luna ⭑.ᐟ

everyone arrived carrying the exact same baggage they'd graduated high school with, they'd just packed it into more expensive suitcases.

the campus practically encouraged the illusion. red-brick academic buildings covered in ivy that looked beautiful from a distance but smelled permanently of damp stone after it rained. tree-lined walkways littered with coffee cups and bike locks.

students lying across the grass between lectures with laptops balanced on their knees, pretending to study while gossiping about people they'd only met three weeks ago.

everywhere you looked, someone was trying desperately to become someone else. you'd stopped trying a long time ago. you'd been here nearly three years. you knew which lecture halls had broken air conditioning, which library floors stayed silent. which vending machines actually stocked edible food. which professors rounded grades and which ones absolutely did not.

your weeks never changed. eight a.m. lecture. coffee. work. library. sleep. repeat. it wasn't glamorous, definetly wasn't exciting but it worked.

it had to. your scholarship depended on it. your rent depended on it. your future depended on it. you didn't have parents wiring you emergency money every time life became inconvenient.

if you wanted something — you earned it. every single time, which was exactly why people like rafe cameron made your eye twitch.

everyone knew rafe even if they'd never spoken to him. his reputation usually entered a room before he did. president of one of the biggest fraternities on campus, captain of the lacrosse team, son of ward cameron—the kind of wealthy businessman whose name ended up on buildings after writing one cheque.

he drove a truck worth more than your tuition, wore watches that probably cost more than your apartment and the worse thing of all? never seemed particularly concerned about consequences.

he was loud without being obnoxious enough for anyone to call him out.

confident enough that people mistook it for charm. girls smiled at him before he even opened his mouth, laughed at his jokes before he even finished them.

professors gave him extensions they'd never give anyone else. the dean apparently knew him by first name. not because he was exceptional because he practically lived in disciplinary meetings.

you'd never understood the appeal. sure. he was attractive. painfully so. all sharp jawlines and messy blond hair that somehow always looked intentional. the sort of smile that probably sold people bad ideas but underneath all of that — he carried himself like the world owed him something. like every room belonged to him the second he stepped inside it. it drove you insane.

the first time you met him was during freshman orientation. you'd been carrying too much which, in hindsight, felt incredibly on brand. two coffees balanced carefully in one hand, three textbooks hugged against your chest despite classes not starting for another week your scholarship paperwork tucked safely between the pages.

you remembered feeling strangely optimistic. excited, even. then, the future still looked neat. he'd walked backwards out of the student union while laughing at something one of his friends said when someone directly slammed into you.

hard.

coffee flew everywhere. your books hit the pavement with a heavy thud. loose papers scattered across the concrete like playing cards. hot coffee soaked straight through your shirt.

for one completely silent second — all you could do was stare. brown liquid dripped steadily off the corners of your notes, ink bled into meaningless blue smudges.

you remembered standing there completely speechless while rafe stared for exactly three seconds before laughing. actually laughing. "shit." you could hear it immediately: he sounded inconvenienced, like he'd bumped into a chair, not ruined someone's morning.

you looked down at the ruined papers. then back at him. "...are you kidding?"

he reached into his wallet, peeled off three hundred-dollar bills and held them out. "buy new ones."

you looked up. baseball cap. backwards. sunglasses tucked into messy blond hair despite the fact there wasn't even any sun. one hand shoved lazily into his pocket.

"...what?"

"buy new ones."

you stared. "you think that's the problem?"

he blinked once, like you'd told him the sun was green. "...isn't it? it covers it."

"that's not —"

"probably extra."

you'd never wanted to throw coffee at someone more in her life. instead you'd shoved the money back into his chest like nobody had ever rejected the solution before. "not everybody can fix every problem by throwing cash at it."

you bent down, gathered the ruined papers, and walked away before he could say anything else.

behind you, you heard one of his friends call his name. then, after a beat: "your loss, then."

that should've been the end of it. it wasn't. college campuses were smaller than people realised, especially when you shared the same major. the first lecture you had together, he arrived twenty-three minutes late.

the professor didn't even stop talking. rafe wandered in carrying an iced coffee and absolutely no shame. he looked around the lecture theatre before his eyes landed on the only empty seat.

next to you. of course. he dropped into it, chair squeaking loudly. he looked over. "...hey." you kept writing. "still mad?" when you was silent, "i said my bad."

without looking up, you replied, "that's probably the most sincere apology you've ever given."

he was quiet for a second. "you got jokes."

"i've got notes."

"can i borrow them later?"

that finally made you look at him with the exasperation you gave petulant children. "...no."

"why?"

"because you should've come to class."

"i'm here now."

"twenty-three minutes late."

"still counts."

you looked back at the lecturer. conversation over. rafe watched you for another second before leaning back in his chair. "...mean."

he had an answer for everything. unfortunately every economics lecture became a battle. he talked constantly. if he wasn't talking to you, he was talking over the lecturer. if he wasn't talking, he was asleep. or scrolling through his phone. or throwing rolled-up paper at one of his frat brothers across the room. once he got caught watching a lacrosse highlight reel during a quiz.

the professor simply sighed and took his phone away. another professor would've failed anyone else. rafe got it back at the end of class with a warning. you nearly lost your mind.

