behind him, they huddled together, eyes on you. 

“I knew it!” Yuji whisper-yells in glee, startling you as you never took him for the conspiring type. “He's still in love with you despite how he insists he isn't.” 

You blink. “He isn't and even if he was, I'm over him.” 

Choso arches a thin brow, eyes tracing over your face for even a crack in your resolve. It's unnervingly slow and his eyes are more compelling because of the purple hue around them. 

“Really?” 

“Really.” 

Eyeing you for a beat more, he relents and leans back in his seat with a shrug. “Okay, good. I can finally get on his ass to move on now ‘cause he keeps turning down my offers to set him up with someone new.” 

Straightening at that, both men latch on to the action and you want to shrink away but refuse. “What does that have to do with me?” 

“Just that seeing you moving on tonight was the push he needed to finally let go.” 

Here you thought you had healed. Your heart didn't flip when you saw him earlier. Butterflies didn't swarm your tummy. You could look at him without regret but hearing that he was only about to let go of you didn't sit right with you. 

Maybe you were selfish but you wanted him to hold on. You were holding on too. Stupidly. As if you didn't break things off on a whim. It hurt how easily he accepted it. If he put up more of a fight, you may have had the chance to scare him off entirely but he just upped and left simply because you asked him to. 

Admittedly, it stung that he didn't fight for you but you know deep down that it would have driven you away if he pressed on a matter that you were adamant about while you were in a fragile state. He showed you he loved you by letting you go. 

But he was about to do it again, no fight like the brawls he'd get into before you met, no anger like the one that would simmer in his eyes when his loved ones were hurt, no yelling when he took off with disrespectful pricks. He had that fire in him but he never used it to burn you, just warm you—engulfed you in an embrace of coral pink and glimmering crimson. 

“Good for him,” is all you can say since there's nothing else you want to admit. 

Both men study you then go back to filling you in on their own relationships as they can see that you need the distraction. Yuko and Yuki are their girlfriends and you're familiar with both women, adoring how well they suit the brothers. 

A buzz from your phone alerts you that your date has arrived at the restaurant so you bid the boys goodbye and head outside. 

Sukuna’s just about to walk in when you step out. His jaw clenches when he watches you exit with the chime of the overhead bell. 

“Enjoy your date,” he tells you, though there's an underlying bitterness in his tone that makes it come off more than he's cursing the man and his firstborn child. 

You don't let it provoke you as you nod curtly, feeling a tad bit uncertain about your choices now. A man who was clearly smitten with you was waiting for you and yet you were here, lingering just a second in case the one you left asks for you back. 

Shoving down those ridiculous thoughts, you go to walk away, heels clicking on the gravel when he calls out to you, brows lowered like they did when he notices something is off with you. 

“You okay?” 

“Never better.” 

There's a flash of frustration that creases his forehead briefly before he steps forward, the scent of his cologne, aftershave and soap dizzying you as his shadow falls over you. 

“Don't give me that. Here, let me fix your coat. It's all skewed. Can't have you making a bad impression,” he fusses like he used to fix the collars of your shirt before you both left for work in the mornings, steady hands smoothing out your shoulder pads and adjusting the lapels. 

“Wouldn't want people thinking I have bad taste when they see my ex all disheveled,” he mutters slyly after, making it about him to get a reaction out of you.

Breath hitching, it feels like his rough, calloused palms are skimming over your bare body, breasts tightening from the mere graze, full and heavy as your nipples pinch, pebbling. 

Arching a rosy brows in suspicion, the familiar, discerning spark in his scarlet irises threaten to shatter you into pieces as he hums, a low, guttural sound that thrums all the way from your chest down to your clit, heat pooling in your lower belly and seeping between your thighs. 

“Sure you're good?” He reiterates his earlier question, fully aware that you aren't if the white hot flash that blows your pupils wide and your hooded eyes are anything to go by. 

“I'm the best I've ever been,” you breathe. 

Gaze raking over you, it's agonizing as it drags up and down the length of your body like he's got x-ray vision. And maybe he does because his eyes catch alight and he moves before you can stop him. 

Deft fingers slide down the sensitive side of your glittery—thanks to your body butter—neck and sweep across your collarbone, goosebumps pricking your smooth skin. Two hook onto the dip of your neckline and tug it forward, his gaze dropping down to the valley of your breasts, warmth licking at the corners of his vision at the lace hugging the swells of your chest. 

Accusatory eyes find yours, squinting as that fury you were secretly longing for sets his irises alight, the hunger in them overshadowed by it. 

“The red set you wore for my birthday?” He grits out between clenched teeth, seething like the bubbling hot lava in your stomach, heart climbing up your throat. 

“I just wanted to see if my girls are good,” he says in a way that'd make people think you had kids together. They'd be horrified if they knew that's how he referred to your tits, occasionally pulling at your shirts to look down at them and sigh dreamily like a perv while you laughed and pushed him away. “And you're dressed up in my gift for some fucker who'll probably slip it in the wrong hole?” 

Face on fire as passerbys avert their gazes, your own ire rises at that as you pull away. “It was your gift but that's long over now.” 

He juts his jaw at the restaurant. “Yeah? Then why are you here and not running along to your dinner reservations? Wouldn't wanna be late, would you?” 

Bristling, you glower, chin raised and nose cocked in defiance that he'd always kiss off. “Don't get cocky, Sukuna. Your brothers told me you're only just now moving on so I simply pitied you enough to see how you're doing before I leave.” 

The air grows cold after you say that, but he graces you with a scorching heat from the darkest, angriest expression you've ever seen marring his harsh features. Though marring would be the wrong word as he's still so fucking handsome. 

“Just because they think I haven't been with anyone else, doesn't mean it's true. You of all people should know that I don't go yapping about my personal life like that.” 

Your breathing ceases. “So you've been with other people?” 

It's his turn to be insolent, staring at you down the line of his nose. “What if I have? It's none of your business, right?”

Jaw flexing, you nod. “Right.”

Turning on your heel, you walk in the wrong direction. “Hey! The restaurant is that way.” 

“I know, you fucking prick!” The vitriol in your voice halts him in his steps, the livid click-clacks of your heels nearly deafening. “I'm going to your car to get my heels in case you use that to try and see me again. Or worse, give it to one of your flings thinking it's theirs.”

“Great going, genius. You don't even have my keys,” he growls, marching after you. You think he's jogging now as his footfalls get faster and you hate that satisfaction loosens the knot in your chest at the fact that he's giving chase. 

Gunshots and grenades could not hold a candle to the shouts and concerningly colourful expletives that left you both, ringing out into the night air as you stomped to the car. It was the anxiety-inducing kind that promised nothing good was about to come from it and the bystanders who were unlucky enough to witness the verbal sparring steered clear of you both as if you could draw your weapons and fight at any moment without any regard for the innocents nearby. Some even had the cops ready on speed dial. 

Fortunately for them, Sukuna argued with you into his passenger seat since he apparently “ruined your mood” so you canceled the date, the back and forth continuing all the way to his penthouse, ending in a fistful of kisses in the elevator as the numbers ascended, lips smacking and saliva swapping with aggressive hair pulls, harsh breaths and moans that sounded like you hated yourselves for doing this. 

That didn't stop either of you from fumbling with his key card, cussing when the jarring, incorrect beep would cut through your pawing hands trying to get each other's coats off. When it eventually opened, you almost fell through the doorway with a squeaky yelp but he banded a burly arm around your waist, pulling you flushed to him and chuckling. 

“Still a clumsy thing, huh?” 

“Fuck you.” 

“That's the idea.” 

A hasty trail of clothes lay strewn on his polished floors, his pants and your dress hanging like drying laundry on the railing of his stairs that lead up to the bedrooms.

Of course, Sukuna doesn't make it easy for you. Not after you hurt him by kicking him out of your life at the time he'd be needed the most. 

The lace of your panties are soaked with your slick as he ruts his cock against your slippery folds over the fabric. You're spread out under him on the bed, clutching his sheets so you don't claw at his inked body with your manicured nails for being a fucking tease. 

“Now, now, don't pout, baby,” he coos mockingly, enjoying torturing you too much with his blushing cock lined with veins and topped off with a dark pink tip, bubbling with pearls of precum at the slit.

Your thighs are hooked over his parted thighs that are digging into the mattress as he rocks back and forth between your legs, grinning at how the sopping cloth clings to your slit with your wet, pussy eating up the lace to feel more of him. 

“Sukuna, if you don't put it in, I swear—”

“You're gonna leave me again?” His voice loses its lightness, the edges sharpening like his gaze strikes you in the chest. The hurt swirling in his irises has a lump gathering in your throat. 

“Maybe I will,” you find yourself stubbornly saying. “But if you want to chafe your cock by rubbing it over my panties all night then by all means, carry on. Just don't complain when it burns when you shower.” 

A huff leaves him at your pathetic excuse and he grips your hips, dragging you closer as he grinds between your swollen lips. “I'll be fine.” 

The underside of his cock runs down your folds with slick, slightly muted rustles and a gasp kicks out of your chest when his tip nudges your clit. He angles his hips to let it happen over and over again until you're breathless and whining from the tingling friction tickling your lower belly. 

The lips of your cunt nestle his cock, wavering with each back and forth buck of his hips. You lift your own for more, elbows aching from where they're pressed into the bed to hold you up. 

“Ryo, please,” you concede, using his name and your forgotten manners to hit him where it hurts. 

It does the job as he tears off your flimsy underwear with a biting rip at your hip, your plump flesh recoiling when the cloth snaps and sags then sails in the air to land on the floor like a fallen soldier. 

“I thought you liked those!” You lament, mourning the loss of one of your favorite sets. 

Clicking his tongue, he scowls at you. “Lost its appeal when you were about to wear it for someone else.” 

You purse your lips to suppress a smile at that. Contrary to his belief, you haven't slept with anyone since the breakup so that's the reason you're so worked up about him doing so. 

That reminder has you frowning and he cups your chin, lifting your gaze to his. 

“I haven't been with anyone either,” he clears your doubts which makes you wonder if you said all that out loud. But Sukuna's always been good at reading your thoughts. 

“What makes you think I've been celibate?” You huff at the confidence in his voice. 

“For one, you're freshly waxed which I'm honestly offended about. My girl likes a trim and a low taper fade,” he answers so seriously and you have to stifle your laugh as your eyes narrow. 

Being the little shit he is, he pats your pubic mound solemnly, palm petting your smooth, bare skin like he's comforting it after it was violated by your wax lady. 

“And two,” he adds, going to demonstrate. 

A sexy deadpan paints his face as he slides a hand between your bodies, coating it in your pooling slick and pushes it into your puddling hole which for all its arousal puts up telling resistance of someone who hasn't fucked anyone in a while. 

Say, six months. 

The stretch burns slightly which embarrasses you as it is only one finger. Drawing it out, he lifts it to the light, webbing the slick between his fingers like an artist admiring his work. Then he sucked them clean. 

“Looks like I have to fuck you nice and slow first, huh?” 

“So you don't come quick?” 

“You fucking infuriating woman,” he cusses and you laugh. 

Though you wish you could say you took him as easily as the last time, you couldn't. But you were a trooper even when he dipped his tip in and you felt so full, asking if he put it all the way, earning an apologetic smile and kiss to the cheek from him. 

Even when the backs of your eyes burned, when you were overwhelmed about feeling well and truly stuffed, when the pain caught in your stomach and had you scratching at his abdomen—you took it like a champ. 

He did well too, all his muscles pulled taut so he didn't bully the rest of himself into you, face pressed into your neck to ground himself in your yummy scent while his own surrounded you along with his weight, warmth and soothing voice.

“That's it, baby. Let me in, slow and steady,” he murmurs, thumb rubbing at your clit so your cunt flutters and sucks him in deeper, stretching to accommodate an old friend. 

The stinging pain eased into a delicious fullness that had you bucking up to get more of him inside you and he gladly obliged. 

A tremble rolled through you as he sinks all the way in, shuddering groans falling from both your mouths, lips brushing. Head spinning, a wave of pleasant dizziness washes over you as his cock throbs inside you, hugged by your gooey, molten walls. 

Puffing a laugh against your lips, he presses a sweet kiss to them. “Look at them getting reacquainted, hmm? Oh, I missed her.”

You loll your head to the side, looking up at him through half-lidded eyes and cocking a brow when you see he's fixated on how he's splitting you open on his cock, base kissing the outline of your slit. He gives you a sheepish smile when he sees you caught him. 

“I'd say I missed you too but you didn't miss me.” 

You glare at him for that as you both know you won't admit it now. 

At least not yet, Sukuna thinks. 

“Such a good girl. Always taking me well,” he praises in a low, mind-melting whisper, thrusting short, quick thrusts to get you used to it. “So fucking good. So good for me, baby.” 

The pressure of his shaft within you is hot and sweet, saliva pooling in your mouth as you watch him pull out and push back in with a breathy groan as you whimper from the loss then moan as he fills you to the brim once more. 

It's slow and deep then fast and hard, alternating in the most delirious, rhythmic pace that makes the room sway, your mind sweeping away into a whirlpool of warmth, steam permeating within your body. Bracing your hands on his forearms, you hold onto the only solid thing so you stay afloat and don't get pulled under. 

A fluffy haze blankets the room, heavy, thick and flaring with each obscene squelch, slap of sweat-slicked skin, airy sigh, wanton moan, guttural groan and low grunt that spills into the toasty air. 

Sukuna is all over you, mouth latching onto your nipples, sucking hickeys into your flesh, biting at every inch of skin he can sink his teeth into, kissing you wet, bruising and messy, licking the whimpers that drip from your lips and humming in approval when you suck on his tongue, cunt fluttering around his cock and drawing his orgasm closer. 

You were an untamed wildfire and he was both gasoline to worsen you and cool water to douse you. Each thrust in fanned your flames while every drag out snuffed it out only to breathe life into it again with the following snap of his hips. 

“Still mine after all this time, hmm?” 

“No,” you denied through a wavering voice.

It was from his pelvis grinding against your clit and the brush of his chest against your breasts that had branches of dazzling electricity spreading through your body and making you shudder from the friction, not his words. 

“No?” His brows crease as he fucks into you deeper, pushing the moans out of your chest, low and raspy. “Who's pussy is this?” he asks in a grouchy tone, overly possessive and you let out a throaty giggle at that. 

You'd always told him how cringy you found that dirty talk line and he'd jokingly say it to pull laughter from you during sex like right now. He can't even stay in character, thrusts slowly as he laughs too, the sound vibrating through you. 

“Hmm, it's mine but I'm willing to share,” you purr, ducking your head and biting at his peck, feeling it yield beneath your teeth as he moans, fingers tracing the dark, intricate markings lining his tan skin. 

“I can live with that,” he breathes, both of you breaking into panting laughter after, the atmosphere lighthearted and intimate before you're lost in the sea of feeling and the desperate, urgent drag of your bodies once more. 

Rays of silvery moonlight spill into the dark of his bedroom, the celestial body a peeping tom to how the big, scary tattooed man puts you in every single position he can think of—missionary, prone bone, doggy, mating press, full nelson and so on—giving and giving while you're taking and taking. 

You don't take it lying down, of course, making him take just as much as he's giving as you take him in cowgirl, reverse cowgirl, lotus, amazon, and much more. Hell, the full moon must've been blushing from all that it saw, cursing its curiosity as the erotic noises from the lovers deafened it. 

Over and over again, the building pressure in your lower belly bursts into sparkling, tingling flames as you come, a shiver wracking through your body, melting into a boneless heap of languid heat on the bedding. Sukuna does too, many times, that tingling in his groin rising up his cock and spilling hot, sticky come inside you, white spots flashing behind his eyelids.

Sukuna can feel it coming before you even move, before you even think about doing it as you're laying on his chest, cheek squished to his pec, the steady rise and fall of his breaths to lull you as if the gods carved him out just for you to have somewhere to rest when the world becomes too much or when you just want to feel cared for. 

You're always like this after sex, at least when you two became an official couple two years ago. It was like the established relationship let you, slowly, open up and show that you were no stranger to the human desire for love too. 

And he was so ready to give it to you, wholly. So when you're all soft, pliable and floating on the cloud of your bliss, he simply stares at the ceiling, hoping the contentment in his chest lasts even if you decide to leave him. 

To call this a mistake. To say it was just a way to go out with a bang. To break his heart that finally started beating properly just a few days ago all over again. 

Maybe he was never made for softness, for gentle love but fuck, you made him so tender and fond, spinning his insides until they were sweet and fuzzy like cotton candy. There is strength in being soft and he learnt that with you, having to be the safety net that catches you when you plummet from those unreachable heights you stand at so nothing can hurt you. 

Sniffling tears him out of his thoughts and he freezes, the fingers combing through your tousled hair to detangle the knots from your rendezvous pausing. He doesn't speak, doesn't pry, doesn't even breathe as he feels his skin dampen from liquid that isn't drool or sweat. 

It's your tears. 

You're crying. 

Arms wrapping around his trimmed waist, you cling to him with a hug that shocks him from how vulnerable and tight it is, like he may flee if you don't hold on, like he's the mountain you're standing at the edge of.

“I'm so sorry, Ryo,” you apologise wetly and he knows it isn't because you called him an idiot earlier or for saying you'll leave him again, both of you aware that you weren't serious. 

It's for breaking up with him and it twists his heartstrings into a ball of aching pain that makes it hard to breathe, one he can't untangle as easily as your messy strands. 

“It's okay,” he whispers but his eyes burn as he knows it fucking isn't. The way your bottom lip juts out, fat tears welling in your eyes when you look up at him, chin propped on your flat palms on his chest, tells him you're well aware. 

“Shut up,” you hush him, looking up to try and stem the waterworks so you can carry on. “I got caught up in my head. Wanted to get rid of everything so I could focus on the main problems at hand.”

“I was having doubts about whether I deserved you or not, on whether you deserved me,” you admit, brows scrunching. “My parents pressuring me about finding someone they chose and constantly putting me down about not choosing the career they wanted me to have became too much.”

“I had to let you go so I wouldn't grow to resent you like I was starting to resent them. I couldn't do that to you. Now that I've let go of trying to meet their expectations and pleasing them, I wanted to let you know,” you tell him. 

You weren't expecting him to take you back or whatever sappy romance movie plot would end with. You made your bed so you'd lay in it. You just wanted him to know as he was one of the many people in your life, from the found family you built, that told you to stop letting your parents rule you. 

It took pushing him away to do that and you weren't cruel enough to ask him to come back after all that damage. 

With a heavy exhale, he lets go of the tension that had locked up his body, absorbing your words. Then his hand came up, thumb swiping away your tears as he took in your red-rimmed, puffy eyes, glassy gaze, the raw, unfiltered version of the tough woman he fell for. 

The one who built herself up out of spite, became successful out of pettiness, was self-sufficient so she'd never have to ask her parents who treated raising a child as a transactional affair as if a baby could sign a contract to agree to it. 

“Are you doing better now?” is the first thing he asks and you want to cry more because he's still looking out for you despite it all. 

A wobbling smile pulls at your lips as you nod with a shaky breath. “Yeah, I am. Finally got rid of all the clutter in my life,” 

While you couldn't cut off your parents completely, you set strict boundaries that you wouldn't be shy to show them the consequences for if they crossed them. They had behaved so far. 

A proud thing tugs at the corners of his mouth at that. So you actually did it. “More room for the things you want now?” 

He wants to ask if there's room for him but stops himself. Fucking you had already turned into something slow and tender that felt awfully close to making love and now you're cuddling, having a heart-to-heart. 

He's already behaved in enough ways tonight to show you how pathetically in love with you he still is. How it's probably never going to go away and linger like a scent that's always around like that time Yuji spilled fabric softener in the laundry room and the lavender, baby powder fragrance is still there. 

You're his greatest love and that'll remain true no matter how this ends. 

With a shaky breath, you nod. “Yeah.” 

So he pulls you closer, further up his body with his hands on your hips then slides them up to your face, cupping it and pressing kisses from your jaw that tightens when you're upset with him, to your cheeks that warm when you're flustered by his teasing, forehead that creases when you frown to hide your amusement, nose that wrinkles when you disagree and finally, a soft, sleepy one to your lips that fix to scold him when he does something stupid. 

“My”—kiss—”sweet”—kiss—”girl.” 

He rests his forehead against yours, eyes sliding shut. “I'm so happy for you.” 

“Thank you,” you murmur, softening further as your lips quiver to ask a question that sits heavy on your tongue. “Are you doing better now?” 

A beat of silence envelops the room, only the distant sounds of car honks, far away music from nightclubs and laughter from neighbors returning home, drunk and happy breaking the quiet. 

“You did hurt me. But I knew it was gonna come eventually. From the moment we met, you seemed to have everything figured out. I never thought I'd fit into your frame, you know? I was the only thing that could be replaced as easily as you toss out junk and garbage.”

The urge to shake your head and refuse is hard to resist but you do, letting him say his piece. 

“So when you wanted to break up, I let it happen because I thought that nothing I would say could change your mind. It sucked. A lot. But the time we spent apart helped me heal and start seeing a therapist so I could get over that feeling.” 

He smiles at you then. “I'm doing much better now. The insecurity was easy to work through once I realized that it stemmed from me and also how I took the way you lived your life too personally.” 

“Don't blame yourself when we both know I had a lot to do with it too. I never asked you to do stuff because I didn't want you to have something to throw back in my face like my parents do. I should have loved you the way you wanted to be loved like you loved me in the way you knew I would appreciate.”

Your accountability, as always, has the last of his slight resentment towards you seeping out of his body with his content sigh. 

“Guess we both needed therapy, huh?” you chuckle and he nods. 

It's quiet again and then you rip off a bandaid. 

“If you're not going to see anyone soon, do you think that maybe we could hook up again?” 

Rearing back, he nearly hits his head against the headboard but your hand shoots out and stops him as he blinks at you incredulously, lip curling in disgust. 

“Are you fucking serious?” 

That's just the reality check you need. What were you thinking? Sitting up, you shake your head. 

“No, forget it. That was inconsiderate of me to ask.” 

You move to climb off him, wanting to spare your crumbling dignity and flee before he can reject you again but he catches your wrist and pulls you back. 

Saying your name in a stern, indecipherable tone, he holds your gaze, expression unreadable but angry. 

“Asking me to be your fuck buddy after all we've been through? Are you fucking kidding me?” 

Drawing you closer, his gaze bores into yours. “If we're doing this again, I'm going to be your boyfriend again. Don't insult me further by trying to make me a damn toy.” 

Gaping, your mouth opens and closes as your brain glitches. Shit, you were just about to unintentionally make him feel used again when he just fucking told you he'd felt that way for a long time! 

“I—No, I thought that'd be easier. I didn't want to try and date again after all I put you through—”

“Baby,” he calls out, reeling you in. “We have too much history to go back to being friends with benefits. I want to be your boyfriend again and in a few years, if you want, your husband.”

There's no going back now. You've shown him that you do need him, do want him in your life. He's not going to hold that over your head like a pawn. He's going to wear it like the badge of honor it is. His Nobel Prize. 

Watery eyed again, you choke on a sob, nodding vigorously as you hug him. “Okay. Thank you for giving me another chance, Ryo.” 

“Don't mess this up,” he jokes. 

“I'll try not to.” 

“I won't leave either way,” he rumbles. “Happy anniversary by the way,” he wishes you as it is the day you abruptly broke his heart that is now finally mended.

Chuckling, you hold him tighter, kissing his neck and shutting your eyes, the last piece of your desired life finally slotting into place. 

“Happy anniversary, Ryo.” 

note: i am still on a little break but like always, i wrote this on a whim at 3am

tags: @getopilleds @peachygelic @kaagrwl @uncagedwings @shamelessdancer @sukusdoll @aspinny @thebl00dwyrm @emluvsgetou @poisonnuggies @zenaskull @liliklei @bruleecream @batcatgal @sunabff @icebearcucumber @vm4879bb-blog @pjselee @petalsmoons @iluvgetosuguru @cttelina @mrswhitethornbelikov @shazzer29 @dadonprimma @vigumii @luoodle @wwasabiiiii @beaniesayshi @princesspeach0-0

[whydoineedastupiduser]

Genuinely one of the greatest sukuna fic I’ve ever read.

Firstly, I generally love the ex to lovers trope sm esp if it’s done right. And with sukuna😝😝

Secondly, the writing is genuinely fantastic especially the descriptions plus the dialogues are top tier. I love both reader and sukuna’s conversation.

My poor babies have both suffered from insecurities during the relationship🥀. I think it was a good thing they learned more about themselves and went therapy and found their way back to each other YAYAYAY.

