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Contains: In which a fan curates a video dedicated to catching the small moments between y/n and Crankama that don’t go unnoticed.
Warnings: fluff, kissing, suggestive if you squint really hard??, not proofread..
Pairing: Crankama (Connor) x fem!reader
It started off as a normal night. Y/n came over to Connor’s house, waited for him to finish streaming, and then hung out with him as any other night would go.
Y/n was perched up on Connor’s lap in bed, back laying across his chest, his fingers rubbing small circles on her hips through her sleep shorts absentmindedly with his head resting on her shoulder as they watched TikTok together.
This was a usual occurrence after Connor streamed. Somewhere through the plethora of videos they watched they came across one in particular.
‘Top 4 relationship moments between Crankama and his girlfriend’ at first Connor didnt notice, he was too busy being sleepily zoned out until she broke the silence.
“Con look at this!” She whispered in a soft tone. “Hm?” He replied, cracking an eye open and looking down at the screen.
She slowly watched his face as he came to the realization of what he was looking at. “What the fuck?” He exclaimed before looking at y/n.
“I didn’t know we were caught that many times” he said slightly confused. “Well we apparently were!” Y/n said giggling. “Wanna watch it with me?” She said looking at the boy.
“Fuck yeah I do” he said raising his head from the girls shoulder to get a better look at her phone screen.
Y/n unpaused the video and it began to play. ‘Top 4 relationship moments between Crankama and his girlfriend’
4. THAT phone call (let’s pretend that crank has his license..🤦♀️)
The first clip being the time Crankama was waiting for Ohbaby to join discord at the beginning of stream, he had started surprisingly early that day.
The stream was seemingly going smoothly until Connor got a call from y/n. Quickly excusing himself and hitting mute on his stream mic he accepted her FaceTime, watching the screen light up with her face.
As soon as he accepted the call his smile dropped. He was expecting her to be her usual smiley self, but she wasn’t smiling, she was in fact the polar opposite of smiling.
Y/n had clumps of mascara and tears streaming down her face as she made a messy explanation as to why she was basically hysterical.
She explained that she was on her period but her parents were out of town and she was in too much pain to drive to the store.
As soon as she finished he was already hopping up to slip his shoes on and get his keys while comforting her over the phone and telling her he loves her.
“I’m in so much pain Connor it’s never been this bad” she says in a small sounding voice. Once he heard that he felt his heart basically break into two. He hated seeing his girl in pain. “I know baby I’ll be there soon. it’s gonna be ok” he says in a softer voice to hopefully calm y/n down a bit.
“Okay guys I’m going to have to hop off of stream today.. an emergency involving my girlfriend came up. I might be able to get on later but it’s unlikely sorry” he says apologetic to the stream before ending it
3. The kiss
This clip was mid stream. Ohbaby and Crankama were playing build a boat and laughing about something stupid that ohbaby made.
y/n had been in little bits of the stream, replying to something a chatter said or laughing at something Ohbaby and Crankama did.
But this particular time Ohbaby was taking a five minute break, saying something along the lines of his dad needing him or something. So while Connor was sat in his chair waiting, he was talking to y/n with his mic muted.
After a minute or so she stood up and sauntered over to stand next to his chair with one of her hands resting on his shoulder looking down at her boyfriend.
He appeared to be agreeing what she was saying, nodding his head while looking back up at her smiling.
Eventually she moved her other hand to his jaw and tilted his head up to give him a kiss before stepping out of frame.
The chat immediately went ballistic, flying so fast that even if Crankama was looking, he wouldn’t be able to read it. But instead he sat there looking at his door that the girl walked out of smiling.
He was completely whipped.
2. Love island
It was one of his occasional late night streams. Lights were dim, his voice was scratchier and more relaxed, and his eyes were half lidded as he answered questions from the chat.
“When is y/n coming over?” He read aloud. “She’s actually already here but she’s out in the living room eating ice cream and watching that bullshit show love island” he replied to the chatter with a little laugh at the thought of her genuinely invested in the show.
Just as he finished his sentence he hears his door click open, looking over at the door he sees y/ns sleepy figure step through the door before closing it quietly.
“Hey baby how was your show?” He says, turning his chair and holding his arms out inviting you to hug him. “I was good” she says while climbing onto his arms and laying her head on his shoulder.
“I’m glad you enjoyed it” he says rubbing her back while she talks about it.
1. Surprise!!
The next clip showed the end Connor’s birthday stream. He had been dramatically complaining that his girlfriend has been ‘out of town for a month’ almost the entire stream.
Little did he know that y/n was planning to surprise him. She’d been curating the plan with Brentley, Aiden (his brother), and the rest of his family for a month.
At the end of the stream right before it ended, she was going to sneak into his room and stay by the door and wait for Ohbaby and Saloonae to pretend not to hear crank. Hopefully causing him to ask the stream if they could hear him and then she would answer.
So when the day came she pulled into his driveway and greeted his parents before giving a heads up to Saloonae and Ohbaby.
They texted her to come into cranks room and wait. Stepping into his room as quietly as she could, she stood by the door and watched his friend and his brother do their part.
“Yo chat can you hear me?” Crank questioned, with his usual loud voice. “I can” y/n said, catching the boy off guard. “What the fu-“ he said spinning around quickly towards the voice he had heard, just to be met with her.
“Happy birthday Con!” she says with a wide smile.
“Oh my fucking god!” He said as he sprung up from his chair and ran to hug the girl with a huge smile on his face.
“I missed you so fucking much oh my god” he said practically jumping on her.
“I mixed you too baby!” She said giggling at his reaction until she feels tears hitting her cheek.
Her heart dropping as pulls back in alarm looking up at the boy “hey Connor are you ok?” She says as she lifts one of her hands to wipe his tears away.
“Yeah I’m just happy” he says laughing and looking down at the girl with a love struck expression.
The video ends and there’s a beat of silence before Connor speaks.
“Wow ok so I guess we were caught more than once” he says with wide eyes. “Well thanks Captain obvious” y/n smiles looking at the boys face on her shoulder.

Merrit speaks: First time writing guys..how’d I do…? 🥹
Summary: getting hit in the head with a puck at your first hockey game is bad enough, but when the adorably guilty defenseman who deflected it shows up to apologize, you have to decide if he’s worth giving hockey (and him) a second chance
The wall of sound hits you first.
It’s not like a stadium. Not like the open-air roar of a touchdown, a diffused, rolling thunder that echoes off the sky. This is contained. This is pressurized. It’s a thousand people screaming in a giant, refrigerated tank, and the noise vibrates in your teeth.
“See?” Liz yells, grabbing your arm. Her voice is already rough, and the game hasn’t even started. “Isn’t this insane?”
You nod, pulling your jacket tighter. “It’s insane that I’m wearing three layers and I can still feel my fillings freezing.”
“That’s the ice, silly,” Gabi says, bumping you from the other side. She’s bouncing on her toes, eyes wide and bright. “You’re basically breathing the game.”
“I think I’m breathing the guy behind me’s pretzel,” you mutter, but they don’t hear you. They’re already chanting.
This is, categorically, not your scene. You are a person of grass stains, autumn Sundays, and strategic timeouts. You understand the beauty of a tight spiral. This is chaos on skates. It’s too fast. The puck — which you can barely see — moves like an angry wasp.
“Okay, so who am I supposed to be watching?” You shout over the horn that signals the start.
“The Devils!” Liz screams. “Obviously! We’re red!”
“And Luke Hughes!” Gabi adds, her voice dropping into a dreamy sigh. “Number forty-three. He’s ... just watch him.”
“Which one is he?”
“The one who’s perfect!”
You roll your eyes, but you scan the ice. They’re all just helmets and numbers, gliding with a terrifying, unnatural speed. The sound of their skates cutting the ice is a sharp shhhk-shhhk that slides right under the roar of the crowd.
Your seats are, as promised, offensively good. You’re only four rows back from the glass. You can see the condensation, the scratches on the plexiglass from previous impacts. The players slam into the boards right in front of you, and the thud is heavy, solid, rattling the glass. You flinch every single time.
“You’re flinching,” Liz points out, laughing.
“That guy’s face just mushed against the glass like a cartoon. How are you not flinching?”
“It’s hockey! It’s just a check!”
“It looks like aggravated assault with a side of frostbite.”
The first period is a blur of whistles, sudden stops that spray snow over the glass, and your friends trying to explain rules that make zero sense.
“So, that’s icing,” Gabi says, pointing.
“Why? He just shot it.”
“Yeah, but he shot it from behind the red line, and it went past the other red line, and his teammate wasn’t there first.”
“... So they get penalized for being too good at shooting?”
“No, they get penalized for … for just … dumping it. It’s a rule.”
“It’s a dumb rule,” you declare, sipping the watery, overpriced beer you bought just to have something warm to hold. “In football, that’s called field position. That’s a good thing.”
“Just watch Luke,” Gabi insists. “Forget the rules. Just watch him skate.”
You sigh and find number forty-three. He’s tall. Taller than the others, or maybe he just skates with a fluidity that makes him seem to take up more space. He moves backwards as easily as forwards. It’s impressive, you’ll give him that. It’s the kind of effortless athletic grace that you can respect, even if the sport itself looks like a bar fight that won the lottery.
The game is tied. The energy in the building is high, a nervous, electric hum. The puck is in the Devils’ zone. A player from the other team — the white ones — winds up for a shot.
It happens in that slow-motion, hyper-focus way that trauma always does.
You see number forty-three skate across the lane. He drops to one knee, angling his body. He’s trying to block the shot.
The crack of the puck hitting his stick is louder than anything you’ve ever heard. It’s not a thwack. It’s a bang.
The puck deflects.
It doesn’t sail. It doesn’t arc. It rockets.
It comes straight up, over the glass, a black missile in a sea of white ice and red jerseys.
You don’t even have time to raise your hands.
You just register a black comet, the panicked gasp of the man next to you, and then-
Nothing.
Just a blinding, agonizing, white-hot explosion of pain right above your temple.
The world goes sideways. The roar of the crowd dissolves into a high-pitched, thin whine.
“Oh my God!” Liz is screaming. It sounds like she’s in a tunnel.
“Medic! We need a medic! MEDIC!”
Hands are on you. You’re slumping forward, your beer spilling onto the concrete floor. The pain is … it’s breathtaking. It’s not a headache. It’s an occupation. It’s taken over the entire right side of your skull.
“Hey. Hey, look at me. Can you look at me?”
You blink. Gabi’s face is swimming in front of yours. She’s pale, her eyes wide with terror.
“It hit her. It hit her in the head. The puck. It hit her right in the head.”
“Okay, miss. We’re right here.” A new voice. Calm. Authoritative. “We’re going to get you out of here. Can you stand?”
“I ... I don’t ...” you try to say, but your tongue feels thick. A hot, wet sensation is trickling down your cheek. You touch it. Your fingers come away red.
“Oh god, she’s bleeding,” Liz whispers, and her voice breaks.
“It’s okay. It’s just a head wound. They bleed a lot.” The medic, a guy with a grizzled mustache and kind eyes, shines a tiny, excruciatingly bright light in your pupils. “Yep. Pupils are a little slow. We’re gonna take a ride.”
The walk up the stairs is a humiliating, dizzy blur. You’re leaning on the medic and Gabi, a towel pressed to your temple. The game is still happening. You can hear the whistle, the roar as play resumes. People are staring. Some look concerned. Others just look annoyed that you’re blocking their view.
“I hate hockey,” you mumble, the concrete steps seeming to tilt under your feet.
“I know, honey. I know,” Gabi says, her voice trembling. “I’m so, so sorry I made you come.”
***
The medical room is aggressively quiet. It’s beige. The silence is a stark, sterile contrast to the arena, broken only by the hum of a vending machine in the hall and Liz’s nervous sniffles.
You’re sitting on an examination table covered in crinkly paper. The medic — Owen, his name tag says — is gently cleaning the cut on your hairline.
“Well, the good news is you’re going to be fine,” Owen says, his voice a gravelly comfort. “The bad news is, it’s going to swell up like a prize-winning grapefruit, and you’re going to have a headache that could stop a train.”
“It already does,” you manage, wincing as he applies a steri-strip. “Feels like my brain is trying to divorce my skull.”
“That’s the concussion talking,” he says, not unkindly. “It’s mild, but you definitely got your bell rung. That was a hard deflection.”
“It was Luke Hughes,” Gabi says from the corner. She’s been texting furiously, her face still pale. “He blocked the shot. It was his stick.”
“Gabi, I don’t think that’s helpful right now,” Liz snaps.
“No, it’s fine,” you say, closing your eyes. The fluorescent light above the table is a personal attack. “I don’t even know who that is. It could have been, I don’t know. Wayne Gretzky. I’d still feel like I got hit by a truck.”
“He’s only the best young defenseman on the team,” Gabi whispers, as if this is some great comfort.
“He’s the one with the great ass,” Liz supplies.
“Liz.”
“What? We were pointing him out. He’s number forty-three.”
You sigh, the motion sending a fresh throb behind your eye. “Great. My brain was scrambled by a nice ass. Write that on my tombstone.”
Owen finishes taping a small gauze patch over the cut. “Okay. I want you to sit here for a while. Let the game finish, let the crowd thin out. I don’t want you fighting traffic. We’ll have someone check on you. If the nausea gets worse or you feel dizzy, you tell me. I’m just outside.”
“Thank you, Owen,” you say. He nods, gives you a small smile, and leaves you, Liz, and Gabi in the beige silence.
For a few minutes, nobody speaks. Liz scrolls through her phone. Gabi just stares at you.
“What?” You finally ask, your voice flat.
“It’s really swelling.”
“Thanks, Gabi. Super.”
“No, I just … god, Y/N. I’m so sorry. This was supposed to be a fun night.”
“It’s fine,” you sigh, leaning your head back against the drywall. Bad move. The wall is cold and hard. You wince and sit up straight. “It’s an experience. I can now say I have been personally assaulted by a professional sport. It’s a fun party story for when I’m not concussed.”
“You’re taking this surprisingly well,” Liz says, looking up from her phone.
“What am I supposed to do? Scream? I tried that. It makes the headache worse.” You rub your eyes. “I just want to go home, take three ibuprofen, and sleep for a billion years.”
The door clicks open. It’s not Owen.
It’s a woman in a sharp blazer with a Devils logo embroidered on the chest. She’s holding ... a lot of things. She has the strained, high-wattage smile of someone in Public Relations.
“Hi there!” She says, her voice painfully cheerful. “Are you the young woman who took that unfortunate puck?”
“That’s me,” you say.
The PR woman’s smile tightens just a fraction. “Well, on behalf of the entire Devils organization, we are just terribly sorry about the incident. Player safety and fan safety is our number one priority.”
“Seems like fan safety is, like ... priority two,” you mutter.
Liz kicks your ankle.
“The team felt just awful about it,” the woman continues, ignoring you. She steps forward and places a brand-new, bright red hockey jersey on your lap. “They wanted you to have this.”
You look at it. It’s an authentic jersey. The number on the back is 86.
“Oh my god,” Gabi breathes, her hands flying to her mouth. “That’s a Jack Hughes jersey.”
“And,” the PR woman says, gesturing to the hallway, “the boys sent down a few things from the locker room to apologize.”
An arena attendant wheels in a small cart. On it are two hockey sticks, both with signatures scrawled all over the tape on the blades.
Liz and Gabi are on their feet, instantly mesmerized.
“Is that ... is that Timo?” Liz asks, touching one of the sticks reverently.
“The whole team signed them,” the PR woman says, beaming. “We are just so thrilled you’re okay. Is there anything else we can get for you? Another beverage? A foam finger?”
You stare at the pile of merchandise. The jersey on your lap feels stiff and synthetic. The sticks are ... just sticks.
“I’m in pain,” you say. The words are quiet, but they cut through the manufactured cheer.
The PR woman’s smile falters. “Well, yes, Owen said it was a mild concussion, but that you’re-”
“I have a splitting headache. I’m bleeding. And I’m pretty sure I’m going to throw up on your shoes,” you say, the frustration and the pain welling up. “And you brought me … sports memorabilia.”
“It’s signed by the team,” she says, as if you’ve missed the point.
“I don’t care,” you say. And you realize you mean it. “I don’t follow hockey. I didn’t know who Jack Hughes was ten seconds ago. This is just an overpriced hirt and two pieces of wood. It doesn’t make my head hurt less.”
There is a terrible, awkward silence.
Gabi looks horrified. Liz looks like she’s trying not to laugh. The PR woman looks like she’s just swallowed a bug.
“I see,” the woman says, her voice several degrees cooler. “Well. The items are, of course, yours to keep. Our apologies. Again.”
She turns, her heels clicking sharply, and leaves the room.
The door shuts.
Liz holds the silence for one second, then two, and then she bursts out laughing. “Oh my god, Y/N. Her face.”
“It’s not funny, Liz,” Gabi says, wringing her hands. “She was just trying to be nice. Those are worth, like, thousands of dollars.”
“They’re worth Tylenol to me right now,” you grumble, pushing the jersey off your lap onto the floor. “I don’t want it. It smells like stadium.”
“You’re impossible,” Liz laughs, picking up the jersey and folding it carefully. “You get hit by a puck and your first instinct is to insult the team.”
“My first instinct was to pass out. My second instinct was to wonder why they think signatures from some random guys are a valid form of medical compensation.”
You lean your head back again, more carefully this time. The throbbing is a constant, dull drum. You can hear the game ending outside. A horn blares, followed by a huge roar from the crowd.
“Devils win,” Gabi says, checking her phone. “Overtime. Luke got the assist.”
“Good for him,” you say, closing your eyes. “Tell him his other assist is currently trying to burrow its way out of my skull.”
“You’re awfully grumpy for someone who just got a game-used stick.”
“I’m a football girl, Liz. You know this. If Josh Allen threw a ball and it broke my nose, I’d be annoyed. But at least I’d know who he was. This is just ... I’m tired. And my head hurts. And I want to be in my own bed.”
The door opens again.
You don’t even bother to look. “Owen, I swear, if you’re also here to offer me a foam finger, I’m using it to start a fire.”
“Um, Owen’s not here.”
The voice is not Owen. It’s young. It’s male. And it’s incredibly awkward.
Your eyes snap open.
Liz and Gabi both freeze. Gabi makes a sound like a deflating balloon.
Standing in the doorway, looking entirely too large for the small beige room, is a guy in hockey gear.
Well, most of his gear. He’s wearing skates, but he has guards on the blades. His hair is plastered to his head with sweat, curling around his ears. He’s holding his helmet in one hand and a bottle of Gatorade in the other.
He looks about your age. And he looks mortified.
It’s number forty-three.
“Oh,” you say. “It’s you. The ass.”
Liz chokes.
The guy’s face goes from pale to bright, crimson red. “I … what?”
“Liz said you have a great ass,” you clarify, because honestly, the concussion has destroyed your filter. “I’m Y/N. The one you tried to decapitate.”
“I-I’m Luke.” He takes a hesitant step into the room, skates clacking awkwardly on the tile. He’s looking at the gauze on your head. “Oh, god. I am so, so sorry. I was just trying to block the shot. It was coming in hot and I just got my stick on it and it just ... flew.”
He’s rambling. It’s actually kind of adorable, in a panicked-puppy-who-chewed-the-sofa sort of way.
“Yeah, it flew,” you agree. “Right into my temple.”
“I saw it,” he says, wincing, as if reliving the moment. “I saw it go up and I just—I heard the sound. I knew it hit someone. I’ve never done that. Never. I feel awful. Like, awful awful.”
“It’s fine,” you say, resigned. “I’ve been told I’m getting a free grapefruit out of it.”
He blinks. “A grapefruit?”
“The swelling,” you say, gesturing to your head.
“Oh. Right. God. Does it hurt? That’s a stupid question. Of course it hurts. I’m so sorry.”
“It hurts,” you confirm.
Gabi, who has been holding her breath, finally speaks. “Hi, Luke. We’re huge fans. I’m Gabi. This is Liz. We love your, uh, skating.”
Luke gives them a quick, distracted smile. “Hey. Thanks. But I really just came to see if you were okay.” His eyes land back on you. They’re very earnest.
“I’m okay,” you say. “Concussed, apparently. But okay. Your PR lady already came by.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah.” You gesture with your foot to the jersey on the floor. “She brought me a random shirt. And some sticks.”
Luke looks at the pile of merchandise. He looks at the HUGHES 86 jersey on the floor. He looks back at you.
And he laughs.
It’s not a polite laugh. It’s a real, surprised snort of a laugh. “A random shirt? That’s Jack’s jersey. He’s my brother.”
“Oh,” you say. “Well. Your brother’s random shirt is on the floor.”
He laughs again, harder this time, and the tension in the room just evaporates. Even your headache seems to pull back a fraction.
“You really don’t care, do you?” He asks, a look of genuine disbelief on his face.
“About what? Hockey?”
“Yeah.”
“Not really. No. I’m a football girl. Sorry.”
“No, don’t be sorry.” He steps closer, leaning against the counter. He seems to be trying to figure you out. “I just ... usually when this happens — not this, but, like, when we meet fans — they’re not ... like you.”
“Disappointed?”
“No. Honest. God, that’s refreshing.” He runs his hand through his damp hair. “So the sticks didn’t help?”
“Do they dispense Advil?”
“No.”
“Then no.”
He smiles. It’s a really good smile. It’s lopsided and bright, and it makes him look his age. “Right. Okay. Good to know. Note to self: sticks are not painkillers.”
“So, you came down here right after the game?” You ask.
“Yeah. Soon as I got off the ice. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I just had to make sure. The PR team, they’re great, but it’s different. You know?”
“I do,” you say, and you find yourself smiling back, just a little. “It’s nice of you. To come check. Most people would just let the team send merch.”
“It was my stick,” he says, shrugging. “My fault.”
“It was an accident.”
“Still. A really bad accident. And it was your first game, wasn’t it?”
Your eyes go wide. “How did you know that?”
“The guy sitting next to you. When the medic was helping you up. He was yelling, ‘It’s her first game! It’s her first ever game!’” Luke winces again. “I think I ruined hockey for you. Forever.”
“I mean you didn’t help,” you say. “I was already confused by icing. This just sealed the deal.”
“It’s not always like this,” he says, almost pleadingly. “It’s not ... we don’t usually try to injure the crowd. That’s generally frowned upon.”
You chuckle, and then regret it as the pain throbs. “Ow.”
“Sorry. Sorry.” He gets serious again. “Look. I know the jersey and the sticks are dumb. If you’re not a fan, they’re just ... yeah. Wood and polyester. I get it. But I really want to make it up to you.”
Liz and Gabi have simultaneously stopped breathing. You can feel their silence.
“Make it up to me? How? You gonna teach me the infield fly rule?”
He looks confused. “The what?”
“Football. Baseball. Whatever. It was a joke. A bad one. Concussion, remember?”
“Right.” He shifts his weight, the skate guards clacking again. He’s suddenly nervous, but in a different way. Not I-injured-a-fan nervous. Just ... nervous.
“I want to, uh, I want to take you to dinner.”
The words hang in the beige room.
Gabi makes a small, high-pitched squeak.
You just stare at him. “Dinner.”
“Yeah. Like a real apology. Not this.” He gestures to the room, the merch. “Somewhere with no ice. And no pucks. And where the food doesn’t come in a plastic helmet. I’ll pay. Obviously. It’s the least I can do. I mean, I did try to kill you.”
“You didn’t try to kill me, Hughes.”
“Felt like it. So ... what do you say? Dinner. A real one. So I can apologize properly. And maybe convince you that hockey isn’t the absolute worst.”
You look at him. He’s got a small cut on his chin you didn’t notice before. His eyes are fixed on yours, earnest and hopeful. And, okay, Liz was right. He is ridiculously cute.
And you find yourself, despite the pounding in your head and the gauze taped to your skin, feeling something other than pain for the first time in an hour.
“You’d have to explain icing to me,” you say.
He breaks into a huge grin. “I can do that. I can explain it. Slowly. Many times.”
“And I’m not wearing that jersey.”
“God, no. Please don’t. Burn it. I don’t care. Just say yes.”
You look at Liz and Gabi. They are both giving you the frantic, silent YES-YES-SAY-YES-OR-WE-WILL-KILL-YOU-OURSELVES look.
You look back at Luke.
“Okay, Hughes,” you say, a slow smile spreading across your own face. “Dinner. But if any more rubber objects are hit my way, I’m leaving.”
He laughs, a bright, relieved sound. “It’s a deal. No hockey talk. Unless you ask. Okay, now I really gotta go. The guys are waiting. But can I get your number? To, you know, plan the apology dinner. Date. Thing.”
“Smooth, Hughes,” you say, but you’re already reaching for Gabi’s phone, because yours is somewhere at the bottom of your bag, and your head hurts too much to dig for it. “Here. Put it in this.”
He takes the phone, his fingers fumbling with the screen. He’s still in his giant gloves.
“Oh, god. Sorry.” He pulls one glove off with his teeth, types his name and number, and hands it back. His hand is bare. It’s warm.
“Luke,” he says, pointing to the screen. “I put my name.”
“I got it.”
“Okay. Cool.” He shoves his glove back on. “I’ll text you. Tomorrow. To make sure you’re, you know. Not dead.”
“Appreciate that.”
“Cool.” He backs towards the door, skates clacking. “Cool. Okay. Feel better. Seriously. I’m really sorry.”
“It’s okay, Luke.”
“Okay.” He gives one last, awkward-slash-dazzling smile, and then he’s gone, the door whooshing shut behind him.
The beige room is silent again.
You, Liz, and Gabi stare at the door.
One second. Two.
Liz turns to you, her eyes wide as saucers.
“You just got asked out by Luke Hughes. After he shot a puck at your head.”
Gabi just faints, her knees giving way as she slides silently down the wall onto the tile floor.