"i don't understand why they let him get away with everything," you muttered one afternoon.

your roommate, kiara, looked up from her laptop. "because he's charming."

"he's manipulative."

"same thing to some people."

you groaned. "he doesn't even try."

"that's kind of his thing."

"it's infuriating."

she laughed. "you think about him an awful lot."

you looked horrified. "only because he keeps existing near me."

midterms arrived. the library looked like a disaster zone. students asleep over textbooks, empty energy drink cans stacked on desks, highlighters everywhere.

you'd claimed your usual corner on the fourth floor hours ago. it was nearly midnight now. quiet. finally. until — a chair scraped loudly across the floor opposite you.

you closed your eyes. "...please don't."

"don't what?"

you looked up. rafe. hoodie. backwards cap with a smirk already waiting underneath. "sit somewhere else."

he looked around dramatically. every other seat was taken. "...can't."

"try harder."

"you're funny."

"you're annoying."

he sat anyway. you lasted exactly seven minutes before closing your textbook, packing your bag and leaving. behind you he laughed loud enough to earn three separate shushes.

the following afternoon, an email appeared in your inbox.

please stop by my office after today's lecture.

professor hayes. strange. you assumed it was about your research paper or graduate recommendations. or maybe the internship you'd applied for through the department.

you certainly weren't worried. professor hayes liked you. he'd told you more than once that you were one of the strongest students he'd taught. so after class, you knocked twice before stepping into his office. "come in."

his office smelled like old books and coffee. the walls were lined with overflowing shelves. papers stacked in careful piles across every available surface. he smiled when he saw you. "have a seat."

you did. "you wanted to see me?"

he nodded. "i did." he folded his hands together. "you're one of the strongest students in this department."

you smiled politely. "thank you."

"which is why i wanted to ask you something."

"of course."

"would you consider tutoring another student?"

easy enough. you'd tutored first-years before. the money helped. "who is it?"

he glanced down at the folder on his desk like he was preparing for your response. "mr. cameron."

your smile disappeared. "no."

he blinked. "i'm sorry?"

"no."

"you haven't heard the details."

"i don't need the details."

"he's failing."

"that sounds like a him problem."

the professor sighed. "he's capable."

"he's lazy."

"he needs help."

"he needs consequences."

another sigh. "the department is paying."

you hesitated. "paying?"

he named the hourly rate. your heart sank. it was enough to cover nearly two months of groceries. he noticed the hesitation immediately. quietly, he added, "i know you're working two jobs."

damn him. you looked down at your hands. rent. tuition. textbooks. everything suddenly became numbers in your head. you hated that money made this difficult. you hated even more that you couldn't afford to say no. after a long silence— you sighed. "fine."

professor hayes smiled. "excellent."

you stood already regretting the decision. "when does he start?"

he checked his watch. "today."

"TODAY?"

before he could answer there was a knock against the open office door. "you done convincing her?"

you turned, and there he was. leaning lazily against the doorway like he owned the building, hands in the pockets of an expensive hoodie, baseball cap backwards. that same infuriating grin. his eyes met yours. the grin disappeared.

"...seriously?"

you said it at exactly the same time he did. professor hayes beamed. "perfect. i think you two are going to get along just fine."

the walk across campus felt significantly longer than it usually did. maybe because every step brought you closer to spending two uninterrupted hours with the most irritating man you'd ever met or maybe because professor hayes had smiled when he'd handed you the tutoring schedule.

actually smiled as though he'd just solved world peace instead of creating what would almost certainly become the department's biggest liability.

you clutched the folder a little tighter under your arm. inside were rafe's grades. or, more accurately — the complete lack of them. you'd skimmed them exactly once before immediately wishing you hadn't.

economics: forty-three.

statistics: thirty-eight.

business law: absent.

marketing: incomplete.

comments filled the margins in red ink. shows potential but does not apply himself.

excellent participation when present. attendance remains a concern.

please come to office hours.

the phrase shows potential appeared so many times it almost became insulting. potential wasn't achievement. potential didn't pass exams.

potential certainly didn't explain how someone could coast through life with the confidence of a straight-a student while collecting failing grades like souvenirs.

you pushed open the heavy library doors.

warm air wrapped around you immediately.

the familiar smell of old paper and burnt coffee settled your nerves—slightly.

the fourth floor was nearly empty.

late afternoon sunlight spilled through the enormous windows, stretching long rectangles of gold across rows of wooden tables.

it was quiet. study room twelve sat at the very end of the corridor. small. glass walls. one table. four chairs, a whiteboard. you unlocked the door with the key the librarian had given you and stepped inside.

your notebook landed neatly on the table. so did three sharpened pencils. highlighters. sticky notes. the textbook. you'd even printed practice questions.

because if you were doing this— you were doing it properly. you checked your watch. 3:58. two minutes early. exactly as planned.

3:59. 4:00. 4:02. nothing. you weren't surprised. 4:07. still nothing. you tapped your pen against the table. once. twice. 4:11. the door finally opened without so much as a knock.

rafe wandered in, backwards cap, grey hoodie with fraternity letters stretched across the chest, phone in one hand. keys spinning lazily around his finger.

he glanced around the room then at you. "'s looks depressing."

you didn't even look up from your planner. "you're eleven minutes late."

he checked the expensive watch on his wrist. "ten."