Also I love that little fact where sukuna was still wearing the necklace gifted to him by reader AFTER their breakup🤭🤭

[rafesteddy]

"𝐂𝐚𝐦𝐩 𝐊𝐢𝐥𝐥" - 𝐀 𝐑𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐂𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐒𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 | 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟐 𝐨𝐟 𝟑

+18 𝓜𝓲𝓷𝓸𝓻 𝓓𝓝𝓘

𝙱𝚞𝚕𝚕𝚢𝙵𝚛𝚊𝚝!𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚡 𝚂𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐒: 𝐁𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 | 𝐆𝐚𝐠𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 | 𝐏𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐞 | 𝐒𝐢𝐳𝐞 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤

*total fic is 15k

5.8K

𝓇𝒶𝒻𝑒𝓎𝓈𝒸𝓊𝓇𝓉𝒶𝒾𝓃𝒷𝒶𝓃𝑔𝓈 𝓀𝒾𝓃𝓀𝓉𝑜𝒷𝑒𝓇 - 𝓌𝑒𝑒𝓀 𝓉𝒽𝓇𝑒𝑒

⚠️warnings contain spoilers⚠️

Mean!Rafe, Bully!Rafe, bulling, Rafe is an ass, name calling, degredation, swearing, drinking, smoking, drug usage, kissing, praise, size kink, unprotected sex, oral (female receiving), oral (male receiving), rough oral, multiple orgasms, spanking, violence, fighting, ownership kink, pet names, multiple POVs, violence, gore, horror, stalking, blood mentioned, gaslighting, lovers to enemies to lovers, reader is quick to forgive, mentions of mutual masterbation, teasing, cheating, possessive Rafe, jealousy

𝓒𝓱𝓪𝓻𝓪𝓬𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓑𝓪𝓬𝓴𝓼𝓽𝓸𝓻𝔂: Sweetheart! Reader isn't from the OBX. She met Kiara (roomate) at college and quickly became friends with the Pogues. The group decided to join the reader, working at Camp Salem which she attended every summer since she was little. After junior high she became a camp counselor herself. Sweetheart!Reader is just that, a sweetheart. She's a lover-girl and quick to forgive. She's hard to read regarding her sexual experience-her sweetness is irresistible to Rafe. He fantasizes about corrupting her and stripping her of that. Sweetheart!Reader wears her heart on her sleeve, making her the perfect target for her bully, Rafe Cameron.

𝓡𝓪𝓯𝓮’𝓼 𝓑𝓪𝓬𝓴𝓼𝓽𝓸𝓻𝔂: Canon-wise this Rafe is the closest to Season 1 Rafe. He is the definition of touch starved, touched but untouched, craving intimacy because it makes him feel better, even if it's just for a few moments. The only awful thing he did in his past in this AU is to be an asshole to the Pogues. He and the Kook trio are serving community service hours assigned from the university at Camp Salem after getting in trouble for something at the end of the last school year (undisclosed drinking violation). This being something they couldn't pay their way out of.

Rafe’s POV:

“You ready, baby?” I murmur as I stretch out my legs, watching as she walks into the water nice and slow. Her hands relax at her sides, skimming the brisk water. She wanders out into the lake just above her hips, diving into the deep as I take off for my morning run, watching her from afar as I always do.

She glides across the lake, moving fast. I pick up the pace as well, trying to get to my regular spot on the trail before turning around with her. I used to tell myself I was just out for a run, but that’s a lie. Telling the boys it was simply part of my morning routine, but who am I kidding? It’s all for her.

It’s the only time I get to see her without her guard up; she’s been on edge all summer ‘cause of me. I know. I pushed her away…further, if that’s even fuckin’ possible. Made her feel unsafe in her favorite place. This fuckin’ hell hole…

Every stroke she takes pulls her farther from the beach. She’s a strong swimmer, but why the fuck is she out here all alone? What if she gets tired? What if something happens? She needs me.

And I need her. Fuck, I need her so damn bad.

This is my last weekend. I’ve wasted every possible second. I gotta make this right, even if I just get to apologize. I don’t want her to hate me even though I’ve given her every right to. I’m an idiot. I always get in my own way. I’m a goddam asshole. And this summer just highlighted that tenfold. She’s amazing. She’s so good at what she does: with the kids, with her friends. She lights up every room she walks into, and here I am, snuffin’ her out at every turn.

Y/n’s beautiful. Fuck, she’s stunning. Every time I catch a glimpse of her, I feel my heart break a little more. There’s somethin’ about her here, too. Maybe it’s the lake. Maybe it’s the summer heat. But I can’t help but picture the two of us out on my boat, her sun-kissed skin and the glimmer of the open water shining on her hair. I can’t help but think about how pretty she’d look in her little bikini, lying on my chest as we unwind on the boat deck, rolling with the waves.

That could have been us.

How did I get this deep into summer without telling her I was sorry, without admitting how cruel I was? Without telling her just how much I think about her? I had all this time, and I wasted it being angry and cold, being a fucking coward.

When I leave, she’ll finally get to relax. She might lift her head for the first time all summer and actually look around, seeing someone who’s gonna treat her like a princess. There’s plenty of guys here. She might fall in love with someone… and she deserves to. She has the right to be happy. I want to be the one that makes her happy. I can’t keep watching her from a distance. What do I have to lose anyway? I’ve already made an utter ass of myself. I’m at rock bottom.

I need to tell her I’m sorry… for everything. I need to let her know how I feel.

I stand at the lake's edge, watching as she swims into shore. My heart pounds in my chest as adrenaline courses through my veins. I study her carefully, watching the little rivers of water roll down her curves. God, she kills me. I draw a deep, ragged breath as she runs her hands through her hair, pawing out the water. I can’t take my eyes off her… I don't want to. She’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

Damn, this morning is hittin’ harder than ever. Morning after morning, I could have made a move, choosin’ the wrong one each time. What about now? Her guard’s down, she’s relaxed. Y/n’s alone without any eyes on her that’ll question her sanity for talkin’ to me. Maybe she’ll hear me out. Fuck me. No…

I watch Kie walk through the sand toward her. Y/n smiles brightly at her friend, a genuine smile I haven’t seen in months. Kiara says something that makes y/n laugh. Carrera is gonna give me well-deserved hell if I even try to get close. I have to get her alone. I need her to know I mean it. I need her to know that I’ve thought about her for months and haven’t stopped. I’ve gotta convince her I'll be a better man if she gives me half a chance. I’ll get my shit together. I’ll be the kinda guy that deserves her. I’m gonna make this right.

𝐿𝒶𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓃𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉…

Reader’s POV:

“And just like that… fire,” Pope smiles up at you proudly. Your little crowd claps for him as he rises to his feet, giving you all a playful bow. Sarah fiddles with the speakers, pulling up a playlist as the rest of the counselors filter in toward the beach. Free Weekend is the one summer weekend where the camp counselors get to cut loose—a family weekend where all the kids head home for a few days, returning on Monday to finish the last half of the summer. You breathe deeply, looking out onto the calm, dark waters. It’s quiet, peaceful, serene. But that won’t last long. These small moments remind me why I love this place so much.

Pope crashes down on the sand next to you with a beer, passing one your way as JJ blazes up a joint on your other side. “God damn, this place gives me the creeps,” JJ rasps through a smoke-graveled grunt.

You shake your head and roll your eyes. “It’s not that bad.”

“Not that bad my ass,” JJ scoffs. “You don't think we all know the stories? Shit’s spooky.”

“Yeah, it’s a little spooky I guess,” you breath as you wrap your arms around your waist, holding yourself a little tighter. Camp Salem was a pure joy during the day: bright and full of life, kids screaming and running around, birds chirping, energy buzzing. But at night, that light gets wiped out completely, the place changing entirely. A thick blanket of darkness falls on everything: the sky, impossibly dark, tall trees looming, shadows shifting all around.

Free Weekend always seemed a little more ominous. When the kids left it felt like they took the life with them. It didn’t help that the camp counselors loved to stoke the fires of fear, telling stories about what happened all those years ago when this was Camp Kildare. Free Weekend… Fourteen Counselors slaughtered at the hands of some campy-80’s-movie-esque slasher. It was bullshit. Nonetheless, those stories stuck in the back of your mind.

The lake shimmers under the moonlight, its reflection painted across the deep waters. The large fire casts embers into the sky, floating away into the distance, a red hue mixing with the stars twinkling in the sky above. The party starts to surge around you—still, no sign of Rafe. You bite at your lip nervously, trying to focus on the conversation between the pogues, but you can’t help but catch yourself looking out for him. You peer through the deep woods that line the beach, cabins set just behind, darkness, and trees swallowing up the rest of your view.

It had been a long summer with Rafe. He took out his frustration in the worst way. Who would have thought he would be so bad at managing his emotions? You laugh to yourself at the ridiculousness of that thought. He was such a dick. So, impossibly mean. I'm patient; still hanging onto our time together by a thread. But I’ve had about enough.This is his last weekend here. His probationary hours are all but complete. His worry about getting kicked out of the frat finally squared up. Even though he’s an asshole, there's this part of me that wants him to stay. What’s wrong with me?

Your stomach flutters as you hear his voice. Rafe walks down the little pathway with Kelce and Top, laughing about something. Rafe punches Thornton playfully, rough enough to make him stumble, the blonde already drunk. Kiara huffs out a disheartened breath, seeing the trio. The three shuffle through the sand, making their way to the fire.

Rafe sits down, trying to act casual, but there’s obviously something on his mind today more than the rest. He’s snuck a few more glances than usual; his stare a little more pensive than his usual glare.

The bonfire casts flickering shadows across his sharp, tight jawline. He leans closer, flexing his arm muscles unknowingly, straining his sun-soaked t-shirt. Rafe takes off his hat, running his hands through his hair, turning it backward instead, letting you see his beautiful eyes. His gaze shifts to yours, catching you staring, but this time you keep your focus on him. Rafe’s eyes narrow slightly, sizing you up but not in the way he has been—with kinder eyes.

The air between you thickens more, building from the moment you saw him watching you at the lake. For a split second, you thought he was about to break. But when Kie came over, everything changed. He walked away reluctantly, it seemed. What if he was going to apologize? Maybe I’m overthinking it.

You smile softly, hoping to ease the pressure, and like some dream state, he smiles back slightly, the corners of his perfect lips curling up; his eye flutter, the man unsure if he believes it himself.

Holy shit.

Rafe’s POV:

Is that a smile? Oh my god. I feel like I have to pinch myself. That… that’s a real smile. Her smile. Just as I hit my high I'm struck down again. My stomach twists as I watch an arm wrap around her shoulders, pulling her close, whispering in her ear. She giggles that sweet fucking giggle, rolling her stunning eyes away at what Heyward has to say. Pope? You fucking kidding me? My heart shatters. Why wouldn’t he go after her? Why wouldn’t she have people pinning after her? I knew it would fucking happen… I knew that she would find someone. But how did I not see this coming? Is this a new thing? Don’t tell me I’m watching the start of their fuckin’ relationship. I’ll lose my goddamm mind. I grit my teeth and clench my fists, feeling myself right on the brink of a breakdown, seconds away from crashing out completely.

I underestimated just how hard this would be… Seeing her with someone else. Pope Heyward... Fuck that guy. He has no business being that close to her. My blood boils at the thought of him having what I yearn for—getting my girl. My chest tightens with anxiety, making my labored breathing that much harder. She’s too smart. That smile toward me meant nothing… Topper was right all those months ago. She’s done with me. She deserves better. She found better. Fuck everything. If she hates me, fine. At least she feels something for me.

Reader’s POV:

”I’m gonna get a beer. Anyone want anything?” You ask as you rise to your feet. JJ holds up two fingers, gesturing for two beers as the rest is waves you off with a ‘thank you’ and a smile. You foot through the sand, heading toward the coolers on the fringe of the woods. Leaning over you snag three, turning around, gasping as you bump right into Rafe’s big chest.

“Three, huh?” He cracks up.

“They’re obviously not all for me.”

“Obviously,” he taunts. “Drinkin’ three beers would require you to pull that stick outta your ass, and we both know you’d never do that. Now, would you?” You suck your teeth and step around him, but he strides in your path, letting out another laugh, getting off on making you uneasy. “Ain’t it exhausting being such a goodie-two shoe? Don’t even get me started on what a prude bitch you are-”

”Enough,” you shout. Pope, JJ, and John B stand up instantly, staring in your direction; posturing—challenging Rafe to mess with you again.

“Wait… Wait a damn minute. Are you fuckin’ all three of ‘em?” He whispers cruelly, close enough for you to feel his warm breath on your neck. “You’re a fuckin’ whore. Aren’t you?”

“Leave me alone.”

“Leave me alone,” he mocks your voice, reaching out his big hand, hooking his finger around your belt loop, pulling you in. “You don't want that. You love this shit. Bet’you're soaked, princess.”

“You’re pathetic, Rafe.”

“Have fun with your boyfriends, sweetheart. I'm sure it’ll be a long night for a slut like you. You got three holes for a reason. Ain’t that right?”

“You’re a pussy, Rafe.”

“‘S’cuse me?” He snorts out a little chuckle. “What was that now?”

“You heard me. Can't say you're sorry. Can't admit you like me… You’re a fuckin’ pussy and everyone knows it.”

“M’not,” he whisper, swallowing hard, thrown off completely, trying to regain the upper-hand. “I can’t wait to leave this shit hole—then I don’t have to see your priss-ass every day.”

“Keep lying to yourself, Cameron.” You push past him, walking toward the fire as you scrunch your nose, holding back tears of frustration as the pogues look back up at you. You pass JJ his beers before cracking open one of your own, quickly downing it; plucking the joint out of Maybank’s fingers next.

“Rough night. Huh?” JJ asks, making your group laugh as he states the blatantly obvious.

”Just gotta get through tonight,” you sigh through a sticky cloud of weed smoke. Pope scoots a little closer, lessening the space between you. He looks down at you with warm eyes, giving you a soft, sweet smile. It had been a fun summer with him so far; there was no denying Pope’s boyfriend material, but there’s a piece of your heart that’s holding you back…

You look across the fire, watching as Rafe talks with his friends. He chuckles between sips of beer, seemingly unaffected by your exchange, an arrogant swagger in his body language letting you know that he still know, regardless of where the two of you stand, he has your focus. Rafe looks your way, catching you red-handed. He smirks at you, continuing to torture you without words at all.

“Hey,” Pope breathes as he rests his large hand on your thigh, guiding your eyes back to him. “Forget about him. Alright. He’s just a dick… Always been a dick.” Pope keeps his hand sat, rubbing his thumb lazily, keeping you grounded. You give him a soft smile and a nod.

You’re trying your best not to look, but when you turn your attention to Kie, her eyes are focused in Rafe’s direction. She chuckles delightedly and shakes her head, obviously amused with something. You turn your attention to Rafe, watching him watch youl, his body language quickly betraying him. He crosses his big arms over his broad chest, lips pressed into two thin lines, as his eyes cut into you like daggers.

“Looks like someone’s night took a turn,” Kiara chuckles. You laugh as well; a mixture of excitement and nerves. Your laughter and smile making the tensions between the two of you heighten even more.

“I mean… We could have fun with this.” JJ hums against the lip of his beer bottle before taking a swig.

“This is a bad idea,” Kie warns.

“Of course it is. Stupid things have good outcomes all the time... You know that, Kie. Now, who of us does he hate the most?” Everyone in your group raises their hand, causing more laughter.

”Honestly, it seems like Pope,” John B adds.

“‘Course it does,” Pope clips. “You in?” He cocks his eyebrow at you mischievously.

Why not? You nod and smile as you lean into him, resting your hand on his cheek as you brush your thumb along his bottom lip. “He’s gonna kill you,” you coo. But to Rafe and the other kooks it looks like you’re mumbling sweet nothings to Heyward. Giddy energy courses around you as the group feeds off of Rafe’s growing rage.

“Yeah—What’s new?” Pope mumbles as he wraps his hand around the back of your neck, pulling you in for a kiss, stopping right before your lips meet, sharing breath with you. “We don’t have to kiss. It’s alright. I'm sure this is enough-” You steal Pope’s words off his lips as you press yours against his in a deep, searing kiss. You let your mouth move with Pope’s, relishing in the moment of peace, knowing this would bring nothing but drama. The pogues hoot and hollar. You pull away slowly, the two of you looking back at each other, unable to deny that the kiss was great regardless of the situation.

“Yeah, that was hot. He’s pissed,” JJ blurts, making the reality of the situation sink in fast.

Holy Shit.

JJ leans into the campfire, a broad, sinister smile painted on his lips as he prepares to tell the story of ‘84, laying on the theatrics thick. “Sit back and relax. Grab a beer. Let me tell you about what happened here.”

“That rhymed,” John B. smiles and nods, elbowing JJ, who smiles proudly.

"M’a storyteller. What can I say? Well, it was the summer of ‘84… At this here camp,” he drawls as he motions his hands around the fire, catching everyone’s eyes. “Camp Kildare… Camp Kill. It was Free Weekend, just like tonight—a warm summer even, such as this. The counselors were young, carefree, horny-“ He lets his voice get swallowed up in the cat-calls of the crowd. “No one noticed the counselors gettin’ picked off one-by-one, everyone figured they were just couples slippin’ away for some advanced cuddling in the bunks. But then, a few too many started to disappear. Ain't no way all of ‘em were bangin’ one out. I mean, the kids are gone. Right? It’s quiet and eerie. Losing thirteen people is a little hard to ignore. First was Max. He ran up to the mess hall fridge to snag a keg. The next were Joy and Casey, who slipped away for a quickie in cabin five. After that, odd shit started happening left and right.”

“People started separating from the rest, only to get slane brutally. One lone counselor remained: Peggy Dates. They found her the next day, fightin’ for her life around what little remained of her fellow counselors, all slashed to pieces. In the middle of the welcome sign, they found an axe, buried deep in the lumber, dripping with the blood of thirteen…”

“Now we all know them filthy kooks only want one thing, and one thing only: cash money. I’m ass at math, so don’t quote me on this, but twenty years ago they decided to open the camp again, giving it a new name, thinkin’ no one would notice. But it’s hard to ignore it… There’s evil here. You can feel it—hear it. See it,” he whispers just above the crackling of the fire as he points toward the inky black woods.

“The Kildare Slasher is still wandering out there, just waitin’… So if you see a man walking around the timbers in a ripped plaid shirt, wielding an axe, just run. RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!” JJ screams, making the crowd around the fire shout with terror and thrill. You lean into Pope and him into you, cuddling closer.

Rafe’s eyes drill into you from across the fire, his focus never leaving you, frustration, confusion, rage, all but boiling over as he scowls at you, wearing his possessiveness on his sleeve. Ever since everything went down, he never had to fight for your attention; he always had it, even if you weren't talking. He was never worried about someone taking you because, at the end of the day, he knew how hung up you were on him.

But tonight burned. He hated seeing someone else get your attention. He hated seeing someone else making you laugh and smile. His lip twitched with anger, fists tightening as he watched your fingers lace into Pope’s. And in that moment, you saw him physically holding himself back, every fiber of his being wanting to storm across the fire and take back what was his.

Instead, he sits there and stews some more, plotting his next move. He smiles smugly; his next plan of attack coming sooner than he hoped as he watches Zoey Peters stand up from her makeshift seat on a log. She brushes off shorts, the curves of her plump ass poking out of the bottom of her cut-offs; tits spilling out of the top of her shirt. Rafe’s tongue pokes in his cheek. You watch him, his calculated daze morphing into a come-hither stare. Zoey takes the bait effortlessly, strolling toward Rafe with a smile. He looks up at her from his seat on the cooler; the beautiful blonde slotting herself between his thighs, his hand instantly resting dangerously high on the back of her thighs.

He gives her a cocky smile, mumbling something charming that makes her giggle. Rafe grabs her hand, guiding her to sit on his lap. His eyes fall down her body, landing on her perfect tits, drifting higher ‘til they set on her full, glossed lips. Fuck, he’s an asshole. It’s so clear he’s doing the same thing I am… His eyes dance between the two of you as they chat. He’s so obvious about it; it’s maddening. He’s really trying to fuck with me like he hasn’t already been doing that ALL fucking summer. His large hand gropes her bare thigh as he leans in, whispering something in her ear, making her turn away bashfully. I can’t help but feel the sting; déjà vu hitting hard. Whatever…

“You wanna go down to the water?” You ask Pope, who looks over at you with a smile.

“I’d love that.” He grabs your hand, helping you to your feet, the two of you shuffling down the beach toward the lifeguard house. You step through the cool sand, leaving the warmth of the party to a place more private. “So?” Pope looks down at you, saying so much with a single word.

“So?” You sigh, tipping your heavy head on his shoulder, your body relaxed from the liquor and smoke, not too much, just the perfect buzz.

“How long until Cameron’s stomping over here asking ‘what the hell are you doin’—”

"Where the fuck are you two goin’?" Rafe spats. Pope laughs weakly, the comedy and predictability of it all too much. Pope’s fingers twine into yours, silently letting you know that he’s not afraid. “What are you doin’ Huh?”

"Just hanging out, Cameron. What does it matter to you?” Pope challenges. “Don’t you have a girl? Where’s Zoey?”

“Oh, fuck off, Heyward. We both know why I was talkin’ to her. Aight? Now I’m gonna ask you one more fuckin’ time. What are you doin’ with my girl?”

“Your girl?” Pope laughs. “You’re joking? Are you his girl, Y/n?” You look up at Pope confusedly, shrugging like you’re unsure, just fucking with Rafe at this point. “We all know the answer to that,” Pope mocks. “You’ve been harassin’ her all year; been a fuckin’ asshole to her all summer. ‘Course you’re not-”

“You’re not gonna talk to her ever again. You understand?”

“She’s my friend,” Pope scoffs. “Of course, I’m gonna talk to her, you fuckin’ psychopath… We done?”

“Far from it,” Rafe laughs.

“You wanna be done, sweetheart? We don’t need to do this with him,” Pope looks down at you with a glint in his eye, using a pet name to stiffen the blow.

“Call her sweetheart again. Please,” Rafe pleads maniacally; an unhinged look in his eye as he stares backs at the two of you.

”You hard of hearing, sweet cheeks?” Pope smiles making Rafe lose all control.

“FUCK OFF, POPE. THIS IS BETWEEN ME AND HER!” Rafe shouts. His voice thundering in your chest, fists clenched at his sides, as he steps into Pope’s space.

“You just want her ‘cause she’s with me, man. You don’t care about her.”

”Don’t fuckin’ speak for me,” Rafe barks, the two standing head to head, preparing to fight as the kooks and pogues run down the beach toward the three of you. "YOU THINK YOU CAN TAKE WHAT’S MINE, BITCH?" Pope swings, striking Rafe in the jaw, surprising you both; knuckles against flesh, making him struggle back, holding his face. Your hands clamp over your mouth in shock as the beach floods with panic. Kelce, Topper, John B, and JJ jump in as well; a barrage of big bodies going at it, blow-for-blow.

The light from the campfire in the distance is your only source of light as you and Kie do your best to pry the boys off each other. Rafe regains his footing, wiping the blood from his lips, his piercing blue eyes brimming with fury. He runs forward, tackling Pope to the ground, the two grappling in the sand. "RAFE, ENOUGH. STOP!” You shriek as he gets the upper hand completely, pounding Pope into the beach.

Kelce grabs Rafe by the back of his shirt, yanking him off before he can do any more damage—Rafe fights against his hold, barking threats at Pope as Kelce holds him back. ”STAY AWAY FROM HER, HEYWARD. STAY THE FUCK AWAY.”

You pout your lip, looking into Pope’s beautiful brown puppy dog eyes, blotting away the blood on his cheek. He sucks his teeth, eyes pinching shut in pain. "Well, that went about as well as expected,” Kie groans, giving JJ a side-eye as he glides his tongue along some paper, rolling up a joint.

“I had a great night. What are you talkin’ about?” JJ smiles, his lip split and bloody, one of his eyes swollen shut. You cup his cheek in your hand, looking back at him regretfully as you sigh.

“He’ll be gone tomorrow. Maybe we should have avoided the whole make-him-jealous thing. Don’t you think?”

“Our first mistake was listening to Maybank,” Pope whispers, making JJ scoff.

“Talkin’ shit… Damn, Pope. You’re on a roll tonight, baby. Didn't you throw the first punch too, man? Proud of you-”

”He did,” you answer for him, pressing the bandaid against his cheek. “You didn’t have to do that, Pope.”

“It was my pleasure, truly. I hate the guy. Got to say my piece. Got to get under his skin. Maybank was right. This is a great night,” he smiles. “Definitely worth a scrape or two.

“Or three…”

“Rafe deserves to hear all the shit he put you through… M’guessing you still wanna be with him?”

You shake your head ‘no,’ but the whole room knows you’re lying. “That's not true-”

“Liar, liar. Pants on fire,” JJ mutters through his exhale. “Very, very questionable taste in men but we've come to terms with it.”

“Have we?” John B laughs weakly, picking the joint off JJ’s fingers before resting it between his lips.