“Oh, for god’s sake,” you sigh, carefully swinging your legs off the exam table. “Gabi, get up.”
“I hate you,” Gabi groans from the floor, her voice muffled. “I hate you so much.”
“Yeah, yeah.” You look at the jersey on the floor. You pick up the stick, testing its weight. It’s lighter than you expected.
“So,” Liz says, a slow, dangerous grin spreading across her face. “A football girl, huh?”
You look at the door Luke just left through. The headache is still there, a dull, insistent throb. But it’s manageable.
“Yeah, well,” you say, trying to hide your own smile. “Maybe I can make a small exception for cross-training.”
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maybe something about sid accidentally finishing inside younger reader and then freaking out??
nsfw content below, some breeding stuff
The first time it happens, it’s an accident, an indulgence that slips past Sidney’s ironclad control because the moment feels too good, too raw to break. You’re beneath him, your knees hooked over his forearms as he folds you in half, thrusts hitting deep enough to drag whimpers out of your throat. The room smells like sweat and sex and the faint vanilla lotion you slathered on after your shower. Your nails score his shoulder blades, urging him deeper, and something cracks in him—decades of discipline fraying under the way you look up at him, pupils blown, mouth slack, pleading quietly, “Please don’t stop, daddy, please—”
He doesn’t. He chases it blindly, hips snapping with a force that rattles the headboard against the wall. You clamp down around him, tight as a fist, and he feels his resolve go molten. He’s supposed to pull out. He always pulls out. Condoms, pills, barriers, precautions stacked like sandbags against disaster, knows your cycles, keeps track more carefully than you do because he has to—because he’s the adult, the one with everything to lose. He whispers it every time, “Tell me when you’re close, baby… I’ve got to—” and you nod, promise, because you’re sweet and eager and want to be good for him.
But tonight you’re gone, pleasure-drunk, giggling breathlessly as you cup his face in your little hands and breathe, “Feels so good, Sidney, I love you,” and he breaks. He slams home, holds there, buries his face in your neck, and empties himself inside you with a guttural groan that vibrates through your whole body. It’s hot, flooding, spreading through you like molten honey, and you choke on a gasp, thighs trembling. He stays deep, grinding as if he can get further, his muscles locking, spine arched, every vein in his neck standing out. He hasn’t come inside anyone raw since before you were legal. The feeling is dizzying—silken walls milking him, no latex dulling the wet heat. He feels your pulse against him, feels your cunt flutter as you follow him over the edge, clinging and gasping his name.
Now his breath shudders. His pulse roars. He feels the reality of it in the way his cock throbs inside your tight channel, in the warm flood still pulsing out of him. He’s still inside you, softening slowly, and he knows he should pull out, knows he should reach for a towel, for anything, but he’s transfixed.
“Oh my god,” he mutters, voice ragged, forehead dropping to yours. “Baby, what did I just— fuck— what did we just do?”
You stare up at him, pupils blown wide, lips parted in that blissed-out smile he’s obsessed with. You’re flushed, skin glowing, hair wild across the pillow. You blink, hazy, a dreamy giggle bubbling up. “You came,” you say, stating the obvious like it’s the funniest thing in the world, your voice a breathy lilt. “Inside me. It was so warm.”
Your words punch the air from his lungs. He braces his hands on either side of your head, trying to steady himself. “Yeah. I did. I—” The panic shivers through him cold and sharp, cutting through the fading pleasure. You’re young and so damn fertile he’s seen you get flushed and needy just from ovulation. He shouldn’t have let himself slip. He’s the careful one.
He pulls out slowly, groaning as your walls cling to him, and both of you hiss at the wet stretch. The moment the tip leaves you, his cum spills out in a milky rush, pooling between your thighs, and that’s when he loses his composure. He can’t look away. The sight of his release dripping from your pink slit captivates him in a way that’s part terror, part savage hunger.
“Jesus,” he breathes, eyes locked on the slow roll of white sliding down to your ass. “Look at that.”
You lift your head, peering down your body, then flop back onto the pillow with a little squeal, covering your face with your hands. “It feels so weird,” you giggle, voice tinged with fascination. “Like… like it’s still throbbing?”
“That’s me,” he says hoarsely, fingers trembling as he spreads your folds to watch more of his cum seep out in thick, pearly strands. “That’s all me. God, baby.” He runs his thumb gently over your slick entrance, smearing his release across your swollen lips. You gasp, hips twitching, and he feels another pulse of lust kick despite the dread coiling in his gut.
He reaches for a towel, hesitates. He can’t bring himself to wipe it away yet. Instead he cups your pussy with his palm, pressing lightly to feel the warmth, the way you flutter against his hand. “We need to get Plan B,” he says, voice steady even though his mind is racing. “Right now. I don’t care that it’s midnight.”
You peek at him through your fingers, eyes glassy and soft. “Do we have to?”
“Yes.” The word is a command, firm, but tinged with something else—fear, protectiveness, self-reproach. “You know how easily— baby, your hormones are everywhere. I shouldn’t have—” He exhales sharply, dragging a hand down his beard. “I got caught up. You make me crazy.”
You lower your hands, tracing the line of his jaw with gentle fingertips. “I liked it,” you whisper, the honesty in your voice gutting him. “Liked feeling you inside me like that. All warm. Felt like you were everywhere.”
His nostrils flare. The temptation to push back in, to plug you up with his cock and keep his cum inside you, surges hard enough to make him sway. Instead he breathes through it, reminding himself who he has to be for you. “Don’t tempt me,” he mutters, but his thumb is already rubbing slow circles around your clit, spreading his spend over your skin like he can’t help himself.
You moan, soft and floaty, your hips rolling. “Sidney…”
“Yeah, baby?” He can’t stop staring at your drenched slit, at the obscene glisten. He dips a finger inside, shallow, scooping up a mixture of you and him, and you whimper, lashes fluttering. He pulls his finger out and watches another line of cum follow, dripping onto the sheets, and he almost loses his mind. “You feel that?”
Your giggle turns into a sigh. “You’re obsessed.”
“With keeping you safe,” he says automatically, snapping back to his senses, though it comes out rougher than intended. He drags the sticky finger up to your mouth, strokes your lower lip. “Open.”
You obey, still dazed, and he slides his finger between your lips. You suck lazily, tasting the mix of both of you, and his cock twitches, half-hard again already.
He shakes himself, forces focus. “Stay right there. Don’t move. I’m gonna clean you up, then we’re hitting the pharmacy.”
You pout, the motion adorable and infuriating. “Can’t we stay like this for a minute? It feels… kinda nice.”
“Of course it does,” he growls, grabbing his phone from the nightstand to check the time. “That’s how nature tricks you. Your body’s like, ‘oh wow, this feels good, let’s make a baby.’ Yeah, no. Not tonight.”
You collapse into giggles, delirious. “You’re so dramatic.”
“Damn right I am.” He tosses the phone aside, leans down to kiss you, slow and deep, the taste of you and him still on your tongue. “I just creampied the most perfect girl on planet Earth. I’ve earned the right to be dramatic.”
You hum into the kiss. “You called it a creampie.” You sound delighted. “You’re so filthy.”
“I’m being clinical,” he lies, and slides off the bed, reluctantly stepping away from the enticing sight of your thighs slick with his cum. He grabs a clean towel, tosses it over his shoulder, then pauses to admire you one more time—sprawled on the sheets, hair fanned out, belly flushed, the open, trusting smile still lingering at the corners of your mouth.
He sits beside you again, raising your hips gently to slide a pillow under your lower back to stop gravity from doing too much damage while he wipes you. He knows it’s counterproductive, but part of him can’t stand the idea of his cum dripping onto the sheets instead of staying with you.
“Hold this,” he says, pressing the towel between your thighs, firm enough to catch the mess but gentle enough that you sigh instead of flinch.
You obey, pressing the towel tight, biting your lip, still dreamy. He strokes your hair back from your face, eyes soft despite the nerves jittering through him. “We’re gonna get dressed,” he says quietly. “We’ll get Plan B. Then I’ll tuck you back in, Okay?”
You nod, that same sparkling trust lighting your features. “Okay. Whatever you say.”
He kisses your forehead, then stands, gathering discarded clothes. He catches sight of the ruined condom still in the wrapper on the nightstand and swears under his breath. Lesson learned. Never again, he vows. No matter how sweet you moan, no matter how tight you clamp around him, no matter how badly his instincts scream to fill you up and watch it spill out. He’ll protect you, even from himself.
Still, as you sit up, towel slipping, another ribbon of cum sliding down your inner thigh, he has to squeeze his eyes shut for a second, battling the dark, possessive part of him that thrills at the sight. You look down, giggle, and swipe it with your fingers, bringing them to your mouth without thinking. He groans, half horrified, half aroused.
“We’re leaving,” he says, grabbing his keys. “Right now.”
You hop off the bed, still lost in the moment, still giggling, wrapping his oversized sweatshirt around your bare body. “I love you,” you sing, leaning up to kiss his cheek.
He swallows the panic, the hunger, the awe. “I love you too,” he whispers, guiding you toward the door, still half in shock at what he’s done even as he knows he’d do it again if you begged the right way.
omg im so happy ur reqs r open again!!!! I have another one about puppy reader!!! so we know she's different from bunny or bambi reader who r both quiter (or at least that's my perception of it pls disregard this if its not urs) but what if puppy reader is just like rlly energetic and giggly and loves talking to everyone but it can get kinda overstimulating for everything (all the "adults") around puppy reader. so what if rafe gets annoyed and is rlly mean to her infront of his friends bc she's overstimulating everyone (but she's obv sad bc she doesn't know what shes done) and he kinda compares her to another friends gf and is just mean and gross like usual
rafe being mean to puppy!reader during dinner at the wreck with his friends :(
warnings: mean rafe!!! mentions of blood / injuries
wc: 667 — a/n: so i sorta went out on the ending and added john b to this fic because puppy!reader and john b is always on my mind <3 hopefully this fits your request !!!!
it starts innocent enough.
you’re at the wreck — perched on the edge of the table where all the guys are sitting, swinging your legs, rambling about something or other. it’s not even important — just that happy, nonstop little stream-of-consciousness chatter you always have when you’re comfortable. when you feel safe.
you don’t notice the looks.
the way rafe’s friends — kelce, topper, even a couple of kooks — start to exchange glances. smirks. eye rolls. not outright mean, but tired. like they’ve hit their limit with the excitable little golden retriever bouncing in their chair.
rafe notices, though.
he notices everything.
and he’s already in a shitty mood — nursing a beer, sprawled out in his chair, watching you with this flat, unimpressed stare as you giggle and talk and talk and talk.
and then — finally — he cuts you off.
"jesus christ, do you ever shut up?"
it hits you like a slap.
you freeze, mid-sentence, blinking wide-eyed at him.
the table snickers. low, awkward laughs ripple around the group.
"m’serious," rafe drawls, twisting his ring around his finger, voice mean and lazy. "you’re worse than topper’s girlfriend. at least she knows when to be quiet."
more laughter.
hot embarrassment burns up your neck, prickling your skin. you don’t even know what you did wrong. you were just — just talking. being friendly. being you.
but now everyone’s looking at you like you’re stupid. loud. annoying.
your throat feels tight.
"didn’t realize i needed a fuckin’ muzzle to have dinner," rafe mutters under his breath.
that’s what does it.
you barely manage to mumble something about the bathroom before you slip off the bench, head ducked low, heart pounding like you might actually throw up.
nobody stops you.
nobody notices.
except rafe — who doesn’t even look your way, just mutters, "probably gonna go cry about it now," under his breath.
the table laughs.
but you don’t go to the bathroom.
you head for the little window near the back, hands shaking as you pry it open clumsily, not even thinking, just moving. just escaping.
you catch your knee on the frame, scraping it raw — but you don’t stop. you tumble out onto the gravel outside, barefoot, palms dirty, throat thick with stupid, hot tears.
and that’s when you hear him.
"jesus christ."
you jump.
it’s not rafe.
it’s john b.
he’s leaning up against his van, to-go bag in hand like he was just picking up food, staring at you like he’s not sure if you’re real or some kind of stray animal that got loose.
"you runnin' away or somethin’, pup?" he asks, voice low and a little teasing — but soft.
you sniffle, wiping your face with the back of your hand.
"rafe was mean to me..." you hiccup, small and pathetic.
john b’s jaw tightens. barely.
but he pushes off the van, steps closer, crouches a little like he’s trying not to spook you.
"yeah, well. he’s a dick," he says, simple like a fact. "let me see your knee."
you hesitate.
but you lift it — scraped and starting to bruise.
john b huffs out a slow sigh, shaking his head like he’s fighting a smile.
"what’d you do, go feral on ‘em? didn’t like your puppy energy tonight?"
you sniffle harder, cheeks hot.
"didn’t wanna be annoying..." you whisper.
and the way john b looks at you.
it’s not pity.
it’s not brotherly.
it’s something else entirely. warmer. sharper. like he’s looking at something fragile and stupidly precious all at once.
"hey." his voice drops a little. "you’re not annoying. they’re just boring."
your lip wobbles.
john b straightens up, nodding toward his van.
"c’mon, pup. let me clean you up before you bleed out in the fuckin’ gravel."
and as he guides you toward the van — hand finding the back of your neck, rough and easy — he adds:
"bet you didn’t even get your fries before your little escape act, huh?"
yesss omigod!! 🧸💞 let him set a bedtime for you n everything!! (ignore any spelling mistakes sorryyy lol!!)
the pogues had thrown jj a little stupid “luau” birthday party over at the boneyard, and a bunch of people ended up showing up, a night of drinking, sticky s’mores, and messin’ around. even after the sun had set, the partying hadn’t ended, at some point, you’re seated on john b’s lap to keep you from wandering around with people you don’t know. you do this often, situating yourself in his arms and waiting until he’s done with his conversations- really to give you attention. and of course, you are included in the conversations and are normally pretty well-behaved! but with the hour boarding at 10:00 at night it's known that around this time you get frisky and impatient.
usually, you’d be in bed by now, or getting pounded into the mattress by your boyfriend, so it only makes sense that you’d be a little tired and needy. your head lolls into the crook of his neck, eyes beginning to droop closed. and john b takes immediate notice, his hand coming up to pull your top up from any more cleavage or “helping his baby out” as he puts it. your frosty white nails scratching softly skin on his arm, the arm holding you tightly against him.
“can’t believe i’m still up this late…” you whisper, knowing he’d hear you
“neither can i, you're usually passed out by this time.” he coos and presses a kiss to your temple, bouncing you on his leg a bit
you smile at his words, your sleepy brain responding with what you would hope to convince him that you're still awake, aka still responsive enough for sex… “m’ still awake though, s’such a nice party.” yeah? you're slurring a little honey…” he hums,
at some point he can tell you’re starting to get antsy, wiggling so that your cunt could get some sort of friction against his thigh and that’s when he decides it's time to get you home. and as soon as your makeup is off and teeth are brushed he’s carrying you over his shoulder into his room. john b helping you peel off your skirt and lifting your pretty top over your head, knowing that you needed to be absolutely naked at this very moment.
“can we have sex now?” you whisper, big wide puppy eyes staring up at your boyfriend.
“sorry baby but no can do. past your bedtime.” he winces, giving your ass a light pat to get you on the bed.
“whatever happened to birthday sex!?” you pout, climbing onto the messy sheets of the bed, patting the spot next to you so that your boyfriend could get the hint.
“it’s jj’s birthday, not ours.” he laughs and shakes his head, pulling his t-shirt over his head revealing to you his pretty v line and happy trail. your eyes drift downwards waiting for him to strip off his pants next. “well that’s gotta count,” you shrug, laying your head back against your pillow.
“hate to break it to ya bubba but it doesn’t.”
“please!!! i’ve never wanted anything more in my whole life!!” you whine and climb on top of him once he lays down beside you in nothing but boxers.
“okay well, that's a little dramatic…”
“please please please pretty please johnbee!” you grind your now slippery wet cunt on his bulge, making the fabric of his boxers wet with an obvious little spot.
“you sure? it’s- 10:43…you need your beauty rest right?” he tries to soothe your aching by pressing your body down onto him, his big rough hands squeezing the doughy flesh of your ass as gently as he can. “no, wanna make you feel good.” you shake your head and bring your lips over to the side of his neck to give him a bunch of kisses. its is so beyond easy to get him to give in on something like this!!
and the next thing you know you are on top of him, cowgirl style as he helps you bounce on his cock by lifting you up and down by your ribs, his thumbs brushing over your hard nipples every now and then to give you a shockwave of pleasure. “big- big- so bi- johnnyyyy” you could almost drool at how massive he feels inside you, no matter how many times you fuck, you could never full be used to the size of your boyfriend's huge dick. he can tell by the way you can’t make full sentences that you're starting to get cockdrunk and on top of that….sleepy.
“you getting sleepy now bub?” john b hums, flicking your nipples with his thumb a couple of times,
“noooo…”
“yeeaah, she’s getting sleepy on me…” he says while he smiles that sweet sleepy smile.
“m’not! wanna keep doin’ this,” “m’i bouncing good?” you shake your head as tears spill out of your eyes, streaming down your face, and john b knows you're not crying because of pain, it's just what happens when you feel really good.
“super good sweetheart, feel like cumming?” he coos, bringing his hands down to grip your ass, and surely there is gonna be some obvious handmark bruising and soreness on your poor pretty ass in the morning.
“uh huh!”
“sh sh sh, just close your eyes puppy, and cream all over me, cover my cock.” john b takes the opportunity that your body is going weak due to your approaching orgasm and thrusts up into you unbelievably harder and deeper. as soon as your boyfriend hears your cute little high pitched moans escape your lips he knows that within seconds your tight walls are pulsing around him, cumming down hard on his dick, and that’s exactly what happens. you can feel his warm cum shoot up into your tummy, smiling at the feeling, knowing your boyfriend pretty much cums bucketssss!!
you hide your flushed sweaty face in the crook of his neck, your hands still gripping his shoulders with ferocity. john b then hears your breathing return to normal, rubbing your back with soft motions.
“did daddy tire his girl out? hmm? finally ready to get some shut eye huh bubba?”
“feel so full right now, wish we could stay like this forever…” john b continues to rub your back and nod at your drowsy mumbling, and you know you could pass out right in this very moment and he’d take care of you.
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you're obsessed with your boyfriend's biceps and jj wants to test just how obsessed
cw: sexting, self-pleasure (f and m), sex toys (dildo), rough sex, slight choking, headlock, mirror sex, unprotected p in v, fingering, hair pulling, biting (duh, it's jj's biceps hehe)
It was no secret that you were obsessed with your boyfriend’s biceps — constantly asking JJ to send you pictures of him flexing, wrapping your hand around his upper arm and holding on while the two of you walked. Your favorite had to be watching his biceps strain when he’d hold himself over you as he fucked you into the mattress. Your eyes would roll back, the sight enough to have you coming around him.
So when JJ walks out of the chateau wearing a red muscle tee, arms on full display, you can’t help the way your words trail off mid-sentence or the way your eyes trace down the length of his arms. JJ’s oblivious, talking to John B, trying to convince him that he can be trusted with the twinkie for the day.
He raises his arms, pointing to his chest as he pleads with John B, “Come on man, s’me, you can trust me.”
You’re not paying attention to what the girls are talking about — Sarah and Kie rolling their eyes playfully when Cleo nods her head in JJ’s direction with a smirk, silently explaining why you’d gone bye-bye. You were practically salivating at the sight of his arm flexing, skin stretched tight around the ripple of muscle. He looked too good in that tee. You wanted to rip it off him and climb him like a tree.
JJ looks over at you, smirking when he notices the way your eyes haven’t left his arms, or the way you gulp when his eyes meet yours. You look away, smiling nervously as JJ comes to sit next to you. He pulls you onto his lap, arm wrapping around you as he rests his chin on your shoulder. You feel the hard press of his chest to your back — warm and steady. He smells like the cheap cologne you bought him that you’d come to love. It smelt like safety and love and pure want.
JJ notices the way you shift against him — trying and failing to pay attention to what the group is talking about. He knows the effect he has on you— pressing himself closer, moving his lips to the shell of your ear.
“What’s wrong baby? You seem like you’re on edge,” JJ whispers into your ear.
“Nothing’s wrong Jayj, just missed you,” you mumble as you turn your head, nuzzling your face against his upper arm and placing a soft kiss to the skin. JJ shakes his head in disbelief, letting out a chuckle as his heart swells, completely in awe of his beautiful girlfriend so head over heels for him.
He knows it’s more than that, knows you’ve been wanting him for days, sending him texts of all the things you wanted him to do to you when you see him.
I miss you so much JJ, want your fingers in me so bad
You had sent a video a couple minutes later — fingers sliding in and out of yourself, the sound of wet squelching heard along with your soft moans.
Mine don’t get the spot like yours do. Want to hold onto your arm while you push them in knuckle deep
JJ had watched that video on repeat, groaning at the sounds of your wet pussy, sending you a video of his hand stroking his cock, arm flexing in the mirror before coming all over his hand, moaning your name.
It had been all you needed to reach your orgasm, coming hard as you pictured him hovering over you.
The next day it was a video of you fucking your dildo into yourself, moaning his name as your thighs shook.
Need your dick deep inside me JJ please
Want you to wrap your arm around my neck and fuck me from behind
JJ could barely think straight when he opened your message, hand running down his face in defeat as he pulled his hard dick out of his shorts.
Fuck baby, you’re going to be the death of me, i’m so fucking hard you have no idea, want to fuck that pussy so bad
You’d been going back and forth for the past week, both of you working late and well — busy. Today however, your schedules had lined up and you had your place to yourself for the night. Your panties were already soaked as the messages you had sent to each other played through your mind. You could barely care that you hadn’t seen the rest of your friends for two weeks — needing JJ more than ever.
“I know how much you love when I wear this shirt. Know how much you love looking at my arms. You wanna take it off me?” JJ’s voice is low and rough in your ear, sending warmth down your spine.
You nod slowly, pressing your thighs together, heart beating out of your chest at JJ’s words. You’re so aware of the group sitting so close, of your ass pressed to JJ’s dick. You feel him push his hips up — just the slightest bit — the movement so small it could easily be mistaken as JJ shifting his weight.
“Yeah I know you do baby.” He kisses the back of your neck, brushing your hair out of the way gently. His hand comes to rest on your thigh, thumb rubbing soft circles into your skin as you try to hold back a moan at the feel of him kissing your neck. You look around frantically — no one has noticed a thing, everyone too focused on John B and Sarah talking.
You gasp when you feel him do it again, the feel of his dick hardening against your ass almost too much to bear. You can feel yourself dripping, panties sticking to you almost uncomfortably, pussy practically throbbing with need now.
“JJ, pleaseee, let’s go.” You whine softly, head turned towards him so the others don’t hear.
“Not yet baby, want to have you so ready for me, you’re trembling before I even fuck you.” JJ chuckles as you whine in protest, tugging on his hand.
JJ continues tracing maddeningly soft circles to your bare thigh, hand going higher and higher until his thumb is under the hem of your skirt. He places a kiss to the back of your neck every now and then, shifting underneath you, his hard dick pressing into your ass every time. You try to shift so that your pussy presses against his thigh — needing friction more than air, but JJ catches it — holding you in place, arm flexing against your stomach.
“Want me to fuck you now baby?”
You could cry as you nod — desperate for him to take you home.
JJ groans when you push your ass into him, finally snapping and getting up, waving a quick goodbye to the pogues, not at all subtle about the way he drags you away — you giggling as he pushes you against the door of the twinkie, arm braced next to your head, lips catching yours in a heated kiss. His hands are all over you, groping at your chest, gripping your jaw hard as he guides your mouth along his.
“Fuck, get in, get in.” JJ rushes to the other side, turning the ignition on and getting to yours in record time. He had almost pulled over to the side of the road to fuck you then and there when you had started palming at him through his shorts, your other hand rubbing over the wet spot on your panties, moaning JJ’s name as he drove.
You’re in your bathroom now, completely naked, sitting on your sink with your legs wrapped around JJ’s waist, his fingers curling into you over and over as you hold onto him, watching the way the muscles in his arm flex with every movement. You’d already come once— JJ refusing to stop, the heel of his hand pressing into your clit.
“You mean all that shit you sent me? You really want me to put you in a headlock and fuck you from behind?” JJ’s breathless as he pulls away from your neck.
“Mhm, please JJ.” You grind your hips forward, chasing your orgasm.
“Fuck baby, you sure?”
You smirk before turning your head to his other arm, biting down on his bicep as JJ groans, rutting his hips against your leg.
“M’sure, want it wrapped around me, pressing into my cheek while I watch in the mirror.”
“If it’s too much or you need me to stop, tap my arm twice, okay?”
“I will, now please fuck me JJ.”
“You asked for it baby.”
It’s so much — the stretch of him, the drag — every inch of his cock pushing through your warm wet walls.
He thrusts hard. Deep.
You cry out—his tip hitting that soft spot inside you that has you shaking, knees threatening to give out. Your head falls forward — limp — eyes rolling back, not a single coherent thought running through you.
You come back to the room when you feel a soft sting — JJ tugging at the roots of your hair — hard. His bicep presses into your cheek, arm tightening around your neck. You let out a strangled sound, somewhere between a moan and a gasp.
“Look at me, baby. You’re gonna watch me fuck you, watch me ruin you.” His lips brush over your ear, your eyes fluttering closed at the feel of his hot breath.
JJ places a soft kiss to your cheek, smirking at you in the mirror, watching as your eyes struggle to stay open. His dick nudges that spot inside you again — hard, steady and then again.
And again.
And again.
Your head threatens to fall forward, mind going dumb on the pleasure rolling through you. You let out a soft, almost broken sound. It’s so small, barely a whimper, a moan of JJ’s name. The sound runs down his spine, settling at the base, his hips thrusting forward even harder.