"eleven."

"close enough."

you slowly closed your notebook. met his eyes. "if you're eleven minutes late every session, by the end of the semester you'll have missed nearly three full hours."

he blinked. "did you just calculate that?"

"yes."

"that's..." he laughed once, sort of nervously. "...kind of terrifying."

"sit down."

instead of sitting, he wandered around the room. looked out the window. picked up one of your highlighters. swirled it between his fingers.

"don't touch my things."

he looked at the highlighter. then at you.

"...it's a highlighter."

"it's mine."

he set it down. exactly where it hadn't been before. you hated that even more. "you always this particular?"

"you always this difficult?"

"depends who's asking."

"me."

"...then yeah."

you took one slow breath. "are you actually interested in passing this class?"

he shrugged. "my dad is."

"that wasn't the question."

another shrug. he finally dropped into the chair opposite you, stretching his legs out beneath the table. "there."

"thank you."

"you're welcome."

you slid the textbook across. "page eighty-six."

he looked down then back up. "...didn't bring mine."

you stared."you knew you were coming to a tutoring session."

"yeah."

"and you didn't bring the textbook."

"forgot."

"your notebook?"

"...forgot."

"a pen?"

he patted his pockets dramatically. "also forgot."

silence. finally, you reached into your bag and placed a spare notebook and pencil in front of him. he smiled. "thanks."

"don'tmistake preparation for kindness. page eighty-six."

he opened the book with exaggerated slowness. the silence lasted all of twenty seconds. "so..."

you looked up. "...what?"

"how come you're always studying?"

"because i'm at university."

"yeah, but like..."

he gestured vaguely. "all the time."

"because unlike some people, i have to work for my grades."

he leaned back. "you think i don't?"

you almost laughed. instead, you pushed his latest exam across the table. forty-three. circled in thick red pen. "convince me."

his jaw tightened, only for a second, so quickly you almost missed it and then the grin came back. "low blow."

"accurate blow."

"professor hayes said you were nice."

you frowned. "he lied."

"clearly."

another silence settled between you. he picked up the pencil and spun it around his fingers yet didn't write a single word. you watched him for a moment, really watched him. for someone who acted so effortlessly confident, he hadn't actually looked at the exam once.

his eyes kept sliding around it. past it. over it. anywhere but directly at the grade. interesting. you made a note of it mentally.

"why economics?"

he blinked. "what?"

"why this major?"

"family business."

"do you like it?"

he answered too quickly. "doesn't matter."

the room fell quiet again. for the first time since he'd walked in, there wasn't a joke waiting. no smirk. no sarcastic comment. just a simple answer that sounded strangely rehearsed. then, almost immediately, he caught himself: the grin returned. "you psychoanalysing me now?"

"i'm trying to figure out if teaching you is a waste of my time."

he smiled. "and?"

you looked him dead in the eye. "the jury's still out."

in the next 20 minutes, rafe hadn't written a single word. e just stared at the textbook, page eighty-six.

you sighed. "read the first paragraph. out loud."

"seriously?"

did it look like you were joking? "yes."

he pinched the bridge of his nose. "this is humiliating."

"it's tutoring."

"same thing."

"read."

another long sigh. the sort of sigh that belonged to a child being asked to clean their room. he finally started reading. stumbled twice, skipped an entire sentence & mispronounced a word you knew he'd heard before, then stopped halfway through. "i hate this."

you looked up. "reading?"

"being bad at something."

that wasn't the answer you expected. you leaned back slightly. "you're not bad at it."

he laughed, actually laughed. there wasn't anything funny about it. "you've seen my grades."

you looked down at the papers spread across the table. forty-three. thirty-eight. missing assignments. late submissions. you'd assumed laziness, carelessness, someone who simply couldn't be bothered. "why are they so bad?"

he shrugged. "didn't do the work."

"i know that."

"that's the answer."

"it's not."

his jaw tightened. "you always this nosy?"

"only when i'm supposed to be helping someone."

he looked away towards the windows. outside, students crossed the quad in little groups, laughing loudly enough that you could hear them through the glass.

frat boys. sorority girls. backpacks. coffee. normal.

"they're bad because..." he started then stopped. "...forget it."

"finish the sentence."

"why?"

"because i'm asking."

he looked back at you. "you don't give up, do you?"

"no."

"because if i fail enough..."

he rubbed at the label on his drink. "...i don't have to go back."

you frowned. "...go back where?"

"home."

the word came out flat. empty. "the outer banks." he looked out the window again, rubbing the back of his neck while his voice got progressively more hoarse. "everybody thinks it's paradise." he laughed under his breath. "guess it is." another pause. "unless you grow up there."

you didn't interrupt. he seemed to appreciate that.

"people think money fixes everything." he picked absentmindedly at the edge of the paper in front of him. "it doesn't. especially there." his voice had gotten quieter now. "everything's divided."

he drew an invisible line across the table with his finger. "you've got the kooks." another line. "you've got the pogues." he gave a humourless smile. "and everybody decides who you are before they even know your name."

you'd heard the terms before. mostly through stories & tourists. students from the outer banks. it always sounded more like folklore than reality.

he didn't sound like he was telling a story. he sounded exhausted.