“I don't know... Kie was right all along. He’s a-”

“Walking red flag,” the room chants in unison.

“Mhmm… He is. He’s a mess,” you sigh.

“But…” JJ mocks you, waiting for you to continue the words you're too embarrassed to say aloud. I still want him.

“Ya know… He said that the three of us were “doing it.”

“Yo… It as in sex?” JJ blurts as he chokes on his smoke. “I am so in.” You roll your eyes and laugh, returning your attention to Pope again.

“Thank you for tonight.” He smiles at you sweetly, taking your hands in his.

“Anytime, Y/n-”

”Hey.” The five of you turn toward the noise as Zoey peers inside, searching the room before meeting your gaze. “Have you seen Paisley?” She asks worriedly.

“Uh, yeah,” Kie mumbles. “Cabin four with Trevor, what, like thirty minutes ago?”

“Oh,” Zoey giggles, putting two-and-two together. “Maybe I’ll give her a bit.”

Pope hops off the counter, wincing slightly as he adjusts his body to stand straight, his muscles aching. “Let me walk you to your cabin.” You smile and nod, taking his hand in yours.

The two of you walk down the row of cabins, the strain of the evening somehow lessened, leaving everything a little lighter. Pope pulls you into his arms, hugging you tightly. “Thank you again, Pope,” you mumble against his chest, listening to the soft pattering of his heart. “I’m sorry about all this.”

He breathes out a deep breath with you before shrugging and smiling warmly. “You’re my friend, y/n. And good news for you, I love you more than I hate him. So...”

“Love you too. You’re too good to me, Pope.”

“I know,” he grins as he rocks back on his heels, trying not to laugh. “If you need me, just holler, okay? Knowing Cameron he’s not done… Be careful with him.” Pope kisses your forehead before pulling back, looking down at you with a smile. “Have a great night.”

“You too.” You watch as Pope walks away, disappearing into the night toward his cabin. Reaching for your walkie-talkie, you pull it out of your pocket, lifting it to your lips. “Be safe,” you smile.

“I’ll be so safe,” he chuckles.

“Let me know when you get back. I don’t want you to get got by some slasher.”

”Stop, you’re scarin’ me,” he whimpers dramatically.

“Fuck!” You squeak as you're grabbed by your arm. You swing around, meeting Rafe’s gaze, slapping him across the cheek without a second thought. His face snaps to the side; hissing in pain.

“I deserve that,” he mutters before clearing his throat, returning his eyes to yours.

“I fucking hate you, Rafe,” you huff as you swerve around him, walking toward the stairs, but he grabs your arm, pulling you toward him again.

“No, you don’t,” he murmurs as he backs you into the cold wooden wall of the cabin. It’s true… it’s not just lip service; I fucking hate him. I hate the way I can’t get over him, the way he’s constantly on my mind even when he treats me like absolute dog shit. I hate that I still like him. “Leave, Rafe.”

“Will you just stop? Please… I’m trying to talk to you. I've been trying to talk to you all day.”

“I don’t want to talk to you. Why would I after everything you’ve done?” Rafe’s chest heaves as he tries to catch his breath, towering over you, but he’s never been more powerless.

“I’m trying to make things right—”

“Make things right? Well you're shit at that, Rafe. Hurting me wasn't enough. You moved onto my friends?” You lift your hands, shoving him once, banging your fists against his chest next. “And for what, Rafe? Because you were angry? Because you wanted to prove something? You kept saying I'm yours? I never have been because of you. You didn't want me to be ‘til it was too late. Harassing me for months, then having the audacity to say ‘I belong to you’? Even when we were dating, you couldn't do that. Did you even see what you did to Pope?”

His eyes darken, jaw clenching. “I didn’t want to—”

“He never did anything to deserve that. He stood up for me and said nothing but the truth.” Rafe exhales sharply, looking at the ground as he searches for the right words. “Speak.”

“I was angry. Okay? You were trying to make me jealous. He - Fuck. He was provoking me.”

“Provoking you, Rafe? How?”

“Stop acting like you don’t know!” He shouts, his voice booming through the dim. The summer air hangs thick with tension as he steps closer, voice rising in desperation. “This isn’t some joke to me like it is to them, y/n. They think it’s funny, playing these games, dangling you in front of me to make me jealous. Kissing you, touching you like he did just to piss me off. Trying to make my life hell. I'm already there. I’m miserable!” His voice breaks with the bitterness and pain spilling out of him. “And there the pogues are, laughing at me, pushing me until I snapped. I didn't want to do that. All I wanted was to talk to you.”

“They didn’t make you do anything. You chose to snap. You decided to hurt people because you couldn’t handle your own shit, Rafe.”

“It’s impossible when I see you with other people—”

“And so you lashed out?” You ask, shaking your head in disbelief. “That’s not how you fix anything. You hurt people who care about me because you couldn’t control yourself.”

“This whole situation is pushing me and I can't fucking take it.”

“Yeah? Well, this situation, this mess… you made this on your own. Don’t you dare try to blame my friends or Pope for your misery.”

“Are you and Heyward really a thing? Really? I need to know. Alright?”

“You don't get to know. Leave me alone, Rafe.” You do your best to push him off of you, but he cages you in, looking down at you with begging eyes. “Leave. Me. Alone.” He shakes his head. ‘No,’ his jaw muscles coiled, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows his emotion.

“I can’t…” He whispers. “I can’t leave you alone, y/n. I—I came to apologize. For everything. I shouldn’t have treated you the way I did: tonight, here, this year… ever. I’m just—I’m so, so sorry, y/n.”

“That’s all you have? An apology?” You ask weakly. “We’re so far past this, Rafe. You know how much awful shit you’ve said to me just today?”

“I know. I know—god, I fucking know. I replay it over and over, y/n… I know I’ve been a jerk. Okay? I know I’ve screwed up more times than I can count. But I like you. I like you a lot. Then I fucked everything up and I didn’t know how to handle it, so I pushed you away. If I kept my distance and acted like I didn’t care, it would be easier for you and me, but it’s not. It’s killing me. I'm sorry, princess—”

“Stop.”

“No. Please just-”

“I said STOP!” You shout in frustration, loud enough to make him flinch. “It doesn’t matter anymore, Rafe. You’re leaving in the morning. It’s for the best.” Your words come out harsher than intended, making his tears slip down his cheeks. “I don’t want to do this with you anymore. The jabs to my heart, the bullying, the mixed signals—I’m fucking done, Rafe. I’m done with you. So just go. It’ll be easier if you’re gone. You're toxic and for some reason I can't get over you. So you gotta go. I want you to go. I’m sure you can’t fucking wait. Just give it a day or two. Huh? You’ll be back on campus; back to your old ways. Sleeping with some beautiful sorority girl and you’ll forget all about me and my priss ass.”

He looks at you blankly, taking in every word, falling apart in front of you. “I’m sorry,” he whispers again, like a broken record.

“I’d hope you’d be, Rafe.

His eyes soften on yours; nostrils flaring as he brushed the tear off his face. “Y’know, tomorrow when you wake up, I’ll be gone,” he whispers, voice cracking with sadness.

“I’m counting on it.”

[whydoineedastupiduser]

This is a 3 part story and 2/3 is my genuine favourite part. But read the first and third too cos they’re so good. I don’t usually like bully rafe but this one managed to entice me sm that I’ve read it multiple times

The author is honestly great plus the writing😌😌

I still don’t like rafe in this story overall but the scenes are too good to ignore

[rafesteddy]

𝓕𝓮𝓫𝓻𝓾𝓻𝓪𝓯𝓮𝔂

🄸 🄻🄾🅅🄴 🅈🄾🅄 🄸'🄼 🅂🄾🅁🅁🅈

𝙻𝚘𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝙸𝚗𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝙰𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚆𝚎 𝙲𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚍

𝐅𝐫𝐚𝐭!𝐑𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

+18 𝓜𝓲𝓷𝓸𝓻 𝓓𝓝𝓘

𝙰𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚔𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚔, 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚔𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚌𝚑𝚘𝚒𝚌𝚎𝚜, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚋𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎𝚜 𝚠𝚊𝚐𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚘𝚌𝚒𝚊𝚕 𝚖𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚊 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚎𝚗𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑.

cw | smut, swearing, pet names, jealousy, possessiveness, unprotected p in v, squirting, fighting, name-calling, fingering, reader tries to make rafe jealous, cyberbullying, make up sex, intox

⊹ 💌 ⁺ ˳ ✿ . ♥️ ࿐𝓖𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓗𝔂𝓪𝓽𝓽 𝓚𝓪𝓾𝓪𝓲 𝓡𝓮𝓼𝓸𝓻𝓽, 𝓗𝓪𝔀𝓪𝓲𝓲

The waves crash against the shore, a steady pulse that should be soothing, but your mind is elsewhere. You swirl your fruity cocktail, watered-down from nursing it for the last few hours, as your mind becomes consumed with thoughts of Rafe and why he hadn’t called. It hadn’t just been a day… three, to be exact. 

Rafe being busy wasn’t unusual… Greek life occupied him between meetings, events, school, and whatever else took up his time when you weren’t around. But the silence felt different this time. Deliberate even.

You open Instagram, tap his profile, and see nothing.

Topper…

You open Topper’s story, seeing your boyfriend smiling at a frat house dinner, a beer in his hand, and his phone resting on the table next to his plate of spaghetti. Your stomach twists as you think about him catching the messages you sent, seeing your face on his screen as your call comes through, choosing to let it go to voicemail. 

Your heart breaks a little more as Topper’s next story plays; Rafe packed in the back of an Uber with some friends, headed out to the bars. The following story plays from a different perspective. One row closer to the front, Rafe’s blurry face, caught in the background of her selfie. 

Kaylor Jane... Bleach blonde hair, statuesque, the type of woman who never seemed to doubt her place in the world. She’d been around before—at frat parties, lingering at different social events the boys had on campus. 

You blow out your air nice and slow, hating yourself for doing it, but you open up her profile nonetheless. 

She’s an influencer—an Alex Earle doppelgänger—with a decent following for her makeup and lifestyle posts; a mini-celebrity on campus, to say the least. 

Your stomach falls as you see the thumbnail of her evening’s Get Ready With Me—sporting an oversized Phi Delta Theta shirt. You breathe a sigh of relief, your mind instantly screaming that it’s Rafe’s, eased as you catch the year scrolled across the bottom, the shirt obviously thrifted. 

Posted 51 minutes ago | 10,657 Likes |  180 comments

@/rafecameron001: 🔥🔥🔥

You take a deep breath, trying to keep your jealousy in check, but then again, why is he commenting that? Why the hell is he on her page? Why the fuck is he commenting on her shit and not messaging you back? 

@/yourname2: ? 

“Shit,” you whisper to yourself as you see your comment below Rafe’s, angry with yourself for sending it in the first place, but now it’s too late. The last thing you were going to do was delete it. 

You log out of the app, slamming your eyes shut as you try not to let your emotions get the best of you. It was nothing scandalous—just a fire emoji, simple and vague. But your gut twists regardless. 

Rafe wasn’t the type to comment on random posts—he wasn’t even the type to browse social media. He went looking for this. Your self-control lasts a minute, tops, and when you open the app again, you see that her PFP has shifted back to pink again, making your heart and mind race knowing she uploaded another story. 

Another selfie, a dimly lit bar you recognized, packed wall-to-wall. And again, just like in the cab, you see Rafe’s blurry face posted up behind her. You bite your cheek, debating whether or not you want to make this worse for yourself as you read the caption at the bottom of the picture with a link to the Live stream on her TikTok page. 

And just like before, your curiosity gets the best of you. 

You click the link, quickly joining the live stream. Muffled music pours from your phone speakers as she and her friend lean into the camera, welcoming familiar names as they enter the room. 

Your stomach falls as you see your username roll across the feed. Her eyes brighten, glossy lips curling into a smile. 

“Ohhh, look who just joined,” Kaylor coos, her voice dripping with fake sweetness. 

Her friend sees the name as well. She chuckles cruelly, giving her friend a side eye before looking back at the screen. 

“Long time no see,” she chirps, not even mentioning your name, but you know she’s talking about you, recalling the one civics class you took together in junior year. You swallow hard, grip tightening around your phone. 

Kaylor flicks her hair over her shoulder, adjusting her Princess Polly top, her tanned tits squished between the low, swooping neckline, making the boys in the comments go insane. 

Her eyes glitter in amusement as she sees it all, reading a few comments with her friend as she laughs. 

“Wait,” she gasps, lifting her hand up to her lips. “How rude of me. You probably wanna say ‘hi’ to him, huh?” She adds, circling back to you, dragging out the last utterance like it’s a joke. 

She reaches out her manicured hand, pulling Rafe into the frame. “Rafey, babe, come here for a sec,” she purrs. 

“Yes, ma’am,” he mumbles. Rafe smiles down at her first before looking at the camera. Your chest tightens as you watch the moment unfold in front of you in real-time. 

“Say ‘hi,’” she giggles, and he finally tears his eyes away. He drops his hands to his knees, far taller than Kaylor, squinting slightly in the low lighting as he reads the comments from her thirsty viewers as they gush about him. 

@/miamibabe11: Omg he’s so hot

@/danigirl11: Ally is he your man???

@/tarahhh34231: Wait are they dating??

@/southernbellee7: He’s BLUSHING

@/stacyrae96: BIG BOY KAYLOR omg does it hurt? 

@/fallenonthefield: Does he go to FSU

@/stacyrae96: Frat boy huh? 

@/danigirl11: What’s his @

Rafe laughs, rubbing the back of his neck, cheeks a little pink in the glow of the camera. “Damn, y’all are wild,” he chuckles, clearly eating up the attention you’ve been wanting to give him. And then, Kaylor twists the knife. 

Her hand wraps around his big bicep as she leans into the frame, resting her head on his shoulder to get a better look at the comments coming in. 

“You’re fuckin’ taking my gig, Rafey,” he flirts. “They like you more than me. Why do you like him more than me?” She teases through a laugh. “Rafey… I brought you over here to say ‘hi’ to y/n, but I guess he got distracted by all these beautiful babes,” she praises her guests, making the feed flood with likes and comments again as Rafe’s expression changes slightly.

“Oh. Hey, baby,” he hums, and if you didn’t know him better, you’d think he wasn’t losing his shit completely. 

That bright smile he had plastered all over his lips falters. His strong jaw tenses, broad shoulders straightening as his eyes dart away.

“Oh, thanks, Rafe.” Kaylor’s voice is so sugary and sweet that it’s borderline smug. She reaches out, taking a cocktail from his hand before passing another to her friend. “You got these for us, right?” She asks as Rafe steps out of the frame. “Aww, thank you, love. Your boyfriend’s the sweetest.” 

Kaylor lifts the mixed drink to her lips, taking a slow sip as she bounces to the song's beat, letting the moment stretch out before striking again. “Oh shit, babe. Speaking of, I saw your little comment on my post earlier,” she says as she batts her long lash extension at the camera. “All you commented was a question mark,” she huffs confusedly, tilting her head slightly. “Did you have a question for me, or?” The chat explodes with comments—people wondering what she was talking about, wanting context and the platform so they could check it out themselves. 

@/xoxomelody: No way It was on the GRWM she replied that under her boyfriends post 💀💀💀💀

@/urfavcassie: He liked what he saw

@/nattyspams: Omg y/n leave that man

@/notannie: Omg no way this is so messy

@/officialabby: Is his gf watching?? LMAO

@/theyluvsara: She caught him red-handed

@/iloveerin08: Ally you’re EVIL for this I love it

@/cinnamongirl567: Rafe bro say something

Without responding, Kaylor blows the camera a few quick kisses, ending the Live. 

Your heart thumps in your ears as your phone trembles in your hands. You stare out at the ocean as tears shimmer in your eyes. You look down at your phone, half-expecting to see a notification from Rafe, but still, nothing comes in; not a text, not a call, nothing. 

You walk toward the bar, avoiding your little group of girls as you step around, hiding out for the moment, knowing that if anyone asked you what was wrong, you’d fall apart. 

You belly up to the bar, ordering a drink. Your body jolts as your phone buzzes against the bar top, rattling as Rafe’s face and name lights up your screen. And even though you’ve been waiting for days, you ignore it initially, wanting him to sweat it out—too stunned and too nauseous to process what had just happened. 

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

Rafe: Baby, please pick up.

Rafe: My phone died at the bar. I swear I would’ve called you sooner if I could.

Rafe: I know how bad that looked. I know. Just let me explain.

You let out a sharp, bitter laugh even if there is an “explanation” you know what you saw. The comment on her picture, the lingered gazes, that smile that has, to your better knowledge, been reserved for you and you alone. 

You stare at the messages, feeling your chest tighten. And just when you’re about to cave, another one comes in. 

Rafe: Please baby

Your jaw clenches, thumbs drumming over the keyboard, only to delete. There were a million things you wanted to say…

You: So now you text me Rafe?

You watch as he starts to type a message, then deletes it like you did. 

Rafe: You’re on a trip with your girls Princess. I was trying to give you some space so you didn’t have to worry about me.

You: Jesus Christ Rafe are you fucking kidding me? 

Rafe: What?

You: I am texting you I obviously want you to reply

Rafe: I’m sorry. I’ve been so busy.

You: Not that busy

Rafe: What are you talking about? 

You: You have not been busy enough not to reply to a text. Just stop.

Rafe: I swear baby

You: Did you know that in the time you took to send her 🔥🔥🔥 you could have said goodnight to me?

You: You let her make a fool of me on Live Rafe

He reads it immediately. Three dots pop up, then disappear. Then pop up again.

Rafe: I didn’t know she was gonna do that. I swear, I wasn’t thinking. I was just trying to be nice and then it got out of hand.

You scoff and shake your head. Trying to be nice?

You: Buying drinks for her and her friend? Laughing when everyone in the chat thought you were with her? Blushing when she flirted with you? That was you just being nice?

Rafe: It wasn’t like that

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. The worst part was that it was like that. You saw it with your own eyes. You tip your head back, trying to keep your tears in your eyes. 

Rafe: Baby? 

You: Why are you commenting on her pictures Rafe?

Rafe: Baby…

You: Answer me

You: If I go through your activity right now will I find more??? More comments like that? 

The dots appear again. Then disappear. You laugh bitterly, shaking my head. That’s what I thought.

You: You didn’t expect me to see it did you?

You close your eyes, picturing him pacing his room, stressed, running his fingers through his hair, jaw locked, fingers hovering over his screen as he tries to think of something to say that’ll dig himself out of this hole.

Rafe: We’re in the same accounting class. We’re working on a project together. She’s really nice but I don’t like her. She was wearin an old frat shirt from my house princess. It was only abt that. I was just messing around and I didn’t mean shit by it. Look at my phone you’ll see I have nothing to hide from you. Nothing. I wasn’t thinking.

You: That’s the problem Rafe. You weren’t thinking about me at all.

You stare at your screen, scrubbing away a tear as it puddles on the glass, as you wait for his reply.  

New Notification: Friend Request Kaylor Jane

Your blood boils as you see her name on your feed. Your fingers move on autopilot, rechecking her feed. It’s a short clip—just a few seconds long of Kaylor and her friend from her Live stumbling down Main Street in their heels as they head toward a cab. 

She lifts her hand, sticking up her middle finger; her tongue bit between her perfect teeth. Her hair whips in the wind, tits bouncing with each leggy step she takes as an Ariana Grande song plays. 

Song | break up with your girlfriend, i’m bored - Ariana Grande

🎶 “Break up with your girlfriend. Yeah. Yeah. ‘Cause I bored.” 🎶

@/xokaylorjane: Caption | Night’s not over yet 😉

The caption doesn’t even have to say where they’re going for you to know exactly where they’re headed. Her beautiful friend flashes the Phi Delt hand side before linking her arm with Kaylor. 

The post has only been up for seconds, but the comments have already begun. Most people following from her TikTok Live to her IG account, curious about why she left so. 

@/urfavoriteblonde: Wait where are y’all going now??

@/wtflola: Omg frat house afterparty??

@/miamidance21: She’s doing Rafe raw. next question.

@/umiamiluvr: Rafe’s house?? 👀

@/umiamiluvr: Girl you better know how to fight???? 

@/theyluvsara: Girlfriend’s gonna be PISSED LMAOtf

@/nattyspams: If I was y/n I’d be losing my shit 

Your fingers feel numb as you watch the clip again, then again, all while notifications continue to roll in from Rafe. You switch to his account, scrolling through pictures you’ve seen a hundred times before, but this time, you aren’t looking at him; you are looking for her.

@/xokaylorjane: Looking good rafey

@/xokaylorjane: Damn okayyy 👏

@/xokaylorjane: Drop the ab routine

@/xokaylorjane: 😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨

@/xokaylorjane: I see you Rafey

Rafe never replied—not once—but he liked every one. Every. One. You recalled him talking about his group project in Accounting; the timestamps of her comments at least cooperated with his story.

How had you missed this? 

And this wasn’t some random girl shooting her shot, either… This was someone Rafe knew. This was someone he talked to in class. Someone he spent time with at the library, someone comfortable enough to get a free drink from him. To drag him into her Live just to humiliate you. 

To everyone else, it was her flirting, and him, letting it happen. Which was embarrassing in and of itself. 

Rafe is jealous. There’s no way he would even allow a single comment to slip by without him noticing. And there’s no way he’d be okay with the shit that happened tonight.

Fucking hypocrite. 

You can barely breathe as you hit the call button, pressing it to your ear as you step away from the bar and walk toward the beach. 

“Hey, baby,” Rafe babbles—breathless as he picks it up on the second ring. 

The noise in the background is insane: loud music, shouting, laughter, the typical sounds of a frat party. 

“Are you partying right now, Rafe? Are you serious?” You scoff; the noise on the other end fading away as you utter the last word. 

Rafe let out a frustrated sigh. “Baby, I was literally just brushin’ my teeth. You’re eight thousand miles away right now… I couldn’t get to you if I tried, alright? I already looked. I’m gettin’ ready for bed.”

“Bullshit.”

“It’s not, princess. Why would I wanna party now? You’re obviously pissed… With good reason,” he recovers quickly. “I just wanna talk to you and go to bed. I want this night to be over with, okay? What’s going on, baby?”

“It sounds like you have a lot to hide, Rafe.” 

“I don’t…” He answers gently. “I swear. She’s been tryin’ to talk to me for two weeks; I’m not gonna lie about that. I didn’t ask her to come out tonight. That drink… I owed her a drink for doin’ my part of the PowerPoint ‘cause I procrastinated like usual. I shouldn’t have done it, regardless. I would have killed someone if they were doin’ that shit for you.” 

“That was so embarrassing, Rafe.” 

“I know… I know, baby. I’m sorry,” whispers his voice, desperate and tired. “I left the bar. I came home. I’m not out partying. What else do you need? I’ll do it—”

“FaceTime me,” you cut him short. 

“‘Course, baby,” he assures, the FaceTime notification coming in the next second, and there he was. Rafe stands in the dim glow of his bedroom, the camera angled at the mirror, catching him shirtless in his pajama pants, his hair brushed back slightly. 

“I miss you,” he mumbles sheepishly as he looks at his phone. “You look beautiful, princess. Where are you?”

You take a deep breath, finding it more challenging to say strong as you see the anxiety in his eyes. “The beach—”

“By yourself?” He asks worriedly, with not an ounce of accusation in his voice; it's just Rafe being protective. Being the guy you never thought would put you through what he’s put you through tonight or for the last few days. 

“Yeah…” You whisper as you turn around in the cool sand, heading back toward the resort. 

The light shines on your face; Rafe, able to take in your beautiful features, your cheeks glossy with tears, your eyes reddened, and your lashes wet. 

Your bottom lip quivers, and he knows he fucked up. His heart breaks as he looks at you, and even though pure stupidity got to this point and he didn’t want anything to do with her, he couldn’t help but feel guilty. 

“Baby…” He whispers, wanting you to look at him, but you know you’ll break down completely the second you do. “I wasn’t thinking… I didn’t think it mattered because she doesn't matter to me. I wasn’t thinking about you like you deserve to be thought about. And I’m gonna make it up to you. I’m so, so sorry. See—” 

He holds out the phone, scanning it around his room. His bed is pristinely made, just like he leaves it every morning. His TV is already on, playing ESPN with the sleep timer on. 

It was normal… It was Rafe.

“I swear, princess—” Light floods the room, stealing the words off his lips. He looks toward the door, panic flashing across his face as he turns. 

“Hey, Rafey.” You hear Kaylor’s sticky, sweet voice coming from the open door, the party surging before she pulls it shut, closing the two of them inside. 

“Hey. Wha-What are you doin’ here?” He asks. 

“Just thought I’d say ‘hi’’.” You can hear the smirk in her voice as she gets closer and closer. Your body starts to rush with adrenaline and anger. 

Rafe hesitates… 

He’s just silent. 

So, if he’s not gonna say anything, I am.