“Oh my god JJ! Fuuuck JJ — that’s — you feel—” Your words cut off with a loud moan as JJ fucks you harder, your hips jutting against the hard sink, sure to leave bruises. You can barely care when JJ’s fucking you so good, you see stars.
Your hands scramble for purchase, landing on the edge of the sink and gripping tight before quickly moving to hold onto his arm as it tightens around your neck.
JJ’s eyes snap to yours in the mirror, slowing his thrusts and loosening his grip for a second to check that you’re okay. You push your ass back onto him, and push your cheek into his bicep, giving him a small nod and smiling wickedly as you watch his eyes roll back when you fuck yourself back onto him. You turn your head in his grip, and bite down on his bicep — hard.
“Fuck, my filthy girl, you’re so perfect.” JJ practically growls, grip tightening, locking your head in place. His other hand digs into your hip as he pounds into you — the sounds of skin smacking filling the room once more.
“Fuck JJ, m’gonna come again, fuck fuck fuck, please JJ please.” Your eyes close as you feel yourself get close, snapping open when you feel JJ pull your hair.
“Watch, don’t take your — fuckkk ahh baby — don’t take…your eyes off me when you come.” JJ grunts as he fucks you impossibly harder.
Your orgasm crashes into you like never before — your vision going completely white as you babble JJ’s name incoherently, clenching around him again and again.
“Fuck baby, m’so close, where do you want me — shit baby, m’coming.”
“Inside JJ, please, please,” you beg as you push your hips back to meet his thrusts, desperate to feel him reach his high. He comes with a loud groan, spilling inside you as his hips falter. You feel the rush of him, warm and wet, and push your hips back harder, fucking him through it. You come again — hot and fast — gushing around him and JJ’s breath stutters, head falling limp to your shoulder.
“Fuck baby, did you just come again? That quick?” JJ’s breathless, eyes wide as he feels you clench around him, sucking him in — unable to let out anything other than a loud moan.
Your body is trembling, legs like jelly and brain turned to complete mush, whimpering as he pulls out of you. You can barely breathe, eyes still fluttering shut, head falling limp onto JJ’s shoulder. He turns you in his hold, holding you to his chest as his hand rubs up and down your back.
You pull back slowly, looking up at him — soft, dazed, worshipful. His hand comes to rest on the side of your face, thumb brushing back and forth across your cheek as he gazes down at you with pure adoration.
“Fuck baby, are you okay?”
You giggle softly, “More than okay, JJ, that was perfect.”
His lips find yours in a soft kiss, smiling against your lips, before pulling away laughing.
“Did you really come again just from me coming inside you?” JJ teases.
Your hand swats at his chest, gasping in mock offense. “Shut up, you love it.”
He chuckles as he kisses your forehead, “I do love it, and I love you.”
You turn away from him to turn the shower on — smiling wide, teasing.
“I love you too, but not as much as I love your biceps.” Your hand wraps around his right arm, squeezing tight as you fake moan.
JJ rolls his eyes playfully, shaking his head at you.
God, you’re perfect, he thinks. His girl.
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yesss omigod!! 🧸💞 let him set a bedtime for you n everything!! (ignore any spelling mistakes sorryyy lol!!)
the pogues had thrown jj a little stupid “luau” birthday party over at the boneyard, and a bunch of people ended up showing up, a night of drinking, sticky s’mores, and messin’ around. even after the sun had set, the partying hadn’t ended, at some point, you’re seated on john b’s lap to keep you from wandering around with people you don’t know. you do this often, situating yourself in his arms and waiting until he’s done with his conversations- really to give you attention. and of course, you are included in the conversations and are normally pretty well-behaved! but with the hour boarding at 10:00 at night it's known that around this time you get frisky and impatient.
usually, you’d be in bed by now, or getting pounded into the mattress by your boyfriend, so it only makes sense that you’d be a little tired and needy. your head lolls into the crook of his neck, eyes beginning to droop closed. and john b takes immediate notice, his hand coming up to pull your top up from any more cleavage or “helping his baby out” as he puts it. your frosty white nails scratching softly skin on his arm, the arm holding you tightly against him.
“can’t believe i’m still up this late…” you whisper, knowing he’d hear you
“neither can i, you're usually passed out by this time.” he coos and presses a kiss to your temple, bouncing you on his leg a bit
you smile at his words, your sleepy brain responding with what you would hope to convince him that you're still awake, aka still responsive enough for sex… “m’ still awake though, s’such a nice party.” yeah? you're slurring a little honey…” he hums,
at some point he can tell you’re starting to get antsy, wiggling so that your cunt could get some sort of friction against his thigh and that’s when he decides it's time to get you home. and as soon as your makeup is off and teeth are brushed he’s carrying you over his shoulder into his room. john b helping you peel off your skirt and lifting your pretty top over your head, knowing that you needed to be absolutely naked at this very moment.
“can we have sex now?” you whisper, big wide puppy eyes staring up at your boyfriend.
“sorry baby but no can do. past your bedtime.” he winces, giving your ass a light pat to get you on the bed.
“whatever happened to birthday sex!?” you pout, climbing onto the messy sheets of the bed, patting the spot next to you so that your boyfriend could get the hint.
“it’s jj’s birthday, not ours.” he laughs and shakes his head, pulling his t-shirt over his head revealing to you his pretty v line and happy trail. your eyes drift downwards waiting for him to strip off his pants next. “well that’s gotta count,” you shrug, laying your head back against your pillow.
“hate to break it to ya bubba but it doesn’t.”
“please!!! i’ve never wanted anything more in my whole life!!” you whine and climb on top of him once he lays down beside you in nothing but boxers.
“okay well, that's a little dramatic…”
“please please please pretty please johnbee!” you grind your now slippery wet cunt on his bulge, making the fabric of his boxers wet with an obvious little spot.
“you sure? it’s- 10:43…you need your beauty rest right?” he tries to soothe your aching by pressing your body down onto him, his big rough hands squeezing the doughy flesh of your ass as gently as he can. “no, wanna make you feel good.” you shake your head and bring your lips over to the side of his neck to give him a bunch of kisses. its is so beyond easy to get him to give in on something like this!!
and the next thing you know you are on top of him, cowgirl style as he helps you bounce on his cock by lifting you up and down by your ribs, his thumbs brushing over your hard nipples every now and then to give you a shockwave of pleasure. “big- big- so bi- johnnyyyy” you could almost drool at how massive he feels inside you, no matter how many times you fuck, you could never full be used to the size of your boyfriend's huge dick. he can tell by the way you can’t make full sentences that you're starting to get cockdrunk and on top of that….sleepy.
“you getting sleepy now bub?” john b hums, flicking your nipples with his thumb a couple of times,
“noooo…”
“yeeaah, she’s getting sleepy on me…” he says while he smiles that sweet sleepy smile.
“m’not! wanna keep doin’ this,” “m’i bouncing good?” you shake your head as tears spill out of your eyes, streaming down your face, and john b knows you're not crying because of pain, it's just what happens when you feel really good.
“super good sweetheart, feel like cumming?” he coos, bringing his hands down to grip your ass, and surely there is gonna be some obvious handmark bruising and soreness on your poor pretty ass in the morning.
“uh huh!”
“sh sh sh, just close your eyes puppy, and cream all over me, cover my cock.” john b takes the opportunity that your body is going weak due to your approaching orgasm and thrusts up into you unbelievably harder and deeper. as soon as your boyfriend hears your cute little high pitched moans escape your lips he knows that within seconds your tight walls are pulsing around him, cumming down hard on his dick, and that’s exactly what happens. you can feel his warm cum shoot up into your tummy, smiling at the feeling, knowing your boyfriend pretty much cums bucketssss!!
you hide your flushed sweaty face in the crook of his neck, your hands still gripping his shoulders with ferocity. john b then hears your breathing return to normal, rubbing your back with soft motions.
“did daddy tire his girl out? hmm? finally ready to get some shut eye huh bubba?”
“feel so full right now, wish we could stay like this forever…” john b continues to rub your back and nod at your drowsy mumbling, and you know you could pass out right in this very moment and he’d take care of you.
Summary. A century old witch meets the newest danger of the Delta: Remmick the vampire. Two lonesome souls find eachother, mutually repelling and attracting simultaneously. Would they finally confess how lonely they've been? Would they allow themselves to ask for company?, for empathy?, for forgiveness?
Tags. Vampire x Witch Pairing, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Angst-Comfort, Slow Burn, Eventual Smut. Warnings. Violence and blood, mentions of murder and mutilation, explicit sexual content.
Chapter 1/3 AO3
MINORS DO NOT INTERACT
CHAPTER 1. Warm Waters
The swamp was deadly silent except for the motion of two strong hands breaking bones as if they were mere tree branches. First, an open neck and the rib cage, then, the spine, with sounds of grunts and limbs being tossed to the depth of the lake. Surely some alligator would find them tasteful. As for Remmick, dead blood was no use. He'd feed every once in a while, just to stay strong. But most of the time, the blood sucker would hide in the darkest places of the swamp, maybe an abandoned ruin of what used to be a plantation deep into impossibly long lines of trees. Those were -in a twisted way- his favorite places to hide. Enough room to rest comfortably (on the dirtiest of duvets) and the security of a closed space. Unlike the swamp where every sound could mean hunters or other vampires. None of those options were ideal, he decided.
For now, as he was getting rid of his last meal, an ache took hold of him. It’s been a while now since the pain started, washed over completely. The intensity remains the same, he just learned how to ground himself whenever comes back. It could only be described as an intense hurt from the deepest nerve inside him, reaching to his very skin. All organs seem to pause and breathing becomes unbearable. It started right after his plans of getting Sammy out of the Juke failed miserably, heck, he didn’t even get to transform a single soul that night. Instead he fed on the couple that took him in right before the Choctaw scouts reached him. He wondered if things would have gone differently if he’d chosen to transform them. Maybe he would’ve succeeded, or maybe he’d be dead by now. Anyways, he can’t quite explain this profound discomfort. Only that his dreams will flood him with signs and images of places that he doesn’t know, and a woman, the same each time. Maybe it’s the alligator blood.
On the opposite side of the swamp two careful hands reached for branches of black willow, stinging nettle and rosemary that grew in a small garden. A witch’s garden, your garden. Word spread quickly in town thanks to the Moore twins of the stranger that appeared a few nights ago in their inauguration. And so now, you took the endeavor of fixing a protection amulet for your home: rue and rosemary, “and garlic, just in case”, as your friend and fellow herbalist, Annie warned you. There’s no denying your anxiousness, but there’s a part of you that is so eager to meet this foreigner, to know his story, to peek at the edge of their mystery, even if it puts you in danger. Would you call out for him? Deep inside you, you hope the amulet won’t work and instead lures him to your doorstep.
Even for your now century of age, you’re still an impulsive and curious young woman. It was in your late 20s that you froze in time by accident. When an enchantment was wrongly pronounced and the goddesses instead made you immortal, or so you believe, since you can’t age, -you’re still unsure if you can die-, or if someday the enchantment will fade. For now, you lead a tranquil life, lonesome at times, but all yours whatsoever. Now, you needed something to disrupt the routine, and this stranger was the perfect excuse to visit the swamp looking for clues. And you ain’t wastin no time.
As the sun was setting you were making sure to carry everything you needed: a knife, a smaller amulet, a hidden dagger and garlic, “just in case”, again. You were going to make the most of the trip and so wild herbs, plants and even flowers would go home with you. The expectation was to figure out about tracks or signs of a vampire, as Annie suggested. You’ve never met one on the flesh, would he be friendly?, centuries old?, cold or violent? Better keep your distance, to know him before he notices you, then you’ll decide what to do.
You knew the swamp like the palm of your hand. After a few turns, climbing rocks and descending close to the wetlands, you finally rested and started to pay attention to the whispers, sounds and breathing. Oh the swamp is truly alive! Alive and safe from humans, for now.
You were looking for the spilling of blood or identifying animal corpses in unusual circumstances. You could sense the hurt and the wounds, if any, of the decaying bodies; that will tell you enough of what you’re searching for. The trance was interrupted suddenly by something -or someone- stepping over a fallen branch. But then again, you were far enough from the point where anything moved uncautiously. Whatever made that sound, already spotted you.
Perturbations of peace aren’t always negative, and many times they shake the grounds, showing the fissures of what apparently was perfect, you reasoned. Something was about to happen, although you don’t know what yet. You learned to identify premonitions from anxiety way before immortality came around. And this time was clear as day, the swamp was calling your name.
“Who’s there? Show yourself” a laugh resonated from the heart of the trees. You were curious, not stupid. Quickly you turned back to run away, but whatever heard you was about to catch you. Remembering a spell that would definitely allow you to fight back, you conjured it faster than any previous time in your life. When you were sure he - she - it was about to catch you, you turned back again and boom! a thunder struck them right from your hands and you were pushed by the discharge of energy falling over your feet.
The first thing you noticed when the smoke disappeared was the smell of burning flesh, secondly, the fact that they were still alive, this was no human, altought… it seemed human, a man, to be precise. The vampire found you.
“God damn you, woman!” he screamed while trying to get on his feet again.
“Don’t come closer, you undead man! I warn you!”
Then he started to… laugh? Well, something close to it, as he was in such pain.
“What in the devil’s ass was that, woman?” he asked, really trying to pull himself together.
“Wouldn’t you like to know, undead creature? And stop calling me that!”
“You stop calling me that!, what on earth did you do to me?” asked again.
“A precaution, now, let me go in peace and I don't hurt you, understand?”
“You wouldn’t get far even if you tried, your limping foot is obvious.” Finally, you’re able to see his face. He was nothing like you imagined, thinking about depictions of goddamned Dracula, he was… actually quite good-looking, human looking.
He was also right, you couldn't get far and you were scared too, as a matter of fact. This went nothing like you expected. After the adrenalin went away your left feet started hurting really bad too.
He offered immediately “What about a truce? You tell me what you really are, I tell you all about me, I help you get out of the swamp and in exchange you do me a favor…”
“What sort of favor? And what kind of guarantee can you offer me? Just a second ago you were trying to hunt me down, asshole.”
“Whoa, said the lady”
“I’m no lady, I’m the witch you should be running from”
“Ah-ha! Knew you weren't mortal.”
“Duh, and I know who you are… I was, well sort of, I mean, I wanted to know you…” this confused and amused him simultaneously.
“Ugh, I heard there was a vampire in town, so I ventured a little, just to get a glance-…” now it was unmistakable. He was openly laughing, laughing at you.
“You’re not very bright aren’t you? Now, why on earth would you do that? Do you have any idea how lucky you are that I just drank a whole alligator?" He both insults you but amuses you too, you noticed.
“If that’s the way you speak to a woman, then I’m not interested in knowing anything more about you, Sir- Vampire. This conversation is over.” And with that you tried to walk again until bam! You're all over the floor once more. He did not suppress his laughter, again.
But he decided enough was enough too, and carefully approached you. When you raised your head he was offering you a hand “Name’s Remmick, my lady."
He lifted you and took you right out of the swamp, he didn’t even try to know where you lived. To be fair, he only made sure you could walk in better grounds with an improvised cane (a fallen branch, really) and let you go on your own. When you got on your feet again, you turned to at least thank him. But he was already gone. And that’s how you met Remmick the vampire.
For the next few days he was the only thing on your mind. The encounter sparked a renewed curiosity for vampires, and so you tried collecting as many books about vampirism as you could get. Even daring to ask Annie about it; when you brought up the topic she only raised an eyebrow as asking “What did you do this time?” But nothing compared to the thrill of being in front of him, you had to admit.
You were making amends with the fact that maybe you’ll never meet him again, maybe he's already gone, traveling to the next population to drink from. If you only knew, he was questioning what kept him on this very side of the Delta. Never spending that much time in one place, exposed, alone.
Until one night you heard someone knocking loudly at your door. You opened feeling their uneasiness. Of course, who else could it be but him. “Remmick, what are you? How did you find me?”
“Are you kidding me? Whole swamp stinks of you. I followed your trace. Such nice place, by the way” said sarcastically.
“That’s impossible, it's been days since I was down there, besides I’ve just read that vampires can’t -”
“Are you not gonna let me in?” he interrupted
“Never, there’s nothing inside that could be of any use for you.”
“I need you to let me in, woman… Look I’m being followed”
“That’s even worse!”
“...It’s the klan” he interrupted again. “I might have ugh…” he made a gesture with his hands that implied ‘killing’ “...one of them the other night while feeling. Well, he and his wife. I knew they were… that, but I just couldn't resist erasing their existence from the earth, you know?”
“Do you really think I believe any of this? What are you? Do you think of yourself as a righteous vampire?”
“Honey, I'm the worst of vampires, but even I refuse to become a monster like them.” The pet name caught you by surprise.
“If I let you in tonight… would you be able to enter anytime? Even if I refuse?”
“Well yes, but think of it this way, human men are even more gross and terrible, and yet they could enter anytime, even if you refused. Yes, I could enter and try to drink your blood, and maybe this is all a lie I made up to achieve it. But you’re also the closest I have to an equal -as immortality goes- around here, why would I make myself vulnerable by killing you?”
You hated that this made sense and so with a sigh and a gesture you opened the door.
“Ugh, only for tonight, Remmick. I mean it. Besides, I guess I owed you one.”
As fast as he entered, the whole atmosphere changed. It was awkward and tense but also exciting. Things started to move around him, starting with you. Leading him to the small sofa you owned and that practically made the entire lounge (only accompanied by a bookshelf, a coffee table and a chair by the fireplace), -it was small, like everything you owned but cozy-, you kept a safe distance.
He first noticed the amulet you made days prior, the one with garlic and smiled. “You’ve made a real home for yourself here” he pointed. Then he noticed the volumes of vampirism over the small table.
“I… uh, was doing some research, not at all related to you.”
“Yeah, right. If you’re curious you could just ask. I promise I’ll tell the truth and only the truth”
“But why?”
“What do you mean by that?” He found it amusing, again.
“You speak of it as if you see me as your equal, and as if we've met a long time ago. I just don’t understand where this trust comes from.” It was true, for a second time you’ve met, this was feeling way too familiar.
“Let me put it this way… we both used to be human. Something happened that made us way, immortality and all. Sure, I can still drink your blood, but as I said you’re the closest I’ve had to an ally… and maybe I'm growing tired of cultivating enemies.”
“Remmick the vampire… are you asking me to be your friend?”
“Don’t be absurd.” he laughed openly. “Creatures like us don't have friends”
“I do, plenty. Whenever I go I make them. And then I mourn them, miss them…. keep loving them.” This sparked a genuine smile in him, it was maybe the first time you've seen him do something genuine. No ulterior motives.
“I do not envy that sort of pain. But then again, I already carry my own” he got closer to your small collection of liquor over the corner.
It was too the first time you saw him -really saw him- his clothes seemed worn and dirty. His complexion was lean but strong, and maybe you weren’t as scared as you should. He sensed your gaze and turned back smiling. “Do you like what you see?”
“I’ll fix you a bath.” Was all you could manage to say. And with that you left the small living room.
Meanwhile he washed his body, -god knows when was the last time he had a proper relaxing bath-, you mended and washed his clothes, and made a mental note to get some new for he next time he comes around… next time. You're already hoping for a third encounter.
After what seemed like hours, he finally changed into his clean clothes. “Let me tell you something, let’s meet up for the human festivities. I’ve heard they’re organizing something like a dance and a fair downtown. You’ll tell me about this friendship thing and I’ll tell you about my family. Do we have a deal?”
That’s when you realized, there’s nothing in this green earth you’ll ever deny to Remmick. This natural predator you’ll do anything to make him your friend. “I’d love to… goodnight, Remmick.” And with that, you closed the door to your bedroom whilst he made himself feel like home right there on your small sofa.
You wore your best dress for the fair, with matching earrings and makeup in a fashion you actually like that said: I’m a witch. The only mismatched element was the beating of your heart, faster than ever before and erratic. And who are you fooling? You’re terribly nervous, excited, expectant. Since you've arrived, you have already mistaken two other men for Remmick. What if he doesn’t show up?
You were just about to leave and make your way home when a hand touched your arm. “Thank god you didn’t strand me up, that would’ve broken my heart.” You turned to face him, he was wearing a white shirt, black dress pants, and some boots to go with it. His hair styled in a fashionable style and a single hair strand framing his face. He looked… awfully handsome, you cursed.
And the way he looked at you, it was just way too confusing. He seemed… relieved that you showed up. But there was something else, if he was another man you would’ve bet he was mesmerized by you. No, that’s impossible. As if he was reading your thoughts -the last thing you need- he added “I’m a lucky man, such a beauty makes me company tonight”. You couldn’t tell if he was joking. What are you thinking? He’s obviously joking, he’s always making fun of you!, you decided. But something about it felt as genuine as the smile from previous nights.
Unexpectedly, you had fun, laughed and danced amongst humans for what seemed hours, way past midnight. Maybe it was the complicity, the stolen glances, the jokes that only immortals could cynically tell, that made the night perfect. Until the appearance of a certain group of white old males. Oh you could bet they were Klan, they have that look of miserable pieces of shit. And they were scanning the whole mixed dance floor but keeping quiet, as if they were looking for…
Immediately you felt like Remmick was trying to hide behind you. “I didn't think we’re safe here anymore, princess”
“Got any ideas where to take this party?” You gave him a conspiratorial look but felt shaken by the petname, again.
“Let’s go home” and he took your hand softly and ran before anyone could notice the disappearance of the loudest couple of the night. Not once in the whole path did he let go of your hand, not that you were complaining. Except of course, the looks people were giving you made you blush. To their eyes, you were perhaps courting, married even. Marriage… you never really thought about it. Was Remmick ever married? He does wear a ring. Did he lose her? Or is it just a safety precaution? A way to seem closer to humans so he can approach and drink from them?
The trail of thoughts was interrupted when he let go of your hand once you were alone and closer to your small cottage. Once inside, -he did not need to ask you again-, you warmed your dinner and took it to the small studio-living room.
Both sat on the floor, in front of the coffee table. Closer than ever before but keeping distance. Still, you feel the pull, you orbit around him every time he comes near you. Determined to not allow uncomfortable silences you asked him about his fugitive state from both the Choctaw nation and the Klan.
Surprisingly, he was almost expecting you to ask and offered you all the details. From his travels to his misdemeanors and mischief. The ease in which he makes ‘enemies’ everywhere he goes and the murder of Joan and Bert. “The plan that night was to get in and transform the singer kid so I could get a chance to reunite with my family… ” he called your name “...do you realize I couldn’t even get in? I’m pathetic”
You don't know what to say to that, it’s almost comical. “You’re not pathetic but maybe… would you like to try something else? Like an enchantment or magic? I could try to make a spell for whatever you wish”
“Like the one you used when you tried to kill me?”
“That’s different…”
“I appreciate the gesture but I don’t think there’s anything I could do now except maybe…dying? Who knows.”
“Hey, don’t say that!” his sentence made your chest hurt “I can find a way, really, don’t dispair”
“It’s hard for me to consider that you'd go this lengths only to help me, what’s the trick?”
“How dare you! This is a genuine gesture and it’s just… I mean, ugh. I just, you know… ughhh… I really want to be your friend” you covered your face in shame but heard nothing like a laugh from him as you expected. Daring to look at him once more, you find him half smiling.
“If you insist then I guess I have to let you help me find a way…”
Both stared at each other in a comfortable silence. Until he said:
“You know, I don’t think I remember their voices anymore, and their faces are ever changing in my mind… my family, I mean.” He decided that if you were going to help him out, you should know his story. And so he began telling you all about the men that stole his ancestral lands, his own voice, his language and loved ones.
You can’t begin to imagine how painful it is. Of course, you've had your fair share of losses but never by violence such. When he finished, he turned his face to the liquor corner. You understood his expression immediately: “I thought alcohol had no effect on vampires”.
“It doesn’t” he said while standing up and taking one of the bottles, “...but it does affect you.” and offered it in your direction. “Now it's your turn. Tell me your story”.
And so that night you cried the losses of your loved ones as never before… in company. Remmick listened to you attentively. Sure, he made a couple of jokes and sarcastic comments from now and then. But it was evident he was genuinely interested. When you talked about your fears when you turned immortal he did the unthinkable: dried your tears, followed up by many “I know, I know”, “It’s okay, it wasn’t your fault”, “It’s alright now”. You wondered if anyone ever consoled him that way, or if this way was a form of comforting himself too.
The truth was that, for the first time in over a century, you felt seen. The alcohol was a great conversation starter, you decided. You were immersed in your thoughts when the smallest sniff caught your attention. Was Remmick crying?
“Hey, are you okay?” He did not dare to look at you. “Remmick, it’s fine, I’m here” Oh, and you were. Whatever he was thinking, you're determined to console him.
When he finally turned at you, tears were silently falling over his softened face. “It’s just that I’ve been so alone.” he whispered. Maybe it was the alcohol, but you dare to get closer and closer, until the closeness became an embrace so strong. “I’m here now, I mean it.”
That morning the sun caught up with you talking, crying and laughing. You decided he should sleep in your room for the day, God knows when was the last time he slept comfortably. You stayed on the sofa and swore you're never leaving his side, not as long as he calls you his friend.
𝙋𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜: frat!Rafe Cameron x innocent Pogue!reader
𝙒𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: dark, dubcon, unhinged inner monolog from rafe, misogynistic rhetoric, classist rhetoric (in the context of kooks, pogues etc), daddy kink, innocence kink, loss of virginity, smut (oral + p in v), oral (female receiving, fingering, MAJORR size kink, spanking, daddy issues, condescension, babying, dirty talk, swearing, very unbalanced power dynamic, which rafe gets off on, slut-shaming, derogatory name calling, manipulation, college au, reader is a freshman and rafe is a senior, 18+ only, mdni
𝙎𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮: Rafe bets his friends he can fuck you in one week.