"i'm supposed to be..." he searched for the word. "perfect. captain, fraternity president, ward cameron's son." every title sounded heavier than the last. "doesn't leave much room for anything else."

the room was very quiet. you realised he still hadn't looked at you. not once. he'd spent the entire conversation staring at the table.

"professor hayes said you asked for tutoring."

he nodded. "i did."

"why?"

he smiled faintly. "because my dad would've laughed if i admitted i needed help."

"so i..." he shrugged. "used his account."

your eyebrows shot up. "what?"

"his university donor account." he glanced over, finally meeting your eyes. "he leaves himself logged in to everything."

you blinked. "you emailed professor hayes pretending to be your father?"

"pretty much."

"that's probably academic misconduct."

"probably."

"and fraud."

"little bit."

"you're insane."

"been told."

you stared at him. trying to work out whether he was joking. he wasn't. "why not just ask?"

that made him smile. not smugly. sadly. "because nobody like me asks for help. where i come from," he continued quietly, "if you can't do something, you either fake it..." another pause. "or somebody else does it for you." he looked down at the failing grades. "turns out neither works forever."

you watched him for a long moment. this wasn't the version of rafe cameron everyone else on campus knew. there was no grin, no effortless confidence, no jokes. just a tired twenty-one-year-old who looked like he'd spent years pretending he had everything under control.

it almost made you feel sorry for him. almost because then he ruined it.

he looked back at you. the corner of his mouth lifting ever so slightly. "you're different than i thought."

"i don't remember asking."

"i figured you'd be one of those people who likes fixing everyone."

you frowned. "i don't."

"good."

"'cause i'm not interested in being fixed."

there it was. the wall. straight back up. whatever honesty had slipped out a minute ago disappeared behind the same lazy grin he'd walked in wearing.

he reached for the pencil. spun it between his fingers. "besides..." his eyes met yours. "i'm mostly here because professor hayes said you were the smartest person in our year."

"...okay?"

"wanted to see if it was true."

your eyebrow lifted. "and?"

he shrugged. "jury's still out."

you actually laughed. the audacity of him saying that after arriving eleven minutes late, without a textbook, notebook, or pen, was almost impressive.

"that's rich."

"you've done absolutely nothing."

"i showed up."

"late."

"still counts."

you leaned forward.

"listen carefully."

his smile widened.

"yes, ma'am."

"if you're going to waste my time every tuesday and thursday afternoon, i promise you i'll make those two hours the most miserable part of your week."

he held your gaze for a long moment far longer than necessary. "can't wait." he stood, grabbed his untouched coffee, and headed for the door. his hand rested on the handle. "same time thursday?"

"unless you fail to show up."

he looked over his shoulder, that infuriating grin back in full force. "i'll be here." a beat. "wouldn't want you thinking you won."

the door clicked shut behind him. the room finally fell silent again. you looked down at the pristine notebook you'd brought specifically for tutoring. he hadn't written a single word. not one. you closed it with a sharp sigh. "unbelievable."

outside in the hallway, rafe shoved both hands into the pockets of his hoodie and walked away with that same cocky stride everyone on campus knew.

anyone passing him would've thought the session had gone exactly how he'd wanted.

they didn't see the way his jaw clenched once he was out of sight or how tightly he was gripping the strap of his backpack because if there was one thing rafe cameron hated more than failing — it was the fact that, for two whole hours, someone had looked straight through every version of himself he usually performed...

and he hadn't been able to stop them. which meant, whether either of you liked it or not — he'd be back on thursday. and he'd make absolutely sure you regretted agreeing to teach him.

© BITTERSWEETLYBLUE. do not copy, translate, edit my work then claim it as your own, attempt to plagarise or repost it on any other website nor feed into AI. you will be blocked.

AN: please leave thoughts & feelings about this below! also i am so super tired so if there's plot holes pls lmk cause it wasnt intentional im js so drained but pumped this out lmao

He groans, laying back against his headboard as he watches you. "But I miss you so bad," He sits up a little, taking your lack of focus on him as an opportunity. Normally, he’d ask you to shut your laptop and notebook for a couple minutes so he can enjoy all of you after a whole day of not hearing the sound of your voice, but he’s so pent up and he doesn’t have you to take care of him.

"Tell me about your day, baby," he mumbles, one hand moving off his phone to discreetly slide his hand lower, lower… until it was at the waistband of his pants, slowly pushing them down so the camera doesn’t shake.

He doesn’t feel obligated to mute his microphone as you start talking, either. Maybe because there’s a thrill of you catching him and scolding him. Or better, you catching him and stripping and giving him a show as you touch yourself along with him. The thought sends a shiver down his spine and a twitch to his hardening cock.

Either way, he just wants your attention.

"It was mostly just classes today. Nothing special," You say, and he whines, not wanting you to stop talking. You smile, continuing to write notes and study. "Okay, okay. You’re such a baby, Rafe."

"I am not."

"You are."

"Fine. You never let me disagree with you anyway."

You laugh softly, a pretty twinkling sound that literally gives him butterflies. He grunts softly as his fingers brush against his hardening cock. He's been thinking about you all day, imagining all the things he wants to do to you when he sees you again. He's not sure how much longer he can last like this.