“Bye, Rafe—” Your voice cuts through the quiet of Rafe’s room. 

“No. No-No,” he panics as you end the FaceTime. 

His calls come in seconds later, back to back to back, you denying each one. 

You: Hate to interrupt whatever the two of you have going on. Just know we’re done.

⊹ 💌 ⁺ ˳ ✿ . ♥️ ࿐ 𝓒𝓸𝓻𝓪𝓵 𝓖𝓪𝓫𝓵𝓮𝓼, 𝓕𝓵𝓸𝓻𝓲𝓭𝓪

The music thumps through the old house's walls, a steady beat that seems to pulse in your chest. You swirl your drink absentmindedly, leaning against the counter as you look around the packed baseball house. 

You came to distract yourself—to drown out his thoughts, but as it had been for weeks, it wasn’t working. 

Your phone buzzes in your hands, the tiny vibrations feeling almost like a taunt. 

You weren’t together… You didn’t need to torture yourself with the idea of him, but you couldn’t help yourself. 

You weren’t over him… Not in the slightest.

You move your thumb, unlocking the screen. And there he was—Rafe Cameron, his beautiful face lighting up your screen as you bring your drink to your lips, taking a sip.

Rafe, Topper, and Kelce posing for a picture at some event. He had floated the invite to you, just in case you were interested… Just as he had been for weeks as well. 

His smile is beautiful—the man is so physically attractive it fucking hurt. But it wasn’t the picture that made your heart sink; it was the comments. 

@/umiamiluvr: Looking amazing as always 😍

@/miamidance21: Are you going out tonight? I think we’re going to Bar-X

@/fallenonthefield: Check your DMs

@/southernbellee7: Daddy daddy daddy

Your stomach twists as you read through the long line of thirsty comments. After that TikTok Live with Kaylor, Rafe’s account had taken off a bit, some of those same girls still hanging around, making it more and more difficult not to feel like some insecure teenager every time he posted, but you couldn’t help it. 

And, unlike before, when he liked Kaylor’s comments, he completely ignored theirs, but you couldn’t help but think about one of them catching his eye. You couldn’t help but think about him being over trying to win you back just to move on with someone else. 

That can’t happen. You knew you needed him to see you—to think about you like you couldn’t stop thinking about him. 

You lift your camera, take a picture, making sure to give just enough away so Rafe knows exactly where you are, catching the Miami University baseball flag in the back. 

@/yourname2: Caption | Out tonight. Feeling good. 😉

And before you overthink it, you push post, adding it to your TikTok story. Maybe he’d respond, maybe he wouldn’t. Either way, you needed to feel like you weren’t the only one caught in an endless loop of missing and yearning. 

The ache grew heavier in your chest. You grabbed a bottle of tequila off the counter, pouring yourself a shot, downing one, quickly pouring another. 

Your best friend steps beside you, hauling you out of your spiral. “You okay?” She asks, her voice loud enough to be heard over the music.

“Yeah,” You lie and force a smile against the rim of your SOLO cup before you take another drink. “Having the time of my life.”

She gives you a knowing look, but she doesn’t push it. “Let’s dance… Forget about, Rafe,” she smiles as she lifts her drink for a cheers. You do the same, pounding the rest of your mixed drink before grabbing another and heading toward the dance floor. 

You sway to the music; your head, light; body lost from a few too many drinks. But for the first time in a long time, you weren’t overthinking, scrolling, or waiting for the text that would make it all better. You were just dancing… 

And, drunk… Drunk as fuck. 

A laugh bubbles up in your lips as you twirl. When you steady yourself, a strong arm laces around your waist, his fingers glinting with a few rings. 

The smell of his cologne fills your nose–spicy and woodsy–the scent of the fat blunt he just smoked clinging to his shirt as well. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” he murmurs. You turn around fast, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, pulling him in for a hug.

“Hey, JJ,” you smile. 

He twirls you under his finger, taking you in as he gives you a low whistle. “Goddamn, you are beautiful,” he praises. 

“Thank you,” you smile as your head tilts slightly. 

⊹ 💌 ⁺ ˳ ✿ . ♥️ ࿐

The baseball boy smirks down at you, his hands resting lightly on your waist. He’d been all over you for the last twenty minutes, whispering in your ear, his touch a little too confident.

“I’m gonna grab a beer,” he points back to his friend, his eyes never leaving yours. “Did you want anything?”

You shake your head ‘no’ and smile. “Thank you, though.” 

“Of course. Don’t move, aight?” He asks, giving you a wink before disappearing into the thick crowd. 

You move in the other direction, weaving through bodies to find a quieter spot. Grabbing your phone you open up your TikTok page, notifications stacked with a few reactions from your friends, but not Rafe. You scroll through your list of viewers, his name on the bottom, the first one to see it. 

Buzz. 

Your phone vibrates in your hand, making your chest tighten. You hesitate momentarily before pulling up his page and catching the new post. It’s simple. He was at the gym. Not here. Not at a party. Not chasing after you.

It’s a mirror selfie: defined muscles, and sweat, his shirt tucked into the waistband of his shorts. His face is serious, jaw clenched, but something was intentional about it—like he knew you would see this. And the caption? It's a direct play on yours.

@/rafecameron001: Caption | Late night at the gym. Feeling real good.

The realization hit you like a slap to the face—Rafe was playing the same game you were. And you hated how much it was working. And like clockwork, the comments and likes started flooding in. 

Kaylor… Her comment sat there, smug and bold, right under his picture.

@/xokaylorjane: Nice seeing you at the gym 😉 This is me trying to convince you to go out. What’s it gonna take? I’ll do it.

You feel the heat rise in your neck, pooling in your cheeks, vision tunneling as you reread it again. 

She had been there, talking and flirting, and she was still doing it. And Rafe? He hadn’t liked the comment… Not yet. But he also didn’t turn her down either. 

You open her account next, and there she is, leaning into the mirror and applying a fresh coat of gloss to her already too-perfect lips. Her dress is practically painted on—some viral POSTER GIRL dress, hugging every inch of her perfect body, her blonde hair piled on top of her head in a Pam Anderson-style messy bun with bedroom eyes to match. 

@/xokaylorjane: Trying to catch this frat boy’s attention 🤭 what do we think ladies?

She didn’t have to say his name. She didn’t have to tag him. You knew exactly who she was talking about, and so did her followers. Whatever… 

Your heart pounds with the bass as you walk back into the mess. You look across the way, catching JJ’s eye. He smiles, and so do you, slow and deliberate. He nods a silent invitation, telling you to ‘come here.’

By the time you reach him, he’s already holding a drink for you. “Figured you needed this,” he smiles. 

Your face twists slightly, fingers brushing over his for just a second too long. “And, what gave you that impression?” 

JJ shrugs as he tilts his head slightly, stepping closer to you. “Just had a feelin’... And, guys, talk. I know you got some shit goin’ on with Rafe.”

“You could say that,” you sigh as you look up at him. 

“I hate that guy.” 

“What?” You chuckle as you scrunch your nose. “Why?” 

“Why not,” he scoffs, taking a pull of beer. “And he’s obviously a fuckin’ idiot because he fumbled you.” JJ’s handsome face twists in disgust. 

“Got no problem helpin’ you make him jealous, sunshine. I’m sure he’s gonna lose his shit. Fuck, he might even ruin this for himself, and I’ll be right there, showin’ you how much better I’d be. Truly, it’s a win-win for me... Worst-case scenario, I only watch Rafe crash out. Best case scenario, I watch Rafe crash the fuck out and get a shot with you.” 

You take a sip, letting the alcohol burn away the last bit of hesitation you had, and before you can think it through, you step even closer. JJ’s hand brushes against yours as a smirk spreads on your lips. 

“Okay,” you whisper, and just like that, you’re dancing again. 

JJ’s hands find your waist, guiding you to the beat. He turns you around, pulling you a little closer, your back pressed against his muscular chest, his breath warm near your ear as you start to dance. 

The music pulses around you; bodies pressed close, the heat of the party thick in the air. You can feel the baseball boy’s hands on your body as he moves with you, his face tilted close. 

Light floods around you for a moment, whirling away as your friend turns her phone camera from you toward herself, catching her smiling face as she looks up at her phone. 

She glances at you, flashing a devilish smirk, her eyes glinting with amusement. And, without hesitance, your friend hits upload.

Now, all that was left to do was wait.

Buzz.

You felt the vibration through your purse, barely registering it at first as the bass thrummed through your body. 

“Oh, shit…” JJ snickers. “That was fast.” The warmth of his taunting words fans against your neck, sending chills across your body as you both look down at the notification on your lock screen from Rafe. 

Rafe: I miss you

Rafe: Can we talk? Please

Rafe: What are you up to, princess?

The timing… It's almost comically fast. You stare at the message for half a second, thumb hovering over the keyboard before rolling your eyes, locking it instead, leaving him unread. 

“Goddamn, sweetheart,” JJ laughs as he grabs your hips, turning you toward him. “You’re gonna kill him… Please do,” he teases. You roll your eyes and rise on your tippy toes, leaning in his ear. 

“I’m gonna get a drink.”

You step away, making your way through the crowd again, and just as you do, you get another notification. 

Instagram Notification: Rafe Just Uploaded a New Post.

@/rafecameron001: Caption | Think I’ll stay in tonight

Your lashes flutter, feeling flustered as you see the newest picture, angled just enough to show the TV screen. ESPN’s playing on the screen, but what is the real focus? His abs. Bare skin, toned and relaxed against the sheets, the warm glow from the screen casting just enough shadow to make it clear this wasn’t some casual shot.

@/xokaylorjane: No Rafey. Room for me? 😘

It takes everything in your being not to throw your phone against the wall. Your heart slams in your ribs as Kaylor pounces on him yet again. 

You push the “like” button on her comment as a power move, and within seconds, your phone lights up with his name. 

You close your eyes, exhaling shakily before opening your heavy eyes, vision blurring slightly as the liquor courses through your veins.  

Fuck it. 

“Hey, baby. Where are you?” He asks, his voice already tight with worry.

You smile, slow and syrupy, letting the alcohol drip into your voice. “I’m out,” 

“You sound like you’ve been drinkin’. You okay, sweetheart?” He asks, his voice low, cautious. 

You laugh, tipping your head back against the wall. “I have been,” you admit. “A lot. But it’s fine. I feel amazing.”

“You don’t sound amazing… Where are you?”

You ignore the question, leaning back into the wall, letting his question hang in the air. “I don't know, but I  think I’m gonna leave soon,” you lie.

There’s a pause, the shift in Rafe’s breathing so sudden you could feel it like a ripple through the phone. 

“How do you not know, baby?” He asks worriedly. “I’ll come get you,” he said instantly. “Just—Just tell me where you think you are.”

“I don’t need you to pick me up, Rafe,” you say lightly with a teasing bite, toeing the line, pushing him just far enough to make it hurt. “I’m not alone; I’ll be fine.”

Silence. A dead, suffocating silence. Then—“Yeah? What the fuck does that mean?” He mumbles.

“It means you don't have to worry about me—you’re good at that. You should be fine.”

“Who are you with, baby?” He asks possessively.”

“… Friends? Obviously…”

Rafe sucks in a sharp breath. “Who?”

You lick your lips—heart racing even though you’d never admit it. 

You want to hear it. The anger. The desperation. The jealousy. Just a touch on the surface of the thoughts you've been feeling. 

“Cassie, Mabel, JJ—”

“That was Maybank. Are you fucking serious?” His voice is rough, raw with something dangerous, primal. “You’re joking? You’re drunk, you’re calling me, and you’re telling me you're with him?”

“You called me?” You let out a soft hum, playing with the hem of your dress. “He’s been really, really sweet tonight. I just think the two of you got off on the wrong foot,” you slur. 

“Baby, no,” Rafe pleads, his voice shaking and urgent. “Don’t do this. I’ll come get you; I don’t care where you are. Just—Just tell me. You're at the baseball house on Beach Road, yeah? I miss you. I love you, okay? I love you. And I know I fucked up, but you don’t need to do this. Please.”

You pause, letting his words sink in, letting the weight of them pull at something deep inside you. But then—Kaylor’s comment flashes in your mind. 

“You seem busy anyway,” you sigh. “Kaylor, right? Still, Rafe? Damn, That’s crazy,” you add with faux sweetness. 

“What? No, fuck, Kaylor. You think I care about her? I care about you. You’re drunk, and you’re making stupid decisions, and I’m—” Click.

You hang up. Rafe’s name flashes on the screen instantly as he calls back, but you shove your phone deep in your purse, walking straight back into the chaos of the party.

Your hands were shaking, but you pushed past it, past him, and everything… You press your hands to JJ's chest. “You wanna get out of here?”

JJ’s grin stretches wide. “Hell yeah.” 

Your phone vibrates incessantly as his name lights up your screen over and over between desperate texts. 

Rafe: Answer me

Rafe: Are you home?

Rafe: You’re scaring me baby. Come on.

Rafe: Please just text me back and let me know you’re okay.

Rafe: Stop fucking with me. You know I'm sorry you know I love you

⊹ 💌 ⁺ ˳ ✿ . ♥️ ࿐

The apartment was quiet now, the lingering pulse of the party still buzzing faintly in her veins. 

You crash down on the couch, leaning back, closing your eyes as the TV flickers with some random movie you’re not paying attention to. 

“You okay?” JJ murmurs, his large hand resting on your hip. He shifts behind you; lips grazing your neck. “Is this okay-” BANG. BANG. BANG. 

Rafe’s urgent knocking rattles the door hinges. “Baby! Open the door!” Rafe’s voice booms through the hallway, raw and frantic. “Are you okay?” Your heart drops, breath catching in your throat.

JJ lets out a frustrated groan, tossing his head back with an annoyed sigh. “Did I mention I hate that guy?” He laughs weekly.

“Maybank?” Rafe asks from behind the door as he overhears him. 

“Calm down, bitch. Let me pull out, alright?” JJ taunts and you shoot him a glare. “M’sorry, too far,” he chuckles softly.

“I swear to God, open the fuckin’ door! I’m not leaving until I know you’re okay!” Rafe’s voice cracks a mixture of jealousy, anger, and worry breaking through his every word. “Are you okay? Baby, just—just open the door. Please.”

JJ sits up, his jaw tightening. “Do you want me to handle this?” 

“No,” you say quickly, listening as Rafe spits threats at JJ from the other side of the door. Your legs wobble slightly beneath you, the alcohol still thick in your system. “I’ll handle it.

You walk over to the door, resting your forehead against the wood, closing her eyes. “Go home, Rafe,” you whisper, soft but firm.

“No—No. Co’mon, princess. Please,” he pleads desperately, his voice hoarse and soft. “I’m sorry about, Kaylor. I’ve been tryin’ to get your attention, that’s it–” 

JJ’s wicked laugh swallows up Rafe’s words. “Pussy…”

“Anyone but him, princess…”

You turn, watching Maybank smirk as he runs his fingers lazily through his fluffy blonde hair. “This is sad, man… You’re embarrassing yourself–”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” Rafe booms, his voice hitting your chest from behind the door as he hears JJ. With a deep breath, you turn the knob and open the door. 

Rafe rushes to you immediately, finding your arms, his touch rough and desperate. “Are you okay?” He asks urgently like you didn’t get yourself in this situation. “Did you drink too much? Do you need water? Did he–” His jaw clenches, eyes finding yours. “Did he try anything–” JJ scoffs and laughs again, the two of you looking back at him as he shakes his head in disgust at Rafe. “Why are you even here?” 

“You kiddin’ me, Rafe?” JJ asks as he rises to his feet, stretching like he had all the time in the world. Then, with a smirk, he runs a hand through his hair, deliberately messing it up more before casually fixing his collar—and tucking back in his shirt that was never tucked in, to begin with; a deliberate move, one final act of defiance, one last attempt to make Rafe think something had happened between the two of you before he got there.

“Alright. Time to go… Get. Out!” Rafe yells.

JJ just rolls his eyes, stepping closer. “She asked me to be here… The hell do you think I’m doin’ here, huh–”

“Bull-fucking’-shit, asshole,” Rafe spits.

“I’m the asshole, Cameron–”

“Yes, Maybanks. You are the asshole. I’m not the one takin’ advantage of drunk girls.”

“You think I’d let anything happen to her?” JJ smirks. “You and I ain’t the same, man. You think I’d take advantage of her? Hurt her?” He lets out a dark chuckle, stepping forward. “Isn’t that your job, Rafe?”

“The fuck did you just say?” Rafe asks, his voice was low and dangerous.

JJ shrugs, his blue eyes gleaming with their usual recklessness. “I mean, let’s be real here,” he says, tilting his head. “She’s only with me tonight because of you. You make it too easy, man. I barely had to try. You do all the damage yourself.

Rafe surges forward, shoving him, JJ quickly returning the hit. “Rafe, stop,” you warn. Rafe barely heard you over his ragged breathing, his big body trembling with rage. 

“Say that again, motherfucker. I fuckin’ dare you.”

“You better leave, Jay,” you say softly. 

JJ just laughs at Rafe again. “Fuck I love watchin’ you lose your mind, Cameron,” he drawls. 

“Leave,” Rafe warns as he steps chest to chest with Maybank. “She told you to leave. Get the fuck out before I kill you.” 

“Kill me? Bro, what the fuck? You don’t wanna kill me? What if you fuck up again, huh? Who’s gonna take care of her–”

“JJ,” you stop him before he can keep going. 

“Sorry, princess,” he smiles at you one last time, making Rafe scoff and suck his teeth, his body language looking like he was seconds away from taking a swing. 

“Get. The fuck. Out.” 

“You already won, Rafe. Again. But for the record?” He tilts his head, grinning, knowing exactly how to get under Rafe’s skin. “You should really learn how to keep her–” Rafe silences the blonde, throwing a big wad of cash at JJ’s chest.

JJ smiles a crooked smile as he meets Rafe’s eyes again. “You can’t just buy her frat boy?”

“No shit,” Rafe mutters, grabbing him by his shirt. “Get a cab and fuckin’ leave.”

JJ grins, having the time of his life as he gets the rise he was hoping for, lifting his hands in mock surrender. 

Rafe opens the door and shoves him back—hard. JJ stumbles into the hallway, knocking his back on the wall, and before he can rile up Rafe again, he slams the door.

The chaos shuts off completely–the apartment dead silent, apart from Rafe’s deep, labored breathing.

When you finally turn, Rafe’s already looking at you. Still angry… Still possessive… Still completely fucking wrecked over the whole thing. He strides toward you, but the second he does, you’re already walking away.

“Baby, stop,” Rafe pleads. You exhale sharply, refusing to meet his eyes, crashing down on the couch. 

Rafe’s heart fucking ached… It was so clear. And you couldn’t take it either. 

Your eyes lift to his, making him take a breath, trying to center himself as he gets your focus back. 

“Just give me a chance, baby?" His voice cracks as he moves closer, his big frame sinking onto his knees between her thighs, making himself small for you. "I love you. This is killing me."

You bite your lips as heat wells in your eyes, you, trying not to let your emotions be so clearly painted all over your face, but it’s no use. 

He looks up at you, pleading, his hands gripping your knees, his touch careful but desperate, making you look away to keep the tears in your eyes. “Princess… C’mon,” he whispers, his voice shattered. "Just listen to me. Look at me." 

Rafe takes your hand, lifting it to his lips, kissing the top as he tries to pull you back in. 

"I fucked up," he whispers against her skin. "I fucked up at the beginning of the month, and I've been trying to fix it ever since. Everything I did—everything was to get your attention."

He hangs his head low, shifting a little closer. 

"I don't want anything to do with Kaylor," he says, shaking his head and running his hands down your thighs. "I don't want anyone else, baby. I just want you back." He takes a deep breath, his broad shoulders tense with frustration and regret.

Rafe Cameron, the man who would never let anyone else see this side of him but you on his knees, begging for your forgiveness, completely and utterly ruined for you. 

“It was never more than talking… I don’t know why I didn’t put her in her place, why I let her embarrass you. I’m an idiot…”

You lift your hands, cupping his face, making him melt. The second you touched him, his shoulders drop, breath hitching, his hands gripping your thighs like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded. 

"I swear to you," he whispers, pressing into your touch. "If you give me another chance... I'll take care of you. I'll do it right this time."

Your mouth crashes against his, urgent and deep taking him by surprise. Rafe kisses you back with the same intensity, his big arms wrapping around your body tightly like you might slip away. 

He groans into your kiss, hands moving up your body, gripping your waist, sitting down before pulling you on top, right where you belong. 

Your fingers twist into his shirt, needing him closer, feeling the heat of his body against yours. 

You smile against his lips as your fingers slip under his cotton shirt, fingers working higher and higher. 

“Princess…” He whispers against your lips, breathing rapidly before pulling back enough for you to chase his lips. Your eyes lock on his, your head spinning from the lingering buzz and his taste. 

“Mhmm…” 

“You—Fuck, are you sure you want this, sweetheart? Right now?” He asks as he leans in, kissing along your neck inside. 

Your head falls to the side, giving him more as your hands slip under the elastic of his sweat. 

“Of course, I want this, Rafe…”

“I just—You’re drunk, pretty. I don’t want you to hate me later.” He whispers hot against your skin as his fingers trace up your inner thigh, disappearing under your skirt, pressing against your soaked panties, making you whimper for him. 

“Rafe…” You sigh as you tug at the fabric of his pants. Rafe rushes to pull them down his thighs, quickly tearing off his white shirt before you can even finish your sentence. “Do you care?” You chuckle teasingly as he looks back at you with hungry eyes. 

Rafe’s eyes fall to your chest, watching with half-lidded eyes as you pop open the buttons of your cropped blouse one by one. He licks his lips, his eyes glazing over when he sees your breasts pressed together in a pretty lace bra. He swallows hard, shaking his head before meeting your eyes again. 

“Rafe Cameron…” 

“Mhmm…” He hums as his hands wrap around your back, unclipping your bra and letting it fall between you. 

“Do. You. Care?” 

His big hands reach up, cupping your tits in his hands. “You’re so fucking perfect–”

“Rafe, you have two options here. Either you fuck me, or you leave… You decide–” Rafe steals your words off your lips before you can say any more, lifting you before tossing you to your back on the couch. 

He buries his face in his chest, nuzzling into your sensitive skin. Rafe takes your nipple between his plump lips, swirling and sucking as your head falls back. 

You feel Rafe smile against your neck before his hand drifts under your skirt, fingers brushing against the soaked lace of your panties. “Fuck, I missed you, baby,” he hums. 

Rafe pulls down your skirt, ripping down your panties as well before tossing them to the side. He kisses you again, letting his tongue slip between your lips. 

Your tongue rolls slowly with his as you wrap your fingers around his thick dick. Rafe groans deeply—the pads of his rough fingers start circling your aching clit. 

“I can’t tell you how much I need this,” he smiles as his fingers trace your soaked slit, too, teasing your entrance. “Wanna fuck your pussy so bad,” he mimics his word with a thrust of his hand, fucking two long fingers in your tight hole, making you gasp. “I’m gonna make you feel so, so good…” he hums between kisses as he curls his fingers inside you, making your back arch off the couch. 

“Rafe, fuck!” You cry as he drags his fingers across your G-spot, making your body tremble. You tug on his long cock, pulling to the tip. Precum drips off his throbbing tip, landing on your soft skin, rolling warmly down your inner thigh, making goosebumps flair across your bare skin.

Rafe pulls back slightly, grabbing his dick in his big fist and pressing his tip against your clit, making you squeal as you find yourself so close to falling over the edge.

He strokes quickly, rubbing your clit with his swollen tip, his precum mixing with your wetness, teasing the both of you. 

“I’m gonna cum—fuck. Fuck!” You cry as you grab your tits in your hands, watching him get you off with his tip alone. Your eyes roll in the back of your head, toes curling as your pussy flutters around nothing. 

“Atta girl… Fuck, that’s my girl,” Rafe praises, biting his lips, focusing hard on not cumming as he sees you like this. 

He smacks his cock against your cunt, making your muscle jump with each tap, the slick sounds of your pussy making him smirk. 

“Goddamn, baby,” he mumbles as he lowers himself to your lips, breathing heavily with you. “I could lie and say I forgot how wet this pussy gets, but I’m dreamin’ about it every night ...” 

Rafe rubs his fat tip along your slit, making you suck in a breath. His eyes fall down your body, watching as you move your hips ever so slightly, craving him inside you. “Please,” you whisper. 

“Shit,” he smiles as he circles his head around your soaked hole, teasing you as he presses himself in just a little before pulling his hips back. “Nothin’ better, I swear,” he hums drunkenly before thrusting inside, knocking the breath out of your chest. 

Rafe fucks into your slow at first, his eyes still trained on your body, watching your curves bounce with each thrust. 

Your pussy pulls him in with each stroke; filthy wet sucking sounds filling your ears and his as your slickness soaks him—essence rolling down his heavy balls onto the couch below.