𝘼/𝙉: It's here! The full fic. Word count: 23k. Please let me know what you think - reblogs and feedback mean the world to me. Read the warnings before you read, and enjoy!
“Her.”
Rafe looks over at the Pogue girl Topper’s nodding at and smirks. “Been there, done that. Pick a different one.”
Topper scoffs, “She literally moved here last week.”
“And?”
“OK… What about her?” He brazenly points at a leggy blonde that stands out in her group of Pogues.
“Last weekend at the beach party you threw. She gives good head.”
“Jesus Christ dude, is there anyone left??”
Rafe chuckles, leaning back and stretching his legs out while his friends stare at him in disbelief. He sometimes wonders if they know how stupid they look. Like followers. His followers. Hanging on to his every word, oohing and aahing at whatever he did. Making him feel like he was a God among men. Which he may as well be, considering that’s how most people at this college looked at him.
That’s why he loved fucking the Pogue girls. Almost exclusively. There was something about the power imbalance. Most of them came from poor families, looked at Rafe like he was a God. It didn’t take much for them to spread their legs for him, impressed by his power, turned on by his wealth. Hell, even the Kook girls were the same. But Rafe hardly ever took them home. They were spoiled sluts who hung around the country club wasting their lives and spending their daddies” money. Yeah, they didn’t pique his interest at all. Not as much as the Pogue girls who worked at the country club. In their little housekeeping outfits, deliberately teasing him in the hopes he’d take one of them home.
Yeah. It was safe to say Rafe Cameron had a type.
“Well, what about that one?”
Rafe rolls his eyes, about to say that yes, he had indeed fucked whatever girl Topper was pointing at this time. Because he’d fucked all of them. Because of who he was. Because of what he was capable of. Because of the family he came from. Because of what being a mere notch on Rafe Cameron’s bedpost meant to every single slut he’d ran through.
Except he doesn’t. Because Topper is pointing at you. And he’s never seen you before in his life.
You look so out of place, despite the fact you’re with a group of Pogues. And he knows you’re a Pogue. Like a shark with blood and a predator with its prey, he can always tell. And yet you stand awkwardly on the outskirts of the group, smiling yet not quite participating in whatever conversation is going on. You push your glasses up, straighten your skirt, pretend to look for something in your book bag. You’re shy. Self-conscious. Insecure. Rafe smiles.
“Who is she?”
“Aha! You haven’t slept with her!” Topper cheers like he’s won the fucking lottery. Sometimes Rafe wonders why he’s friends with him.
“Who is she?” He repeats like he hasn’t even heard him.
“She’s the new chick,” Kelce says, “except she’s not exactly new in town.”
“I heard she was home-schooled,” Topper snickers, “That’s why she’s fucking weird and has no friends. Even the Pogues don’t want her.”
Rafe observes you some more. Watches the bright smile on your face, how you try to chime in to whatever conversation the girls around you are having. They nod at you politely yet dismissively. They’re not your friends. As Topper said, you don’t have any.
Insecure. Weak. Vulnerable.
He licks his lips.
“How long?”
“Huh?”
He runs a hand through his hair impatiently, “How long do you wanna bet it takes me to get her into bed?” He nods in your direction.
Topper raises an eyebrow.
“You can’t be serious, man. She looks like she doesn’t even know what sex means.”
Kelce laughs, “She looks like she can’t even say it. Like she spells it out every time, s-e-x.”
They’re right. You look very innocent, but all that does is incense him. Rafe’s used to easy sluts who spread their legs after one drink or a ride on his motorbike. But you. He can tell you’d be harder to crack. But there’s something so fucking hot about how naive you look. How shy and sweet you are. How ruined he could leave you. Splayed out on his bike, legs quivering, all sweaty limbs and shy pants after he’s done having his way with you—
“How long?” He repeats, not in the mood to waste time and already getting hard picturing innocent little you with your tiny skirt flipped up and his head buried between those soft thighs, your sweet little confused cries because no one’s ever touched you like that, and—
“A week.”
“Mm?”
“A week to fuck her. With proof.”
Rafe stands up and stretches, licking his lips as he watches you retreat to a small bench, getting your little book out and burying your nose in it.
“That’s too easy. What do I get when I do it?”
“If you do it, you can decide what you get then. But as I said before, we’d need proof.” Kelce says.
“Yeah, proof,” Topper echoes, a glint in his eye as he looks over at you, “Pictures.”
Rafe shrugs, already kind of bored, “Sure.” He’d taken plenty of pictures of his conquests in the past. Him and his boys had a group chat where they shared that kind of shit. And the idea of taking pictures of you in such a vulnerable position gets him harder than anything. Sweet little freshman baby fucked dumb by the big bad senior, posing for pictures afterwards all teary-eyed but submissive. They all got submissive for him, even after he was done using them.
You flip a page, completely engrossed in your book and looking every bit the naive baby he’s imagining you as. A little lamb who has no idea she was in the presence of a fucking lion. And he bets you’re a virgin. Homeschooled with no friends? Forget virgin, you probably haven’t even had your first kiss. And that gets him so fucking horny, right there in the middle of the campus courtyard. The idea that you’re so pure, so untouched. So happy, so unassuming. A little fucking baby.
He’d have fun ruining you.
***
“You sure do love reading, don’t you?”
It’s the following day when Rafe finds you sitting by yourself in the corner of the library, with nothing but your book to keep you company.
You jump like a little mouse, pushing your glasses up your nose and gulping up at him, fear briefly flitting across your face before you force a small smile. And he likes his girls jumpy, he likes them slightly afraid of him. He knows he has that effect on people in general, but he wonders who’s told you about him.
“Sorry, were you — uh — were you talking to me?”
Rafe smirks, “Yes. Who else would I be talking to?”
“Oh, uh, I’m not sure…”
“It was a rhetorical question.”
“Oh, of course,” you look embarrassed, and he watches you squirm under his gaze for a good few seconds. “I… um…”
“You find books more interesting than people?”
“Huh?”
He chuckles, pulling up a chair next to you, noting how your eyes widen as he takes a seat, “Why are you always reading?”
“I don’t know, I guess I just like to read,” you shrug.
“You sure do.” He wonders if he could get you to read your precious book out loud while he went down on you, licked your virgin cunt while you cried because it felt too good. And then he’d spank you if you stopped or messed up a word, and like a stupid dumb fucking baby, you’d sniffle and wail through each paragraph, hold back your moans while he went to town on your little pussy till you wet yourself, and he’d suck your—
“Are you making fun of me?”
You pose the question so innocently— hell, you practically whisper it, and it knocks Rafe straight out of his daydream to find you blinking up at him with Bambi eyes.
“What?”
You bite your lip, “I’m sorry, it’s just that I’m not so good at understanding if someone’s joking or not. I’m not… uh… I’m not used to being around so many people, and it makes me nervous and I can’t tell if someone’s being genuine or if they’re making fun of me.”
“You were homeschooled, huh?” Rafe stares at you intently, noting how you play with your hair nervously, and your fingers tap against the hard cover of your book. How you can barely make eye contact with him for longer than a few seconds.
“Yes. My mom taught me and my older brothers.”
Rafe nods, taking his time to answer. He looks at you some more, enjoying how it makes you uncomfortable. You fidget nervously, and it amuses him every time you peek up to meet his gaze before a look of alarm crosses your face and you divert your eyes down to your book once more.
“You’re a shy little thing, aren’t you?” He says finally, chuckling at the embarrassed look on your face.
“I… I guess. I do want to make friends but it’s pretty overwhelming.”
“I’ll be your friend.”
He does a good job of hiding his predatory, wolfish smile. And he wonders if you can see the glint in his eye as he mentally undresses you. You look so small and weak, especially compared to him. Gullible too. Too innocent for your own good, the way you gape up at him as if he’s offered you gold on a platter. It makes him want to stroke your soft cheek, pat it and tell you what a good little girl you are. For being so naive.
You shake your head as if trying to straighten out your thoughts. He can tell, he has that effect on women too.
“Oh, you don’t have to, I uh—”
“Rafe Cameron?! In the library?!” An annoying, high-pitched voice shrieks, making you jump as it cuts you off mid-sentence.
It’s a kook girl. A cheerleader. Rafe can’t be fucked to remember her name but he’s sure he’s hooked up with her. She’s one of those ones, the ones that hang out at the country club and try to catch his eye. One of the desperate sluts who thinks if she spreads her legs enough times for him, that he’ll make her his girlfriend or some stupid shit like that.
“Rafe, what are you doing here?” The cheerleader sidles up to him, her hand on his chest and batting her lashes in his direction in some pathetic form of seduction. She ignores you, and you shrink into yourself, hastily burying your face in your book.
“What do you want?” He asks, not quite as interested in her answer as he is in continuing to stare at you. How you try to act like you don’t care, but he knows you’re hurt from being ignored, from being treated like you’re invisible.
“Nothing. Just wondering what you’re up to.” But she flashes him her fuck me eyes, her nails scraping suggestively against his chest. Rafe yawns, considering it. He has time before his next class (not that he could be fucked to turn up to class half the time) and his dick’s hard from talking to you. And since you probably don’t even know what the word blowjob means…
“Go in there,” he nods at one of the private study rooms in the far end of the library, and the fucking slut nearly trips as she scrambles to obey him. Rafe takes his time, stretching his legs before slowly getting up.
You peek up from your book, “Are you guys gonna go study in there?”
He could’ve bust a nut then and there from how fucking innocent you sound. Batting your little eyelashes at him like you’re trying to seduce him without even realising it. He knows he’ll be thinking about you, weepy and on your knees, while the kook girl blows him. Fuck, and if he plays his cards right, he’d have you by the end of the week. And he always plays his cards right.
“You could call it studying.”
You nod, “OK, well, goodbye then.” You look back down at your book, but risk a glance up at him again, which he finds very amusing.
“What’s your name, homeschool?”
You tell him.
He sounds it out, before shooting you one last smile, “Well, I’ll see you soon. Won’t I?”
You give him a puzzled look, but it’s replaced by your usual wide-eyed Bambi stare when he pats your hand, his thumb lingering, stroking your skin. He wonders if you’ve ever even touched someone of the opposite sex before. Judging by how your breath hitches softly, he doubts it.
Fuck. He can’t wait to ruin you. Play the slow game and enjoy that sweet virgin snatch before any other man ever could.
That’s what he’s thinking of when he’s got the cheerleader on her knees in front of him. That sweet little look on your face, the look of curiosity mixed with shyness and that little hint of indignation. Fuck, he wants to ruin you. And he would. With proof.
***
Day two. Rafe finds you walking down the hallway, your books clutched to your chest and eyes trained to the floor. Cutest little skirt making your perky ass pop, winking at him enticingly with every step as if you’re deliberately seducing him. Makes him want to slap your cute little ass, reprimand you for teasing him and half the men on campus without even realising it. He wonders what you’d say if he just did it. Spanked you in front of everyone. You’d probably start blubbering like a little baby. He has to forcibly stop picturing it before he gets uncomfortably hard.
You’re alone. As usual.
“Hey, homeschool,” he falls into step beside you, eyebrow raising in amusement when you don’t slow down nor look at him.
“Oh, h-hello, Rafe.”
“What’re you up to today?”
“Nothing, just going to my next lecture.”
He grabs your wrist, watching as your breath hitches, and yet you still don’t look at him. Damn, what had gotten Bambi so scared?
“You’ve got time to talk to me, don’t you?” He asks, but it’s not really a question. And you know it, judging by how you swallow harshly.
“I’m so sorry, I don’t want to be late—” You attempt to tug your little hand out of his grasp but you’re so small and weak that it barely has any effect.
“C’mon, homeschool. That’s no way to treat your one and only friend.”
He’s walks you into a corner, and he likes how you gape at the wall before turning and looking up at him. He’s so much taller than you, bigger than you in every single way.
“Rafe, I…” you sigh, shifting from one foot to the other, “My friends said some things…”
“Friends?” You don’t have any.
“Some of the girls I know. They saw us talking yesterday at the library and they…” you sigh, “They said you were probably just playing a joke on me.”
Fuckin’ jealous pogue bitches.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yes. They said there’s no way you’d talk to me for any other reason apart from as a joke. And they…” you bite your lip, looking so cutely distraught and it goes straight to his dick. “They said some other things… about you.”
Of course they fuckin’ did. Always talking behind his back, but never to his goddamned face. Nothing but a bunch of jealous, gold-digging whores.
He doesn’t say anything, just merely looks at you as if he expects you to tell him. And he knows you will. You’re too innocent to keep secrets.
“They said that you… that you’re scary sometimes.”
Rafe remains impassive, waiting for you to continue.
“That you… that you pick on a lot of us Pogues. E-Especially the boys. That you and your friends bully them.”
He snorts. Bully. What a juvenile word. Sure, he pushed the dipshit Pogues around here and there. They deserved it for all the trouble they ran around town causing, disrupting the natural order of shit. And he could fuck their girls better than they ever could. Especially that fuckin’ idiot JJ Maybank…
“They also said that… never mind.” Again, you try to tug away from him but to no avail.
“Tell me.” He likes how you struggle under his scrutinising gaze.
“It’s… it’s not appropriate.”
“Say it. Now.”
You lower your voice, “They said you like to use the girls. The pogue girls. Th-That you have a kink for them.”
The scandalous words have hardly left your mouth before you duck your head down as if embarrassed. God, you were so fucking innocent. Rafe wonders how he should play this.
“Huh. Is that so?”
“Y-Yeah. One of the girls I talk to… She said that you…” you swallow, biting your lip, “that you’ve been with her and all her friends too. That you tell them all the same thing but it’s always a lie and you just end up using them.”
Rafe nods, “Hmm.”
“I’m sorry, Rafe, but I don’t think we should—“
“That’s funny. I thought you were smart. You know, with all your books and the glasses and shit.”
You blink, “What?”
He shrugs, “I didn’t think you’d go ahead and pass judgement on someone without even getting to know them first.”
“It’s not that–”
“I mean, here I am, wanting to be friends with you. And I’ve been nothin’ but nice, haven’t I?”
He’s still got you backed into a corner, and he watches as you flinch when he emphasises his words. He knows people get intimidated by his intensity, but there’s nothing he hates more than people talking shit behind his back. Especially low-life Pogues. And he likes how scared you look right now, pouty lips all downturned and alarm in your eyes.
“I asked you a question, homeschool.”
“Yes, you’ve been nothing but nice! It’s just, I heard all these things, and–”
“And you chose to believe them.” He steps back abruptly, “I’ll see you around, I guess.”
He walks away, about to count to three in his head but you beat the count before he can even begin.
“Rafe, wait! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to judge you.”
He stops, allows you to catch up.
“You’re right, I…I shouldn’t listen to other people.”
“You shouldn’t.” Rafe agrees, easily taking your heavy textbooks from where you’ve been balancing them in your arms. You gape, but he just continues smoothly: “Where’s your next class?”
You tell him, “But you don’t have to walk with me or anything–”
“I’m your friend, homeschool. That’s what friends do.”
*
Day 3. You’re eating your lunch on a bench outside all by yourself. Rafe’s heading to his car with his friends. They usually cut classes most days to hit the beach or the country club. Rafe doesn’t see the point of college anyways, not when he was poised to inherit all of his father’s businesses, money and property. And with the ideas he had, he’d expand tenfold on whatever Ward was doing now, make a shit ton more money than his old man ever did. That would show him…
”How’s the bet coming along, Rafe?” Topper asks.
“Wait till the end of the week.” Is all Rafe says. He doesn’t need to give progress reports to his dumb fuck ass follower friends.
“That means he’s nowhere near cracking that virgin pussy.” Kelce chuckles. “No worries, brother. She looks like she’s got a stick up her ass anyways. Not loose like the rest of the Pogue whores.”
He ignores them as they laugh. But they’re right. You’re not like the rest of the Pogue girls. They’d grown up wild, promiscuous, loose. Trained to catch the attention of a rich Kook like himself, filled with self-serving motivations to marry into money. But he can already tell you’re different. With your cute little outfits and respectful, quiet demeanour. You look like you’d fit in where he was from.
Too bad he was only going to fuck you before discarding you like he did the rest of them.
“I’ll catch you guys later.” He says, making a beeline for you.
“Hey,” he chucks you under the chin, smirking when you jump.
“Oh, hey Rafe.” You look beyond his shoulder, “Your friends are all leaving.”
“Yeah. The waves are good this time of day.”
You gape, “But don’t you have classes?”
He takes a seat next to you, making sure to stretch out while you shrink into yourself. Still so nervous around him. He snickers, “You gonna tell on us?”
You look aghast, “No! I would never–”
“I’m just kidding, homeschool.”
“Oh,” you look embarrassed, “Sorry. Sometimes I–”
“Can’t tell if someone’s joking or not,” Rafe completes, “I remember. I’ll be more straight up with you.”
You nod, and he can tell you’re trying to think of something else to say. But you’re too nervous, too awkward. And so you just bury your head in your book again, all while he watches you. You’ve got a bottle of apple juice and a half-eaten sandwich of some kind on the table next to you. Cut up into little triangles. He bets you’ve done it yourself. Fuckin’ cute.
“You dress cute.” He says, and again, widened Bambi eyes stare up at him. He chuckles, “You know, the little skirts and plaid and shit. It’s cute.”
“Thank you.”
“You do it on purpose?” He can’t help but ask, because he wonders if a part of you knows what you’re doing. Knows you’re dressing like a sexy little angel out of his wettest dreams. All little and cute and innocent, so much smaller than him. Weak. All pastel and pretty, like you’d look so fucking sexy on the back of his bike. On his arm. On his dick.
“I don’t know what you mean by that,” you say, sounding every bit as innocent as you look. Damn, homeschool must’ve done a number on you. But he likes how sheltered you sound. It gets him so fucking hard, and a part of him almost feels sorry for how primed you are to be taken advantage of. “I wear my mom’s old clothes, or stuff I find in the charity shops.”
He’d had maids and housekeepers who shopped in places like that. He remembers him and his siblings giving them their old clothes once they’d grown out of them.
He nods, “You look pretty.”
Your breath hitches, and you really don’t know how to respond to that, because you slam your book shut and stand up, “I, uh, I have to go. I don’t want to be late for my next class.”
He watches you leave, distracted by your ass again but not enough to miss the little smile that quirks on your lips as you bid him farewell and walk away.
*
On day 4, Rafe walks up behind you in the busy hallway, pressing his huge hand on your lower back and pushing you into another secluded corner. He smirks when you squeak, but he likes how easily he can push you around because of how weak and small you are.
“Hey.” He told himself he’d take it slow (well, as slow as he could take it in the span of one week) and yet he can’t help but press into you a little bit. It’s innocuous enough, but your eyes widen as per usual, and the feel of your hot little body against his much larger one is enough to give him a boner. It’s how he could easily push you into an empty lecture hall and have his way with you if he so wanted to. Sure, you’d cry and resist at first, but they all gave in in the end. And if someone caught them, he’d pay them off.
Rafe Cameron owned the world. Nothing could stop him.
“Hello, Rafe.” You breathe, and he loves how his name sounds when you say it. He imagines you moaning it when he has you on his lap, pressing you down on his dick while you cry and whimper because it’s too much, it’s too big. But your greedy little virgin pussy would take every inch of his fat dick, and he’d do all the work, of course. You’d be too busy crying, and he’d bounce you up and down on his dick while you grabbed at his arms, his hair, his face. He’d tell you to scrape your nails down his back, leave a fucking mark or two so daddy could remember you.
“Come for a drive with me? I’ll buy you lunch.”
Despite your shyness, a fire flashes in your eyes, “I can buy my own lunch!”
He raises an eyebrow. As if on cue, you lower your gaze.
“Sorry, I mean… thank you for your offer, Rafe. But I can buy my own lunch.”
Surprisingly though, you agree to the drive. And he still has his hand pressed against your back, guiding you out to where his car’s parked. You ogle at it, probably never having seen anything as expensive. He wonders if your family even owns a car, or if you even know how to drive. It would be hot if you didn’t, it made you look even more helpless. In need of someone like him to protect you, take care of you. Someone powerful and wealthy like himself.
“Wow, I’ve never been on this side of the island before!” You say, oohing and aahing as you stare out the window. Rafe’s never seen anyone so easily excited by the neighbourhood he’d grown so used to. But he supposes the mansions, sports cars, country clubs and private beaches would be impressive to anyone who hadn’t grown up with easy access to all of that.
“No?”
“No, but my brother’s friend works there, I think.” You point to the vast golf course at the back end of one of the clubs. “He says the tips are really good.”
Rafe frowns. You were talking to other men? No, not you. You were too sweet, too innocent. He was sure he was the only man you spoke to. Or even if you were speaking to others, he doubts a golf caddy pathetically running after balls would be much competition. And yet, he bristles, wanting to change the subject.
“Do you have a job?” Rafe asks.
You shake your head, “No. I sometimes tutor some kids in the neighbourhood but nothing permanent. I’d love to have a part-time job with proper wages like the country club or library or something, but my family’s kind of protective of me.”
“Mm?” He’s deliberately being quiet, wanting to hear you talk, wanting to learn more about you.
“Yeah. That’s why I was homeschooled. My mom’s scared someone’s gonna take advantage of me.” You pause, before giggling, “It took a lot to convince her to let me apply for colleges, but I think she’s finally starting to see me as an adult who can make my own decisions and protect myself.”
The irony isn’t lost on Rafe, but he finds himself leaning closer. You have this way of talking, so soft and breathy, yet energetic and full of life at the same time. Like you’re a storybook character, like you’re someone out of this world. Like an angel dropped down from heaven and sent just for him. You’re his type to a tee. God, he wants to fuck you so bad.
“What would your mom say if she knew you were out with me?” His hand creeps up to rest on your knee. You’re wearing jeans, which he doesn’t approve of but he decides to give you a pass since it’s windy today.
You don’t notice his touch anyways; you’re too busy pondering over his question. But there’s a glint in your eye, “Sh-She wouldn’t approve. But that’s only ‘cause she doesn’t know you.”
The corner of his mouth twitches, his thumb rubbing circles against the denim of your jeans. “And you do?”
You swallow, finally realising he’s got his hand on you. Surprisingly, you don’t move. It’s almost like you’re frozen, those big fuck me Bambi eyes making a comeback, “Uh…I…We’re friends, aren’t we?”
He smirks, “Yeah. Friends.” His hand creeps up higher, stroking your thigh softly, wishing you were wearing one of your little skirts so he could feel your bare skin. But it’s thrilling anyways, touching your quivering body while you’re defenceless inside his car. He could lock the doors and have his way with you right now. Hell, people outside would get quite the show but it wouldn’t be the first time he’s fucked in public.
Poor little you. Losing your virginity in the front seat of his car. He’d drag you into his lap, bounce you up and down on his cock. But not before making you beg for it first. And you’d cry so fucking bad, because it would hurt. Because he’d promise he’d be gentle but he knows himself, he knows he’d lose control like he always did. Fuck you so goddamned hard, he’d have to lay you down in the backseat afterwards because you wouldn’t be able to stop shaking. Then drive you back to his house, carry you into his bed and have his way with you again. And again. And again.
“Rafe?”
“Yes?”
“You’re not hanging out with me because you feel sorry for me, are you?”
That grabs his attention, “Why would you think that?”
You shrug, “No reason. I just… Well, you have so many friends. I guess I don’t quite understand why you’re hanging out with me.”
“I like you.” He shifts even closer, his hand steadily stroking your leg while you remain stiff, “Do you like me?”
“H-Huh?”
“You heard me, homeschool.” And yet he knows you’re distracted by his fingers tracing shapes on your thigh. Not random shapes, though. It’s his initials. Over and over again. R.C., he wonders if you can tell.
“I, uh, y-ye–” You’re having trouble getting your words out, and it amuses him. He can see you visibly shaking, and he wonders if it’s out of fear or anticipation. Or both. He leans down, bringing his face close to yours.
“I didn’t quite get that.” He licks his lips at how weak and intimidated you look. “Say it again.”
It’s an order, and you clear your throat, shake your head as if to clear your thoughts.
“Yes,” you whisper, as if it’s something scandalous, “Y-Yes, I like you.”
He pulls back abruptly, leaving you gaping at him.
“Let’s get something to eat. I’m starving.”
He buys you a panini from a little artisan bakery, with a strawberry iced tea and a packet of chocolate hearts with a cherry cream filling. You protest at first, unzipping your bag to pay for yourself, but he’d sooner roll over and die than let a woman pay for anything.
“Toss me one,” he says, and you throw a little cherry-filled truffle at him. He catches it between his teeth, and your eyes light up, clearly impressed.
“Wow, that was cool!”
“C’mere, you’ve got a little something…” He grabs your chin gently, pulling you forward before rubbing his thumb against the side of your lip, wiping away a bit of chocolate. “Messy girl.”
Your breath hitches, but you stay still for him like a good little girl. His thumb lingers, and he wants to press it into your mouth, make you suck the chocolate off it. Then tell you he had something else for you to suck on. Push you down and make you warm his cock with your mouth while he drove you back to campus. One hand on the steering wheel, the other pressing your head down, making you take his big cock despite you whimpering and panicking because you can’t breathe.
He rubs your lower lip with his thumb for a moment before pulling away. You clear your throat, snapping out of whatever reverie you’ve been in, straighten up against the seat and put your seatbelt on. You still look like you’re in a daze, however, and he wonders if you’re wet from him wiping your face clean.
“I-uh-we should head back please, if that’s okay?” you say, voice slightly shaky as you avoid eye contact with him. “I don’t want to miss my afternoon class.”
He grins, “You a teacher’s pet?”
That makes you smile, and you shrug shyly. It almost enamours him.