"So tell me more," He coaxes through a grunt, hand wrapped firmly around his cock. Just seeing you in your skimpy little clothes while you chew on the end of your pen while making direct eye contact with him is enough to make him throb. You huff teasingly, eyes rolling playfully as you get started on elaborating on your very boring day, unaware that his pants are off and he's rubbing his thumb back and forth on the drooling slit of his mushroom tip, panting softly into the receiver.

You're still not noticing. He's partially disappointed. It's not hard for you to take notice of it either. The camera's bobbing unnaturally, he's flushed and grunting softly, and his responses are soft 'uh huh's' and 'mm... yeah's'. Regardless, his eyes roam your body, landing on your plush lips through the screen as he imagines you wrapping them around his cock and sucking him off when you see him again during break, your ass up and back arched while he lays down and you give him a nice view while your tongue swirls around his tip, fuck, he moans loudly, squeezing his cock with his fist.

"Rafe?"

He looks up, eyes hooded and hazy. You look confused, and he hopes you're finally starting to catch on. He grins, sweat trickling down the side of his jaw. He hasn't stopped. With neither of you talking, the schlick schlick schlick sound of him milking his cock is quite audible. Just his luck though, you still don't catch on.

"Just asked you a question, baby."

He groans, partially annoyed, extremely turned on. "What's that, gorgeous?" You smile so adorably at the compliment. He wants to ruin you. "I wanted to know what gifts your family would want for when I come over. I think Wheezie mentioned a Squishmallow."

"The hell is that." He grunts, now looking at the way the light reflects off your tits. You laugh, and he frowns, wanting you to see. He lowers his phone just enough for you to see the flushed tip of his cock if you really focus, still stroking himself. His eyes flutter and he bites back a moan, now thinking about you sucking him off again, but this time using your breasts too.

You tilt your head curiously, still not quite catching on to Rafe touching himself. "A kind of stuffed toy? I'll ask her to make sure," you reply distractedly, flipping through a few more pages of your textbook. Rafe growls lowly, your casual demeanor only encouraging him. He wants nothing more than to reach through the screen and grab you, to pull you onto his throbbing cock and make you feel every inch of his pent-up desire.

But for now, he's left to grind his teeth and stroke himself, hoping like hell you'll notice his telltale movements and sounds. Sometimes you could be so blind. "What about me? What do I get?" he murmurs suggestively, almost letting you see his hand gliding up and down his shaft, the camera angle unmistakable now. He squeezes his thick cock from base to tip, lips parted slightly. His cheeks are a pretty pink.

"Me, duh." You smile. "Why? Want me to get you a gift with the money you keep putting in my account? You'd basically be getting a gift for yourself, Rafey."

You lean over to grab your pen, your breasts strain against the thin fabric of your bra. The flimsy material does little to hide your hardened nipples, clearly visible in the dim light of your dorm room. Just then, you hear a loud groan over the phone, startling you. "What's wrong, Rafe?" you ask, brows furrowed with concern.

Rafe grits his teeth, desperately trying to hold back a moan as he realizes you've finally noticed his predicament. "N-nothing, baby. I just… I got a cramp, that's all," he lies unconvincingly, his voice strained.

His hand moves faster, milking his cock intently. The obscene sound of his strokes fills the otherwise quiet room. You notice his labored breathing, the way his chest rises and falls rapidly with each panting breath. A flicker of realization crosses your face as you realize what's really going on. "Rafe, are you...?" you start to ask, a hint of amusement and surprise in your voice.

Of course he'd be touching himself to you. He's always been kinda pervy for you. He tells you all the time which of your pictures make him cum the hardest, but jerking himself off to you in real time is sort of different. Before you can finish your question, Rafe lets out a deep, guttural moan, his hips bucking up off the bed as he starts to come undone. "F-fuck, baby. I can't... I need you so fucking much," he growls, his hand moving in a blur beneath the sheets.

He thrusts into his hand, head tipping back. He fully lowers his phone, letting you watch what he's doing. It adds to the thrill he experiences, and he groans loudly, not bothering to hide anything from you anymore as he brings himself to the edge, hot spurts of cream coating his long fingers.

He rocks himself through his orgasm, mumbling your name under his breath and imagining he came inside you instead, causing him to leak a little more. He squeezes out all he's got, panting and leaning back against his bed as he comes down from his high.

He lowers his head to make eye contact with you, a lazy grin spreading across his handsome face. "Did you see that, baby? Did you see what you do to me?" he asks teasingly.

You blush deeply, suddenly feeling the warmth of your own arousal spreading through your body. "mmm.. mhm," you hum softly, shifting in your seat to relieve some of the pressure building between your thighs.

He leans back against the headboard, his head falling back against the wall with a soft thunk as he groans. "Fuck, I need to be inside you. You better be ready for me, hm? Gonna fuck you like I hate you."

ᥫ᭡.

Rafe likes to watch everything when he wrecks you. He has your legs shoved upwards as his body slots between you, drilling into you in a mating press on his bed.

The second you came to visit him during the holidays, he made light on his promise. He had picked you up, shoved your suitcase by his front door for later, and swung you over his shoulder like a caveman. You had merely squealed and giggled, squirming playfully when he gave your butt a little squeeze. It was cute, he'd thought then, how you had no idea what he was going to do to you. You just thought he was playing with you.