His movements become more possessive and forceful, rutting into you with urgency. You grab for him, cursing under your breath as your pleasure mounts, feeling yourself about to come undone for him again. 

“Come on, sweetheart. Give it to me… I know you’re gonna cum. Think I forgot what this pussy feels like when you’re about to cum too… Just do it. Cum on my dick, baby,” He mumbles, his deep fucked-out voice barely heard over the clapping of your skin against his. 

Rafe buries himself into you, throwing his hips into you again and again as his name leaves your lips in a strangled moan as you fall apart. 

Rafe’s thick fingers push between your lips. You swirl your tongue and suck, looking up at him as he continues to stroke, blinking away overstimulated tears. 

“One more, princess. Okay?” He asks. 

His fingers press against your clit, rubbing fast, making fat tears roll down your cheeks. 

Your bottom lip trembles as his cock rocks in and rocks out, filling you deliciously each time.

“Rafe…” You whine as you look at the slight space between your bodies, watching your sloppy cunt take every inch—Rafe’s dick pulls out each time, slicked with your wetness, his big fingers slopping through the mess “M’gonna cum.” 

“Shittt,” he moans as your pussy tightens around him, your body cumming harder than it ever has before, taking him with it. Rafe moans your name as his hips stutter, muscles flexing as he fucks his cum deep.

He pulls back just enough to look down at you underneath him—his soft lips claiming yours tenderly as your bodies soften against each other. You breathe a deep sigh of relief as he kisses the corner of your lips, then your cheek, working to your neck before tucking himself close. 

The room is quiet now. The chaos of the night had settled, the alcohol faded from your system, leaving only clarity in its place. No more buzzing or reckless decisions—just the two of you wrapped in each other's arms. 

“Thank you, princess,” he whispers as he looks at you like you’re his whole world. “I missed you… So fucking much.” Rafe cups your cheek in his hand, letting his thumb glide along your bottom lip. 

“I missed you too,” you breathe. 

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly, blinking quickly, scrunching his nose to keep his emotions at bay. “I love you, and I’m so sorry. I hope you believe me.”

“I forgive you,” you whisper, watching his eyes soften as he looks back at you. “I love you—” Rafe pulls you in, kissing you slowly. And when you kissed him back, soft and sure, he felt like he could breathe again. 

⊹ 💌 ⁺ ˳ ✿ . ♥️ ࿐

Part 2

dividers | @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

[whydoineedastupiduser]

THIS IS ABSOLUTELY MAGNIFICENT! I genuinely love this fic sm, I’ve read this tm times

I love reader for standing on business and dumping rafe cos he was so shady at the start

The little JJ cameo to make rafe jealous😜😜

The whole call scene got me geeking like crazy

[hearts4hughes]

https://www.tumblr.com/hearts4hughes/785288931630530560/send-in-some-exbfrafe-and-bsfrafe-requests

Calling exbf rafe to tell him good night like the TikTok trend, you know he will eat that shit up!! He will be trying to play it off cool but blushing really and taking that as a sign she wants him back,

you’re curled up in sarah’s bed, legs tangled in a thrifted blanket that smells like lavender detergent and your childhood secrets. her room’s glowing with that late summer golden ligh—windows cracked open, cicadas humming, a forgotten candle flickering in the corner. both of you are belly laughing, the kind that makes your stomach sore and eyes watery.

you’re scrolling through tiktok, passing the phone back and forth like a shared lifeline. somewhere between a “get ready with me” and a recipe for baked feta pasta, you see it. it’s a video with two girls, similar to you and sarah, laying down and giggling while one calls their ex to say ‘goodnight’.

you freeze, thumb hovering over the screen. sarah looks up from her bag of pretzels, face already twisting into a mischievous grin. “oh! you have to do that to rafe.” a giggle leaves her lips at the mere thought of torturing her lovesick brother.

you scoff, but you’re already smiling, and chuckling at the possibility. “what? no. that’s evil.”

you and rafe had broken up two months ago, after two years of being tangled up in each other. it hadn’t been ugly, not exactly, just…inevitable in that slow, splintering way. like something sacred wearing thin at the seams. it wrecked him anyway. left him half-alive and mean about it, walking around like he didn’t bleed for you, like he wasn’t still sleeping in the hoodie you left behind. no one really talked about it, but everyone knew—rafe cameron hadn’t been the same since.

“exactly,” she says, beaming. “and besides, he’s so not over you.”

you roll your eyes, but your heart’s beating faster. you grab your phone anyway. “you’re insane,” you mutter, voice breathless with laughter.

“and you love it,” sarah sings, flopping back onto her pillows. “now shhh. put it on speaker.”

your fingers hover for half a second too long over his name before you press call. the phone ringing bounced through the walls of sarah’s bedroom. he picks up on the third ring.

“hello?” his voice catches halfway through the word. it’s low, hesitant, not quite put-together. there’s a pause, and some ruffling in the background. he’s grabbing for a shirt or maybe a recording device to document that this actually was happening.

you swallow a giggle, face already warm. “hi, rafe,” you say like sugar. “just calling to say goodnight.” he’s on the other line flushed, and trying to figure out if you’re serious or if this is a dream.

“uh…” his voice shifts, softens. you can hear the way he bites back a grin.“okay? sweet dreams, baby.”

your eyes widen. sarah clutches your arm like you’ve just won the lottery. “goodnight,” you say, voice a whisper now.

“night,” he murmurs back. then, like he can’t help it, he murmurs, “call me tomorrow?”

you hang up before you can say yes. you toss the phone onto sarah’s floral comforter like it’s radioactive, then bury your face in one of her overpriced anthropology pillows and scream loud enough to rattle the fairy lights above her bed. your face is tomato red, ears hot, skin warm to the touch. you can still hear his voice in your head, syrupy and low.

sarah’s shrieking, “baby?! oh my god, he’s still in love with you.” she barks out laughter until her body can’t hold itself upright. she falls onto the bed beside you, clutching her stomach.

on the other side of the line, rafe leans back in bed like it’s no big deal. as if his pulse isn’t sprinting and his ears aren’t burning. he tosses his phone onto the side table, arms crossed behind his head, smug little smirk tugging at his mouth.

she wants me back so bad, he thinks, biting back a grin.

but his cheeks are pink, and his heart’s thudding out a rhythm he hasn’t felt since you used to sleep in his shirts. he tries to play it off, eyes flicking toward the ceiling like he’s already moved on. but three seconds later he’s picking up the phone again just to check if you texted. just to look at your name one more time.

taglist ~ @ren-ni @bungurus @kayperrysinging @cupids-diner @mojitrvo @babygirlboeser @makiplan @ladyatwalmart @qversazex @favbrnette @nothingtosee333her @soft-starr @f10werfae @bibissparkles @brennanyay @grungefck @kravinoffswife @restinpaece @illumoria @meetmeintheemeraldpool @miaaaoa

[whydoineedastupiduser]

This is why ex!rafe is the best

[chleem]

hii!

I hope you are doing good :)

could you write something really angsty/hurt

with rafe like she fell for him like really hard and he somehow too but he doesnt want to admit he's scared for a committment so he does date someone else ... i hope this helps the rest is up to you how you want to write it :) really like your writing so It just can be good anyway

Take care of yourself <33

⋆.˚ Warnings: explicit language and scenes, read at own caution

ִ ࣪𖤐 a/n: really proud of this one! enjoy!

word count: 2.6k

──── 𝜗𝜚 ─────

“What do you like about me, Rafe?”

“Hmm?”

“…what do you like about me?”

“I dunno.”

“C’mon, there has to be something,” you whisper, smiling as you settle more comfortably into his lap, fingers tracing idle patterns on his forearm.

He shifts the wheel slightly, the car crunching over the gravel path toward the beach. The wind rushes in through the open window, cool and salty, mixing with the warmth of your bodies pressed so close they’re almost one. You don’t even care that it’s reckless, sitting in his lap while he’s driving, you just want to be here, with Rafe. 

Rafe licks his lips, his blue eyes focusing on something distant. 

You stare at his Adam’s apple; the way it throbs as he considers his answer. 

“I…I guess I like the way you feel.”

“The way I feel?” You repeat, giggling after, wrapping your arms around his neck, as if you weren’t already pressed close enough. 

“You gonna judge everything I say?”

“Of course not.” 

“Fuck, nevermind-“

“How do I feel, Rafe?”

He swallows, eyes flickering to yours, “like a fresh pack of coke.”

You immediately roll your eyes, biting back a laugh as he bursts into that low, genuine laugh that fills the car. The sound wraps around you like a warm blanket. With his free hand, he reaches up to brush a stray lock of hair out of your face, his fingers lingering.

His laughter dies down, and he licks his lips again, shifting slightly beneath you- reminder that you’re still perched in his lap as he drives.

“Hey- hey.”

“Yeah?”

“What- what about me?”

“What about you?”

“You like me or somethin’?”

“Unfortunately.”

Rafe laughs, “well, your turn; since you like talking so much.”

You sit up straighter, trying not to get into his line of sight since he’s still focused on the road. The car hits a bump in the gravel path, and you jump slightly in your seat. Both of you burst into laughter.

Taking advantage of the pause, you study his features- how the fading light catches the curve of his jaw, the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles, the soft shadow under his lashes.

You think of his personality: the recklessness, the bravado, the unapologetic edge of it all. The part where everyone knows, and only knows. 

Then there’s the part no one else knows. The part where he’s vulnerable, the nights in August when he’s high or drunk and stressing over things that don’t even make sense. The moments you’ve held him, soothing that restless energy when the world feels too heavy. That part of him that he barely lets surface, but that you’ve come to understand, deep, raw, and unguarded.

And right now, riding shotgun on this gravel path, it feels like maybe, just maybe, he trusts you with it all.

He trusts you. With it all. 

“I love the way you make me feel, Rafe.”

The emphasis lingers on love, and as the word slips from your lips, you realize just how hard you’ve fallen, how completely and utterly you’re caught in this- him.

That maybe, this small summer fling of sixty days, can turn into a relationship. 

The car comes to a rough halt. You slip off slightly, but Rafe catches you fast, pulling you close again. You gasp, heart racing- whether from the sudden stop or the weight of the confession, you’re not sure.

But in his arms, pressed so close, you know one thing for certain; nothing will ever be the same.

Then, you hear Rafe’s laugh echo through the car.

“What? You almost crashed us, you psycho,” you laugh uncertainly, pushing against Rafe’s chest.

He laughs, the sound warm and easy, but when it dies down, his hand slides to the back of your neck.

“come here.”

Before you can say anything, he leans in and kisses you, rough and needy, long enough for you to read it as love. 

——

That was five days ago. 

Five days since that day at the beach; where you were sure you had him in your palms. Lying out in the sun, golden and half-asleep. Running into the salty water with him, laughing like kids, high on the moment. Kissing in the sand, fucking with his hand wrapped around your throat, messy and warm and a little too much, but in the best way.

Going home together and washing the same dirty sand off of each other; his hands roaming over the most private parts of you. 

What the fuck is wrong with him?

You're at the same beach, sitting near a campfire that one of the Kooks threw together to celebrate the end of summer. Smoke curls into the night sky, and laughter spills from the circle of glowing faces.

The log beneath you feels rough and splintered, but you ignore it. You're not here for comfort, or to have fun, you’re just here for Rafe.

The only people around you are his friends, drunk and high already. You try to engage in a conversation with them, but it’s hard when you’re only interested in Rafe. 

It’s been thirty minutes since the party started. Still no sign of him.

You tell yourself this is stupid. You should leave. You should never have come out here, to this party.

And then- headlights. A car pulls up toward the far edge of the beach, parking a little away from the noise. But you know the sound of it. The engine, the headlights, the silhouette behind the wheel.

Rafe.

You try to hold back the smile that’s already blooming, try not to sit up straighter, but your body betrays you.

From far away, you make out that the driver’s side door opens; and he steps out.

…and then the passenger side opens, too.

And that’s when you see her.

She walks around to his side without hesitation, and he waits, for her.

Your heart stumbles a little.

They walk toward the fire, toward his group, and his arm drapes around her shoulders.

You know. You know he’s already fucked her. The way she leans into him, smug and careless, says everything.

You sit still. A part of you wants to run. A part of you wants to scream. But you just sit there, letting the firelight flicker across your face, letting it cast enough glow that he has to see you.

And he does.

Rafe’s eyes flick over, for a split second, and then they move on- just like that. Like you’re a stranger. Like sixty- not sixteen, but sixty days of shared beds, whispered secrets, and messy mornings never happened.

And five days was all it took for him to forget.

What the fuck is wrong with him?

“Rafe! You’re finally here!” someone shouts.

“Yeah, man, what took you so long?”

He shrugs, his voice rough from smoke or disinterest, “got caught up.”

You stare, gaze locked on him, burning into him.

His eyes skirt the fire, skim across his friends, and land anywhere but you.

The girl he’s wrapped around leans into him, laughing at something, maybe nothing. It’s the laugh people use when they want to be seen, when they already know they’ve won. 

You wonder what he told her. You wonder if he used the same words he used on you.

“Well,” one of his friends pipes up, grinning way too hard, “y/n saved you a seat.”

Your stomach turns.

Rafe still doesn’t look at you. Instead, he gives a tight nod, jaw clenched, and reaches for a beer. He cracks it open with the opener nearby, metal scraping against metal with a sharp clink that sounds louder than it should.

His arm slips off the girl beside him as he steps forward, heading straight toward you- because, really, the only seat left on the log is right next to you. You shift slightly, pulse loud in your ears.

He settles down beside you without a word. His thigh brushes against yours, barely, but it might as well be a collision. Your body stiffens, every nerve aware of him.

The girl trails after him a second later, her smile faltering when she sees there’s no space left. She hesitates only briefly before motioning to sit on his lap.

Only, Rafe stops her.

With one hand, he pushes her gently, firmly- to the side. Not rough, but enough to make a statement. She stumbles slightly, groaning in annoyance as she drops onto the sand next to him. In the same motion, she reaches for his hand, linking her fingers through his like she has to claim what’s hers now.

And he lets her.

Your eyes stay forward, fixed on the fire, but your senses are betraying you. His scent, sharp cologne, salt, and the memory of skin on skin- cuts through the campfire smoke, filling your nose. 

What used to make you feel safe now makes you feel sick.

His grip tightens on the beer bottle, knuckles turning white. You let your eyes relax, slow, and you angle your head just slightly toward him.

Around you, the others are too drunk or high to notice the silent war unfolding in this small space between you and Rafe. Or maybe it’s just you and him who know.

Thirty seconds pass.

Your stare haunts the side of his face- catching the curve of his jaw, the tense line of his mouth.

Then, finally, he turns to you.

His blue eyes catch the firelight, flickering. 

He blinks, then licks his lips, eyes flicking briefly to yours- landing on your lips for just a heartbeat.

“Y/n.”

The sound of your name leaves his mouth rough and low, almost like a confession.

You barely hear yourself say it, but the words slip out anyway: “…fuck you.”

Rafe nods, like he expected it. A crooked smile curls at the corner of his mouth as he lifts the beer to his lips, tilting it back without hesitation. His Adam’s apple bobs with every swallow, sharp in the firelight, his throat moving like he’s trying to drown the moment.

“Fuck you, Rafe Cameron,” you say again- louder this time.

He lowers the bottle slowly, his fingers still curled around the neck of it. His eyes meet yours.

“…you already did,” he whispers.

Then he pulls his hand out of the girl’s grasp, raking it through his hair like he needs to shake something loose. She reaches for him again- desperate, but he doesn’t give a single shit.

His eyes stay glued to you, even as his body stays angled toward the fire.

You let out a laugh- quiet, cold, and empty. “I’m going home,” you say, voice sharp with finality.

“You got a ride?”

“You were my ride,” you remind him, the bitterness in your tone undeniable.

“Then you’re not going anywhere.”

“You don’t get to- ”

“You’re not going anywhere, alright?” he snaps, louder now. His voice cuts through the hum of drunken laughter around the fire. Heads turn. A few of his friends go quiet. But Rafe doesn’t care. His voice was for you, and only you.

You lean in, just a little, and point a finger to his chest, poking hard enough for him to feel it through his shirt. “Oh, so now you care about me?” you hiss, low and sharp. “What about her, Rafe?”

He doesn’t answer.

Your finger presses harder. “How does she feel, huh?”

I…I guess I like the way you feel.

His jaw tightens. His mouth parts like he’s about to speak, but the words die before they make it out.

The fire crackles in the silence between you.

You don’t wait for him to find the words; You get up and walk.

Past the flickering light. Past the sea of bottles and voices and the girl still sitting in the sand. The air grows colder with every step. You're steps ahead, almost to the edge of the beach, when you hear it.

“Hey- hey! Y/n!”

You keep walking.

Then a hand wraps around your wrist- fast, harsh, desperate.

“Y/N.”

You whirl around, voice shaking, breath hitched. “Let go of me, Rafe.”

“I’ll- I’ll get you home-”

“Stop-”

“C’mon, let me just-”

“No, Rafe!” you yell, your voice tearing at the sky.

You’re far from the fire now, far enough that no one hears, far enough that the campfire glow is just a faint halo in the distance. Just you and him now.

Your eyes sting, and then the tears fall- silent at first, then not. You pull your wrist from his grasp with everything you’ve got.

“No, Rafe,” you choke out, voice breaking. “Get away from me.”

He just stands there, chewing on his bottom lip, those blue eyes locked into yours like he can hold you in place with just a look.

So you shove him, hard; right in the chest.

And he lets you.

You hit him again, fists balled, and tears pour freely now, your voice low, bitter, aching.

“You fucking asshole,” you whisper. “Coward, aren’t you?”

He doesn’t flinch, or defend himself.

“You must really hate me, huh? To do that, to break me like that- ”

You hit him again, fists useless now, trembling as they fall against him.

And then- he grabs your other wrist. His grip locks you in place.

You stop moving.

But your face crumples. You cry- ugly, open.

“I don’t- don’t hate you. y’know that.”

Your breath hitches, you shake your head. “You do, Rafe. Because why else- why would you-”

“I don’t hate you, y/n.”

“Shut up.”

“I don’t hate you, why would I hate you?”

“Then why are you with her?” you yell, voice splintering.

He falters just for a second. “You don’t understand,” he mutters.

“‘Don’t understand’?” you echo, disbelieving.

“You just don’t-”

“What the hell is there not to understand?”

“You don’t-“

“Then tell me, Rafe!”

“No-”

“Tell me so I can understand. Fucking tell me, Rafe.”

He doesn’t speak.

You scoff, staring into those blue eyes of his. 

“You coward. Do you know how much I like you?” your voice breaks, small and sharp. “No, you don’t. Because you have this- this thing going on with you, I guess. Something- something fucked up about you-” 

Commitment. 

That’s what it is. That’s the word both of you are searching for. But neither of you says it out loud. You can’t; because deep down, you don’t want it to be true. You hope- need- to believe that he’s better than that. That he’s capable of more. 

Rafe reaches for you. 

He pulls you into him, and you don’t fight it. Your body collapses against his chest like it always belonged there. His arms circle you tightly, anchoring you in a way that almost makes you forget everything that’s been said. 

One hand threads gently through your hair, slow and soothing, like he’s trying to undo the damage in the only way he knows how. 

This might just be the most intimate it’s going to get. Just this- your face buried in his chest, your tears soaking into his shirt, and his hand moving through your hair. 

“I’ll get you home, okay?” he murmurs. 

“Okay,” you cry, hugging him back- tight, like it’s the last time. 

And it is. 

Later, sitting in the backseat of his car, you stare out the window in silence. You don’t look at him. You don’t say anything. Neither does he. 

No words are spoken during the ride. 

And no words are ever spoken between you again. 

You’ll bump into Rafe sometimes, here and there, in crowded rooms, beach parties, places that used to feel like yours. His laugh will echo, a sound that haunts you. His scent will pass by and cling to you like something cursed. And the blueness of his eyes will become a color you’ll loathe forever. 

He’ll become a stranger you know too well. And you? You’ll just be a summer fling he forgets by winter. 

Maybe, Rafe will become the person you tell your future kids about when they ask if you’ve ever been in love- or really, who was your first love.

…and that’s just the way life goes, unfortunately.

-------------------------------

"I think I’m in love, but I cant stand fuckin’ relationships"

fear of commitment might just be the worst thing ever

elevator | other

[whydoineedastupiduser]

This is why angst fics are my favourite🥀🥀

[chleem]

Hallow's eve

Oneshot; exes drew x yn

Summary: drew wasn’t the type to get jealous. And tonight, on hallow’s eve, is his first time experiencing this bitter emotion. 

Genre: exes to lovers, smut, angst, fluff 

Warnings: cursing, unprotected sex, (read at own caution

⋆.˚ don't copy or translate my work

♡⸝⸝ happy halloween! | mistletoe | mr & mrs starkey

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“You can’t be fucking serious,”

Drew laughs bitterly, his eyes landing on you. 

The light blue corset, leathered mini-skirt, police badge, duty belt, and bunny ears are all too recognizable to him. A seducing touch to the costume of Judy Hopps from Zootopia. It shows off your curves beautifully, everything about it made you look more sensual than usual. 

But the main reason for his bitterness isn’t because of your costume, rather…who you’re matching with. 

His friend Paul. Whose wearing what was supposed to be Drew’s, the Nick Wilde costume. 

Fuck. It’s been a month since the breakup, and you show up with his friend?

“Shit, did you know about this?”

Drew forces his eyes away from you, turning the Keith. His lips are pursed, clenching on his jaw tightly. All the emotions are coming back to him all at once; regret, anger, and confused. “Does it look like I know?” He doesn’t even try to hide the sourness in his voice. 

Keith nervously glances to the side; he knows Drew isn’t over you. Hell, Drew didn’t even try to get over you, and everyone knew it. Dated for a year…how is one suppose to forget about that? “Shit man…”

Drew sighs, turning his gaze back to you. He hasn’t seen you for a whole month…and you looked beautiful. 

And Drew of course knew how much he missed you, shit, everything he did he thought of you. Waking up? Why weren’t you in his bed. Showering? Why weren’t you helping him wash his hair. Eating? Why weren’t you sitting in the seat beside him. 

And seeing you hold Paul’s hand, greeting others with a soft smile; that should be him standing beside you. 

“They’re…probably not even together,” Keith tries to make the situation look better than it is. 

Then, while you’re talking to someone dressed as a mummy, Paul distracts himself by planting kisses along your jaw. “Not together, huh?” Drew snickers at the audacity of Paul, doing that to you. He should know better than to touch what’s his. 

Drew’s whole costume feels annoying now. Obviously, breaking up with you meant having no costume. So, he improvised to dress up as Patrick Bateman, from American Psycho. 

He shrugs the clear raincoat off, hanging it on a random coat hanger that happens to be in a kitchen. He loosens his tie, pouring himself another round of drinks. 

When Drew glances at Keith, he sees a sly smile on his face. What the fuck-

“You’re jealous, man.”

Jealous? To Drew, it was an ugly and immature emotion. Only insecure people feel that way. Drew wasn’t insecure, god no.

No. That just wasn’t who Drew was, to be jealous. 

Besides, what’s there to be jealous of? He knows you too well, you’re definitely just bitter. Because out of all his friends, you hate Paul the most.

His mind was just playing tricks on him. 

But fuck- how much he wanted to punch Paul still, and claim the spot next to you. 

“No,” Drew laughs it off, sounding as if he’s being held at gunpoint. He downs the drink in his hand in one sip, and says more firmly this time, “no.”

Keith raises an eyebrow at him; obviously not believing his friend. “Nah, you jealous. Jealous that Paul gets all that now.”

Ew. That thought disgusts Drew. “Fuck off-“

Someone yells for a game of truth or dare in the living room. Drew’s eyes immediately find themselves on you, even with the huge amount of costumes in here. Paul ushers you to join; reluctantly, you follow him. 

Seems like Drew’s also playing. 

——

Amidst the loud Halloween party, a game of truth or dare begins. Refusing to answer or do the dare, results in a penalty drink. 

Paul’s hand on your thigh makes you want to throw up. You hated this guy; why, out of anyone, did you ask him to be your date?

Your stupid pride got the worst of you, refusing to show up at the party alone, especially with the chance of seeing Drew. You suspected that he must have moved on, so you decided to show how ‘well’ you were doing.

Wrong. Everyone close to you knew how many sleepless nights you’ve had in the last month, depressed and withered away in your room. Really, getting ready tonight was an impossible task too. 

Paul is…disrespectful, awkward, inappropriate, the list goes on. He’s not close with Drew; but still, it bothered you that he was always at hangouts. Once, he made a move on you (a rather rude, pushy one) while you were still with Drew. 

Yep. Now thinking back, you would’ve preferred to come alone instead of with this prick. 

“You good?”