He gets you back to campus on time, and you give him a little wave before you jump out of his car and walk inside. And god, it’s insane how hot you are. Even in your jeans, which have cute little embroidered flowers on the butt. Makes your ass look insane. Like it’s begging to be grabbed, smacked, fucked.
He breathes out heavily through his nose, slumping back against his seat. His dick is uncomfortably hard. God, you didn’t even realise how much you’d teased him tonight. Sitting tight and pretty in the passenger seat of his car, so quiet and pretty. So innocently impressed by Figure 8, and by him. How shy you’d been when you’d admitted that you liked him…
He gets his phone out, blindly texting one of the desperate girls on his phone. He needs a release. And he’d be thinking of you the whole time.
*
On day 5, Rafe tells you to give him your number. From his peripheral, he can see a bunch of Pogues whispering and watching while he takes your phone and puts his number in.
“Have your little friends been talking more shit about me?”
You flinch. He can’t help the intensity of his tone sometimes, and he’s noticed you never swear and, like a jumpy little mouse, probably feel intimidated when he does.
“No, I haven’t really spoken to them in a while.”
Rafe grins, “Yeah?”
“Yes. I’ve been busy with schoolwork.”
He saves his number on your phone before pressing it into your back pocket for you. You gape, eyes darting around to see if anyone saw. He wonders just how prim and proper you are, and how quickly he could get you to come undone once he got you comfortable and behind closed doors.
“You’re not too busy to text me, right?”
You smile, looking down and fidgeting with your binder. He notices you’ve got little stickers on it, like cupcakes and hearts and shit. What a fuckin’ baby.
“Text you? I don’t really– I have to a test tomorrow that I need to study for.”
But he knows you’ll text him. They always did. You weren’t any different.
“What are you smiling at?” Kelce asks, pulling up beside him as Rafe watches you head into your next class.
Immediately, he straightens his face, “Nothing man.”
“You falling for that homeschool freak Pogue?”
He snorts, “You wish. I have standards.”
“You sure about that?”
He whips his head sharply to stare down at his friend, “You want me to repeat myself?”
Rafe doesn’t miss the flicker of fear in Kelce’s eyes. They’d never admit it, but he knows his friends are afraid of him. Of his mood swings, his unpredictability. He doesn’t care. In fact, he prefers it this way. They weren’t like him, they were weak-minded, beneath him. He kept them around because of semantics, because of who their parents were and who his dad was. And because they proved to be minorly useful sometimes when he needed help to get shit done.
All the girls he’d been with had been afraid of him too. When he fucked them, he often lost control. But it turned him on, how they’d swallow their fear in case they offended him, or set him off. Once, he’d fucked a girl who just wouldn’t stop shaking. Sure, he’d showed her his gun right before he’d bent her over, but it was her problem if she was frightened by something as mundane as that.
You weren’t scared of him. Yet. Intimidated, sure. But he’d kept that side of him well under wraps when it came to you. You were too sweet, too pure. And you were a good girl, incapable of crossing him in any form. He didn’t have to scare you to get what he wanted from you. No, you’d give it to him, like the good little girl you were. Naïve, innocent little girl.
*
Rafe: Hey.
Y/N: Hi, Rafe. How are you?
He finds himself smiling at his screen. There’s a party going on downstairs, but Rafe couldn’t care less. It’s the same thing every other night. His friends showing up at his house and bringing along a whole entourage of people he doesn’t give a fuck about. Sarah used to do it a lot before she moved out, invite her fuck ass Pogue friend group into his house as if they were ever welcome there.
Rafe didn’t want any Pogues inside his house. Unless they were girls that he intended to sleep with. But he appreciated it when they showed themselves out once he was done using them.
Rafe: What are you up to?
A minute passes by, then another one. Fuck, he hates that you’re making him wait. What a fuckin’ tease. He wonders for the hundredth time if you’re doing it on purpose. No, not you. You’re too innocent.
Y/N: Nothing, I just finished cleaning my room. Wbu?
It’s insane how the visual of that gets his dick hard in less than a second. The thought of you doing something as domestic as cleaning. The good little college girl, who went home straight after school and spent her evenings dusting and vacuuming or whatever it was that cleaning entailed. Unlike the Kook sluts his friends were probably fucking downstairs. They were pathetic party girls who’d easily spread their legs for a line or two.
He calls you, losing patience with this texting bullshit. He runs a hand through his hair impatiently when you don’t immediately pick up, huffing and gulping down the remaining whiskey in his glass. Slamming it down on his desk when you still don’t pick up. Fucking tease. He grabs a baggie from one of the drawers, prepares a neat line; despite promising himself he wouldn’t do it tonight. Fuck that. Ten seconds have passed; you still haven’t picked up. He snorts it quickly, about to throw his phone out the fucking window, except you choose that moment to pick up.
“H-Hello?”
“Hi,” he sounds slightly breathless, but who the fuck cared. He refills his glass with more whiskey, taking a sip to calm himself down. “Took your time to pick up, huh?”
“Yeah, sorry about that,” you say hastily, “I got distracted.”
He feels a sudden surge of jealousy so violent, he doesn’t know how to act for a moment. Distracted by fucking what?
“The lights went out, so I had to go reset them,” you explain, and he barks out a laugh. Jesus fucking Christ.
“Y-You sound kinda breathless, Rafe,” you say, “Is everything okay?”
“Why wouldn’t it be okay?” He downs his drink and sets it aside before his hand slips down. God, you sound so hot. All breathy and innocent, even just over the phone. “Tell me what you were doing.”
A pause, and then you force out a chuckle, “I told you, I just finished cleaning.”
“What like vacuuming and shit?”
“Yes.”
Over the years, Rafe had slept with a number of maids Ward had hired on multiple occasions. He’d fucked Wheezie’s babysitter a few years ago, the housekeeper too. His father had a knack for hiring hot Pogue girls, and maybe that’s where Rafe’s kink for them started.
He could imagine you working for him – he’d make you wear the sexiest little barely-there maid outfit. You wouldn’t question it because you were too innocent. With your little feather duster, trying to clean except you’d be too small to reach certain areas. Fuck, he wouldn’t last five seconds in the same room as you. And he wouldn’t have to because you’d be his hired help, his property. He’d have you bent over his desk, fuck you so hard till you couldn’t stop shaking, till you were crying like a baby and apologising for not focusing on cleaning all while he carried you up to his bedroom. Locked you up in there so nobody else could see you. His girl. All his.
“Uh, Rafe?”
“I wanted to talk to you,” he says.
A pause.
“Really?” You clear your throat, “Where are you? I can hear music.”
“Shit, yeah. Like, there’s a party or whatever going on downstairs. My friends came over unannounced.”
“Oh.” He can sense a level of dejection in your tone. He bets you’re thinking about it, thinking how it’s just a reminder that he has his own group of Kook friends. And you’d never be one of them. You’d never truly fit in. You were either one or the other. Hell, Sarah had proven that when she’d transitioned into the slums. But maybe there was a way to bring you into his world, a way that would stick.
He has to forcibly shake his head to remind himself you’re just part of a stupid bet.
“I’d rather speak to you than them.”
“That’s not true, Rafe.”
“I like how you say my name.” He’s palming his dick now, knowing he’s treading over the line and could easily scare you off now if he’s not careful. But fuck being careful. He’s never really been careful before in his life. He hasn’t had to be. “An’ I’m serious. I told you, I like you.”
“Rafe, I… I just can’t shake the feeling that–”
“That what?” He spits into his palm before resuming touching himself. And shit, he doesn’t know if it’s the drugs or if it’s really just the sound of your voice that’s got him so goddamned horny. He wonders if you’ve ever touched yourself before. If you even knew how to.
“That you’re just playing a big joke on me. I mean, even the people from the Cut think I’m this weird, homeschooled freak.” You laugh, but he can tell you don’t find it funny, “It’s just hard to believe that you’d want to be my friend.”
“They think I’m a freak too,” he says, being honest for once. “Only difference is they don’t talk shit about me because they know I’d kill them.”
“You’re funny, Rafe.”
You’re too innocent to realise he’s not kidding. Not in the least.
“And if anyone says anything about you, I’ll kill them too. I’m serious.” Fuck, he feels like his dick’s gonna goddamn explode. The thought of protecting you like that, like he was responsible for you. Like you were all cute and helpless and he was the one taking care of shit, the one protecting you. That’s all he’s done his whole life, take care of shit and get shit done. And nobody’s ever fucking appreciated him for it.
“Well, thank you, Rafe. I’ve never had anyone stick up for me like that.”
He likes how you keep saying his name now that he’s told you he likes it when you say it. Means you’d be real good at taking instructions. He can imagine telling you what to do when he finally has you in his bed. Order you to get on your hands and knees. Then he’d spread your cute little ass, eat you from the back while you moaned his name over and over, thanking him for taking care of you, weeping how much you appreciate him, how much he means to you. How much you need him.
“A-Are you still there?”
“Shit, yeah. Yeah, I am.” His dick’s red and painfully hard, and he’s still trying to pump it steadily but now he’s imagining your tight little virgin cunt wrapped around it. Soft like velvet, warm and wet. Pulsating around him. Never had even a finger up there but you’d take his big dick, because he owned you, because he was your protector, because you were too weak and helpless without him, and–
“Could you, uh, fuck, say my name again,” he orders you, not caring in the least if he scares you off.
“Rafe?”
He cums into his fist like a goddamned teenage boy, biting down to keep from making any noise. God fucking dammit, you’d listened again. What a good fucking girl. He wants to tell you that, tell you how good you were for him just now, how obedient and submissive you were without even realising it.
“If you’re busy, it’s okay and you can go,” you say softly.
“No, wait…” he clears this throat, grabbing a bunch of tissues from his desk. He can’t believe you hadn’t caught on to him jacking off. “I wanted to ask you something.”
“Yes?”
“Do you want to come over tomorrow? To hang out?”
“Like, uh, at your house?”
“Yeah.” He needs you in private, needs you on his turf where he can control just about everything. God, was it even about the bet anymore? Or just this newfound fucking irrevocable need to fuck you just for his own personal satisfaction? Maybe both.
“I don’t know, I’ve never been to a guy’s house before.”
That just makes him even more determined to be your first.
“C’mon, it’ll be fun. We can go after your classes finish or whatever, and I’ll drive you home afterwards.”
“Rafe…”
He shuts his eyes for a moment, savouring the sound of your voice. He wonders if he can get you to call him daddy. God fucking dammit, just the idea of that was getting him hard again.
“Look, we’ll order some food, watch TV. Whatever you want. It’ll be fun. And it’s what friends do.”
That last part gets to you. He can tell. He knows how badly you want to have friends. He knows you’ve never had any. Not good, permanent ones like you saw in movies and TV shows. Hell, Rafe’s not sure he himself has real friends. But he doesn’t care. The idea of friendship means nothing to him. He’s best when he’s on his own because nobody else could be trusted. But what is important is having a girl like you in his bed. A girl like you who looks up to him with shining eyes, like he’s your goddamned entire world. A girl he plucked up from poverty and saved, and you’d appreciate him more than anyone in his dumb fucking family ever did.
“Say yes,” he all but orders you, but he already knows the answer before you say it.
“O-Okay, yeah. Yes, that sounds like fun. I’d love to come.”
*
“What do you mean you’re not coming?” Topper frowns, crossing his arms over his chest, “You were supposed to bring the, you know…”
Rafe rolls his eyes, wondering why he’s friends with a fucking loser who can’t even say the word coke. That’s why nobody on the goddamned island wanted to sell to Topper. Hell, even Barry refused to.
“I have plans.” Rafe answers, checking his watch for the tenth time. Your final class of the day was due to end any minute now, and he couldn’t wait to get you into his house.
“What plans? You were gonna help me with Sarah tonight.” Topper was a whiny fucking bitch, but even Rafe had to admit he was a better fit for his sister than that lowlife John B.
“I’m not helping you with shit, man.” He mutters disinterestedly, although he had promised a few nights ago that he’d help him. He’d been high as a fucking kite, though. So it didn’t exactly count. “Look, she’ll get bored eventually when she realises his broke ass can’t provide shit for her. Then she’ll come crawling back.”
Topper shakes his head, “No, Sarah’s not materialistic like that.”
Rafe smirks, “You don’t know her.”
“Well, speaking of broke, how’s it going with that homeschool girl? You guys sure seem to be hanging out a lot.”
“Do you have brain damage, Topper?”
“What?”
Rafe corners his friend against a wall, relishing the immediate fear in his eyes, “I seem to remember you placing a bet a week ago.”
“Well, yeah, but –”
“So why the fuck,” he hits the locker lightly behind Topper’s head, “are you asking me about hanging out with her a lot?”
“Chill, dude. It’s just,” he looks hesitant, scared as he’s barely able to make eye contact, “It’s okay if you like her, you know?”
Rafe feels a wave of emotion, something he can’t quite pinpoint. And that makes him mad, because what the fuck was he feeling? He has to clench his fists by his side to stop from slapping the taste out of Topper’s mouth. Why did him bringing you up irritate him so much? Jesus, reign it the fuck in.
He takes a deep breath and steps back, forcing a chuckle, “You think I’m gonna slum it like that?”
Topper grins nervously, as if Rafe hadn’t had him pinned against a locker like a little bitch just a second ago. He straightens up, “I mean, it’s not exactly a secret what your type is.”
Rafe laughs, and Topper relaxes and joins in after a moment or two. That’s when Rafe slams him against the locker again.
“Get it through your thick fucking skull, Topper. I may fuck a Pogue but I’d never date one. Got that?”
“Yes, okay, Jesus Christ, man.” Topper pushes Rafe off him and backs off, “Do whatever the fuck you want.”
That’s when Rafe starts laughing again. “I will, pussy.”
Topper fucks off after that. Sometimes, Rafe wonders what his deal is. He acted up in front of the rest of the group, then tried to act all sensitive and understanding in private. Like Rafe had time for that shit. And how dare Topper insinuate that Rafe had feelings for you? Hell would freeze over before he ever caught feelings for a Pogue.
He realises a bunch of people are staring at him. Goddamit. Fuck all of them. When he was younger, Ward had sent him to see a therapist once a week. He’d quit going once he’d realised it was everyone else who was the problem, and not him. But one thing the shrink had taught him that had stuck was to breathe slowly and count to ten whenever he felt angry or overwhelmed.
That’s what he’s doing when you arrive.
“Hey, Rafe. I’m sorry I’m late. The professor held me back.”
“Why?” He barks out before he can contain himself. He’s already on edge, and now some dumbass professor is keeping you back in class because you undoubtedly get his old, shrivelled dick hard and you’re too innocent to even realise it.
You blink, “He really liked the essay I submitted last week. He even said he wants to use it as an example for his other classes!”
“That’s great,” Rafe plasters a smile on his face but he’s only half listening, “Let’s go.”
He calms down some as he guides you out of the hallway and toward the parking lot. He almost grabs your hand when it gets a bit too crowded, but remembers himself just in time. He couldn’t be caught holding hands with a Pogue. It was too intimate, and like he’d said to Topper, he’d never let it get to that point with a Pogue. Instead, he places his hand on your lower back and pushes you forward. You smile at him, and it goes straight to his… well, not his dick, surprisingly. But it goes somewhere within him, and he feels it again. Something he doesn’t really recognise or know how to deal with. So he forcibly pushes it back inside himself.
“You look cute,” he says once he’s got you outside and there’s more room to breathe. You look like an angel in the afternoon sunlight, dressed in the cutest little sundress he’s ever seen. It’s this pinkish-orange, like the colour of the sunset, and you’ve got matching ribbons in your hair. Like you’ve really made an effort to get all dressed up just to go to his house.
“Thanks,” you look down as if you’re embarrassed, like you don’t know how to take a compliment, “It’s my mom’s dress.”
“It’s really pretty,” he says softly, before clearing his throat and looking away.
He gets you to his car, lifting you up by your waist and helping you into it. And that turns him on so much, how small and sweet you look. Like a little fairy in his arms. None of the other girls were like you. Not at all. He wonders what you’re wearing underneath, and feels his cock thicken in his slacks with anticipation when he realises he was probably going to find out today.
You don’t say anything when he pulls up into the driveway of his house. Ward had fucked off on some business trip and taken Wheezie and Rose with him so he had the place to himself. That’s how he liked it best, it gave him space to think and breathe without the constant noise of his family. Well, Wheezie was an exception. He didn’t mind her too much.
“Wait here,” he says, getting out the car and walking around to open the door for you. You allow him to lift you out again, this time your hands landing on his shoulders. And it’s fucking insane how that tiny, voluntary touch does things to him that no other girl has ever done before.
Now, he doesn’t think twice before grabbing your hand and pulling you down to the large, ornate wooden double doors. You’re distracted anyways, eyes wide as saucers as you ogle the mansion that Rafe’s never thought twice about. But he reckons it’s a step or two above whatever shacks the people from the Cut lived in, so he allows you to remain silent and let it sink in.
Finally, you exhale slowly, “This is… uh… wow. I can’t believe there’s people in this world who live like this.”
Rafe smirks, squeezing your hand, “Yeah. Do you want a drink?”
He leads you to the bar in the corner of the living room, again lifting you up and placing you on one of the stools. You giggle, “I can climb on myself, you know.”
“Yeah? You seem to like it when I pick you up, though.”
He winks, and notes how you duck your head and smile shyly, your hands wringing together on your lap like you’re nervous. God, you were so fucking cute.
“What’s your usual drink of choice?” He asks, going behind the island to inspect the liquor. His friends had gone through a lot of it at the party the night before, but the house help had restocked everything this morning.
You blink, “Um, water?”
He stifles a laugh, pouring himself his usual whiskey with ice, “You’re a good girl, huh?”
“I tried some of my mom’s wine once but it tasted horrible,” you shrug, “I don’t know why people like it so much.”
“Try this.” He pours you a Peach Schnapps with lemonade and ice, “It’s sweet like you.”
You hesitate, but end up taking it. And he watches as you take a tentative sip, and he knows you like it because you take another one. And then another. He can’t help but feel proud for introducing you to your first alcoholic drink.
“You’re not as bad as people say you are,” you say out of nowhere, and his expression immediately sours.
“People have been talking about me to you?”
“No, it’s just the stuff I’ve heard. Like what I told you before. But it can’t be true, because you’re so nice to me so it just doesn’t add up.”
He grips his glass tight, about to lose it because yet again people were talking shit about him behind his back and never to his fucking face. Because they were all a bunch of pussies who knew he’d beat the shit out of them or kill them if they said anything to his face. But then you speak again.
“Do you always drink after school?”
“Huh?”
“Like, alcohol. Do you drink a lot? Like every day?”
“No.” He lies. “Only sometimes.”
He takes you out to the patio, where the sun is shining and you look so fucking pretty in your little sundress. Like you fit right into his world, next to the pool with a drink in your hand, sat next to him and looking at him with sparkling eyes as if he was your god. He wonders if you’ve naturally grown more comfortable with him through the course of the week, or if it’s just the alcohol. Probably the alcohol, since no one was ever really comfortable around him.
Either way, he puts his hand on your leg just like he had a few days ago in his car. Your breath hitches, but you don’t make a move to stop him. Instead, you opt to take another sip of your drink, and he wonders if he can get you drunk tonight. Shit, did he even want to? It was no fun fucking a drunk girl.
“Tell me more about you,” he strokes the soft skin of your bare thigh, feeling your goosebumps underneath the pads of his fingers. “You ever had a boyfriend or anything?”
Your eyes widen, “No. I, uh, you don’t tend to meet any guys when you’re homeschooled.” Embarrassed, you giggle before looking away. He reaches out, grabbing your chin lightly and making you look at him again. Fuck, your lips were so sexy. So pouty and perfect, begging to be kissed. “What about…what about you? Have you had any girlfriends?”
He shrugs, “A few.”
You nod, “Of course you have. That was a stupid question. Sorry, I forget not everyone’s as far behind in life as I am.”
“You’re not far behind.” He says, although you are and he prefers it that way.
“I am. Every other girl my age has had all the experiences you’re supposed to have. Drinking, partying, boys, all of it.” You sigh, “Sometimes I feel like I’m so far behind that I’ll never catch up.”
Rafe inches his hand upwards, till he reaches the hem of your dress halfway up your thigh. He plays with the fabric, and he can tell you’re acutely aware of what he’s doing. You don’t make a move to stop him, but you do press your legs together.
“There’s still plenty of time to catch up,” he says softly, “I can help you.”
You smile up at him, holding up your drink, “You already have. I’d never drank with friends before now.”
“Congratulations,” he says, clinking his glass with yours, “To one of many firsts.”
He downs his drink and so do you, and he’s quick to get a refill for both of you. He’s guessing you’re a lightweight, and again the thought of getting you drunk crosses his mind. But that would be way too easy.
“I’m capping you after this one,” he says, handing you your second Peach Schnapps.
You giggle, “Are you gonna cap yourself too?”
“No.” He chucks you under the chin again, “But, see, I’m not a baby.”
“Hey!”
He kisses you. And shit, he hadn’t planned on catching you so off-guard. Hell, he’s caught himself off-guard. But he couldn’t help it. Couldn’t help how kissable your lips looked, all pouty and bitten. And you taste like cherry lip gloss mixed with peaches and lemonade, and you’re so pliant underneath him, and he’s kissed a shit ton of girls but it’s never felt like this.
You pull away with a start, shocked as you stare up at him. Breathing hard and biting your goddamned lips before they turn into the shape of an o.
“I’m sorry,” Rafe says, although he’s not, “I’ve been wanting to do that since the day I first saw you.”
Your breathing is shallow, and with a shaky hand you put your glass down on the crystal table in front of you. “I’ve never, uh, I’ve never kissed anyone before.”
“Well, it’s easy. I could show you.”
You swallow, “I don’t want this to be like, a pity thing.”
Rafe exhales slowly, “You’re here in front of me in this tiny fuckin” dress, acting all cute and innocent and you think I want to kiss you out of pity?”
Your jaw drops, “Hey, it’s not tiny!”
He kisses you again. And sure, maybe he should’ve asked permission since it’s, well, your first kiss. But frankly he’s never had to ask permission to do anything in his entire life, and he wasn’t about to start now. The way he sees it, you wouldn’t have worn a slutty dress and agreed to come to his house if you didn’t want him to make a move on you.
Again, you pull away, “Rafe, I– don’t… I don’t know how to kiss, I’m sorry–”
He cups your face in his hands, pulling you closer and pressing his lips against yours again. Just to feel your soft, quivering lips against his confident ones. He kisses you once, twice, three times. Coaxing you to open your mouth, to let him in. Fuck, a part of him just wants to shove his tongue down your fucking throat, show you what it means to really be kissed. But he’s already pushing his luck right now.
“I’ll teach you,” he says, “But you need to do exactly what I say, okay?”
He can’t believe his goddamned luck when you nod. God, you were just so fucking hot, prancing around his house in your little dress, all impressed by his riches and shit, drinking your drink he made you like a good little girl, and now here you were, agreeing to whatever he said.
He taps his leg, “Get on my lap.”
Your eyes nearly bug out of your head, “Wh-What?”
Rafe smirks, “Didn’t you just agree to do exactly what I say?”
He’s surprised with the amount of patience he has with you. If you were another girl, he’d have thrown your ass out to the curb for asking too many annoying questions. Or bent you over, shoved your face into a pillow to shut you up and had his way with you. God knew he’d done that more times than he could count over the years. He was aware of how much bigger and stronger he was than you and every other girl, and that fact turned him on more than anything. The fact that he could, if he wanted to, completely take advantage of you however he wanted. And all you’d be able to do is cry and beg him to stop, which would just turn him on more.
“I did, I’m sorry, but I don’t–”
Easily, he grabs your hips and lifts you up onto his lap, makes you straddle him with one leg on either side of him. Your dress is just about long enough to still cover your modesty, but now he’s acutely aware of your panty-covered pussy just inches away from reach. Fuck, he wonders what kind of panties you’re wearing, and if you’d let him look…
“There. Comfy?”
“Well, I guess, but…”
He pulls you into another kiss, this time catching you mid-sentence so he’s able to slip his tongue into your mouth. And you’re so fucking shy, just rigid while he explores your mouth. But he doesn’t mind. You taste so fucking sweet, and it’s getting him so hard, knowing he’s the first man you’ve let touch you like this, kiss you like this.
He can feel your breath hitch as he strokes your face, his thumbs running across your cheeks before his hand tangles into your hair. He yanks you closer, grazing his teeth against your plump bottom lip. You gasp, and he chuckles into your open mouth. His tongue plays with yours, coaxing you to kiss him back, but not really caring too much if you don’t.
And god, he wants to thrust up into you so bad. You’re sitting right on top of his fucking hard dick, and you don’t even seem to realise it. In fact, you shift around, that cute little peachy ass rubbing against his boner, and he wonders if you even know what a boner is.
When you pull away this time, your eyes are bright and excited. And he loves how he’s kissed the gloss off your lips, and how he can still taste you on his tongue.
“Wow, that was…” you giggle, breathless yet excited from finally having your first kiss, “I don’t have anything to compare it to, but that was good!”
Rafe has to crack a smile at your innocence, and his hand lands on your bare thigh, tracing his initials on it again, “Yeah? You like kissing me?”
“I…um… yeah I do,” you say shyly, before closing your eyes for a moment and taking a deep breath, “Could we uh, could we try again? Could I try?”
Well, shit. He’s never devoted this much time and energy into just kissing a girl, but his dick grows even harder at how you’ve plucked up the courage to ask him that. And so he simply nods and sits back, lets you figure out what it is you want to do.