You're a little more conscious now about what he wanted as he thrusts into you hard and sloppy, your face scrunched up in pleasure while needy whines leave your kiss swollen, bitten lips. He rolls his hips rough and firm into you, and you're so soaked that each thrust had filthy gushing sounds resounding through the room as your slick coats Rafe's cock and your thighs.

"Rafe!" You scream, heart slamming against your chest with each thrust. Perhaps the time apart has made him sloppy in bed, or maybe he's so desperate that he can't control himself, because his thrusts are uncoordinated and hard and rough.

He moans, loud and unashamed, spreading you apart further as he shoves his fat cock into you sporadically, his strokes rough and hard enough to jolt your whole body. "Fuck, this fucking pussy," He groans, using every bit of his willpower not to bust his load in you each time you squeeze down on him or dig your nails into his broad shoulders. "Drives me... ugh, fucking insane."

Each time he bottoms out of your creamy hole and drags his cock against your walls up up up until the flushed tip of his cock is nestled against that really soft spot deep inside you that makes your toes curl, he doesn't stop until he hears that telltale squelching sound of his cock filling you to the hilt, with his bulbous mushroom tip hitting the very back of your cunt, kissing all your little sweet spots all at once.

Rafe grunts in satisfaction as he feels you clench around him, your velvet walls gripping his thick cock like a vice. He knows you can feel every ridge and vein as he grinds against your most sensitive spots. Because you're screaming, legs shaking and fat tears of pleasure rolling down your cheeks.

"Fuck, knew you wanted me to fuck you like a whore," he grunts, feelings the pleasant sting of your nails dragging down his back and leaving red welts in their wake. You moan, eyes locked onto his, which are hooded, the pretty ocean blue replaced with a dark, stormy color. He looks rabid. "Mngh yeah… 'm your whore, Rafey," You mewl, reaching up to grab onto his face and push your mouth against his.

He swallows all your little cries, tongue shoving into your mouth and tangling with yours while his leaking cock rams into you. "Fuck yeah, you are. My little slut. Allll mine. Fuck, you're fuckin' made for me, you know that? Listen to how your little pussy takes me in. She doesn't want me to leave," he moans into your mouth, practically slurping on your tongue. "We aren't meant to be apart, pretty girl,"

He nips and sucks on your lower lip, laving his tongue over it, before trailing open-mouthed kisses along your jaw and down the column of your throat. He latches onto your pulse point, sucking hard enough to leave a vivid mark. "Got so fucking sick of daydreaming about you all the time." He moans against your neck.

"All the time. All I did was think about my perfect little girlfriend. I can't fucking take being without you." You keen, back arching as he gropes at your tits, the pad of his thumb rolling roughly over your swollen nipples as he practically slobbers onto your throat, marking you up. "Missed you too, mmm… f-fuck… more, Rafe," You babble, and he almost, almost cums when you moan his name like that. Gosh, he can't handle you.

He can feel his release building, his heavy balls drawing up tight as the telltale tingling starts at the base of his spine. But he grits his teeth, refusing to let go just yet. He wants to make this last, wants to linger in the exquisite torture of bringing you to the brink again and again before finally allowing you the sweet relief of climax.

He slows his thrusts, rolling his hips upwards to hit that gummy spot in you without fail with each thrust, simultaneously stimulating your clit with each pass. He pinches your nipples one by one, before licking your clavicle. "Yeah? Feels good?" he moans, hips driving forward mercilessly. Each thrust drives his fat fucking cock deeper into your pussy, stretching you around him until you swear you can feel every throbbing inch of him pulsing inside you. "Feels real fucking good for me, princess. Can't get enough of you."

Unable to muster an intelligable response at this point, you cry out his name, voice slurring as your hips buck up to meet his. Your needy sounds in response are all he needs to come down. He leans down to sink his teeth into the meat of your shoulder, biting down as he slams into you one last time, burying himself to the hilt as his orgasm crashes over him.

His cock pulses and throbs as he shoots thick ropes of hot cum deep into your hungry womb, painting your walls white as he fills you up just like he promised. You both cry out all loud and wanton as you cum with him, your hips jerking as you ride out the intense waves of pleasure coursing through your body.

He collapses against you, weight pressing into the mattress as he leaves sloppy kisses over your tits, sucking on your breasts to help your orgasm crash down long and hard.

see more in my obx masterlist

ex!rafe whos always by your side at parties, never touching you without your consent but always there in time when you’re too drunk and slurring words. and rafe who takes you home as soon as he knows you’ve gone past your intolerance, saying kind words to your parents so they won’t scold you as much as they would if he hadn’t given an explanation

ex!rafe who doesn’t care how you call him your “boy best friend”. everyone has eyes can see the way you two look at each other, and whatever it is, it definitely isn’t platonic.

ex!rafe who pretends not to get jealous over how close you are with the pogues, especially the boys, but he doesn’t want to act like an over territorial animal so whenever you two hang out he just kisses your temple and rests his forehead against your hair.

ex!rafe who, when everything is quiet, looks over the photos of you two dating in his camera roll. he has a whole album with just pictures of you, and sometimes he’ll sneak one cute one without you looking.

ex!rafe who knows you love him, that the breakup wasn’t casual. it’s why he dismissed all you snarky comments whenever it’s bought up. he knows you, better than anyone.

ex!rafe who knows that no matter how many times you break up with him, you’ll always get back together. of that he’s certain.