Yeah, if you take your hand off me. “Lovely,” you manage to breathe out, focusing your gaze at the circle that has now formed in the living room. 

Your eyes land on Drew; pulling a random chair and sitting down, manspreading. He never looked finer, in his American Psycho costume. And plus, his hair. The last time you saw him, he had bangs. Not that this new buzzcut looked bad; it gave a whole new demeanor to Drew, one that was more matured. 

Wow. Looking at him, you realize how much you miss him. You wanted to go sit next to him, run your hands through his buzzcut, and just talk to him, hear his deep, calming voice. 

Shit. He makes eye contact with you, and for the first time, you can’t tell what’s on his mind. Is he mad? Regretful? Or does he…even care? You watch as his eyes scan down your body, lingering longer on your legs. Or rather, Paul’s hand there. 

“Alright…who wants to go first?” Some person you don’t know, speaks up, sitting down on the couch. 

The eye contact breaks, with Drew turning his face away, drinking the cup in his hand. 

Huh.

Someone volunteers for a dare, but you don’t show much interest. This is a stupid game anyways. 

During the game, Paul would whisper something dirty in your ear, which honestly, pissed you off more. When he kissed your jaw earlier, that was already crossing the line. But you could feel someone watching you intensively, so you go along with it; smiling, whispering back, responding to his touches. You hoped that someone would call on you, just so you could leave Paul’s side for a while. 

And as if some angel heard you, halfway through the game-

“Drew, truth or dare?”

That caught your attention, but you try not to show it. You make subtle glances in his direction, wondering what he was going to chose. 

“Dare,” his voice is deep, just like how you last remembered it. 

The person asking was his friend, Keith. He hung around so much, that you can easily recognize the mischievous glint in his eyes; he’s gonna say something crazy. 

You’re right; because he says, “7 minutes in heaven. With y/n.”

The people in the circle all murmur and woo, in anticipation. Great. Was there anyone here that didn’t know about the breakup?

You can’t help but smile down at your lap, at how ridiculous this dare is. Surely, Drew wouldn’t say yes, right? You couldn’t tell; his face showed no emotion towards that dare. 

“Say no, alright?” Paul’s disgusting voice forces you to look over at him. 

Did you want to say no? 

You take a good look at Paul’s face; maybe saying no isn’t the worst idea. Being locked somewhere awkward with Drew sounded better than…actually, better than anything. 

Suddenly, you feel a heavy presence standing close to you. And when you look over, it’s Drew. He stands in front of you, and he holds out a hand for you to take.

You look up at his face, hints of eagerness only you could notice. He nods gently towards his hand, telling you to take it. 

“Yo dude, she doesn’t wants to go-“

You take it. Your hand comes in contact with the familiar warmth, the hands that you always found comfort in. You let him pull you out of Paul’s arms, a little too rough, and you stumble a bit. 

You smile awkwardly, holding onto his hand hard to regain your balance. “Hey, I’ll be here waiting for you,” Paul continues to say. 

“Sure,” you force out, adjusting your skirt. Deep down, you’ve never been more glad to be rescued by Drew. 

——

He’s walking at a fast pace, and with his grip on your hand tight, you can tell how urgent he is. His patience slips away with each tug he gives to each door he passes by, occupied by strangers already. 

“Maybe we should just give up-“

The last door is budged opened, and when the two of you glance inside, it’s empty. 

“Great,” you murmur awkwardly, before forcing your hand out of his. You don’t want to do so; but given the current situation between you two, it’ll feel weird if you continue to hold his hand. 

You brush past him into the small bedroom, and sit yourself on the bed. This bunny headband was getting itchy, so you take it off, putting it beside you. 

You watch as Drew locks the door behind him, sliding his suit jacket off. Woah, woah, woah, is he stripping? “Um…what are you doing?”

His blue eyes stare blankly into yours; as he lazily rolls his sleeves up. “the walking, it gets hot.”

Oh. He…yeah, it might get too hot from all the fast walking. Why would he strip? Drew wasn’t that kind of person, what were you thinking? You look down at your lap; embarrassed of your own thoughts. 

Well…this is awkward. The only sound in here was the faint music from downstairs. 

And then Drew sits down on the bed, next to you. The mattress dips under his weight, his scent (he smells real good) hitting you, and just his overall presence. 

That damn buzzcut. What even motivated him to get his entire head shaved? You were curious; and you wanted to know what happened to him in the past month. Was he also miserable like you? Or did he forget about everything-

“Paul, huh?”

He’s leaned forward; so you can’t really tell his expressions. But his voice comes out deep and almost hushed, like he needed to force it out. 

Your heart was beating fast, why were you nervous? It was just Drew; you’ve dated him for a year, known him for more than that. Yet, every action and word he says can still made you flustered. “Well, he has a thing for me.”

Was that the right response? You weren’t sure; Drew answers a few seconds later, “I know,” you watch his back muscles through his see-through button up tense, “just didn’t know you had a thing for him.”

Almost forgot how well he knew you. “People can change,” you shrug, trying to act cool. 

That earns a ‘tsk’ of disapproval from him, and he leans back. He turns towards you; the pretty blue of his eyes staring into yours. “Not you.”

“Could say the same about you,” you bitterly reply, referring to the breakup. It was out of character for him to just dump you, saying he was ‘busy’. A dick move, to be honest. 

Drew rolls his eyes upward; as if thinking of a response. His lips are slightly pursed; and you see the amusement in them. 

“Am I wrong?” You press, and suddenly, the depression from the past month has surfaced into anger. Anger towards Drew. “You have no right to say that-“

“You’re dating Paul,” he emphasizes on the last part, his eyebrows furrowed at you. “Paul, for god’s sake.”

You shake your head, a sour smile on your lips. The anger inside of you begs to be released, and as a way of spreading it out, you stand up. So mad, you can’t even sit still. “So what? Why do you care, we broke up-“

“A month, only for a month!” He raises his voice slightly louder than yours, and he also stands up now. This escalated fast. “And Paul. Are you fucking serious?”

“Yes I am! More than ever, you got a problem with that?” You provoke, the two of you standing in less than a meter from each other. He stares down at you, and even with your angered mind, his proximity still drives you insane. “Let’s not forget that you dumped me-“

“You’re dating Paul?” He asks once again, realizing that you didn’t correct him from earlier. His face shows it all; betrayal and disgust.

 You laugh at him, rather distastefully, “Do you not hear yourself right now? You’re worried about that-“

“You dating him or not?”

He just stays in place, towering over you. That question lingers in the air, his jealousy heavy. He watches you, and you see a mixture of longing and frustration in them. He’s practically begging you with his eyes at this point. 

The devil on your shoulder pushes you to lie, “we’ve been seeing each other.”

He immediately steps away from you, pacing around the room with his hands running through his scalp. He turns back around to you, but stands at a distance now, “y/n, what the fuck-“

“Why are you getting mad at me?” You yell back, your voice cracking. 

“I don’t believe you,” he harshly denies, shaking his head. 

Fights with Drew was never like this; he would apologize quickly and fix the problem. Tonight? You might’ve just pissed him off to the point of no return. 

You tuck your hair behind your ears, before placing them on your hips firmly. “Well, that’s the truth, whether you like it or not-“

“I don’t fucking believe you, y/n,” he denies once again. 

“You saw him around me, what else do you-“

“I don’t believe you,” he repeats, closing the distance between the two of you again. You gulp at his presence towering over you; this time, there’s an edge to his demeanor. Knowing that you lied, it felt dangerous to be standing this close to him. “You’re bluffing, I know it.”

The sharpness in his eyes glints with challenge, searching for the truth in yours. He won’t be easily swayed; he knew you too well. 

You cock your head to the side, the same challenge in your eyes that mirrors back to him. You don’t miss it; the jealously in his. He’s jealous right now! 

No wayyy he’s jealous. Years you’ve known him; never once have you seen him jealous. Drew was that kind of person; unbothered and sure about himself. At first it frustrated you, it seemed like he didn’t care. But you soon learned that it just meant he trusted you, never questioning about your friendships or interactions.

But still, he’s jealous right now! For the very first time! And you wouldn’t be you if you didn’t tease him about it. C’mon, this man was jealous of Paul. How cute. “You’re jealous,” you say, failing to hide the amusement in your tone. “You’re fucking jealous right now-“

“No,” he firmly denies it. 

“Yes, you are. You, Drew Starkey, is jealous-“

“I’m not fucking-“

“Yes! You’re jealous!” You point out, a bit too cheerful at that. You almost forget that you’re suppose to be angry at him, “You’re bitter that it’s not you-“

“Gosh, you’re driving me insane,” he groans, throwing his head back in frustration. “I don’t feel that way-“

“Oh, you totally are,” you say, taking a few steps back and snickering. Gosh, this is fun to make fun of. “Drew Starkey’s jealous for the first time-“

Drew’s lips come in contact with yours, his tongue thrusting into yours urgently. 

Woah.

You didn’t even realize he had closed the gap again; his hands cupping your face to trap you into him. You hit his chest to push him away; but the longer his lips attach to yours, the softer your hits were. 

Alcohol. You taste that on his lips, pretty sure yours too. 

Yet, like a second nature, your body and brain reacts to Drew in a submissive way, kissing him back. You can’t help it; the warmth of his hands on either sides of your face, his soft lips…everything about him. Everything about him is endearing to you. 

In this moment, you realized you could never truly get over Drew. And quite frankly, you don’t want to. 

He pulls away, but his hands still remain on your face. “I’m not jealous,” he murmurs, his lidded-eyes gazing down at your lips then back your eyes. His chest under your touch rises and falls, the beat of his heart fast. 

The urge to fight or tease him disappears; you just want to be in his presence, in his touch, feeling the warmth of him. As if it could solve all your problems.  

“Shut up,” you breathe out, pulling him down by his tie and kissing him. 

Drew immediately kisses you back; never been more glad to be ordered to shut up. His hands move down your body, until they come in contact with the strings at the back of your corset. 

You feel him struggling with undoing it; probably distracted by your lips on his. 

Gosh, was it so hard to undo a couple of strings?

You force him onto the bed, and he immediately readjusts himself to a nice position. You quickly put your hands behind you and untie the strings, while Drew undos his own tie, his eyes never leaving yours. 

“Was that so hard?” You tease him, letting the corset fall off you. Drew’s mouth is slightly opened as his eyes drift lower down to your naked chest; his fixated gaze giving you a confidence boost.

“Mmhm,” he lazily replies; hands pull you into his lap by the waist. His lips attach them to yours again, and your hands work on unbuttoning his shirt. He kisses down your neck, laying love bites on it. 

“Shit…” you moan. Drew’s lips were skilled, and they knew where you liked it. 

His hands knead your breasts, just as you got his last button undone. Your hands roam around his chest, abs, then coming back up to run through his scalp. Huh. It’s gonna take some time to get used to no hair to tug on. 

His lips move down to your chest, and he starts to suck on your nipples. He fully makes out with them; his tongue sloppily tugging and devouring them in. It sends pleasure down to your core; and you start to rub against him, feeling the material of his pants harden. 

“Drew…” you voice out, hands feeling his scalp. It feels, weird and comfortable. 

He pulls away, his chest heavy as he looks up at you with hungry eyes. “Yeah?”

“Lay back,” you order, wiping the saliva that drips down the side of his lips. 

Drew gulps, before nodding. His hands remove themselves from you, hurriedly discards his shirt, and he scoots himself further down the bed. You get the clear look of his boner through his pants; damn. 

Your hands go to undo your duty belt; when they come in contact with metal chains. 

Huh? You look down and see, that it was the handcuffs you got for Judy Hopps’ character. 

The dirtiest idea pops up in your mind, and you look back up at Drew with a smile. His eyes are squinted at you, eyebrows furrowed. The two of you share a look; and then he shakes his head in disapproval. “No. I’m not getting handcuffed.”

This was never tried over the course of your relationship with him, and now that the opportunity presented itself, you had to try. You pout, taking the metal chains in your hands. You dip onto the bed, crawling between his spread legs. “Please, baby. It’ll be fun,” you flirtatiously say, your hand crawling up his thigh. “I’ll make it feel good.”

“You always make me feel good,” he murmurs, his arms tucked behind his head. 

“Pretty please then?” Your hand comes in contact with his boner, and you grip it through his pants. 

He moans under your touch, his mind fighting the battle to not be seduced by you. 

You knew how much Drew liked to touch you, always having his arm around you either lovingly and protectively. He took pride in being the person that gets to touch you whenever he wants and wherever. So of course, he wouldn’t be so happy to be handcuffed. 

You swing the handcuffs, giving him a soft smile. 

After a few seconds, he moans again, this time out of frustration, “fine. Do it.”

You smile ear-to-ear, happy that he agreed. You straddle his waist, as he offers his hands to you. You fasten one around his wrist, the material digging slightly into his skin. “Does it hurt?” You murmur, even though you were already moving onto his other hand. 

“I’m good,” he assures you, and when you glance down, you see that your breasts are directly in front of his face, a distraction provided. You shake your head, a soft smile on your lips as you bring both handcuffed wrists and hook it on the headboard. 

You ignore the kisses he trails on your chest; and tug on his hands to make sure it stays there. “Hey, stop it,” you warn him, before getting off. 

By instinct, he tugs his wrists wanting to keep you atop of him, but the handcuffs stop him. “Ride me, c’mon,” he whines, getting impatient with the restraints of his hands. Look, you haven’t even started and he’s already whining. 

Drew looks very hot in this angle; usually in charge, to be in a position where he physically couldn’t do anything. 

You giggle, undoing the duty belt and shimmying your skirt off. You lean forward between his legs, looking up at him with intrigued eyes. “Have some patience, baby,” the nickname drives him crazy, throwing his head back in frustration. 

His reaction makes you grin. You can see the struggle on his face—wanting to be annoyed but unable to resist the pull of your playful teasing. It’s the kind of tension that makes your heart race, as your hands go and undo his belt. 

The belt comes off, next was the zipper, then his pants. You tug it down to his knees, his dick piercing through his boxers. It’s begging to be sucked by you. 

You pull it down, his dick practically springing out. “Fuck,” you moan, leaning down close to it. 

Drew thrusts his hips, making the tip hit your nose. You look up at him, furrowing your eyebrows. You didn’t like how impatient he is right now, “stay still.”

“Sorry,” he murmurs, biting down on his bottom lip. “You look pretty from this angle, though.”

You give him a smug smile, before opening your mouth and taking his tip in. He immediately groans at that, as your mouth moves lower. 

The tug of the handcuffs is heard, as well as Drew saying, “wanna touch you.”

You smirk against his dick, one hand gripping on his thigh, another one going up to his balls. You massage one side; while your mouth skillfully takes Drew in. 

But Drew decides to take a step further, and thrusts his hip upward. That makes you gag; his tip hitting almost the back of your mouth. You immediately pull your mouth out, “stay still,” you say, more firmly this time. “Or I’ll leave, and you’ll stay here handcuffed.”

Another tug of his handcuffs, “didn’t mean to.”

“Be a good boy and stay still, okay?” The lust, tipsiness, combined with Drew’s vulnerable situation serves as a huge boost to your confidence. 

“Yes ma’am,” he murmurs, relaxing his entire body now. You’re in charge now; the handcuffs remind him of that. 

You give him a glare as a warning; you don’t miss the small curl at the corner of his lips. You take him in again, your hand squeezing his balls gently. You start to bop your head up and down, tongue wrapping and sucking his dick. 

“Shit,” you hear him groan, “just like that, babe.”

His soft moans ensure you that you’re doing a great job, as well as the occasional tugs of the handcuffs, his hands dying to touch you. Your head bops faster with each passing second, the pleasure of sucking his cock pooling in your undies too. 

It’s when you feel his cock twitch inside your mouth, you pull away. 

“Babe, what?” He manages to breathe out, he couldn’t believe that you just denied him of an orgasm. 

That nickname sends a bigger impact to your core than it should’ve. You sit up and lean forward, planting a sloppy kiss against his lips. He kisses back immediately, eager and needy. You pull away, “didn’t know you were this whiny.”

He forms a small frown, which makes you giggle, “I’ll let you cum, stop whining,” you kiss along his neck, down his chest, abs, and stopping right before his dick. “You got a condom?”

“You think I planned this?’ He tugs on his handcuffs. Right. He definitely wasn’t planning on fucking his ex-girlfriend. 

You get off the bed, rummaging the nightstands, hoping for condoms to be here. Nope. “Fuck,” you frustratedly groan, pushing your hair to one side. “Now what?” 

That question lingers in the air, the two of you staring at each other. No condom, and two horny adults. There was only one solution. No, two solutions. But who in their right mind would suggest that one-

“Raw,” Drew speaks up. 

“Raw?” You’ve never gone raw before; the risks of it overpowering the pleasure of it. You glance that Drew, seeing how calm he was to suggest that. Then at his dick, which was still erected. 

“Unless you want to go back downstairs.”

Oh god. You didn’t want to; you wanted to have sex with Drew. But you had to be honest; the idea of raw sex was terrifying. 

“Y/n?” His blue eyes meet yours, “sit down first.”

You sit back down beside him, placing your hand on his lower stomach. “Raw?” You’re more asking yourself, yet you look at Drew’s face. 

Drew. Going raw with Drew. Drew. Not some random guy. The Drew that you’ve found yourself get really into. Okay. Maybe if you two didn’t break up a month ago, you would’ve gotten to that point with him anyways, right? 

“You okay?” He asks gently. 

You give him a soft smile, getting yourself between his legs yet again. “Can’t be any different than a condom, right?”

He smirks at your agreement of this, “hope so.”

You lean forward and give him a quick peck on the lips. “Stretch yourself out first,” he reminds, looking down towards your core. You take your underwear off, sitting back and spreading your legs. It gives Drew the clear view of your pussy; and he groans at that. “Need help?”

He tugs on his handcuffs. Pretty sure it’ll bruise his wrists if he continues to move against them. The sly smile on his lips tell you everything; “I got it,” you assure him. 

You line two fingers against yourself; and then put it in. “Shit,” you groan at how wet you are already; thrusting your fingers in slowly.

You can’t help but compare your own fingering to Drew’s; finding his more satisfying to your core. Nevertheless, you stretch yourself out just like Drew says, picking the pace after a few seconds. “Fuck,” you hear him groan; and after a couple of sloppy thrusts, you pull out, finding yourself stretched. 

“Good?” He asks, watching as you straddle yourself on his waist again. 

“Perfect,” you practically purr, leaning forward and kissing him. You feel his smile against your lips; him kissing you back tenderly. 

You pull away and look down; aligning yourself with his dick. Shit. 

You sink down, feeling his cock enter you slowly. You moan loudly at the feeling; no barriers between the two anymore. When you sit down fully, you’re sure his tip hits the back of your core. 

Drew throws his head back in pleasure, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “Feels real good,” he murmurs, his eyes fluttering to stay open. 

You giggle gently at his reaction; and you raise your hips, ready to start moving. You move up, then slide back down on him. “Shit,” you curse, the sensation unreal. 

Raising your hips again, you start riding him, at an unusual slow pace. Your nails dig into his shoulders, transferring the pain there. “Wanna touch you,” he voices out, tugging on the handcuffs. 

“You touch me all the time,” you hum, continuing to slam yourself up and down him. He groans at that, a knowing smile on his lips. 

“Touch yourself for me, then,” he thrusts his hip upwards, causing you to moan at the friction. 

You do as told; bringing your hands up to your breasts and squeezing them while bouncing. You’ve never felt this much pleasure; the feeling of Drew watching you while you ride him, your hands all over while you imagine it being him. 

The sound of skin slapping, heavy moans, and the tugs of Drew’s cuffs fill the room, as well as the rising temperature in here. This sex experience reminds you just how much you and Drew are compatible for each other; easily kinky and fond together. 

You feel the familiar hotness fill up your core, your movements getting more sloppy. “Close?” He asks, sounding breathless. 

“Yes,” you moan, your hands back around his shoulders. 

Drew leans himself upwards with his upper body, and he gives you a messy kiss. His kiss sends you over the ledge; and you feel the knot coming undone. He pulls away with a smug smile, “came all over my cock.”

“Shut up,” you smile, pulling him back and kissing him again. You liked kissing him more than you should. 

“Hey, can you undo these for me?” He tugs on the handcuffs for the nth time tonight. 

“Should I?” You cock your head playfully to the side. He playfully thrusts upwards towards your core, and you groan at that. “Fuck, Drew.”

“C’mon, undo me,” he begs, his blue eyes staring teasingly into yours. 

Gosh, this man. It’s unfair how attractive he is, from his looks to his actions. Everything, just touches your heart. You pull out of him, the stickiness around your legs don’t feel as gross as they should. But you do miss the warmth of him, feeling bit empty. 

You search around for your duty belt; grabbing it off the floor. It had three little compartments around it, and you rummage around each one. The cheap material makes it hard to open each. 

“Babe, you’re taking forever,” you hear him behind you. 

You ignore his comment; working your way to the last one. Surely the key had to be in the last one, right?

Is it; and you throw the belt back down, turning back to him. “Were you always this impatient?” You ask, unlocking both of his wrists. 

The handcuffs shoot down as soon as you’re done; and he flips you under him in one fast motion. You let out a shriek, not expecting to be pinned in mere seconds. He looks down at you with a small smirk, “my turn.”

“What?” You let out a nervous giggle, his hold on your wrists tightening. 

You let out a loud gasp when he shrinks his length down into your core; pushing it fully in at once. Shit, shit, shit. His lips attach themselves to your neck, leaving love bites, eventually moving down lower. “Drew,” you manage to breathe out despite feeling the weight of him down on you. 

“Yeah?” He mumbles against your skin, one hand intertwining with yours. 

“…feels good,” you admit, even though it was unexpected to be pinned down. Having his cock fully in you; felt like heaven. Now, he’s gonna give you your second orgasm of the night; halloween? Must be Christmas. 

“I’know,” he kisses your jaw, his other hand now kneading your breasts. “Besides, haven’t cummed yet.”

Oh. You were consumed with chasing your own orgasm, you didn’t realize that Drew hasn’t had his yet. 

Drew starts to push his body into yours, picking up the pace after each thrust. He hits your exact g-spots, knowing your body all too well. You moan loudly in his ear, mixed in with his. Just like that, your second orgasm slowly forms.

“Shit,” he curses, his hands locking tightly with yours. 

Okay, raw sex definitely felt better than condom ones. Or was it because it’s Drew? Either way, you want to do this more, honestly. Maybe the handcuffs too. 

“Close, Drew,” you breathe out between thrusts. 

“Same, babe,” he kisses your cheek.

The knot comes undone for the second time tonight, and you cum over his dick. At the same time, you feel it twitch inside you; his turn. 

Drew gets ready to pull out, but you hurriedly wrap your arms around his shoulders. “Cum inside me,” you urge him, wanting to feel yourself filled with his orgasm. 

Drew gives you a lazy smile, lips leaning towards yours. And this kiss, was more endearing, his tongue moving in a soft tempo. He cums, and you feel the warmth of him mixing with yours. 

You smile back against his lips; you’ve never had such mind-blowing sex. 

He eventually pulls out of you, reaching for the tissues on the nightstand. You let him clean you up, leaning against the headboard; the two of you staying silent to recover from what just happened. 

And slowly, the realization of what happened, fogs up the both of your minds. Lust is gone, now only left with clarification. Clarification of what’ll be next, between the two of you.

“Drew?” You speak up, as he finishes and cleans himself up quickly, throwing it in the trash after. 

He sits by your legs, his blue eyes looking up and meeting yours. “I miss you.” That confession catches you off guard. You gulp, looking down at your lap. “I’m sorry,” he adds, voice cracking. 

Your heart aches at that; and you feel him move to the spot besides you. He pulls the covers up, covering the both of you. “I’m sorry,” he repeats once again, “I’m, I’m a stupid fuck.”

“You are,” you agree, still looking down and playing with your fingers. 

“I just…we dated for a year. And, I just got scared?” The last part was almost as if he also didn’t believe himself for feeling that way. 

“Why?”

“I don’t know, just…something I feel. But I realized, not being with you was worse,” his hands wrap around yours, and you look up at him. His blue eyes are mixed with regret, sincerity, and…love. Well, at least you interpret it that way. 

“Took a month away from me to realize that?”

“Yes. I think that just shows how idiotic I am. Trust me, the past month was horrible.”

You giggle, “you can’t just dump me whenever you feel like it.”

“First and last time,” he promises.

“What?” You look at him questionably. 

“If you’ll take me back.”

Do you want to take Drew back? Your mind was screaming no, but your heart was telling you to spend forever with him. He really hurt you, and he really is an idiot. But he’s your idiot. And one year of dating has told you that he does make stupid decisions, coming to regret them later. 