Your cute little hands hold on to his broad shoulders shyly. And you lean up, fluttering your eyes closed like it’s some kind of fairytale for you and you’re the little princess kissing her prince charming. It’s part enamouring, part pathetic. But Rafe feels it again, that unfamiliar feeling bubbling up in his chest. He shakes out of it, focusing on your plump lips that hesitantly press against yours.
He sits still; lets you explore his mouth. Your tongue pokes out, swipes against his. And the feeling goes straight to his dick. And then he’s kissing you back, because he doesn’t have the goddamned willpower to just sit there and do nothing. There’s an animal inside of him and you’ve awoken it, more than any drug or alcohol ever could.
And he gets rougher, biting your lip till you gasp into his mouth. His hands slip up and down your bare arms before he takes your hand, squeezes it before pressing it down on his chest, wanting you to touch him, feel how much bigger he is than you.
“Good girl,” he mutters when you don’t move your hand, and then he fingers the hem of your dress. “Gonna let me touch you a little bit?”
“Rafe, maybe not too much–”
“C’mon, princess, you have to touch while you’re making out, right? That’s lesson number two.” He distracts you with another rough kiss, grabbing your jaw and squeezing while he brings you closer to his mouth. Kissing down your jaw and neck before returning to your lips, smirking when you squeak out a little involuntary moan. That’s when he slips his hand up your dress and cups your ass. Perfect little handful of your bubble butt, and he gives it a little squeeze to test the waters. You’re too distracted with kissing him, and so he squeezes harder. God, so fuckin’ soft and pliable, just like how he’d imagined.
“Nice ass,” he murmurs against your lips, and that’s what jolts you out of it. He curses inwardly when you pull away, pushing against his chest when he doesn’t immediately stop. And a part of him knows how easy it would be to just pin you down on this fucking sofa and have his way with you. Tell you how it’s your fault for wearing this fucking dress, your fault for seducing him in his own home, acting so sexy and innocent and getting him so riled up. Teasing him with your shy little kisses and squeaks till he had no choice but to hold you down and fuck you.
“I’m sorry,” you say as you slide off his lap, straightening your dress, “I just… I got overwhelmed.”
He blinks, and he’s this close to pulling you back on top of him, telling you he didn’t give you permission to stop, that you had to listen to him because this was his house and he’d been kind enough to invite you over. And he could make you feel so good, if you just stopped being a goddamned little prude.
Instead, he forces a smile, “You’re a pretty good kisser for someone who claims she’s never done it before.”
You beam, relaxing immediately, “Oh, you’re just saying that. I bet I was really bad.”
“My memory’s kinda foggy, I think you’re gonna have to remind me,” he pulls you back into him, and you giggle as he presses light kisses on your lips, his arm going around your shoulders while your hands tangle into his hair.
It doesn’t go any further than that, though. You stop him when he tries to touch you again, and a part of him wants to slam his fist down on the glass patio table in frustration. And yet, something stops him from just overpowering you and taking what he wants. No, that would be too easy. He’s about to crack you, he can tell from the way you look at him with those big eyes, now full of trust and comfort. He just needs more time.
Too bad he only had one day left to complete the goddamned bet.
“You should come over again,” he says when he’s done up your seatbelt for you in his car. He finds he likes doing all that shit – opening the door for you, lifting you into your seat, clicking your seatbelt into place, all of it. A stark difference from other girls, where often he’s tossed their clothes at them and motioned for them to leave after he’s done hooking up with them.
“That sounds nice,” you say, waiting for him to come round and get into the driver’s seat, “And I told you; you don’t have to drive me all the way home. I could’ve just got the bus.”
He blinks. He didn’t realise buses even functioned in Figure 8, but either way, he can’t have you on a public bus. Especially not in that dress, where every man would be leering at you and you’d be none the wiser about it. The control freak in him is itching to be let out, to tell you exactly what you were and weren’t allowed to wear in public, tell you how you weren’t allowed to speak to any men except him. And you weren’t allowed to argue or contest any of this, because he was in charge of you now, and–
“No buses,” he says firmly, his hand resting comfortably on your thigh as he drives, “Anyways, come over again tomorrow. We can go in the pool or whatever.”
He feels you go rigid, “Th-The pool?”
He glances at you, “Yeah. It’ll be fun.”
You laugh nervously, “Uh, I’m not too great with water. I don’t really swim or anything.”
Rafe has to do a double-take, “You realise you live on an island?”
Even he knew that every child born in Kildare could swim before they could even walk. It’s just the way it was. They were surrounded by water. Rafe doesn’t even remember learning how to swim; it was almost like he knew how to do it by default.
“I know how to swim, I just don’t like water,” you say, and there’s something off about your tone. Something he can’t pinpoint, but you turn to the side and look out the window. Silent for the rest of the drive. Rafe doesn’t push it, although your odd behaviour has piqued his curiosity.
It’s only when he’s pulling up into the pitiful dirt road of a street where your house is situated that you clear your throat.
“Look, Rafe, you’re my friend now. And I don’t really like keeping secrets from you. I’m sorry I was so quiet just now.”
Cute. He likes how much you apologise to him. It shows how respectful you are, how much you respected him as an authority figure.
“That’s okay,” he says.
You take a deep breath, “I used to go out in the water a lot when I was younger. With my dad. He had a boat, and I would help him. But…”
Your voice trails off for a moment. Rafe thinks he knows where this is going, and a part of him is touched you’d share something like this with him. A tiny, obscure part of him, that is. He can’t help but squeeze your leg reassuringly, and you clear your throat again and blink several times. Like you’re trying not to cry. And Rafe’s never had the patience for emotional chicks, but it’s different with you.
You force out a little laugh, “I don’t want to go into details. But one time we were out pretty far, and the weather was bad. Like, really bad. The waves were rough and…” You swallow, looking down into your lap and wringing your hands together, your chest rising and falling rapidly, “And… Well, I was fine but… my dad…”
Shaking your head, you don’t say anymore. You don’t have to. Your eyes are wet and glistening, the muscles in your face working overtime to stop the tears from coming out. He parks the car in front of your house, turning to face you. He’s never been in a situation like this before, and he’s not sure how to act.
Fiercely, you wipe away the one or two rogue tears that have escaped down your cheeks, “It happened so long ago, I barely remember it. But I’ve been scared of the water ever since.”
He nods, “It’s just you and your mom now?”
“Yes. And my brothers. But they’re always working, so it’s just me and her. That’s why she’s so protective of me… I, uh, I don’t have a dad anymore.”
Rafe knows what it’s like to lose a parent, but he can’t fathom ever talking about it or voicing his feelings on it or some shit like that. His loser therapist had tried to get him to talk about his mother, but he hadn’t. He couldn’t. It was just muscle memory at this point, to force any thoughts of her straight out of his mind. It was easier that way. And now, it was like he could barely remember her. And he hated it, but it made it easier too.
He’s never been good at comforting anyone else. And a part of him is glad you’re not sobbing your eyes out right now, because he’s not sure how he’d handle that. So he’s happy when you clear your throat again and smile up at him.
“I’m not sure why I told you that, I’ve never had a friend to tell that to before. I guess I just feel comfortable with you, Rafe.”
What the hell had he done to make you so trusting of him in the span of less than a week? God, you were like an innocent little angel, sitting in his car all tiny and vulnerable. Making him feel like a goddamned fucking monster for the thoughts he had towards you, what he planned to do with you. Suddenly, the bet feels so stupid and insignificant. God, this was why Rafe didn’t speak to the women he fucked. They went all emotional on him, and now he wasn’t sure how to act.
“I feel comfortable around you too,” he says carefully. He’s never been great with his words, but he grabs your hands that continue to wring nervously together. His big, warm hand dwarfing your tiny ones, and he realises you’re shaking. And there’s a part of him that wants to protect you against everything. Take you back to his place, lock you up in his room so he could keep an eye on you and keep you away from anything and anyone who could ever hurt you and make you cry.
Even if the only person who could hurt you the most right now is Rafe himself.
You leave after that, thanking him again and again for giving you a lift home. He wants to walk you to your door, but you run off quickly, and his mind’s too distracted to follow you. He drives off once he sees you’ve safely closed your front door behind you, his mind moving a million miles per minute.
Jesus Christ, why’d you have to go and open up to him like that? This would be so much fucking easier if you hadn’t done that. He hates that he should know better, that he knows that he should leave you alone. You were too innocent, too vulnerable for his bullshit; to be caught in the middle of some dumbass bet he’d made with his friends. God dammit, he hates himself for agreeing to that stupid bet, seems so fucking juvenile looking back. Wished he’d picked a different girl at the very least, someone not as lovely a you.
Most of all, he hates himself because he knows that despite everything he’s just found out about you, he still has every intention of fucking you. Daddy issues and a phobia of water. It was almost like fate was handing you to him on a silver platter. He had to fuck you. He’d figure out the rest later.
*
Kelce: One day left, loverboy.
Topper: Can’t wait to see the pictures.
Rafe mutes the groupchat before throwing his phone aside. He’d goddamn throttle his friends if they were in front of him right now. Sometimes, he gets these violent tendencies. He doesn’t really know what to make of them except it feels good to have some kind of release. Usually that comes in the form of pushing around a sorry ass Pogue, but that option’s not really available right now.
Instead, he searches blindly for the coke he’s stashed in his bedside drawer. Again, he’d promised himself he’d cut down, but this was just to take the edge off. It didn’t count. Not really.
He wonders what you’d think if you knew how often he took drugs. Well, you wouldn’t because he’d keep you well away from that part of his life. Even when he made you his girlfriend, he’d keep you separate from all the partying. And he’d never allow you to even look at any type of Class A drug. And who knows, maybe he’d become better for you, maybe he’d go stone cold sober if you wanted him to.
That makes him laugh. Going sober for a Pogue. It was insane of him to even consider it.
Again, he has to remind himself to take his emotions out of it. All you were was a stupid Pogue, and a part of a bet he was going to goddamned fulfil. And he wouldn’t allow himself to think anything more of it. He may have had a momentary lapse of judgement yesterday, but today was a new day, the last day of the week he had to fuck you.
How? He wasn’t too sure. Reports of a storm meant you couldn’t come to his house again like how he’d planned. Even now, Rafe could hear the harrowing winds outside. Like a goddamned cyclone. And the rain pelting down unforgivingly, and the distant roar of the sea, waves crashing like they’d taken on a life of their own.
The weather on the island was usually all sunshine, but once in a blue moon a storm would hit like now. Residents were always told to wait it out and stay inside. For Rafe, that meant copious amounts of drugs and alcohol. Sometimes a girl or two to keep him company. But the idea of fucking anyone that isn’t you right now makes him sick.
He thinks about texting you, but what would be the goddamned point? If he couldn’t physically be with you today? He knows the weak, pussy part of his mind just wants to talk to you in whatever form he can. But he needs to bury that bullshit down deep inside him and never back, and–
His phone vibrates. It’s you. And he hates how he feels his heart jump to his fucking throat. You’ve called him all on your own, which means you were thinking about him like how he was thinking about you.
“Rafe?” You sound sexy like you always do, all breathy and weak and needy. A bit panicked too.
“Hey,” he says, trying to sound nonchalant, “What’s up?”
“Hey, calm down.” Rafe barely recognises the gentle quality of his voice as he straightens up, “What’s wrong, princess?”
“I’m scared.”
You say it so softly, with an air of embarrassment and shame, that at first he doesn’t quite get what you’re saying. But then he does, and something kicks in inside him. This innate need to protect you. You sound so small and needy on the phone, and you called him. You need him.
“What happened? Did someone hurt you?”
“No, no. Oh, Rafe, it’s the storm. It keeps getting worse.”
He chuckles in relief that you weren’t in any immediate danger, “Well, shit. Yeah. Looks pretty wild, huh?”
“I hate it,” you whimper softly, “and I’m sorry I called. But my mom’s stuck at work, and my brothers are crashing somewhere else. So it’s just me, and, and…”
“Hey, calm down. It’s okay, you’ll be okay.” He’s never had to comfort anyone before, but it comes naturally with you. “As long as you stay inside, the storm should pass. Just watch TV or something.”
“The lights are gonna go off any second,” you sniffle, “They always do when the weather gets bad.”
They did? Rafe never noticed shit like that. Then again, he doubts you had the luxury of backup generators where you lived. He pauses.
“Gimme twenty minutes. I’ll come over.”
“No!” You say quickly, “Rafe, it’s too dangerous.”
He snorts. He’d been in far more dangerous situations than a little bad weather. But the less you knew about that, the better. “I think I’ll be okay, princess.”
“B-But we’re not allowed out. You’ll get a fine.”
Rafe can’t count on one hand how many times he’d been fined by the dumbass police on this goddamned island over some petty bullshit reason or another. A fine meant nothing to someone with money. He was above the law, and most people on this island knew it.
“Stay put. I’ll see you soon.”
Rafe actually enjoys driving in the storm. The roads are deserted, and he can speed without worrying about anything else. And he does speed, and he runs more than one red light too. Gets to your house quicker than he thought he would. Past all the other tiny shacks all boarded up because they weren’t built well enough to withstand the storm.
“Rafe! You came!”
You sound like a fucking needy little baby, but something pulls at his heart when you hug him harder than you ever have before. And you’re so small, on your tippy toes so your arms reach around his neck. Automatically, his arms wind around your waist and he holds you close, and he can feel you trembling, your face buried in his chest as you hold on to him tightly.
“Yeah. Roads were empty. Didn’t take long.” He mutters, looking around the inside of your house. Pitiful. And pitch black, because you were right, the power had gone out. He hates that you live here. You’d fit in so much better at Tannyhill, in a pretty pink silk dressing gown and dripping with diamonds he’d buy for you. And you’d be so thankful for him, tell everyone that he saved you, how well he took care of you. How he gave you everything you could ever want, and how much you appreciated him.
At that moment, a clap of thunder makes you jump and squeal. Quickly, you pull him inside and shut the door. That’s when he notices that you’re crying.
“Hey, it’s okay. C’mere.” He pulls you into another hug, and he’s never seen another human being look so scared, so vulnerable. It makes him feel so powerful, like the man he knew you needed. “You’re safe now, I’m here.”
It feels natural, his lips pressing a kiss into your hairline. Like you’re his little baby, like he’s been trusted with something so precious and now he has to protect you. And you’re too scared to be your usual jumpy self, and you just snuggle closer into him. A flash of lightning lights up the whole room, the storm relentless against the weak confines of this sorry excuse of a house.
“Maybe we should head back to mine.” He suggests, but you whimper again.
“No, no, we can’t go out there. It’s not safe. Rafe, please.”
He doesn’t think he’s ever seen another human being so scared before. Not even when he was fucking that one girl after he’d showed her his gun. Even now, he consciously tucks his gun further down the waistband of his chinos. Of course he’d brought it with him, he wasn’t going to enter the Cut without a piece on him.
“Okay, okay. We’ll stay here. When’s your mom coming home?”
“Not till tomorrow once the storm’s died down.”
He licks his lips. It was too good to be true.
You’re still holding on to him as you lead him into your bedroom. He wonders why you’d take him straight there, but he guesses it’s your safe place. And you’ve got candles lit up, and they brighten the room enough for him to notice how small it is. The size of a shoebox, with a single bed covered in pink sheets and a bunch of stuffed animals.
Despite everything, his dick hardens.
“You’re a really good friend, Rafe.” You say honestly, “Nobody else would’ve come over like this.”
He shrugs, sitting on the edge of your bed and patting the mattress next to him. It’s not even his house and yet he feels like he needs to take control. And you obey, taking a seat next to him. But you’re preoccupied with your own fear, doing that thing where you fidget with your hands in your lap.
“I wouldn’t do it for anyone else.”
You look up at him with wide eyes, biting your lip like you can’t quite believe what he’s said, “I-I’m not special, Rafe, I–”
You’re cut off by another clap of thunder, this one so loud it makes the whole house shake. You scream bloody murder, and honestly, if you were anyone else Rafe would’ve laughed. But it’s you, and so he just watches. It’s fascinating, the way you clutch onto him like he’s your saviour, and he wonders just how this opportunity had basically just fallen into his lap.
He pulls you into his lap, knowing you won’t protest. Not in the state you’re in. You’re wearing a pair of black leggings and a little white tank top. No bra, because he can feel your nipples, hard and poking out from the fabric of your top. He can feel them against his chest as he hugs you again, and he can also feel you shifting on top of him. Your peachy little ass rubbing against his dick like you’re a fucking tease except he knows you’re none the wiser, that you have no idea the effect you have on him.
He’s so turned on, it feels like he might explode.
“I’m sorry,” you apologise for the umpteenth time, “It’s just so scary. Wh-What if the storm gets worse, Rafe?”
“It probably will,” he says, feeling slightly wicked. He holds you tighter against him, wanting to feel the brush of your breasts against his chest again. Fuck, he wants to cop a feel so bad. “They were saying something about a severe weather warning on the news. Not like anything we’ve ever seen before.”
“Noooo,” you moan like a goddamned baby, cuddling into him even more.
“It’s okay,” he says, running his hand up and down your back, “You ever, uh, you ever think of distracting yourself from the storm?”
You hiccup and blink up at him with wet eyes, “Nothing works, Rafe.”
He smirks, “I could distract you.”
“H-How?”
He runs his thumb over your lips. They’re wet with your salty tears, and yet like muscle memory, you part them for him. You watch him in wonder, your breathing shallow as he pushes his thumb into your mouth, his other hand holding you in place by your hip.
“Suck.” He instructs gently, and your eyes are as big as saucers. But in your frightened, vulnerable state, you obey immediately. And it feels like he’ll bust a nut right there, watching as you suck his thumb on command like a little fucking baby. Like he’s your daddy.
“Good girl,” he says, stroking your hair out of your face so he can watch you better. “Now listen to me, I can help you. I can distract you so that you forget all about the storm. Do you want that?”
You nod slowly, almost like you’re entranced by him. Not that he needs the green light from you, but it’s hot to see you agree so easily to whatever he’s saying. Fuck, you really were just like an angel fallen straight from heaven and into his lap. Perfect for him in every single way. So soft, so impressionable. Completely untouched. Ready to be ruined.
“That’s good,” he mutters vaguely, thinking of everything he was going to do to you. He takes his thumb out of your mouth, noticing how you pout involuntarily, like you’d gotten used to the feeling of sucking on it. Fuck, he could give you something else to suck on. “Give me a kiss.”
“H-Huh–”
“Do it. Just like how I taught you yesterday. You remember our lesson, don’t you?”
You nod, “Yeah, but will that really work? I mean–”
It’s like God himself is on Rafe’s side because there’s a loud boom of thunder at that exact moment. And you jump in his lap, tears welling in your eyes. Your chest rises up and down, and you bite your lip again, your gaze zeroing in on his mouth. Slowly, you lean up, shyly pressing your lips on his. But there’s a desperation to it, and Rafe’s returning kiss completely envelopes you whole.
He makes out with you for a while, smirking through your little pants and moans mixed with a whimper every time the weather gets especially brutal outside. He’s never been with such a goddamned scaredy cat baby before in his entire life, and it turns him on beyond belief. In the state you’re in, he could get you to do anything.
Rafe’s hands slip up to grab your little top, tugging it upwards. And this time, he almost loses it in frustration when again, you stop him.
“Rafe, Rafe no stop.” You push his hands off, straightening your top back over your midriff. “Couldn’t we just… just kiss?”
He presses his lips together in a thin line, “You trust me?”
“Of course, I just don’t know if I want to–”
“Look, didn’t I say I would distract you? I mean, shit, I could just leave.”
Your jaw drops, a flash of fear glimmering in your eyes. Instinctively, you grab onto his bicep with your tiny hands, a pleading look on your face, “No, don’t!”
He smirks, “I won’t leave. But you need to trust me to do what I need to do to distract you. Because the storm’s just gonna get worse.” He grabs your chin when you avert your gaze, forcing you to look at him, “Hey, c’mon. Who has more experience with this shit, you or me?”
“Y-You.”
“Yeah. And who’s older?”
“You are.”
“That’s right. Which means you need to trust me to make these kinds of decisions, because I know what’s best for you. That’s why you called me over, right?”
You don’t say anything, but this time when he tries to take your top off, you don’t protest. And Jesus fucking Christ, he was right. You’re not even wearing a bra, almost like you were deliberately trying to seduce him. Acting like a whiny little damsel in distress, pulling him into your pitiful little pink room, all candlelit and shit, on your little bed with your stuffed fucking animals.
Your nipples are hard, and he can’t help but cup your breasts. They’re so tender, so soft just like you. He’d imagined this exact moment many times over the course of the week whilst he’d jacked off to you, but nothing could compare to now. The way you tremble beneath his touch, knowing no one’s ever touched you like this before. He squeezes gently, watching how your breath hitches.
He’s overcome with animalistic instinct in just a second, and leans down to take your breast into his mouth. Sucks your nipple sweetly, before biting down. You cry out, arching your back so prettily, feeding him more of your nipple as you push it into his mouth. He bets you probably don’t even understand why it feels so good, having never been touched like this ever before.
He pinches your other nipple and you gasp. He smirks and does it again, looking up at you to see you gazing imploringly down at him.
“Th-That hurts,” you say pitifully.
“Yeah, but you like it, don’t you?” He takes your hands in his, bringing them up to his hair. Like a good little girl, you get the message. Your hands fist into his hair as he continues to play with your tits, licking and sucking all over them, pushing them together, biting your nipples and sucking the sensitive skin around them, wanting to leave his mark everywhere.
“Rafe, I, that… oh… oh my–”
“Stand up, baby.”
You squeak at the pet-name that falls so naturally from his lips, and he can tell you like being called that. It’s from the way your eyes widen, and how you scramble to obey. God, you were a little tease but you took instructions so fucking well.
You stand between his legs, and it gets him so fucking hard that you’re still barely eye level with him even when he’s sat down.
“Take your leggings off.”
You open your mouth to argue, but this time he just flashes you a look and you’re quick to shut the fuck up. That, and he distracts you with his hands running up and down your sides, squeezing your waist, then your hip. Finally landing on your ass with a light slap as if to tell you not to keep him waiting.
You push your leggings down and step out of them, till you’re standing between his legs in just your pink flowery panties and nothing else. And he feels a hunger he’s never ever felt before, looking down at you ravenously as if you’re a piece of meat and he’s a goddamned starved lion. A part of him just wants to grab you and stick his cock inside you while you scream and thrash and beg him to stop while you secretly enjoy it and cum again and again.
“Turn around,” Rafe says slowly, because despite his animalistic thoughts, he wants to savour this. And you do, letting him see your sexy butt adorned in just your panties. He hooks his thumb under the elastic, snapping it against your skin and laughing crudely when you yelp. “God, you’ve got such a perfect ass. I knew that since the moment I saw you.”
“Wh-What?”
“You heard me. You’re always wearing the cutest little outfits, like you were showing it off just for me.” He grabs your left ass cheek, squeezing it hard while you moan in pain or pleasure, right now he doesn’t really give much of a fuck. His other hand palms his cock through his pants at the sight.
“I wasn’t!” You say indignantly, as if he’s accused you of the absolute worst. “I wasn’t showing off, Rafe!”
“Sure you weren’t,” he snorts, “Now bend over, lemme see it better.”
He can’t believe it when you don’t hesitate this time, almost like you’re seeking his approval. Like you’re under some kind of submissive spell now, making everything even easier for him. You bend over, and your cute little ass is directly in his face. He pushes your panties to the side, gives the soft flesh a feather-light kiss before spanking you again. You yelp all cutely, but stay in position for him. What a good fucking girl.
“Stand up straight, look at me again.”
You turn back around, biting your lip as you look at him anxiously. Around you, the whole room seems to vibrate as another boom of thunder strikes. You make a noise in your throat, before grabbing onto his bicep again. You keep doing that, and it makes him feel strong, big, important. Like you’re a little baby seeking protection from her daddy.
“I’m gonna take your panties off now, okay?” He doesn’t know why he tells you before he does it, but he watches as you relax. There’s a war going on behind your eyes, he can tell. He knows part of you is liking how he’s making you feel, and part of you is desperate to distract yourself from the storm, and it’s battling the part of you that wants to keep your modesty, the part that knows this is a bad idea, that itching fear that he’s not a good guy, that he’s taking advantage of you.
Slowly, he slips your panties down your shaking legs, and you keep holding on to his arm like you’re scared to let go. Like the storm would come and get you the moment you stopped holding him like a little baby. He lets you, liking how weak you feel against him.
And then you’re completely naked in front of him, stepping shyly out of your panties that are left on the floor in a heap along with the rest of your clothes. And he’s still fully dressed, and that juxtaposition turns him on beyond belief. He can smell your pussy, and it’s driving him crazy. Makes him want to just pin you down and have his way with you. It incenses him in a way he’s never really experiences before.
His hands grab your hips, yanking you closer. He feels a wave of impatience, pushing you down till you’re sitting on the bed. He gets up, pushing your legs apart with one of his own. You gasp, and he sinks down to his knees, pressing a soft kiss to the skin just below your belly button.
“It’s time for lesson number three, baby,” Rafe murmurs softly, “this is how I’m gonna distract you, okay? Shit, I’m gonna make you feel so good, you’ll forget all about the storm. You gonna let me do that?”
You swallow, “H-How, Rafe?”
God, you were absolutely clueless. Made him feel like a fucking monster for taking advantage of you like this. But he liked it, liked how good and sweet and innocent you were, even now when he had you naked on your pretty princess bed with your legs spread for him.
“I’m gonna kiss you down here for a while, alright baby?”
“Down there?” You suck in your breath prettily, as if the very idea of that sounds so insane to you. God fucking dammit, just how much had your mother sheltered you?
Instead of explaining further, Rafe spreads your folds with two of his fingers, smirking when he sees you glistening and wet. And God, what a pretty and perfect pussy you had, all slippery and wet, like it was begging to be fucked. And even now, as you sit there breathing heavily, your pussy seems to get wetter just by him spreading it. You’re leaking down onto your pretty pink sheets, and it’s all because he’s merely touched you there.