© BITTERSWEETLYBLUE. do not copy, translate, edit my work then claim it as your own, attempt to plagarise or repost it on any other website nor feed into AI. you will be blocked.

“stealing my js, huh?” he chuckles, wordlessly pulling the blunt back between his own lips. one hand rests behind his head, biceps thickening, while the other dips under your oversized tee, fingers digging into your side to keep your ministrations steady. “y’r lucky you’re cute.” the dealer endearingly flicks your nose, crooked grin plastered on his face.

you whimper shakily as rafe’s cock nudges that snug, sensitive spot inside. “jus’ want something in my mouth—” you confess wobbly, hands already reaching over to snag the blunt from rafe’s lips. pride be damned, the weed taking its toll on you. the man beneath you swallows at your honesty. “yeah?” he taunts, middle and pointer finger hovering in front of your lips as a silent hint. “sweet girl just wants something in her mouth?”

without thinking, you close your lips around the two digits, teeth scraping over rafe’s family ring. the sharp sensation of your ribbed teeth on his skin overpowers him, the stutter of his thighs vibrating through your cunt. thick smoke billows around you, the bitter smell of the weed swirling in the air.

you whimper lightly at the sensitivity of your mind, the feeling of rafe filling you perfectly to the brim. “such a nasty girl, taking what i’m givin’ you.” he mutters, voice a tad bit slurry, but his eyes are twinkling in wonder. your big doe eyes flutter dramatically at him, tongue swirling around rafe’s thick knuckles.

both of you are lost in the clouds of pleasure. rafe’s sprawled on the bed like a fucking king, just watching you putting in all the work while he puffs out grey smoke once in a while. you’re gone, only chasing the pleasure that seems to be within reach now, whines and whimpers mingling together. you feel so stuffed, feeling the twitch of his cock in you every time you breathe in.

rafe grunts at your sloppy ministrations. “look at you sweetheart. nothing going on in that pretty little head of yours, huh?” he practically grits out. your pussy clenches around him at his tone of voice, his fingers still heavy on your tongue. rafe takes another drag, blowing the smoke in your face like a miserable taunt.

“just— lemme see ya, baby. thaaaat’s it, fuck, just—” he continues to babble as you pick up your pace, low eyes zeroed in on the tacky white ring around his shaft. “gonna get’cha so used to me, moulded to my shape. swear you’re never gettin’ another dealer ever again.”

“feel a little bit better?” rafe cooed, his lips ghosting along the tip of your nose. shuddering, your legs twitched at a certain stroke of his fingers, the stinging stretch now turning into a dull ache as rafe continued filling you to the hilt. you hummed softly, your vision growing fuzzy as rafe left wet kisses in the curve of your neck, his teeth skimming your flesh ever so slightly. “promise’ m’gonna get you stretched out realll good, baby. you’ll be my pretty little cock hungry slut in no time.” you whined at the lewdness of his words, your walls squeezing tight around him as you felt the coil in your tummy growing taut.

“rafe..” you breathed out, your chest rising and falling sporadically. “you feel like you’re gonna cum, princess?” he rubbed your sensitive nub even faster, a choked sob emitting from your throat as you took hold of his shoulders, the last inch of his length forcing itself into you just as you felt the blinding pleasure of your first orgasm wrack through your body. rafe cursed under his breath as you writhed and shook in his hold, your pussy clamping him in place with a tightness he’d never felt before. “oh, my fucking god—” rafe groaned, his free hand splaying out across your tummy before pushing down, your eyes screwing shut as rafe pulled out abruptly.

without warning, a warm stream gushed from between your legs, a suprised cry falling from your lips as both you and rafe looked down at the mess. “you’re so sensitive, holy shit,” rafe laughed, “i haven’t even fucked you yet, and you already squirted?” your cheeks heated in embarrassment as the man above you stared between your legs in awe. “don’t laugh—!” you were cut off by rafe’s fingers finding your clit again, his eyes turning dark before he took your wrists and pinned them to your chest. unable to resist, you nearly screamed when he slammed into you, his hips meeting your own as he bottomed out in one full thrust.

“give me another one, baby, i know you got it in you.” you took your bottom lip between your teeth, your eyebrows knitting together as heat coursed through your limbs, rafe’s relentless pounding to your cunt rendering you the inability to think. “you look so pretty when you’re fucked out,” rafe spoke against your skin, “just’ makes me wanna fuck you stupid so i can see this face.” he thumbed your chin, forcing you to face him. “i knew you’d take my cock so good, babygirl, ‘think you can take my cum too?” you mewled, the sound of his skin meeting yours echoing out in the space of your room.