Fuck it. You always listened to your heart anyways. “Fine, if you insist,” you playfully say, your hands intertwining with his again. You missed holding onto these hands. Then, your eyes drop to his wrists, seeing the red spots around them. “Drew, those handcuffs-“

Drew’s other hand cups your face, and he sends an attack of his kisses to your cheek. You laugh loudly at that, which just drives him to give you more. “Hey-“ he kisses your lips, the two of you leaning down until your backs hit the mattress. 

“I…”

“Hmm?” You stare into his eyes. He stares at you all smitten, his lips slightly open in awe. 

“I…love you,” he confesses. 

Oh. Oh. The butterflies in your stomach fight to get out, and you let them. You love Drew. Yeah, you love Drew. After everything you’ve been through with him, you deserved to be loved, to be loved by him.  “I love you more,” you emphasize on the last word. 

“Fuck,” he kisses you, his arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you closer into his arms. “Driving me insane. Insane, y’know that?”

“I’know,” you giggle, the two of you staring lovingly into each other’s eyes. You’ve never felt happier. And when your hands run through his scalp; you’re reminded of his buzzcut. “Hey, why did you shave your hair?”

“It got annoying,” he rubs circles around your waist, “and, well, I missed you.”

“so you shaved your hair?” 

“…yeah,” suddenly he gets shy, burying his face into your neck. You smile at that, feeling like he’s a little baby. 

After a few seconds, he murmurs against your neck. “Hey, y’know what you should dress up as next year?”

“Next year already?” You look down at him, him looking back up at you. 

“Yeah,” he pulls away, “Lola bunny.”

Lola bunny? Wasn’t that the cartoon character? From Loony tunes? You furrow your eyebrows at Drew, “why?”

He gives you a grin, “kinda…my childhood crush.”

“Really?” This is the first time he’s telling you this; and you can’t help but grow amused at that. Lola bunny? Maybe that can explain why he’s so weird sometimes. Cute weird. “Will you be my Bugs then?”

“Of course,” he immediately says, “not Paul, that’s for sure.”

Paul. You’re suddenly reminded of that gross man you asked to come with you; and also of Drew’s jealously. Hey, he’s jealous! That thought is bought up in your mind once again, thanks to Drew himself. What girlfriend would you be if you didn’t tease him about it? “Oh, you were so jealous.”

“Jealous? No,” he denies, even with the small smirk on his lips. 

“So it’s okay if I see Paul-“

“We’re together, now. Like, literally a few seconds ago,” he cuts you off. “Screw Paul. Or any other guy.”

“That’s jealousy,” you smile, pointing at his face. 

He bites on your finger, causing you to shriek and put your finger down. “Just love you a lot.” 

Your heart warms at that; but it doesn’t change your mind about how jealous he was. “Drew, you don’t need to be jealous. I’m yours.”

He chuckles, “I’m not jealous!”

Okay. He might never admit it. His pride, and his overall aura, jealousy just won’t be something he wants to bow down to. 

“Of course,” you rest your chin on his forehead. “Of course.”

“I wasn’t jealous!” He continues to hum. 

“Shhh,” you coo at him, rubbing the skin around his shoulders, which feel firm yet soft. Your eyes are falling heavy, and in Drew’s arms, you knew you could get some comfortable sleep. The first time; for the past month. 

You close your eyes, ready to drift to sleep, when Drew says, “I think we went over 7 minutes.”

“Huh?” You lazily reply, your brain ready to turn off. 

“Nothing.”

That was the end of the conversation; and you drifted off to sleep, knowing that Drew was beside you. The familiar scent of him dozes you off, and you feel safe knowing he’s going to be taking care of you. 

Lola bunny. Maybe you should dress up like her next year, fulfill Drew’s nasty fantasies. Huh. Maybe. 

-------------------------------

word count: 6.6k

ִ ࣪𖤐 a/n: petition for drew to be patrick bateman 🙋‍♀️

happy halloween! what are you dressing up as??? hope you enjoyed this oneshot, kinky and got really sweet in the end. pls ignore any mistakes; i hate proofreading. anyways, happy halloween! ik im already looking forward to christmas ;)

elevator | other | mr & mrs starkey | mistletoe

[whydoineedastupiduser]

The thought of Drew as Patrick Bateman curled my toes😋

Genuinely the best Drew fic I’ve read 🩷

[chuxmy]

Hello! I really love all your work, especially the Seung Jae one. Speaking of Seung Jae, can I request a one shot smut about him (if you're comfortable to write smut) where reader and him have a private and secret relationship. Then one day, someone was flirting to the reader but reader is so shy and naive that she thinks that he is friendly to her. Then, Seung Jae saw it and felt rage, jealousy, and possessiveness towards her. Btw, their relationship is not toxic but there are times that it can be toxic when Seung Jae can't control his emotion. Thankie 😘

Only mine

Pairings: Geum Seongje x Fem!Reader

Summary: You smiled at the wrong guy.

Warnings: Smut, explicit sexual content, possessiveness, jealousy, praise kink, mdni

A/N: *gulp* it‘s kinda hot in here..

You’ve always been soft.

Polite. Shy. The kind of person who smiles at strangers without thinking twice. It’s part of your charm one of the reasons Seongje fell for you. But sometimes, that sweetness felt like a curse.

Because it made people think they had a chance with you.

And today, someone took that chance.

It was during break, near the vending machines. A boy from another class. You didn’t know him well he wasn’t even on your radar. But he struck up a conversation. Said something about how you looked better every time he saw you, called you “adorable” in this half joking, half serious voice.

You thought he was being friendly.

You smiled. Awkwardly. Tucked your hair behind your ear and said, “That’s really nice of you,” like you always did.

You didn’t see the possessive stare from across the hallway.

But Seongje did.

He saw everything.

You don’t notice his silence until hours later after school, when you meet in the unused music room, like always.

You close the door behind you, expecting his usual smirk, his lazy voice teasing, “Took you long enough.”

But when you turn, he’s already across the room. Eyes dark. Hands in his pockets.

Something is off.

“Seongje?” you ask gently. “What’s wrong?”

He says nothing. Just stares at you.

Then moves.

Fast.

You barely register the way his hand slides behind your neck, how his mouth crashes onto yours, how your back slams into the nearest wall with a gasp. His kiss is rough. Messy. Tongue pushing past your lips like he’s trying to claim every part of you.

You whimper, clutching at his hoodie. “W-wait, what—?”

“You smiled at him,” he hisses against your lips.

You blink. “Who—?”

“That fucker by the vending machines.”

Your breath catches. “He was just being nice…”

He laughs, but it’s humorless. “You really believe that?”

You swallow. “I didn’t think—”

“That’s the problem. You never think when it comes to this shit.”

His tone isn’t cruel, but it’s sharp. Laced with frustration. With something worse.. hurt. As if your smile had cut him in ways you didn’t even understand.

“I’m sorry,” you say, voice small. “I didn’t mean to upset you—”

He kisses you again. Harder. Teeth clashing.

“You didn’t upset me,” he growls. “He did. But watching you smile at him like that… like you enjoyed it…”

“I didn’t,” you whisper.

But he doesn’t stop.

His hands are already under your shirt, calloused fingers skating across your ribs, making you shiver.

“You don’t get it, do you?” he murmurs darkly. “You don’t see how guys look at you. You think they just want to be friends?”

Your silence answers for you.

His hand slides up your thigh, under your skirt. You gasp when his fingers brush your inner thigh, the heat of him pressed between your legs.

“They want you,” he breathes, dragging his lips down your jaw, to your neck. “They want to take you from me. And you don’t even fucking notice.”

His touch is rough, almost desperate, like he’s trying to erase the idea of anyone else from your skin.

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” you say softly, trembling.

“I know,” he mutters, dragging your panties down. “You never do.”

Then, lower, much lower he rasps, “But you need to remember who this belongs to.”

You inhale sharply when he dips his head, mouth brushing against your core.

“I—I didn’t know someone could be this jealous…”

He looks up, eyes blazing.

“You think this is just jealousy?” His voice drops an octave. “I love you so much it makes me crazy.”

Then he slides his tongue along your folds.

You choke on your breath, hand flying to your mouth to muffle the moan. Your other hand buries in his hair, gripping tightly as his tongue moves with skill you didn’t know someone like him had.

“You’re already soaked,” he murmurs against you. “You liked me getting jealous, didn’t you?”

“N-no, I—”

“Liar.”

He fucks you with his tongue until your thighs shake.

Then he stands, pulling you to him. Lifting you with one strong arm under your thighs, he carries you to the piano bench and sets you down, your legs spread around him.

His pants drop. You barely see it happen, your eyes are half lidded with need, your breath uneven.

He doesn’t ask.

He slides in deep, all at once.

You cry out, your hands flying to his shoulders.

He’s big, he always is and this position makes it even deeper. You squirm, gasping his name.

“I know,” he groans, forehead resting against yours. “I know it’s a lot.”

But he doesn’t stop.

He won’t.

His hips begin to move slow at first, then faster. He grunts softly each time he sinks into you, the wet sound of your bodies filling the small room.

“You’re mine,” he whispers again and again. “Mine. Mine. Mine.”

“Yours,” you gasp, clinging to him like a lifeline. “Only yours.”

Your body wraps around him like you were made for him. His thrusts hit deep, dragging broken sounds from your throat.

You cry out when he hits that perfect spot inside you again. And again. And again.

“Look at me,” he demands, voice wrecked. “I want to see your face when I make you come.”

You do.

You look up at him, eyes wide and shining with emotion and he shatters.

“Fuck, I love you.”

Then your orgasm slams into you like a wave, blinding, breath stealing, intense. You moan, body shaking, clinging to him with everything you have.

He follows seconds later, hips jerking as he empties inside you, groaning your name.

When it’s over, he doesn’t move.

He stays pressed against you, arms around your waist, face buried in your shoulder.

You’re both breathing hard.

Your fingers stroke his hair.

“…You okay now?” you whisper.

He laughs quietly. “No.”

You blink.

He lifts his head. “Because I know I’ll feel this again. The second someone else even looks at you.”

You smile sadly. “You can’t keep getting mad at me for being… me.”

“I know.” He kisses your collarbone. “But I can remind you who you belong to.”

You cup his cheek.

“You don’t have to remind me.”

He closes his eyes, leaning into your hand.

“…I still will.”

[whydoineedastupiduser]

Did I mention I love a possessive fictional guy

[rafecameronswhore13]

"Why Was Your Top Off?"

you're at jj's in his hot tub. empty beer bottles have collected on the ground around you. for the past forty minutes, you and jj have been giggling drunkenly at absolutely nothing.

your hand falls onto his bare chest. even behind the pair of sunglasses he's wearing (at night), you can tell something has shifted. 

you've been flirty with each other for a while now, even shared a few kisses. when you decided to come over tonight with your bikini, you wondered if anything would escalate. it's been heading that way, getting closer and closer. now, jj's heart pounds like a heavy drum beneath your palm.

he swallows. "y/n," he says.

you kiss him. it's soft at first, like you're both unsure if this is the right move. but then you lean into him, and his hand slides around your lower back. your mouths open. it's the first time you've made out with each other. it should feel weird, but it's not.

he pulls away. 

"what's wrong?" 

"nothing," he says. "well... are you and rafe still...?"

"no." you shake your head. "we're done, we broke up." 

"are you over him?" 

right away, you know the answer, but to say it would probably crush jj. he's had a crush on you since forever. it nearly killed him when he found out that you and rafe were dating. that was a year ago. he's waited patiently, trying his best to be just a friend because you told him that's what you needed---a friend. 

"i don't... i don't really wanna think about him right now," you say. 

jj nods. 

"can we just make out?"

he nods again. 

but this time, all you can think about is rafe. he swims into your head, even after every attempt to kick him out. kissing jj is not the same as kissing rafe, but when you imagine that it is rafe, you kiss jj harder and faster. 

you reach behind your neck and pull at one of your bikini top strings. jj watches with wide eyes as your red top falls around your rib cage, exposing both of your breasts. 

he lets out a breath. "holy shit."

"you can touch me if you want," you say.

he gently clasps your breast with his hand and squeezes, gently. you pull him in by the waist under the water and resume kissing. it feels good to press your bare breasts against his bare chest. it makes you want more. 

you moan into jj's mouth, and he laughs, nervously. 

"is this okay?" you ask him.

he nods. "can i put my mouth around them?"

you give him permission, and jj lowers himself into the water until he's face-to-face with your hardened nipples. he wraps his hand around one of them and sucks. you tilt your head back and moan. 

"does that feel good?" he whispers.

"yeah. keep doing it."

he focuses on them one at a time, and he goes slowly, which is excruciating. 

gravel pops and headlights swipe across the yard. you and jj break apart then shield your eyes from the blinding light. a car has stopped on jj's property. 

the driver's side door opens. a figure steps out and slams the door. their footsteps crack against the gravel, and then rafe appears, broad-shouldered and clutching his keys. 

"the hell are you doing here, rafe?" jj says.

"i came for y/n."

you and jj exchange a glance. "why?" you ask.

"because it's important," rafe says.

"what is important?"

"get in the car, and you'll find out."

"no. i'm not leaving."

"get the hell out of here." jj grabs you by the waist under the water. this time, you're too tense to enjoy it. 

rafe glares at you. "let's go."

"no," you say. "where do i need to go?"

"it's sarah," he says. "sarah needs you."

"bullshit."

"she had me come get you."

when you don't say anything, he adds, "my dad grounded her, she can't leave the house. she needs you there."

it's still suspicious, but you pull away from jj with your arm across your breasts and contemplate going. one look from jj says he doesn't want you to go. you were having fun, but... rafe drove all the way here. 

"you're going?" jj says.

you nod.

jj looks disappointed but lets you go. then he stops you and says, "i'll get it." he climbs out and picks up your little bikini top. your heart pounds wondering what rafe is thinking now, but you can't see him because jj is standing in front of you to provide privacy while you put it on. 

he helps you out and says goodbye. you stare at him over your shoulder as you walk to rafe's car. rafe stands there, not moving, until you climb into the passenger seat and shut the door. for a moment, you think he's going to say something to jj that will set everything in motion, but a beat later he turns around and trudges towards you.

rafe doesn't say anything as he starts the engine. when you were dating, he would have thrown a fist at jj just for talking to you. his lack of action now is jarring.

you drive through the cut in the dark with the oak trees looming over like shadows. it's quiet for so long, it makes your skin itch. 

"why does sarah need me?" you ask.

rafe has always been a reckless driver. when you first started going out, he would pick you up at your house dressed in nice trousers and a clean shirt, he'd greet your parents as mr. and mrs. and he always kept his composure around them. then you would get into his car, and he would drive like a maniac. the first few times, it scared the hell out of you, the way he weaved through cars on the long stretch of highway. he'd help you out of the car, and you'd get out feeling like a milkshake, trembling. once you got used to it, though, it became irresistibly sexy. he never came close to crashing, and during a hard stop, he'd reach over to protect you in case of anything. 

"i don't know, she didn't say." rafe presses his foot down on the gas pedal. ahead, is an empty, dark street with no one around. 

"she could have used your phone to call me," you say.

"then how would you have gotten to my house?"

"jj could have driven me."

"no."

you whip your head at him. "what do you mean, no?"

rafe scoffs. "he's a pogue, he belongs in the cut."

silence settles heavily over both of you. rafe has an ability to make anyone stand up straighter. 

"and he gets around on a motorcycle," he goes on. "you're not riding around on the back of his motorcycle."

"what, and i'm supposed to just listen to you?"

rafe looks over at you with such a wildness, he whips the steering wheel over, too, and you scream.

"why was your top off?" 

he redirects the car in enough time, but you hyperventilate, clutching at your chest. "what?" 

his foot presses harder on the gas. "you heard me."

"i didn't know you were gonna show up." 

"what?" he looks at you again.

"rafe--"

"what does that mean?"

"nothing."

"no, tell me," he urges. "you took your top off for him because you didn't think I would find out?"

"please, can we not do this--"

rafe slams his hand against the steering wheel, and you jump. 

you take a shaky, deep breath to regain calm. "we're done, rafe. it's over. remember?"

"you ended it. you're over it, not me."

your heart cracks. you reach out to him but think better of it. 

rafe pulls the car up to the front door of the cameron house. even though you and sarah are friends, you haven't accepted any of her invitations to come over since you and rafe broke up. 

after he cuts the engine, rafe sits in the driver's seat, in the dark. 

"i should probably go inside and..." you pull on the door handle and start to slide out.

"wait." rafe lifts his head. "she's not in there."

"well, then where is she?"

"i don't know." he shrugs.

"so then wh--" and then it clicks. "she's not grounded, is she?"

rafe looks at you. "when has my sister ever been grounded?"

it's true---she never has. you knew that.

"rafe." 

he gets out. he slams the door, and the car shakes. his jaw is clenched as he walks around the front. you hold your breath. when you step back, you hit the car. the light inside goes off, so now you're bathed in the dark. rafe stands inches from your face. "why were you with that pogue?"

"he's my friend."

"no, he's not."

"yes, he is--"

"don't lie to me."

you open your mouth then shut it again. 

"say it." 

"you'd lose your mind, rafe."

"say. it."

"we made out." 

rafe takes in a deep breath. you hang your head. he steps backwards and runs his hands down his face. "fuuuck," he groans. "fuck."

you feel horrible because rafe was right. you're the one who ended things. you knew he still wasn't over it. 

"whose idea was it for you to take your top off?" he asks.

"mine," you say. that should cushion the blow, right? because if it were jj's idea, rafe would have gotten back in the car and hunted him down.

"why?"

"why, what?" 

"why would you do that? why would you take your top off?"

"because you and I aren't dating."

"oh, so what? that means now you can get naked in front of any guy you want?"

"basically." as soon as you say it, you wish you could stuff right back in your mouth.

rafe clamps a hand around your throat so you press back against the car. his breath is loud and shaky. this is usually how he gets before he explodes. still, you're not afraid of him.

"who took your top off?"

"i did."

"did you have sex with him?"

"no."

"were you going to?"

"that's none of your business."

rafe steps back. he clutches his keys. he stares at you for a moment then starts back for the driver's side.

"wait. rafe, wait, don't--" you run after him and grab his arm with both of your hands. "stop, stop, stop. look, okay, no. no, I wasn't planning to sleep with jj."

rafe stops. for a long time, he's silent. finally, he raises his head and says, "why did you take your top off?"

"i told you."

"no, you didn't." he shakes his head. "you didn't tell me why you thought you should take your top off in a hot tub with maybank." 

you flinch. his voice echoes against all the trees. 

"because... i wanted to move on. and i was horny. and he was there--"

"i'm gonna fucking kill that pogue."

tears burn your eyes. "can you just take me home?"

"what, so you can go running back to him? no. you stay here tonight." 

the tears fall down your face. "rafe, please. i didn't do it to hurt you."

"no, but you did. you did. you know why? cause you chose maybank. you chose not just a pogue, but you chose that one."

"i didn't choose him--"

"did he touch you?"

you don't say anything. rafe comes up to you, in your face, and says, "did he. touch you?"

tou nod.

rafe slams his fist against the car behind you. "god damn it!"

you wipe your tears away, but more come. rafe paces and curses. 

"i wanna go back there and kill that pogue so fucking bad," he says. "I swear to god, next time I see him--"

"what are you gonna do, rafe?" 

"i told you what i'm gonna do. i'll kill him."

"no, i mean, for the rest of your life? what are you gonna do, hunt down every guy i hook up with because you're still not over it?"

"are you? are you over it?" he grabs your hand, frantically, and places is over his thrashing heart. any moment now, it could burst out of his chest. "can you seriously tell me you're done?"

you burst into more tears, shaking your head. "no," you say. 

"i didn't think so," he whispers. his hands fall down your body as he settles onto his knees. "that's okay." he says this over and over and kisses your stomach over the cloth of your shirt. 

"i'm sorry."

he lifts your shirt and kisses your bare stomach. "don't leave me tonight."

you promise to stay. his mouth moves down, over your shorts, right against your clit. your knees weaken. 

"rafe."

he stands, and you clutch each other. he lifts you up and carries you inside and up the stairs. In his bedroom, he lets you down, and you stumble, but he catches you and holds you right against him. with every kiss, rafe smiles. 

you take your top off, and rafe stops to admire your breasts, but he hesitates to touch them. "i can't believe he's touched you," he whispers.

you shut your eyes. his breath tickles your skin. "I want you to touch me."

rafe shakes his head. "i hate him. i hate him, i hate that."

"rafe." you clasp your hand around his. he keeps shaking his head. "rafe, hey. can we please focus on what's happening right now? forget about JJ." you lean in to kiss him, to distract him.

"i can't."

you sit on the edge of his bed and wrap your legs around his body. you're open to him and yearning. "i bet you can. why don't you touch me?" you take his hand and drag it up the inside of your bare thigh. "once you start, i promise it'll get easier."

his hand drops. he's like a lifeless doll.

"rafe, come on." now, you're pissed. "jj is not worth it."

"then why'd you take your top off? why'd you make out with him? why were you at his house--"

"oh my god. seriously? you're this hung up on it? when are you going to get over it? we did not have sex. i'm here now with you, and rafe." you scramble up onto your knees and grab him by his face. "i wanna do this with you. please."

his jaw is clenched, and he's stiff as a board. you kiss down his neck, right where he likes it, and you can feel him relax. his hands come up the sides of your body. you move your mouth down the center of his body until you're the one kissing him over the cloth of his shirt. you tug his jeans down so you can lick him, which always turns him on. he moans and grabs your hair. 

when you stop, rafe gasps, "no, don't stop," and he claws at your body. he's hard, and he's throbbing, and he wants you. 

he sweeps you down onto the bed and climbs on top. his breath is heavy. frantically, he gets undressed. his eyes never leave your body as you open yourself to him. he undoes your bikini top and tosses it on the floor, as far away as possible, and comes down on one of your nipples with his mouth. you moan because it's rafe's mouth. 

he reaches between your bodies and massages your clit. you're already throbbing under him, his touch is like lightning striking your body. he writhes against you. "did maybank touch your here?" he whispers.

"no," you gasp.

rafe slides his hand under your bikini bottom and pushes his fingers inside. you gasp louder, and he grunts in response. "you didn't come for him, did you?"

if he wasn't making you feel so good, you'd be insulted. you shake your head and let out a whimper. he sucks the skin on your neck, hard enough to leave a mark. 

"only i know what you sound like when you come, yeah?"

"mm-hm."

rafe pulls his fingers out. he strokes himself, even though he couldn't be harder, and then he grabs one of your legs to keep you still while he pushes inside of you. he lets out a shaky breath when he gets all the way in. you wrap your limbs around him and whimper. 

he doesn't build up to it. he pulls almost all the way out then slams right back in. you're so sensitive, it makes you cry out. it encourages rafe, and he goes fast, which brings out every noise inside you. his name slips from your mouth several times. he breathes in your ear to make sure you know what you're doing to him. his back muscles move under your hands. he doesn't slow down.

"we shouldn't be doing this," you say.

he kisses you between heavy breaths, once, twice, then curses under his breath---he's already close. 

and then it hits you. before tonight, you'd gone from not having talked to rafe since your break up months ago to having sex in his room. "rafe," you say. it's like you've snapped out of a trance. "rafe, wait. stop."

he slows, trying to catch his breath. "what?" it's like his body is it's own entity because he waits for you to say something, but his hips keep thrusting into you, as though they're saying, just one more, just one more... just... one... more...

"this is really not a good idea."

"we're already doing it."

"neither of us has come yet." and as long as neither of you have come, this doesn't count. right?

he stops and looks at you. you scramble out of his bed and slip back into your bikini. he watches, his chest rising up and down. "y/n," he says. he reaches out to you.

despite the voice in your head nagging you to run, run right now, you let him take your hand and pull you in between his legs. his body is warm, and he's still hard. he ducks his head against your bare skin, and his breath tickles your stomach. 

"rafe."

"mm."

"let me go."

he doesn't move. you try to pry yourself free from his embrace, but you're smiling so hard, your cheeks hurt. finally, you give up. eventually, he'll have to let you go. 

after several minutes of stillness, rafe curls his finger around the front of your bikini bottom. you giggle and push his hand away. he smiles. then he lifts the same finger and tugs at your bikini bottom string so it actually comes down.

"rafe." you pull it back up, but god, just that touch from him felt so good.

"please," he says.

"please what?"

his forehead is against your stomach. your legs are on either side of his thigh. he moves you so you sit in his naked lap with his dick between your bodies. despite it all, you kiss him. your mouths open, his tongue finds yours. when he's like this, the kissing is sloppy and slow and sensual, and you could do this forever with him.

he moves his hand up your thigh, up your stomach, over your breast, and he sweeps your hair back to pull you in by the neck. the feeling of him pressing against you, knowing that he's right there, and he's like this because it's you, makes you give in.

this time, you're both too frantic for you to get back out of your bathing suit. rafe pulls your bottoms aside just enough for you to slide onto him. he clutches your hips as you readjust to him. 

you slowly roll your hips against him, and he moans. it's deep and gutteral, how he sounds when you hit the perfect spot. 