You’ve gone silent, the storm seemingly already forgotten as you just watch him. Your chest rises up and down, and it’s like every other part of you is frozen in place. In awe, until he notices a slight movement in your pelvis. Involuntarily, you hump the air, like your poor pussy is begging for some type of contact or friction. He smirks.
“You have an accident, princess?”
You look absolutely aghast, “No!”
Rafe leans forward, inhaling deeply. And you smell so goddamned sweet, and he can’t wait any longer. He lays his tongue flat against your virgin cunt, and he can feel you throbbing with anticipation. He licks upwards, and you grab onto his hair, tugging hard as you yelp.
“Oh my God–”
He looks up, “Not God, baby. Just me.” Absentmindedly, he flicks your clit with his thumb and your entire body jerks. He chuckles, “And there’s another thing I’m going to need you to do.”
“What?”
“You’re going to call me daddy while I eat your cunt, okay?”
For the fifth time this evening, your jaw drops, and you gaze down at him in indignance, “What? But Rafe, you’re not my–”
“Your daddy? I mean, you do want me to take care of you, don’t you?” He smiles when you don’t immediately respond, “That’s why you called me today. Because you felt unsafe, like how you’ve felt your whole life ever since you lost your real daddy, isn’t that right?”
He half expects you to shove him off you, scream, lose it, slap him, kick him out of your house for going there, for trying to take advantage of your obvious daddy issues. But it’s like you’re in a trance, and he keeps going, “You want someone to take control, to reassure you that everything’s gonna be okay. That’s why you’ve let me take care of you this whole week, right? Because you need me, you like how I make you feel.”
He softly strokes your bare thighs, noticing that you’re shaking under his touch. And you look like you’re about to cry, in your most vulnerable state in front of him. And yet he keeps going, his voice like a calm lull, almost hypnotic with how you look at him with your huge, unblinking eyes.
“I can be your new daddy, princess. You’re gonna let me, aren’t you?”
Rafe doesn’t wait for your response. Instead, he grips your thighs harder, spreading them as far as they’ll go. He spits on your mound, watching his saliva drip down to your pussy. You’re watching too, with stricken, hooded eyes. Like you’re frozen in time and space, and he’s the only constant.
Leaning forward, he envelopes your clit between his lips, giving it a harsh suck. Your entire body convulses, and you moan the loudest he’s ever heard you. Thunder claps at the same time, but you’re louder than it, and your hands grab on to his hair, and you press your cunt into his face, practically smothering him but he fucking loves it.
“Tell daddy to lick your cunt,” he orders, his voice deeper and lower than it’s ever been, and a slight threat in his tone, “say it, or else I’ll stop everything.”
“L-Lick it, please,” you beg so prettily, keeping your voice barely above a whisper. Rafe sits back, looking at you expectantly till you make the prettiest little noise of impatience. You shoot him a pleading look of desperation, but he doesn’t let up. You cry out, gripping his hair harder before ducking your head in shame, “P-Please, okay? Please lick my cunt, daddy.”
Rafe could’ve orgasmed right there at the sound of your sweet, delicate voice pleading with him, finally addressing him as daddy. Instead, he sucks hard on your sensitive, engorged clit, and you scream bloody murder. He snickers against your soaking folds, grabbing your thrashing hips, stilling them slightly but allowing you to rock them against his face till it’s shining with your wetness.
“Messy little girl,” he mutters, “excited, aren’t you? Never had this virgin pussy eaten, huh?” he grows sloppy, messy with his licks. Tonguing your sensitive nub till you’re a writhing mess above him, incoherent little gasps and moans tumbling out of your mouth as you continue to hump against his face because you’re a goddamned virgin who doesn’t know how to act because you’re feeling so good.
Rafe’s practically making out with your pussy, and he’s never enjoyed going down on a girl as much as he is right now. It’s how responsive you are, it’s how this is all so new to you so you don’t even know nor care to hold anything back. You’re rubbing your pussy on his face like all you can think of is how good he’s making you feel. And he fucks you with his tongue, unable to quite believe how sweet you taste. Like an angel, his angel. All his.
“It’s…It’s too much, Rafe!” you cry out, and yet you’re rolling your hips with abandon, riding his tongue while he sucks and licks you out like he’s starved.
“You can take it,” his voice is muffled, and you try to wrap your thighs around his head except his grip on them is too strong. It’ll leave bruises in the shape of his fingers all over your soft skin, but he likes that. He wants to bruise you, mark you, make you his in every way possible. So next time when you wore a slutty little sundress, every goddamned man on this island would know you’re taken. Fuck, he’d get his name tattooed on your goddamned pussy, and–
You cum, squeaking so prettily he wants to bottle up the sound and keep it safe in his memories forever. Your first orgasm, and all it took was a couple of minutes of him eating your cunt. And your muscles squeeze around his tongue, and you cry and moan like you don’t even know what’s happening. Your grab at his hair, pulling so hard because you’ve probably never felt like this before.
And Rafe doesn’t stop, his tongue swirling circles while you hump and grind against his mouth, riding out your orgasm, moaning his name over and over again. Outside, the weather gets worse, and at one point he notes the whole room shakes as if the goddamned roof’s about to blow off. You don’t give a fuck though, and he doesn’t either.
“Oh, Rafe, oh, oh oh, it’s too much!”
Now, you’re trying to push him off you, but selfishly he keeps tongue-fucking you. His thumb rubs your engorged, sensitive clit. He knows it’s too much for you, but he’s too fucking turned on to stop.
“C’mon, baby. Don’t be like that. Lemme give you another one.”
“No, I-I can’t, I, oh fuck!”
He slaps your clit, and a squelching sound fills the room. You gasp, and he just snickers, having entirely too much fun with you. And again, you twitch your hips, inadvertently pushing your cunt into his face again. You’re out of breath and sensitive from your first orgasm, and yet your greedy little pussy wants to give him another one.
“You like it when your daddy slaps your cunt?”
You’re such a shy little thing, gaping at him as if he’s said the most insidious thing on earth. And yet, your cunt squeezes around his tongue, and he you up as you continue to leak into his mouth. He looks up at you, “Tell me you like it.”
“I, uh, I like it, uh… daddy, oh gosh!”
It takes just one more spank and you come undone, cumming all over his face and he licks you throughout. Long, languid stripes of his tongue flat against your wet folds, then he switches to fucking you with it, and your fuckhole’s so goddamned tight, his tongue barely even fits a little bit, but it doesn’t stop him. He’s got one hand slipped down his pants, jacking off because this is the hottest thing in the world he’s ever witnessed. Innocent little baby crying after orgasming from getting her pussy spanked by her daddy.
He feels like a lion closing in on the fucking lamb, forgetting himself for a second as he gets up. Aggressively pushing you down till you’re lying flat on the bed, surrounded by your stupid stuffed animals. In a second, he’s on top of you, breathing hard like a man possessed. God fuck, all he had to do was shove it inside you, hold you down and tell you to take it. Maybe press his hand over your mouth to keep you from screaming too loud. Not that it mattered. Nobody could save you from him tonight.
But you blink up at him so prettily, so unaware of his intentions, your eyelashes wet with tears. Your lips bitten and pouty, face shiny with sweat. Your hands grab his arms again, squeezing like you’ve grown used to doing.
“R-Rafe, that was… wow.” You say breathlessly, so blissfully innocent, not realising at all that he’s moments away from holding you down and fucking you, that he’s planning how he’ll do it in his head this very moment. “I never… I never thought it could feel that good.”
Rafe finds himself feeling that again, that weird feeling that kept bubbling up inside his chest from time to time whenever he was with you. He still doesn’t have a name for it; he can’t even properly describe it. But looking down at you now, watching you stare up at him with those shining eyes of yours. All he can do is push a piece of your hair out of your face, and smile slowly down at you.
“What do you even know about sex, baby?” He breathes, his face so close to yours.
“Oh, well, uh… Not that much. I mean obviously I know how it works. I just… I didn’t know you could call someone da– that.”
He smirks, tapping your cheek condescendingly, “You mean daddy?”
You look embarrassed, “Yeah.”
“I need you to keep calling me that, okay?” Rafe says gently, “It’s completely normal and I told you I’d take care of you from now on. You want that, don’t you?”
Again, he nudges at your lips with his thumb, making you suck it. Which you do, and the feeling goes straight to his dick. He wants to fuck you while you suck his thumb, gently rock his hips into you, your tight pussy squeezing his huge cock while you whimper around his thumb, sucking it while you cried and just took it, took whatever he gave you and then said thank you, daddy like the good little girl you were.
He starts kissing you again, unable to help it. And your response is so enthusiastic, he feels like he might explode. You’re getting more confident with all the kissing stuff, and Rafe likes that it’s all because of him.
“You ready for the next lesson, baby?” He asks between kisses, his hands everywhere all over your naked body. Squeezing your breasts, playing with your ass. Loving that you’re naked beneath him and so willingly too.
You swallow harshly, “I don’t think I’m ready–Oh!”
He takes your hand, pressing it inside his slacks. Right on his hard, throbbing dick. And fuck, it feels so small, so weak against his pulsating cock. He bites his lip hard to keep from thrusting into your hand.
“Take it out.”
“N-No!”
He exhales loudly through his nose, holding your hand tight against him when you try to snatch it away. “Baby, what did I tell you about doing what I say?”
“I-I know but… but I’m scared.”
“It’s okay to be scared,” he says, “but you need to do this, alright? Didn’t I make you feel good just now?”
“Well, yes, but–”
“So just trust me. I’ll make you feel good again, okay baby?” He kisses you lightly once, twice, three times till you smile, “You’ve been such a good girl tonight. So brave for me....”
You hiccup, looking up at him with those goddamned saucer-like eyes again, “R-Really?”
He strokes your cheek, innately aware of your hand relaxing against his cock, “Yes. Such a brave, good girl. You forgot all about the storm outside, didn’t you?”
As if on cue, you whimper and cuddle into him more. He smiles like a goddamned wolf, feeling evil yet desperate at the same time, “Call me daddy again, princess.”
You don’t even fucking hesitate, “d-daddy, I–”
“Take daddy’s cock out, baby. It’ll distract you, I promise.”
You do exactly what he says, and he helps you. He can’t help but hiss when you free his dick from the confines of his slacks, and you gasp too, dropping it immediately when you see it.
“Shit, gimme your hand,” he murmurs, and he doesn’t wait this time. Snatching your hand in his, he spits down into your palm before pressing it on his dick. “Stroke it.”
You pull back, “I don’t know how, I don’t–”
“Do it or I’ll leave right the fuck now.”
In your helpless daze, you whimper before placing your hand back on his dick. And it’s so red, about ready to explode the moment you touch him. He exhales slowly, and it feels so fucking good, and he covers your hand with his, guiding it, making you stroke him up and down.
“That’s so good, baby. You’re so good.”
“I am?”
“Shit, yeah, just keep doing that. You’re such a good girl for me, aren’t you?” He notes how you grow more confident, rubbing his dick and jacking him off like a good little girl. His hand leaves yours, instead cupping your face as he pulls you in for another kiss. He can’t help kissing you, you taste so fucking sweet and it’s insane because he’s never particularly enjoyed kissing anyone this much before. But he loves kissing you, leading you through it, guiding you. Loves how responsive you are, loves how you listen to him even when you feel all scared and hesitant. As if you know that at the end of the day, he was the one with all the power, the one in charge. The only one who knew how to take care of you.
“You ever seen a cock before this, princess?” He asks crudely between kisses.
Your eyes widen, “N-No, Rafe– I mean, uh, daddy.”
“No? Good girl. That’s so fuckin’ hot.” He bites your pouty bottom lip, and you gasp, squeezing his dick in your hand and it makes him moan straight into your fucking mouth. What a naughty girl.
“It’s, uh, it’s so big,” you say quietly, so quietly that Rafe almost doesn’t catch it. But he does, and he smiles, pulling back slightly.
“Yeah?”
Shyly, you duck your head, “Yeah, daddy.”
God, you were so fucking irresistible. He couldn’t take it anymore. He takes your hand, which was still steadily pumping his dick, and holds it tightly. Holds both your hands by your sides as he nudges your legs apart again, and watches as you take a deep breath, as if you know what’s coming.
Lowly, he whistles at how wet you are, your juices having leaked down to stain your pink sheets again. Rafe’s never had a virgin before but he knows how eager they are, how easily turned on they get. He can imagine how slippery wet and snug your snatch would be around his dick. Now, he swipes a finger down your slit, gathering your wetness while you squirm under him.
“Aww, look how excited your pussy is, princess.” He snickers, bringing his finger up to your lips, smearing them with your wetness, getting it all over your face too till it shines and you’re all messy. “Tell me, what’s got her so wet?”
‘I don’t know.”
SMACK.
Rafe finds he quite enjoys slapping your cunt, especially when it’s so wet and throbbing. You cry out, quivering and shaking underneath him. He flashes you a look, “Answer the question.”
“You,” you breathe, blinking up at him, “You, daddy.”
“Yeah? I get your pussy wet?” He’s working himself up, his dick nudging against your folds and he doesn’t know why he doesn’t just shove it in there. “Tell me why.”
You moan pleadingly, “R-Rafe, please!”
“When I ask you a question, I expect you to answer it properly,” he says, enjoying himself a bit too much. It was payback for all the times you’d teased him without even realising it this past week. Flaunting your sexy little body, blinking up at him with those fuck me eyes, as if you were just begging for it in your own little innocent way.
You swallow harshly, and despite everything he can see you thinking carefully, as if you want to give him a real proper answer to impress him. Cute.
“I, uh, I like how big you are,” you stutter slowly, “you-you’re a lot bigger than me.”
He grins wolfishly, pushing his hair out of his face before pressing a greedy kiss to your lips, which you respond to fervently. But he pulls away all too quickly, looking down at you as if he expects you to continue.
“I like how strong you are,” you’re looking anywhere but at his face, he guesses because you’re too shy. He sponges kisses down your jaw, your neck, down to your chest. Kisses all over your tits, presses them together and licks them, bites at your nipples while you moan between your words. “You make me feel safe, daddy.”
Rafe pauses, and it’s there again. That stupid fucking feeling that he doesn’t understand, nor does he care to understand it right now. Nobody’s ever felt safe with him before. Everyone’s always been afraid of him or hated him or screwed him over because they didn’t trust him. No one’s ever looked at him how you’re looking at him and it makes him feel things he’s never felt before.
But he shoves those feelings straight back down, clears his throat before pressing his finger down between your folds. You shiver and moan, hips bucking up before he pins them in place. He tries pushing his pointer finger inside you, but is met with resistance despite how soaking wet you are. Fuck.
“Tightest pussy I ever had,” he mutters, “but she’ll take daddy’s dick, won’t she?”
It’s more of a statement than a question, and he ignores your soft cries as he forces his finger up your cunt. Till it’s finally knuckle-deep, and he bets you can feel the cool silver of his ring against your warmth. And your pussy’s so fucking snug, gripping his finger like a vice, and even he has to wonder how he’d possibly fit his big dick inside you.
“So full,” you breathe, your chest rising and falling rapidly with each breath. But he shuts you up soon enough when he starts fingering you. One singular finger, because that’s all that fits. But he moves it in and out, curving upwards till you moan, thrusting your hips in rhythm like you can’t even help it.
“Gonna add another one, okay baby?”
‘W-Won’t fit, daddy.”
“Shh, yes it will. Daddy’s gonna make it fit.”
Rafe makes it fit. He has to hold you down while you cry like a baby, but soon he’s got his index and middle finger shoved inside you, finger-fucking your tight, virgin cunt while his hard dick slaps against his stomach, and he’s so fucking turned on. More than he’s ever been in his whole life.
“How’s that feel, baby?” He murmurs into your ear, nibbling at it, licking inside it and making you jump. And fuck, you’re so jumpy, and he has to keep you pinned down while he fingers you, and a sick part of him wonders if he’s drawn blood already.
“H-Hurts,” you whimper like the goddamned little cry-baby you are. “R-Rafe please slow down.”
“Come on, don’t tell me to slow down,” he continues pumping his thick fingers up your slippery wetness, feeling like you’re swallowing them up whole every time, “Not when you’re drippin’ all over your sheets like a little–”
“But it hurts!”
“That’s okay, it’s supposed to hurt,” he explains slowly, like you’re dumb, “it’s because you’ve never done this before, so that’s why I gotta stretch you out like this first, okay?”
A lone tear meanders down your cheek, “I-I don’t think it’s gonna fit, Rafe.”
“I made ‘em fit, didn’t I?”
“Nooo, you’re, uh, I mean your…” You sniffle helplessly, a wild look in your eye that looks half scared, half confused as he bets your body’s starting to betray you.
Rafe feels a smile creep up on his face, “You already thinkin’ about my cock, sweetheart? How it’s gonna feel when it’s up your virgin cunt?”
You shake your head vehemently, but you’re a little angel slut because your hips are bucking up to meet his fingers. “Rafe, no. Your f-fingers, they’re already too much, I don’t think I can take…”
“Didn’t I just tell you I’d make it fit?”
You grip his arm tightly, pleadingly “Y-You’re too big, I-I don’t think I can handle anymore…Oh fuck!”
He knows he’s hit that spot inside you because your whole back arches, and you let out the hottest moan he’s ever fucking heard in his life. Complete abandon, head thrown back, digging your nails so hard into his arm that he’s sure you’ve broken through his skin.
“That’s right, baby girl. Just fuckin’ take it,” he mutters, increasing his pace, wondering if he can fit a third finger in. “Fuck, you’re so good, baby. Taking your daddy’s fingers like a champ. God, look at your little virgin cunt, swallowing ‘em up like a greedy little slut. Didn’t think you’d turn out to be so fuckin’ slutty, baby.”
You clench around him, moaning his name and he can’t believe how much his dirty talk is having an effect on you. His thumb rubs at your clit while he continues to finger fuck you, wanting to draw another orgasm out of you because you’re so fucking gorgeous when you cum, and he wants you to make a mess all over his fingers before he finally takes you with his cock.
“Too much, too much, oh, oh, oh,” you’re half delirious, humping against his fingers, letting him fuck you with them, and he knows you must feel so full. And it feels like heaven for him, being inside you (even if it is just with his fingers). You feel so soft, so wet, so warm. Your muscles tensing and relaxing around him as he builds you up.
“Take it,” Rafe repeats, “bet it’s never felt this good huh? You ever finger yourself, baby girl? Touch yourself late at night when you think everyone else’s asleep?”
You gasp at his words, but he feels you clench around his digits.
“Mmm, not such a good little girl after all, huh? Fingering yourself when you think your mommy’s asleep,” he grins wickedly at the horrified look on your face, increasing pace, “but it’s never enough, is it? Your fingers aren’t as big as mine, so you could never make yourself cum.” He laughs, “this whole time, all you needed was a man like me to take care of you. Say it, say you need me. Say it.”
“N-Need you!” You cry out, delicious tears streaking your face, “I need you, daddy. I-I…Oh fuck, please! Please, I don’t… I just… I–“
You squirt all over his hand. And it’s insane; Rafe’s never seen anything like it before. He gazes in wonder, caught off-guard for once. You completely come undone, crying and panting his name, rocking your hips against his hand as you ride out your third orgasm of the night. And who knew it would take just a little bit of dirty talk to get you to squirt? God, you were so fucking hot, so full of surprises. So perfect for him, it was unbelievable.
“Good girl,” he strokes your head like you’re his little pet, taking his wet fingers and pressing them into your mouth, and you’re so hot when you automatically suck on them. “Such a good girl, baby. That was so fuckin’ sexy.”
All you do is clutch at him and cry, so spent and overstimulated from your orgasm. Rafe licks his lips, feeling both protective yet predatory at the same time. You’re at your weakest, most vulnerable state. Outside, thunder and lightning strike over and over again as if they were paid to do so, and the room lights up and goes dark, it shakes and shudders, and the winds howl like a pack of possessed wolves. And yet you look so pretty in the dim glow of the candlelight.
It's the perfect night for you to get ruined. His perfect little baby. Pristine and innocent and at his mercy.
Rafe’s cock is so hard it hurts, throbbing as he grabs it by the base, pumps it as he hovers over you. On his knees while you lie beneath him, looking so deliciously scared. He presses his whole length against your stomach, and watches your eyes almost bulge out of your head. He knows he’s big, but compared to your tiny frame, he’s massive. And he gets off on that, gets off on how much bigger he is than you. He smears his precum against your stomach, smirking as he watches you swallow and try to be brave.
“Listen to me,” he grabs your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes, “You like my cock, baby? You like looking at it, huh?”
The way you lick your lips gives it away, and he laughs cruelly, tapping your cheek like you’re his little pet. “Say it, then. Say you like it. Beg me to put it inside you. C’mon, baby, look at your pussy, she’s crying for it. Beg me.”
He knows you’re at war with yourself, and you shake your head tearfully, opening your mouth to speak. But a clap of thunder sounds just then, so loud it makes the whole room shake. You cry out so pitifully, it makes his heart throb a little. You grab at him, and he falls down on top of you, kissing you, kissing your salty sweet lips and your tears. Kissing you all over while your desperate hands tangle into his hair.
That’s when he nudges the tip of his dick against your folds. And it already feels like fucking heaven, your wet warmth practically begging him to shove it inside you. He presses his tip on your puffy, sensitive clit and you jump, your eyes widening and then you push at his chest.
“R-Rafe, please, I don’t think–”
“Shh, c’mon, baby. Let daddy fuck you,” Rafe urges softly against your lips, “gonna make you feel so good again, mhm?”
“Nooo…”
He tries to ignore your soft cries, the way your palms press weakly against his chest.
“Shit, just relax,” he coaxes, knowing he could just hold you down and force it in, and yet…
He kisses you, tasting salt on your lips. You try to kiss him back, but he can feel you gulping for breath. He can feel your heart hammering against your chest. He can feel your limbs pushing at his body, but he’s just so much fucking bigger than you that it doesn’t even make a difference, and yet…
“Rafe, I… please…”
“Baby…”
His dick feels like it’s going to explode, and he runs it up and down your soaking slit, and you moan. And your face looks turned on beyond belief, and yet scared at the same time. Nervous, frightened, vulnerable. It’s a heady mix, and he doesn’t know what to do, and–
“Please, Rafe. I’m not ready, I-I can’t, Rafe. Please…”
“Fuck.”
Something comes over him, and Rafe feels it again. That bubbling, intense feeling inside his chest. Like a rush of an emotion he doesn’t know if he’ll ever understand. All he knows is he can’t, he fucking can’t. You’re so sweet, so kind, pure like a flower and he just can’t bring himself to pluck it. Tear it apart. Ruin it like how he ruined everything else he touched.
He rolls over, lying beside you while you quiver next to him. Both breathing hard. And outside, the wind howls and howls almost like it’s mocking him. Laughing at him for being a goddamned pussy. And there’s another clap of thunder, and he hears you crying softly.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Rafe finds himself gathering you in his arms, holding you against his chest, “Hey, look, don’t worry about it. It’s okay.”
“I-I thought I could but…” you hiccup between your tears, and your eyes look like there are a thousand stars shining wetly inside them, and he knows he’s never seen anything so beautiful. “I’m sorry, I thought I could do it, I thought–”
“It’s okay,” he repeats, cupping your face and making you look at him, his thumbs swiping away your tears, “Don’t cry, okay? Shit, it’s okay, baby. It’s okay.”
“Y-You’re not mad?”
He strokes up and down your back, soothing you while he wonders whether he is. But the only thing he feels right now is this strange, innate need to protect you. To reassure you. Hold your quivering body close till you stopped shaking. It’s insane, because he doesn’t feel like himself, because he’s never felt this before. It’s alien. Completely, utterly fucking alien.
“No,” he answers quietly, pressing a kiss to your hairline, “No, I’m not mad.”
“You pr-promise?”
“I promise.”
He feels like a different person as he tucks his dick back into his slacks. Like someone else, like someone he doesn’t recognise. But it feels so natural, holding you so close that your heartbeat feels like his. And the storm outside feels like a million miles away. Like it’s just you and him on a different planet and nothing else exists, nothing else means anything except you.
You fall asleep in his arms, spent after everything. And Rafe doesn’t even feel frustrated in that moment, because all he can focus on is how peaceful you look. Your tears dried on your cheeks, your chest rising and falling rhythmically. You trusted him with everything. And it made him feel like someone important.
The wind laughs and laughs all night.
*
The morning is calm, tranquil. Almost like the storm never even was. And Rafe wakes up well rested, with you cuddled on his chest, his arm around you and his thumb in your mouth. The room dappled in sunlight, the candles all blown out or melted away.
Slowly, he detangles from you, making sure not to wake you up. You look so peaceful, so innocent. So soft and pretty, in your little shack of a house on the Cut. He frowns as he looks around. In the morning light, your room looks even more pitiful. It’s clean, and you’ve made it pretty with notes and posters and fairy lights. But he can see the paint peeling off the walls, the fact it’s smaller than his closet back home.
Rafe can’t believe he’s woken up on this side of the island.
He has the sudden urge to leave. To run. Hastily, he types out a text to you.
Rafe: Hey. I thought I’d leave in case your mom came home and saw us. Didn’t want to wake you. Talk to you later.
He has to get home. Gather his thoughts. Recalibrate. Think about what the fuck came over him last night, when he’d had you right where he fucking wanted you. And then he’d pussied out of it. Rafe Cameron never pussied out of anything.
What the fuck did that mean?
His gaze shifts to you again, so pretty and sound asleep. Naked because you’d so willingly shed your clothes for him, spread your legs for him. And he could have had you. Hell, he could have you right now. Force himself into you while you were still asleep, and you’d wake up crying and sobbing, all confused and sleepy while he held you down and ordered you to just take it.