he laughed, nodding his head in faux agreement. “yeah, you want it?” you managed to gasp a ‘please!’ before rafe shushed you, his hand clasping over your mouth. “ah, fuckkk— i’m gonna give it to you, ‘gonna breed this pussy until you’re dripping and pregnant with my baby.” rafe didn’t think he could be anymore turned on than he already was, but seeing how willing you were to be filled with his seed made him thrust faster, both of you melting into one another as he held you in his large arms. the words coming out of rafe’s lips had you crying pathetically against his chest, any kind of discomfort you once felt now replaced with searing pleasure.

you were well off into your second orgasm when rafe’s hips began stuttering, his fingers hooking into the roots of your hair as he panted, his jaw falling slack while you attempted to weakly push at his chest. “c-can’t take anymore!” you shrieked, your cunt spasming harshly around his length. rafe ignored your cries, his hands forcing your thighs open as he twitched and emptied himself inside of you, your nails raking down his stomach at the overstimulation on your poor pussy. “of course you can take it, you were fucking made for this.” rafe said through gritted teeth, his abs constricting from the immense pressure relieving itself from his core.

rafe waited until you were knocked out dumb before pulling out, a hiss leaving your lips at the loss of contact. backing away, rafe laid down on his stomach to be head-level with your sopping wet cunt. you watched as he spread your folds open with his thumbs, not a single drop of cum in sight. “i think we might’ve made it stick, princess, i can’t see a thing.” you swallowed thickly at the revelation, your eyes blinking sleepily as rafe made his way back up your body, both of you settling in beside one another. “sorry you did all the work..” you pouted, resting your head on his bicep.

You woke up in the dead of night to a strange heat against your back. Rafe's bedroom is typically cool, the premium air conditioning humming softly in the background, but the space between your bodies is scorching.

Beside the warmth against the small of your back, you feel this repetitive pressure. Rafe is flush against you, his large frame bracketing yours from behind, hand clamped firmly over your hip, fingers digging into your waist.

Then, he moves.

It’s a slow roll of his hips, straight against your backside. You freeze, your breath catching in your throat. He’s asleep, you can tell by the pattern of his breathing, but a sudden, low whimper breaks from the back of his throat. It's an uncharacteristically vulnerable sound that sends a shiver straight down your spine.

And a pool forming shamefully between your legs.

He grinds against you again, harder this time, a ragged gasp slipping past his lips. He's dry humping you in his sleep, completely lost in whatever vivid, intense dream is playing out behind his closed eyelids.

That's when you feel it.

A wet, seeping warmth bleeds through the fabric of your clothes where you're sure the tip of his dick is making friction.

Your heart hammers and you silently panic as you carefully but quickly twist out from under his heavy grip, pulling away to the opposite side of the mattress.

You turn around in the blueish dark of his room, your eyes wide. Rafe has shifted onto his back now, chest heaving slightly. In the shadows, you can clearly see the dark, widening wet patch right at the crotch of his gray sweatpants. It’s soaking right through the cotton, spreading onto the sheets beneath him.

Your face burns, not knowing what to do. You’re completely frozen, mind racing, entirely unsure of whether to wake him up, slip out of the room entirely, or just pretend you never saw it and press yourself back against him and try to go back to sleep.

But before you can make a choice, the lack of friction stirs him awake. Rafe lets out another rough sigh, eyelashes fluttering before his eyes crack open. They’re heavy-lidded, dark, and completely clouded with desire.

He doesn't look startled to see you staring, blue eyes glue to you as he struggles to keep them open. There isn't a single shred of embarrassment on his face as he examines himself either, the haze of arousal wiring him entirely unbothered by, or oblivious to, the mess he's made.

"Where'd you go?" he mumbles, his voice incredibly deep and raspy from sleep, reaching out to rub a hand up your thigh.

"Rafe... you," you stammer, your voice rising and shaking slightly as you look down at his lap and then back up to his face.

He follows your gaze down, eyeing the damp, ruined fabric of his sweatpants with a tired pout that only makes you press your legs together tighter. But instead of pulling away or apologizing, he reaches out, his hand wrapping around both of your wrists with a firm tug. He pulls you right back into his space, effortlessly erasing the distance you just created.

Your faces are inches apart now, and he's holding one of your hands up, looking you in the eye tiredly as he guides the other directly down, pressing your palm flat against his print. You could feel the rigid line of his lingering erection beneath the wetness, so hard, you swore you could feel the blood being carried to his dick, veins pumping between the pads of your fingers.

"Help me out," he whispers, his gaze fixing onto yours with an intoxicating heat.

And before you can even fully process his words, Rafe leans in, his hand releasing your wrist that's in the air, sliding up to cup the back of your neck. He pulls you down into a bruising kiss, shattering whatever boundaries you thought you had left.

You guessed the lines weren't so blurred after all.

feedback is appreciated! thanks for reading. follow & turn on post notifs for @theharlowpost for writing exclusive updates!

ʚ　ु ⊹ soft touches ✿ ˚ ⑅

ʚ　ु ⊹ frat!rafe ✿ ˚ ⑅

ʚ　ु ⊹ cowgirl ✿ ˚ ⑅

ʚ　ु ⊹ nerd!rafe ✿ ˚ ⑅

ʚ　ु ⊹ he's huge ✿ ˚ ⑅

ʚ　ु ⊹ what he sends you ✿ ˚ ⑅

© 𝓢𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐋𝐈𝐑𝐓 . established october ❛25 | my taglist

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