"oh, god." he squeezes your breast. 

you go a little faster. rafe grabs a fistful of your hair behind you and pulls. when you gasp in pain, he doesn't seem to notice. with his eyes shut, he begs you to go faster. you don't since he's holding so tight. 

but rafe gets fed up. he grabs you by your hips and bounces you against him. he moans with every thrust, like he's using your body to get off. 

you wrap your arms around his neck so his head is nuzzled close to your chest. rafe's legs are bent and go up and down with your body. when he gets too weak, he lies back on his elbows and watches you. 

"you don't do this for anybody else," rafe says. it's a command. 

"this is the last time you and i are doing this."

rafe tries to grab your waist, but he weakens and falls back. "fuck." 

just to piss him off, you say, "if i wanna have sex with jj, i will."

rafe pushes his hips up into you as you bounce on him. "no, no, no."

"mmm-hmm," you moan. you clench your walls around him, and he jolts. his hand clamps down on your thigh. "if i have jj to fuck, i won't need you."

"no, no, no, you stay here," he says. he groans viscerally. "shit. shit."

"i wanna come first."

"fuck, then stop doing that." 

"what?" you clench around him again.

"that."

you grin but stop. you move up and down on him and massage your clit over your bikini. rafe watches, cursing under his breath, praising you. "are you close?" he whispers.

"mm, almost." 

he pulls your breast out from your bikini top. his breath is hot against your hardened nipple. "i don't know if i can hold it." this time, when he swirls his tongue around your nipple, it sends a crippling bolt of pleasure all through your body. you cry out, and rafe's breath heavies into a panic. "shit, shit, shit." you feel it; the warmth of his cum spreading everywhere inside of you. 

rafe takes over massaging your clit, and it sends you over the edge. you move up and down on him without trying, your head thrown back, crying. rafe finishes coming and catches his breath, but as you come down, you pulse around him, and he comes again. 

he gasps for air like he's been holding his breath under water. "oh god, oh god, oh god." he kisses up your body, rakes his fingers through your hair, and pulls your open mouth into his. he's still inside of you, and even when your mouths break apart, he keeps you against him, looking down at himself inside of you.

"i should go," you say.

rafe holds your hand. "wait." he pulls you in so he can wrap his arms around your body. your hearts bump against one another's in the silence and stench of sex. 

"let me go."

this time, he does, but he kisses you again on the lips, long and soft. "don't go back to him. please."

you whisper against his lips. "bye, rafe."

[whydoineedastupiduser]

Love me a possessive ex!rafe

[blondekisses]

ToxicFratBoy!Rafe Cameron x Sorority Girl Reader

Rafe just wants the sorority sweetheart by his side ༄.°

MINORS DNI 18+ .ᐟ.ᐟ

Everybody on campus had opinions about you and Rafe Cameron.

Opinions you didn’t ask for, didn’t want, and definitely didn’t encourage, but that didn’t stop the rumours from drifting through campus like glitter. People whispered because neither of you ever confirmed anything, and because denial looked a little silly when Rafe acted like gravity itself bent around you whenever you walked into a room.

He always found you at parties. Always stood close enough that your perfume clung to his shirt. Always touched you like he forgot you weren’t officially his.

The problem?

Tonight, he wasn’t near you. And that was how the trouble started.

The Alpha Rho house was packed, glowing with cheap neon lights and the humid press of bodies, the air thick with beer-sweetness and too-strong cologne. Music vibrated through the walls, the kind of heavy, thumping bass that made reckless decisions feel like a good idea.

You hadn’t expected Rafe to show up. Not here. Not tonight. Delta Chi Alpha wasn’t hosting. Sigma Theta wasn’t co-hosting. Everyone was pretending to behave for the semester.

So you let yourself breathe.

Lip gloss shiny, hair soft around your shoulders, wearing the little black dress that made you feel pretty and a little dangerous in your own quiet way.

Your friends drifted toward the kitchen, and you followed, smoothing the hem of your dress with nervous fingers, trying very hard not to think about the last time you and Rafe were alone. About the bruised-soft kiss he left on your shoulder after.

About the quiet, almost vulnerable way he had said stay like it was a question he wasn’t sure he deserved to ask.

You weren’t his.

He wasn’t yours.

And yet, there were moments that felt like something more. Moments that clung to your ribs like secrets. You hadn’t touched since. You hadn’t talked since. You kept telling yourself it was easier that way.

You were at the kitchen island, offering a polite, airy laugh at something stupid, when he appeared.

Ryan Wolfe. Alpha Rho’s golden boy. Campus menace. And, unbeknownst to you, Rafe Cameron’s least favourite person on the entire planet.

Ryan slid in way too close, smelling like vodka and fake confidence, his smile edged like a blade. “Sigma Theta’s sweetheart,” he drawled. “Didn’t know you’d grace our house tonight.”

You stiffened.

Not because you were scared, just irritated.

But your training kicked in, the forced sweet smile, the one you saved for annoying guys you couldn’t escape without causing drama, the harmless-girl giggle, even as your gut whispers ew.

“It’s just a party,” you said lightly. “I go where the music is.”

Ryan’s eyes dragged over you in a way that made your skin feel tight around your bones. “You look incredible,” he said, voice dropping a notch. “Rafe must be kicking himself right now.”

Your pulse stumbled.

“Why would Rafe care?” you asked, too quickly, too breathlessly.

Ryan’s grin sharpened like he’d found a bruise to press on. “Oh, come on. Everyone knows Cameron gets weird when other guys look at you. He acts like you’re—”

“Hey.”

The word cracked through the kitchen like something breaking. Rafe was suddenly there.

Not approaching. Not easing in.

Just there, like he’d been summoned by jealousy alone.

Beer bottle dangling from his fingers. Jaw tight enough to ache. Eyes fixed on Ryan with a coldness that felt lethal. He didn’t look at you. He didn’t look at Ryan. He looked through Ryan, like he was already imagining putting him through a wall.

Ryan’s smirk didn’t disappear when he saw Rafe.

But it did falter, just the tiniest twitch, the smallest crack in that over-polished confidence of his, and it was enough for anyone paying attention to realize something ugly lived beneath the surface.

Something old. Something festering. Something the two of them had been dragging behind them long before you ever stepped into this kitchen in your pretty black dress and glossy pink lips.

You felt it before you even understood it.

That sudden tightening in the air, that glittery-static prickle over your skin, like walking into a room where someone had just slammed a door. The neon lights seemed to sharpen, the bass thumped deeper, and the air between Ryan and Rafe became a thin, shimmering wire pulled taut enough to snap.

And Rafe, God, Rafe wasn’t even looking at you.

Which meant he was furious.

He didn’t wear anger the way other boys did, not loud, not explosive. It settled over him like a storm front, slow and cold, his shoulders squared, jaw flexing, fists loose but dangerous.

He stood there like the embodiment of “don’t test me,” and the fact that he wouldn’t even glance your way made your stomach twist.

“Cameron,” Ryan finally drawled, leaning back on his heels like he wasn’t threatened at all, a performance you recognised all too easily. “Didn’t expect you to crawl out of Delta Chi tonight.”

Rafe’s jaw ticked once. A sharp, proud, warning sort of movement. “Didn’t expect Alpha Rho to let you through the door after last semester.”

Ryan’s smile soured like spoiled fruit. “Oh, please. You still crying about all that? Thought you would’ve let it go.”

You blinked, confused, your glossed lips parting. “Let what go?”

Neither boy answered you.

And that’s when the memory hit, a whisper of gossip you’d ignored because you weren’t the type to feed into drama. The charity auction. Rafe’s spot. Ryan hijacking it. The public humiliation. The shove from Rafe. Campus police grabbing him before he could rearrange Ryan’s face.

And apparently, neither of them had recovered.

Ryan didn’t back up. Not even a step.

Instead he leaned closer to you, too close, while his cologne stung your nose and his eyes dragged over you like you were something he could claim if he wanted.

You stiffened instinctively, but your sorority-girl training kicked in: the soft, sweet smile, the polite laugh, the gentle step to the side that wasn’t quite an escape.

“Relax, man,” Ryan said, voice dropping like he was revealing something private. “I was just complimenting your slut of a girlfriend—”

And then Rafe moved.

Fast.

Not just fast, dangerously fast.

It was the kind of movement you felt before you saw it, a ripple in the charged air, a burst of heat beside you. In one smooth, furious stride, Rafe’s fist slammed flat against Ryan’s face and punched him, hard.

The sound of Ryan’s back hitting the counter echoed through the kitchen, loud enough to rattle the bottles, loud enough to yank the attention of every person within ten feet.

A beer can toppled, fizzing across the floor. Someone gasped. Someone whispered “oh shit.”

The party didn’t stop, but the room around you did.

Everything slowed, thickened, strained.

Ryan head snapped back with a wet crack against the counter, his nose erupting crimson. He barely had time to register the pain before Rafe's fist connected again, left hook, knuckles splitting skin, the force of it sending Ryan's body sideways into the fridge.

Glass bottles shuddered inside. The crowd surged back in a wave of gasps and spilled drinks. And Rafe wasn't stopping. His chest heaved, pupils blown wide with something feral as he hauled Ryan up by his collar with one hand and drove another punch into his ribs. Ryan wheezed, knees buckling.

"What was that?" Rafe snarled, voice raw. "You wanna say that fuckin' shit again, huh?" His fist drew back again, aiming for the jaw this time.

Topper's bulk slammed into Rafe's side, grappling him back. "Jesus Christ, man!" Kelce hooked an arm around Rafe's throat from behind, yanking hard. Rafe thrashed, elbow catching Kelce's ribs, but they held firm.

Ryan crumpled to the linoleum, coughing blood onto his Alpha Rho letters.

The kitchen had become an amphitheater. Sigma sisters clutched each other's arms, Delta Chi pledges gawked like they'd just witnessed scripture.

You stood frozen, pulse jackhammering in your ears, watching Rafe's shoulders strain against his brothers' grip. His knuckles were split, dripping red onto the tile.

His gaze finally, finally, found you.

The rage flickered.

Something vulnerable flashed beneath, quick as a fish in dark water. Then Kelce hauled him backward through the crowd, muttering "Fuck's sake, Rafe," while Topper shot you an apologetic grimace.

Ryan groaned on the floor, swiping at his face with a trembling hand. Someone tossed him a dish towel. Your legs moved before your brain caught up, not toward Ryan, but after Rafe, pushing past gawkers into the yard where the humid night swallowed the party's noise.

Grass squelched under your heels, mud splattering silk straps. "Rafe!" you snapped.

He was already halfway to his Range Rover, shoulders taut, ignoring Topper's frantic "Dude, the dean will fucking expel you—"

Rafe spun on his heel so fast you nearly collided with him. His knuckles glistened crimson under the floodlight. "What?" he growled, voice raw.

The words died in your throat. His pupils were blown black, nostrils flared, jaw working like he wanted to bite something. Or someone. You reached for his wrist, his skin scorched yours, but he yanked away.

"Get in the car," he ordered, already striding toward the Range Rover. Kelce made a strangled noise.

"Rafe, Christ, you can't just—"

The passenger door flew open with a metallic screech. Rafe didn't wait for you to comply, his grip closed around your elbow, hauling you forward. Mud caked your ankles as he practically lifted you into the seat. The door slammed.

Silence.

Then the engine roared to life, tires spitting gravel as he wrenched the wheel. Through the windshield, Topper's mouth moved soundlessly, hands raised in surrender. You gripped the leather seat as Rafe accelerated onto the road, his bloody fist flexing around the gearshift.

"You should be fucking careful," he bit out, eyes locked on the asphalt ahead. His voice was tight, frayed. "You think Ryan was just making conversation? You think guys like that don't know exactly—" The wheel groaned under his grip. "—how to trap girls like you in kitchens?"

You blinked at him, the neon blur of streetlights smearing across your vision. "Girls like me?" Your laugh sounded shrill, unfamiliar to your own ears. "What, sorority girls? Or yours?"

His jaw twitched. The car lurched as he swerved onto a side road, gravel pinging against the undercarriage. "You know what would've happened if I wasn't there?" His voice dropped low, rough as gravel.

"He would've 'accidentally' spilled his drink on you. 'Offered' to help clean it up in some quiet bedroom. And you," His breath hitched. "you would've fucking gone, because you're too polite to say no."

The accusation landed like a slap. Your throat burned. "That's not fair."

"Isn't it?" He braked hard, the Range Rover jerking to a stop beneath a flickering streetlamp.

For the first time since the kitchen, he looked at you, really looked, taking in your smudged mascara, the tremble you couldn't hide. His nostrils flared. Then, with a muttered curse, he shoved the gearshift into park.

"Back seat," he ordered, voice thick. "Now."

The command hovered between you, charged and impossible. You didn't move. His fingers drummed once on the steering wheel, impatient, then he was unbuckling his seatbelt with a sharp click.

"Fine," he gritted out. "I'll go first."

The driver's side door slammed. You watched, pulse hammering, as he stalked around the hood, broad shoulders outlined in yellow streetlight, and yanked open your door.

Before you could protest, his hands were on your waist, hauling you out into the humid night.

His palms burned through the thin fabric of your dress. "In," he growled, nudging you toward the backseat. His breath smelled like whiskey and mint, his split knuckles brushing your thigh as he crowded in behind you.

The door shut with a decisive thud, sealing you both in shadow. You barely had time to scoot back before Rafe was on you, one knee pressing into the leather beside your hip, calloused fingers gripping your chin.

"Answer me straight," he demanded, voice rough. "Did you want to fuck Ryan?"

Heat flooded your cheeks. "What? No!" You squirmed against the seatbelt still tangled around your waist. The lie sounded thin even to your own ears, not because you wanted Ryan, but because Rafe's intensity always made honesty feel dangerous.

His nostrils flared. "Bullshit." His thumb dug into your jaw, forcing your gaze up. The overhead light caught the flecks of gold in his irises, the sweat beading along his temple.

"You were laughing at his jokes. Letting him stand too close." His voice dropped to a venomous whisper. "You gonna tell me you didn't notice him staring at your tits?"

The accusation prickled down your spine. "I was being polite!"

"Polite." He scoffed, shifting his weight until his hips pinned yours to the seat. The hard line of his belt buckle pressed uncomfortably against your stomach.

"That's your problem, sweetheart. Too fucking polite." His free hand slid down to your thigh, fingers digging in. "Boys like Ryan don't want polite. They want easy."

You gasped as his teeth grazed your earlobe. "And you?" you challenged breathlessly. "What do you want?"

Rafe stilled. For a moment, the only sound was your ragged breathing and the distant hum of cicadas. Then his grip tightened. "You know exactly what I want," he murmured against your skin. "The difference is," His lips brushed your pulse point. "I don't pretend otherwise."

A shiver raced down your spine as his fingers found the hem of your dress, inching up with deliberate slowness. Cool air kissed your thighs. You squirmed, pressing back against the leather seat, but his knee between your legs trapped you perfectly.

"You whine so pretty," he observed, amused, when you huffed in frustration. The fabric bunched higher, revealing the lace edge of your panties. "But we both know you don't actually want me to stop."

His palm smoothed over your stomach, then higher, rough fingers catching on the delicate silk of your bra. You inhaled sharply when he cupped you, thumb flicking over your nipple through the fabric.

"Think Ryan'd appreciate this view?" His voice dripped mock sincerity. "Since you're so fucking polite, maybe I should send him a picture." He pinched lightly, grinning at your involuntary jerk. "Wouldn't that be… courteous?"

The clasp gave way under his practiced twist. Breeze rushed over your bare skin as he shoved the straps down your arms. "Look at you," he murmured, dragging a fingertip around one pinkened peak.

"All soft and sweet for me when you should be clawing my eyes out." He leaned in, teeth grazing your shoulder.

His other hand joined the torment, rolling and squeezing with deliberate cruelty. "Ryan ever make you this wet?" His breath hitched when you arched into his touch despite yourself. "Bet he wouldn't even know where to start."

A sharp twist drew a gasp from your lips. "Too busy thinking with his tiny fucking dick."

Heat pooled between your thighs as he worked you over, the filthy commentary blending with the slick sounds of his hands on your skin.

"Fuck—" you choked out when he bent to take a nipple between his teeth, biting just shy of pain. His tongue swirled in apology before he pulled back to watch the marks bloom.

"Gonna ruin you," he promised against your collarbone. "So next time Wolfe looks at you, all you'll feel is me." His palm slid down your stomach, under the waistband of your panties. "Right here."

He didn't tear them off, that would be too easy, too kind. Instead, he hooked two fingers into the lace and tugged slowly, torturously, letting the elastic snap against your hips before peeling them down inch by inch.

The humid air hit your bare skin as he finally yanked them free, dangling the soaked fabric between you. "Fuck," he exhaled, pupils dilating. "Been thinking about this since that bullshit party."

You shuddered when his knuckles brushed your inner thigh. "Avoiding me," he continued, pressing harder into the soft flesh. "Walking the long way across campus. Pretending not to see me at fucking parties." His fingertip traced your folds, featherlight, making your breath hitch. "Why?"

The question hung between you, sharp as the scent of whiskey on his tongue. You squeezed your eyes shut, mortified by how easily your body betrayed you, arching into his touch.

Rafe chuckled darkly. "Look at me." When you didn't obey fast enough, he pinched your clit, just enough to sting, and your eyes flew open. "Why?" he repeated, circling that swollen bud with agonising precision.

"Because—" You gasped as he slipped a finger inside without warning, the stretch burning deliciously. "Because you don't repeat girls."

His rhythm stuttered. For a heartbeat, the car was silent except for the slick sounds of his fingers moving in you. Then his free hand gripped your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. "Bullshit."

"Lindsey said—"

"I don't give a fuck what Lindsey said." He curled his fingers sharply, wrenching a whimper from your throat. "You ran first." His thumb rubbed punishing circles as he added a second finger. "Could've stayed. Could've fuckin' asked."

Your thighs trembled around his wrist. The truth clawed its way up your chest, how you'd bolted at dawn, how you'd memorised his number but never used it, how every Sigma sister knew the rules: Cameron boys break hearts by breakfast.

Rafe's lips ghosted over yours, tasting your ragged breaths. "Say it." His fingers sped up, ruthless. "Say you thought I'd throw you away like the rest."

The confession spilled out between moans, half-formed and humiliating. His mouth crashed onto yours before you could finish, swallowing the words, the excuses, the stupid sorority-girl fears. The kiss was all teeth and hunger, his hips grinding against yours as his fingers fucked you deeper, faster.

Then the headlights flashed.

You froze. Rafe's head snapped toward the windshield where two blinding beams sliced through the darkness. "Fuck," he hissed, yanking his fingers free with a wet sound. "Campus security."

Panic flared in your chest as you scrambled to pull up your dress, fabric clung awkwardly, twisted around your waist, but Rafe caught your wrist with a low chuckle. "Easy, princess." His thumb grazed your inner thigh, deliberately slow, as the flashlight beam swept closer. "Let me."

Just the audacity of it, the way his fingers deftly smoothed your dress down while sliding back between your legs, made your breath hitch. The knock came just as his fingertip found your clit again, circling lazily.

"Evening, officers," Rafe drawled, rolling the window down with his free hand. His expression was all practiced innocence, except for the wicked pressure of his fingers inside you, curling just right.

"Mr. Cameron." The security guard sighed, recognition flattening his tone. His flashlight skimmed over Rafe's bloodied knuckles. "Again?"

Rafe grinned, all charm, while his other hand worked you deeper, slower. "Just discussing Greek philanthropy partnerships, sir."

You bit your lip hard enough to taste copper, hips twitching involuntarily as his thumb pressed down. The guard's gaze flickered to you, your flushed cheeks, the death grip on the seatbelt, then back to Rafe with weary resignation. "Jesus, Rafe. At least use a dorm."

Rafe's fingers crooked deliberately inside you, drawing a choked inhale you disguised as a cough. "We were just leaving, officer." His smirk widened when your thighs clenched around his wrist.

The guard shook his head, flashlight beam catching the glisten of sweat on your collarbones as Rafe's pace slowed to languid, torturous circles.

"Sigma Theta's charity bake sale tomorrow," you blurted, voice strained, as Rafe's middle finger pressed insistently against that spongy spot inside you. The guard frowned at your sudden spike in pitch. "We're—ah—discussing cupcake logistics."

Rafe's laugh was pure sin, fingers never stopping their ruthless rhythm. "Yeah," he agreed smoothly, watching your chest heave. "Need to make sure we frost them… just right." His thumb swiped hard over your clit on the last word, and you nearly sobbed, nails digging into the leather seat.

The guard sighed, tapping his flashlight against his palm. "Just drive safe, Cameron." He stepped back, oblivious to how Rafe withdrew his fingers just enough to let you feel the loss before plunging back in deeper. The window rolled up with a soft hum, sealing you back into the charged darkness.

"You," Rafe murmured against your temple, knuckles brushing your inner thigh, "are terrible at lying." His breath hitched when your hips rolled against his hand. "Gonna have to teach you better."

As he pulled back just enough to flip open his belt buckle, the metallic snap louder than the music still thumping in your veins. He pinned you with one knee between your legs, yanking your dress up without ceremony this time, the fabric bunching around your ribs.

The rough handling sent heat pooling low in your belly, mixing with the sharp bite of humiliation still clinging to your skin from earlier.

"You tell me next time," he ordered, voice gravelled with intent, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips. His other hand worked his zipper down, the sound obscene in the cramped space.

"Tell me what party. Tell me who's looking at you too long." His teeth grazed your pulse point. "I'll text back. Every time." The unspoken promise, unlike Lindsey, unlike anyone else, hung between you, heavy as the scent of his cologne mingling with your arousal.

His palm smoothed up your thigh, callouses catching on sensitive skin, before he gripped himself and lined up.

No condom, no preamble, just the blunt press of him where you were still fluttering from his fingers. "And if I see Ryan breathing near you again?" He thrust in hard, stealing your breath, his groan low against your neck. "I'll break his fucking jaw properly this time."

You arched against him, nails scraping the leather seats as he set a punishing rhythm, the car rocking slightly with each snap of his hips.

The guard's flashlight beam swept past the tinted windows again, but Rafe didn't slow, if anything, he fucked you deeper, his laughter dark when you muffled a whimper against his shoulder.

"That's it," he coaxed, nipping at your earlobe. "Let 'em hear you." His hand slid between your bodies, thumb finding your clit with unerring accuracy. "Let the whole goddamn campus know who you belong to."

The headlights flashed once more, a warning or a blessing, as Rafe's pace turned erratic, his breathing ragged against your collarbones. You came with his name tearing from your lips, the vibrations drawing a growl from his chest as he followed, hips stuttering, fingers leaving bruises in their wake.

Silence.

Then his phone buzzed in the cupholder, Topper's name flashing, and Rafe exhaled a laugh against your damp skin, still buried inside you.

"Speak of the fucking devil," he muttered, blindly grabbing for it with his free hand while the other kept you pinned against the seat. "What?" he barked into the receiver, voice ragged with exertion.

A pause.

Then, louder: "No, I'm not at the fucking Sigma mixer—" His hips snapped forward sharply, punctuating the lie with your gasped moan. "Yeah, I'm busy. Yeah, with her."

Your fingers dug into his shoulders as his grin curled against your throat. "No, you can't come help," he drawled, rolling his hips slow just to feel you squirm. "Because one—fuck off, two—she's not screaming your name, is she?" The crudeness of it burned your cheeks hotter than his touch ever could.

The phone pressed into your palm, still warm from his grip. Topper's tinny voice crackled through, "Like hell she's actually there."

Right as Rafe's teeth grazed your pulse point, his chuckle was a low rumble against your skin when you gasped instead of speaking. "Go on," he murmured, fingers tightening on your hip. "Say hi."

You pressed the receiver to your lips, swallowing hard. "Hi, Topper." The words came out breathless, ruined, as Rafe thrust lazily upward, just enough to steal your voice again.

Static hissed through the line before Topper's shocked curse cut off abruptly. Rafe snatched the phone back with a satisfied hum, tossing it onto the dashboard where it skittered against loose change.

"Now," he murmured, dragging his lips along your jaw, "where were we?" His hands slid down to grip your thighs, spreading them wider against the leather.

The headlights of a passing car sliced through the tinted windows, illuminating the sweat-slick flush of his collarbones, the possessive arch of his fingers branding your skin.

You arched into him with a whimper, past caring about the audience, about Lindsey, about anything but the slow, punishing drag of him inside you.

Outside, a Sigma sister’s laugh floated through the cracked window, too close, but Rafe only grinned, rolling his hips deeper. "Hear that?" he breathed against your mouth. "They’re looking for you." His thumb found your clit again, circling just shy of enough. "Let ’em."

part three ♡