That’s what he should’ve done last night. So then what the fuck had stopped him?
Now, he lightly runs his fingers over your bare thigh, humming lightly at how smooth you feel. So soft, like an angel. A powerful, almost all-consuming feeling overtakes him. A wave of possessiveness coursing through him like a tidal wave of dark poison. You were his. All his. He could do what he pleased with you. Your body was his. You’d all but served it to him on a silver platter last night, in your pathetic little room with the candles.
Rafe feels like he’s having an out of body experience. He gets his phone out, ignoring any small, decent part of him that was sending warning signals to his brain. You were his. He had every right to do this.
Silently, he takes the pictures. And a sick part of him gets off on it, gets off on the fact you’re asleep and none the wiser to what’s happening. But this was the least you could do, you’d left him hanging last night. After he’d been so patient, so understanding. Fuck that. Why had he been like that? Like he was weak?
“You make me feel safe, daddy.”
Your words from last night ring in his ears, bouncing around in his brain till it gets too much, till they start to echo and get louder and louder. Till he feels the urge to punch the shit out of your bedroom wall. It was all too much. He had to get out of here.
He tucks his phone into his pocket, pushes the cotton covers up till your chin, and then leaves without looking back.
*
“There he is! The loverboy himself!”
His friends gather around him the next morning like he’s the second coming of Christ himself.
“How was she, Rafe?” one of them slaps him on the back, “That is, if you fucked her.”
“Yeah.” Kelce stands in front of him with his arms crossed over his chest, looking at Rafe expectantly. They all are. “Did you fuck her?”
Rafe scoffs, “Is that even a question.”
He’d waited all day yesterday for you to respond to his text. Like a pussy ass little bitch, he’d waited for you to say something. Growing angrier and more paranoid by the second when you didn’t. Staring at the pictures he’d taken of you like a man possessed, his thumb hovering over the delete button a handful of times before he’d thrown his phone angrily across the room. Hating how you were making him wait. Hating how his heart had leapt up to his fucking throat when you finally had replied: I’m so sorry for being such a scaredy cat yesterday. Thank you for coming over.
He'd discovered something then. He was obsessed with you. And he hated it.
“Pictures or it didn’t happen,” Kelce grins, cutting straight to the chase. Next to him, Rafe sees Topper’s eyes light with interest, as well as the others too. Fucking desperate losers, trying to catch a glimpse of something that belonged to him. Because they’d never get to see you like that, ever. No one else would. He’d make sure of that.
“It did happen.” Rafe says calmly, “Like I said it would.”
“Okay well, that’s great brother but we’re gonna need proof.” One of the clowns pipes up.
“You don’t need shit,” He shoots back.
“You didn’t take pictures?” Topper asks.
Rafe runs a hand through his hair in frustration. “I did.”
“Then show us. That was the deal.”
He wants to beat the shit out of all of them for daring to ask to see intimate pictures of you. As if you were anything like the other whores he’d fucked in the past, the type of stupid girls him and his friends used every week. You were different, and you were his, and they had no fucking business looking at what was his.
“Look. I don’t give a shit if you don’t believe me.” He mutters, completely over the dumb ass bet and over his friends too. They’d forget about it by tomorrow, ready to become his willing followers once more. They always did.
“C’mon man, you can’t bring our hopes up like that. Either you never fucked her or,” Kelce’s eyes glint when it registers, “Or you’ve gone soft for her. You’ve–”
Rafe grabs him roughly by the collar, a sudden anger coursing through him like he’s been electrocuted. “Listen, you fucking moron. Don’t ever insinuate I’ve gone soft for a goddamned Pogue.”
He spits that last word out like it’s venom, and yet he tried to ignore how hollow it feels. When he realises people are staring, he quietly lets go, smoothing Kelce’s shirt while his friends stare at him fearfully in that way he’s grown used to people looking at him.
“I fucked her,” Rafe says plainly, his tone switching from aggressive to calm in a split second, almost like he’s slipped on a mask, “I fucked her just like I’ve fucked every other Pogue bitch who’s thrown herself at me before her. And it wasn’t anything special. She acts all innocent, but it was easy to get her to spread her legs for me just like I told you it would be.”
He hears a thud, and then a little gasp behind him. So soft, it barely registers. Except it does, and he turns around.
And immediately locks eyes with you.
And then it feels like it’s just him and you. And nobody else is there. And there’s no sound, like both of you have stopped breathing. You stand there, frozen, stricken. Your books on the ground in front of you. Only a few steps behind him, well within earshot. And he sees something break in your expression, porcelain features twisting in hurt, shock, dismay, disbelief.
“Oh shit,” Topper mutters from somewhere behind him. A few of his friends snicker, but Rafe can’t hear them. No, he’s frozen, staring at you as if he can’t quite believe it. And he sees the tears welling in your eyes.
A little broken sob falls from your lips, and then you turn and run. And Rafe wants to chase after you but it’s like he’s frozen in time and space. Watching you run off while he just stands there.
Stands and watches as you run away from him, your hands reaching up blindly to wipe at your face. And that feeling returns tenfold. That feeling that Rafe can’t quite put his finger on, that feeling which he wants to push back down because it suffocates him, and he doesn’t understand it. The feeling consumes him from the inside out, till he feels like he can’t breathe.
And he just stands there and watches until you’re gone.
𝘼/𝙉: OOF. Okay, I finally posted it! Please let me know what your thoughts! Literally any reaction, predictions, favourite parts etc. All of it, ANY of it would be so appreciated! Also please forgive any spelling or grammatical errors. Here's some questions in case you want to answer them (you don't have to!! you can comment/reblog whatever you want, i just always post questions at the end of my fics)
Does Rafe genuinely care for reader?
Should reader forgive Rafe?
Favourite scene/part?
Anyways, that's it. Now I'll anxiously wait to see what you guys think. PLEASE PLEASE consider reblogging this fic if you plan on liking it and want me to continue it. Thanks so much for all your support when I posted the sneak peek. I hope this lived up to your expectations! <3
Summary: In which you and Matt are horny after a show, and Matt is scared of getting caught. But you convince him otherwise.
CW: 🔞Explicit Sexual Content (Smut): protected sex, oral sex (m receiving), hand job, dry humping, riding, semi-public sex (tour bus), hair pulling, praise kink, if I forgot anything please let me know! If under 18, I am not responsible for the media you consume. (MDNI)
The crowd had been something totally unreal tonight. Two thousand people screaming the boys' names, hoping they might look their way. But that was an hour ago. Now there was a level of mental exhaustion on the bus that usually comes after a show.
Chris and Nick had barely made it through the door before they were walking back off the bus.
“There’s a burger joint like six minutes from here,” Chris had announced, already pulling his hoodie over his head. “I’m literally going to pass out if I don’t eat something.”
Nick grabbed his wallet and a hoodie. “Do you guys want anything?”
You and Matt had exchanged a glance, the kind that said everything without saying anything at all.
“We’re good,” Matt said.
The door shut behind them, and just like that, the bus belonged to the two of you. You both smiled and sank onto the couch, wanting to enjoy this very rare time alone.
Matt dimmed the overhead lights, nothing too dark but not too bright either, just calming. A playlist that you had created while traveling on tour with the boys drifted softly through the room, something slow and soft, just something instrumental. The bus still smelled faintly like the venue mixed with the freshness of Matt’s cologne.
You were stretched across the couch, legs crossed at the ankles, still wearing the outfit you’d had on for the show. Matt sat at the other end, elbows on his knees, scrolling through his phone with a look on his face that you knew well. He was trying to look focused, but you knew he wasn’t even paying attention to the screen.
A sexual tension had been building between you two since early this morning. It had started with waking up in the bunk and Matt just lightly grazing your side before squeezing your ass lightly. Then, at soundcheck, when they had a break, you had pulled him into the dressing room and made out with him before he was summoned back to the stage. Now here you were, the tension so thick it was almost suffocating.
You weren’t imagining it. You knew you weren’t.
“They’re gonna be gone for at least forty-five minutes,” you said, keeping your voice light. “You know how Chris likes to sit down and eat his food.”
Matt set his phone face down on the cushion. He looked at you, and something passed through his eyes. Want, need, and hunger. But underneath it, the furrow between his brows meant his brain was running overtime.
“Nick usually rushes him,” he said.
“Nick’s also starving. I don’t think he’s rushing anyone tonight.”
Matt let out a slow breath, eyebrows furrowing like he was trying to think through everything. His gaze dropped for just a moment to your mouth, to the line of your collarbone, before he shook his head and met your eyes again.
“[Y/N], I don’t know. What if they come back earlier than we think?”
“Matt.”
“I’m serious.” The way he said it sounded like anything but seriousness. You smirked, you knew he was already caving, and soon you’d have your way. “This bus has, like, one door.”
You scooted closer. The playlist changed to a different song. Outside, the gravel lot was still and dark. A complete ghost town, not a soul in sight.
“Then we do what we do best in these times.” You smiled. “We do this quickly.”
He looked at you for a few seconds before a smile started to pull at his lips. His hand moved to your knee, warm and knowing, sliding up your leg.
“We are going to do this my way then,” he said quietly, commanding.
The last of the tension snapped. You nodded fast.
“Okay, talk to me.” Your eyes brightened. He was really going to do this.
He stared at you for a minute. Finally, he spoke firmly. “On your knees, pretty girl. Make me feel good first.”
Your mind went blank for a second. Matt could be demanding sometimes, but this — this was something completely new. You felt your breath catch, heat pooling low in your stomach.
You moved fast, not wanting him to change his mind. You slid down onto your knees in front of him, the floor of the bus hard beneath you. His cock was already straining against his jeans, and the sight of it made your mouth water. Your hand reached out and palmed him slowly. He pulled in a sharp breath, and his hand found your chin. “Look at me, [Y/N].”
“We are doing this my way, remember?” He stared at you as you slowly nodded. He smiled. “Good girl.” He let go of your chin and lifted his hips as he undid his jeans, pushing them down. His thick cock bounced as it was released from the pants, a bead of precum leaking from his tip. You instantly grabbed it, your thumb swiping across the swollen tip, smearing the precum over it. “Fuck.” Matt moaned as his hips arched up for more friction.
You stroked him slowly, dragging your hand all the way up to the tip with just enough pressure to pull a whimper out of him. A sound you’d never heard from him before and immediately wanted again. “Does that feel good, baby?” you asked softly, giving him the most innocent look you could manage. He glared, jaw tight. “Don’t play dirty. Suck my cock before I lose my mind. Please.”
You let out a soft laugh because even when he was overly demanding, he still found it in him to be respectful of you, always. You stuck out your tongue and guided it from the bottom of his cock to the tip, swirling it around the head, licking up the saltiness that had leaked out.
Matt gathered your hair in his hands, making it a makeshift ponytail. You looked at him one last time before you took him into your mouth as far as you could. “Oh fuck, baby.” Matt groaned as his hand tightened on your hair, gently pulling it. You moaned and started to bob your head, using your tongue to trace up his length as you went.
What didn’t fit in your mouth, you used your other hand to stroke, finding just the right pace that had Matt’s head tipping back, watching you with an expression like he couldn’t quite believe this was actually happening. He whispered, voice struggling, as you held his gaze, “Sweetheart, you have no idea what you do to me.” You took him deeper, and some spit slid down your chin and his length at the same time. He let out a low, broken moan at the sight, like the sound was pulled out of him against his will.
You taking him deep seemed to break whatever restraint he had left. He held your hair with one hand while the other rested on the back of your head. He was now fucking your mouth relentlessly, your eyes watering from how aggressive it was. You moaned, and the vibration went through his cock. “Oh fuck, [Y/N]. Right there.”
Your hands squeezed his upper thighs, indicating that you wanted him to stop. He pulled you off him. You stood up and pulled your pants down, a wet spot showing in the middle of your underwear. You straddled his lap, the wet spot landing directly on him. You smiled. “This okay, baby?” Matt was speechless and just nodded as his hands came to rest on your hips. His cock twitched at the sensation. “Y-yeah. Totally fine, honey. Fuck, I-I need you to do something though.” He gasped, his hips slightly moving to find some sort of contact.
You nodded and started to move your hips back and forth, your underwear rubbing gently against his length. You whimpered as you felt it fit right in between your folds, even with the barrier of underwear. It felt so fucking good. “Matty, oh fuck.”
Matt’s hands tightened around you. He could feel the wet spot growing as you ground against him. “That’s it, baby. Ride my dick like that. Fuck, this is so hot.” You smiled as you heard how into it he really was from his moans. You started to move faster. Every time you ground against him, you let out a soft gasp.
Matt groaned and stilled your hips with both hands, chest heaving. “I can’t do it anymore.” His voice dropped to almost nothing. “I fucking need you. Now.”
He reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out a condom. You raised an eyebrow, and he shrugged, a little breathless. “I’m optimistic.” You let out a soft laugh as you eased off him, watching him tear the wrapper open and roll it on with slightly shaking hands. He reached for you, voice dropping low. “Come here, baby. Clock’s ticking.”
You tried to take off your underwear, but his hand caught yours. “They stay on, it’s hot.” You nodded and straddled him again, hovering right over him. He slid your underwear to the side and groaned as he saw how wet and ready you were for him. “This is all for me? I made you this fucking wet, and you didn’t have my fingers or my cock in you at all?” His pupils expanded.
You whined softly. “Matt. Please. I can’t wait any longer. I need you.”
You didn’t have to tell him twice. He held your underwear to the side and guided you down onto his length. The swollen head pressed against your slick folds, and you sank down inch by inch, feeling him stretch you open slowly. Once you were completely seated on him, you both went still — just breathing, adjusting, savoring. You felt impossibly full, and you loved every second of it.
He exhaled shakily against your temple. “Jesus Christ.” A pause, his hands pressing you down just slightly, like he couldn’t help himself. “You feel so good. I want to feel this forever.”
You kissed his jaw softly, moving your hips in a grinding motion like earlier. His pubic bone lightly grazed your clit, just enough to send a wave of sensation through you. He grabbed your hair and pulled your head back, his mouth attaching to yours, his tongue pushing its way in. You whined.
As you made out with him, your motion sped up. You were now gasping as you rode him. Matt took the opportunity to pull your tongue into his mouth and suck on it, causing you to clench around him tightly. “Oh! Fuck,” you said against his mouth.
He smiled and pulled away. “Yeah? Like that?” You nodded.
He grabbed your hips and lifted you slightly. “Stop being gentle. Ride my cock. Make me feel good, sweet girl.”
You started to bounce on his cock. Every time you came down, his hips snapped up to meet you. His hand still held the underwear to the side so it didn’t get in the way.
You could feel every inch of him, the drag of it as you rose, the fullness as you came back down, stretching you open all over again. It was almost too much. Almost.
“M-Matt.” Your voice broke on his name. “I’m not going to last. I can’t.” You whimpered as your pace increased, thighs burning, completely lost in the sensation. He nodded fast, jaw clenched like he was trying to hold himself together, and his mouth found your neck.
“Cum for me, baby.” He groaned. He nipped and sucked at your neck, and you already knew you’d find the marks tomorrow. The sensation expanded: him deep inside you, his mouth on your throat, his hands gripping your hips. Too much and exactly enough all at once.
Your pace started to get sloppy. You were so close. He knew it. “Baby, fuck, I’m close too.”
You grabbed his face gently and looked him in the eyes. “Together. Please.” He nodded.
You kissed him softly, and he whispered it against your mouth: “Cum for me, [Y/N].” The orgasm hit you all at once, a wave that started deep and rolled throughout you. You clenched tight around him, a broken moan falling from your lips. He followed seconds later, a low groan rumbling from his chest as he twitched and released, his whole body shuddering beneath you.
He helped you ride out the high, his hands staying on your hips until you stopped shaking, before finally helping you off him. He gently pulled your pants back up for you, careful and unhurried.
You sank back against the couch. Completely breathless. Neither of you spoke. You just looked at each other for a moment. The playlist was still going. Some slow, quiet song you barely registered. The bus hummed faintly around you.
Matt stood first, throwing away the condom and pulling his jeans back on. He disappeared into the small bathroom and came back with a damp washcloth. He knelt in front of you without a word. You watched him, something warm and loving settling in your chest.
“You don’t have to do that,” you whispered.
He looked up at you. “Yeah, I do.”
He helped you fix your clothes, his hands gentle now, completely different from ten minutes ago, and somehow that difference made your heart do something crazy. Once he was satisfied you were comfortable, he sat back down beside you and pulled you into his side, your head finding the curve of his shoulder like it was made to rest there.
His thumb traced slow circles on your arm. You could feel his heartbeat still coming down, steady and warm beneath your palm.
“You okay?” he asked quietly, lips pressing into your hair.
“More than okay,” you said. And you meant it.
He let out a slow breath. His arm tightened around you. “Good.” A pause, quieter. “Me too.”
You tilted your head up to look at him. He was already looking at you, soft-eyed, a little undone, the version of Matt that almost nobody else got to see. You reached up and stroked his cheek with your thumb, and he turned his face slightly into your hand, like it was instinct.
“I love you,” you said.
He caught your hand and held it there. “I love you, dork.”
There’s a knock on the tour bus door. You both freeze. Not even breathing. Then Chris’ voice cuts through, flat and unbothered: “Hey. We both love that you love each other, but it is genuinely freezing out here. Can we come in yet?” You both burst out laughing at the same time, foreheads nearly touching. Not caught, exactly. But close enough.
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Nervous was an understatement. Haymitch was practically quivering where he stood at the end of what felt like the longest aisle in the world. He’d wanted something simpler but those who knew both you and him had other ideas. He supposed a part of him was grateful they wanted it to be special, but that part was silenced in the wake of his fear.
If only his mother was here. Her presence may have offered something resembling comfort, at least familiarity. Or even Sid; goofy, lovable, with that unseriousness that resided in young boys. With a pang he began to miss them, not bothering to shoo the feeling away. It distracted him from the eyes prying into him from the rows of seats he was facing.
Burdock was at his side, but he was moon-eyed staring at Asterid sitting in the front row. No help at all. Maybe it didn’t occur to his friend that he would be nervous. At Burdock’s wedding he’d not shown the slightest hint of it. Haymitch remembered the event fondly, a night spent tipsy and swaying under the stars with you between his arms.
Shifting, he stared down at his tight shoes, a loose curl falling onto his forehead. His clothes were new and he felt like a stranger in them. That didn’t help the tightness in his chest. Taking in a breath, he turned his head to look at the wildflowers carefully twined over the arch he was standing under. Pink. Your favorite. Thinking of you helped him calm, and so he shut his eyes, imagining what you might be doing at this very moment.
Maybe you were hugging your sister or smacking your brother’s arm because he’d made a snarky comment about your choice of groom. Haymitch’s lips twitched up. He couldn’t blame him, really. Had he a younger sister he’d have likely done the same.
He hadn’t seen your dress yet due to your insistence. He also hadn’t seen you since yesterday even though he’d protested the tradition. What, a man couldn’t wake up on the day of his own wedding with his girl in his arms? A flawed practice in his opinion.
There was a long day ahead of him, what with the toast and the reception, but at least you’d be with him for that part. This would be the worst of it, waiting and trying not to think about everyone staring at him. It was a sunny day, thankfully perfect. Birds twittered nearby, and he relaxed his shoulders. They reminded him of you, the way you’d hum moving around his house.
If it weren’t for you he didn’t know how he’d stand living in the shiny lodgings provided by the Capitol. It was too new, too much of a reminder of all he’d been through. This was the prize. If his old house was still standing he’d have opted to live there.
For the first few days after everything he’d been slumped over a table dead to the world. You’d arrived swiftly and pried the glass of white liquor from his hand, forcing him into the shower and setting up the beginnings of a meal at his brand new stove.
He’d been toweling off when you entered the bathroom quietly, brushing off the fact that he was naked and wrapping your arms around his middle, face pressed to his chest. With the scent of you filling his nose, he began to sober up.
“Baby,” he breathed, mouth sinking into your hair.
You shook your head, fingers spread wide across his back. “I’m sorry.”
Haymitch shook his head back. The thought poked its head from the inner parts of his mind. Marrying you. But he didn’t dare utter it aloud until years later.
You’d seen him like this and you still wanted him. Still loved him. You were a miracle, and he didn’t believe in miracles anymore.
Every nightmare, every bad day and you’d stuck around. He found comfort in spoiling you with the Capitol-stamped checks that came for you every month, making sure you had all the pretty things you could want. You decorated his house and made it feel more like a home than a lifeless shell. The smell of your cooking filled the kitchen every night and he lingered in your shadow to ‘help’ (clumsily chopping vegetables, pressing kisses to the back of your neck, cleaning dishes, threading his arms around your waist from behind while you stirred).
Haymitch didn’t know why he’d been shocked when you said yes. In his head you were practically married already but still he had found himself trembling pulling out the pretty ring he’d acquired for you.
Now here he was at the end of the aisle, folding his hands in front of him and hoping he wouldn’t faint before you appeared. Was it a common ailment for grooms? Maybe the new Mrs. Everdeen had a tonic on her. He’d been sober since yesterday but maybe a drink this morning would have calmed his nerves.
Burdock finally tore his eyes away from his wife and faced him, giving him a not-subtle-at-all thumbs up. Haymitch found the energy to lean over and shoulder him lightly, earning a grin in return.
The man who’d be marrying the two of you arrived (Haymitch could never quite remember his title) and took his place in the center of the arch. They were getting closer. He wondered where you were, if you were as nervous as him.
Burdock elbowed him, nodding toward the back of the aisle. When Haymitch looked, his breath was stolen. He could only see a glimpse, but what a sight. You, hair loose, wildflowers threaded through it, holding more bunched in your hands and tied with a pink ribbon. Your mother’s necklace sat at your collarbone- he could see the familiar pendent he’d twisted between his fingers on so many late nights from here. Your white dress was simple- half of its beauty came from the wearer. It was all of this that overwhelmed him: your ethereal glow, the context, you. You looked so happy. It was hard to believe he was the cause.
When you began to walk closer, his breath fled him again. All of this just for him. His wife. You clung to your brother’s arm as you made your way down the aisle, smiling at the guests on both sides. Your bare feet occasionally peeked from under your hem- you loved the feel of warm grass on your heels.
When you finally looked at him he realized he was smiling, so much that it might hurt later. Your brother caught his eye, giving him a knowing look that he nodded ever so slightly at. It was clear: take care of her or else. There was nothing else in the world he’d rather do.
Your brother was supposed to put your hand into Haymitch’s and then he was supposed to lead you under the arch to stand in front of him. When your brother gave him your hand, Haymitch instead pulled you forward, crushing you to his chest. He heard a sigh from somewhere in the audience, likely your sister who’d been up since dawn primping you for today. You didn’t seem to care one bit, wrapping your arms around his middle and tilting your bouquet against his back. Surely you could feel his rapidly beating heart but you didn’t let on. He kissed your hair, your flowery scent filling him. When he pulled back, he noticed a loose flower and fixed it back where it had been tucked behind your ear.
“Hi,” you whispered, and his face split into a grin again.
“Hi, angel,” he breathed, watching your eyes light up. Stepping back, he adjusted your dress as you stared at him adoringly, not bothering to straighten his own clothes.
Standing up straight, he held out his hand, melting when you placed your soft one in his palm. Your sister stepped forward to take your bouquet, giving Haymitch a pointed look, but he didn’t care.
His girl was here, about to be his wife.
For once, the drink wasn’t the reason he didn’t remember something. Haymitch’s eyes were glued to you all through the ceremony, his lips moving when they needed to. He’d already pledged everything he was to you. This was just a formality.
When the man declared you husband and wife, he seized you around the waist, lifting you up so you were level with him. He waited until you leaned forward to kiss you back. Your first kiss married. One out of infinity.
Sweeping you up, he secured an arm under your legs to carry you down the aisle much to the crowd’s delight. You wrapped your arms around his neck happily and leaned your head on his shoulder.
He went through the motions of the toast, the reception all while keeping his eyes on you, a hand on your waist. Maybe it was possessive but he had rights. You were his wife. It felt so good on his tongue. You were just as clingy, hand practically glued to his chest.
Haymitch held you as it grew dark, the stars the only light. The music was slow and smooth, and he swayed back and forth with you, brushing a strand of hair from your face every now and then.
You pressed a kiss over his heart. “Did I tell you yet how handsome you look?”
“Couple times.” He watched you fondly straighten the handkerchief around his neck. “Did I-?”
“Yes,” you laughed, and he grinned, picking you up to spin around once.
“Didn’t let me finish,” he teased, reaching his thumb up to brush your cheek. “Did I tell you there’s a bug in your hair?”
“Funny.”
“No, really.” He used his hand to lift it from one of your flowers. A ladybug. Maybe it’d been there the whole time. “Make a wish.” It was something you’d taught him, that they were good luck. He used the little sentiment to drown out what they’d come to mean in the arena.
“I wish…” you trailed off, meeting his eyes. Standing on tiptoes, you whispered in his ear as he clasped your hand with his other. “…that we’ll be this happy forever.” Both of you turned to watch just in time to see the ladybug unsheath its wings and fly away.
His eyes inevitably turned back to you as you watched the bug take flight with wonder in your face. Special things like you weren’t meant to happen to people like him. But here you were, glowing under the gaze of the moon and stars, choosing to be with him. He’d choose you right back every single time.
Lifting your hands to his lips, he planted a kiss on your knuckles, right by your ring. “Your wish is my command.”
★ motel sex
★ how he gropes you
★ the night before he’s off
★ cuddling turned fingering
★ you told him you were ovulating
★ when you get home from a date
★ fucking you in the back of his work truck
★ when he comes home from a long work trip
★ when he catches you making breakfast for him
★ how he wakes you up before he has to go to work
